Castle to Castle, page 32
"See here, Monsieur Abetz, see here! . . . there's a slight difference! . . . which you pretend not to see! . . . you, Abetz . . . even one hundred percent defeated, crushed, occupied by forty-nine victor powers . . . by God, the Devil, and the Apostles . . . you'll still be the loyal, dutiful German, honor and fatherland! defeated but legitimate! while a damn fool like me will always be a stinking filthy traitor, fit to be hanged! . . . a disgrace to my brothers and the Fifis! . . . first tree! . . . you'll admit there's a difference, Monsieur Abetz?"
"Oh, you're exaggerating, Céline! you always exaggerate! about everything! victory is in the palm of our hands, Céline! . . . the secret weapon! . . . you've heard? . . . no? . . . but let's suppose Céline, let's look at it from your point of view! . . . defeatism! all right, we're defeated! there! if that's what you want! . . . some vestige of National Socialism will always remain! our ideas will regain their vigor! . . . their full vigor! . . . we have sowed, Céline! sowed! sowed blood! . . . ideas! . . . love!"
The sound of his voice made him ecstatic . . .
"Not at all, Abetz! not at all! . . . you'll see! . . . History is written by the victors! . . . your History will be a dilly!"
The flunkey passes the radishes around again . . . gives me another slice of sausage . . .
"All the same, Monsieur Céline . . . listen to me! . . . I know France . . . you know, everybody knows . . . that I taught drawing in France . . . and not only in Paris . . . in the North . . . in the East . . . and in Provence . . . I did thousands of portraits . . . men and women! Frenchmen! . . . Frenchwomen! . . . and on the faces of those French men and women . . . of the common people! . . . mark my words, Céline . . . I've seen an expression . . . an honest, beautiful expression . . . of really sincere . . . really profound . . . friendship! not only for me! for Germany! a very real affection, Céline! . . . for Europe! . . . that's what you must try to understand, Céline!"
Comfort makes people soft in the head, that's how I felt about it . . . they were both beaming! . . . Hoffmann too, across the table . . . it wasn't the libations! nothing but water on the table . . . it was words . . . words! I really had no answer . . . now it was the Stam . . . still the Stam . . . but a special Stam with real carrots, real turnips and, I think, real butter . . .
"Yes, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur!"
Abetz wasn't the barbarian type . . . no . . . nothing to be afraid of like Raumnitz! . . . he hadn't been spanked! . . . not yet! . . . but even so . . . even so . . . better not go too far . . . I'd said enough . . . the affection of the French people? Okay . . . "Shoot the works, kid!" I heartily approve . . .
"Oh, you're right, Abetz!"
That does it! I've started him up again! I'm in for it! . . . the New Europe! and his pet project, his great work as soon as we return to Paris, the super-colossal bronze statue of Charlemagne at the end of the Avenue de la Défense!
"You see, Céline? . . . the Aachen-La Défense axis!"
"Of course I see, Monsieur Abetz! I was born at the Rampe du Pont!"
"Then you see!"
I could see Charlemagne and his valiant knights . . . Goebbels as Roland . . .
"Oh, you're so right!"
"You see! You see! two thousand years of history . . ."
"Magnificent! magnificent!"
Hoffmann was of the same opinion! Abetz's idea really appealed to him! the great symbolization that all Europe was waiting for! Charlemagne surrounded by all his valiant knights on the Place de la Défense!
I watched Abetz's enthusiasm, telling us how it would be . . . his enormous statuary composition . . . his cheeks were on fire! . . . not from liquor! . . . nothing but mineral water, I've told you . . . pine enthusiasm! . . . he stood up to declaim at his ease and mime Charlemagne and his valiant knights! . . . his knights: Rundstedt . . . Roland . . . Darnand! . . . I said to myself: this is enough! . . . he's going to wear himself out . . . I'll slip out quietly . . . enough is enough! . . . just then a flunkey whispers in his ear . . . what is it? . . . somebody's here! . . . Monsieur de Chateaubriant! . . . Alphonse!° . . . he wishes to speak to the Ambassador!
"Show him in! Show him in!"
Alphonse de Chateaubriant! . . . the flunkey leads the way . . . here he comes . . . he's limping . . . He comes in . . . at our last meeting in Baden-Baden he didn't limp so badly, I think . . . at the Hotel Brenner . . . he had the same dog, a really fine spaniel . . . he was dressed the same . . . like a character in his novel . . . ever since his film Monsieur de Lourdines . . . he'd been dressing the same . . . his protagonist . . . flowing brown cape, hunting boots . . . oh, but . . . yes! . . . the Tyrolian hat is new . . . with a little feather! in one hand he holds the spaniel's leash, in the other an ice-ax! . . . where was he going in that rig? . . . he told us right away . . . oh, I forgot: his bush! . . . the beard he'd grown since Baden-Baden! . . . a Druid's beard! . . . a mere drawing-room beard in Baden-Baden . . . now it was thick, gray, and shaggy . . . enveloping . . . you couldn't see his face anymore . . . only the eyes . . .
"My dear Abetz! My dear Céline!"
Same voice as in Baden-Baden . . . warm! . . . urgently affectionate!
"Forgive me . . . I just got here . . . I tried desperately to notify you, my dear Abetz . . . unfortunately . . ."
"Come, come, Chateaubriant . . . consider this your home!"
"You are too kind, dear Abetz! we had a home!" He heaves an enormous sigh . . . "Yes, if s true . . . our chalet has been occupied!"
"Ah? . . . really?"
"Yes, I have fled! . . . They've come!
"Who are they?"'
I ask him for the laugh! . . .
"Leclerc's army! . . . use your head, Céline. Oh, but not at all downcast, my dear Céline! I've seen them! . . . I've seen the Blacks! . . . Very well! . . . Blacks? the ultimate provocation? total war? so be it! Am I right, Abetz?"
"Certainly! certainly, Alphonse!"
Alphonse was only pausing for applause . . . he starts up again . . .
"Try to understand, Céline! just as I've written: victory will go to the most highly tempered soul! . . . the spirituality of steel! . . . we have that quality of soul, haven't we, Abetz?"
"Oh certainly, Chateaubriant!"
Abetz wasn't going to contradict him!
"The soul! the soul, that's our weapon . . . I have the bomb . . . I will have!"
Hell! I want to know all about this . . .
"What bomb, Alphonse?"
"Listen carefully, Céline! a few true and tried companions! . . . we've chosen the place! . . . oh, I've been through worse trials!"
He ponders . . . three enormously deep sighs . . . and he continues . . .
"An absolutely inaccessible valley, very narrow, a bowl you might say, between three mountain peaks . . . in the middle of the Tyrol . . . and there, there, Céline! . . . we shall isolate ourselves! . . . you catch my meaning? . . . and we shall concentrate! . . . we shall perfect our bomb!"
Hoffmann doesn't quite get it . . .
"This bomb . . . what are you going to make it out of?"
"Oh, my dear Hoffmann . . . not a bomb of steel! or dynamite! . . . a thousand times no! . . . a bomb of concentration! of faith, Hoffmann!"
"And then?"
"A message . . . a stupendous moral bomb! . . . don't you see, Abetz? . . . how else did the Christian religion triumph? a stupendous moral bomb! . . . don't you see, Céline? . . . am I right?"
"Oh certainly! certainly!"
We were all entirely of his opinion.
That's what the stick and the little hat and his Tyrolian commando were for.
Plain as day!
As far as Abetz was concerned, victory, with or without a bomb, would take care of itself . . . as long as he had his monument! his gigantic, stupendous Charlemagne! his Aachen-Courbevoie axis! his hobby!
"You see, Chateaubriant . . . You see the place I mean?"
"Oh, perfectly!"
"You wouldn't put it anywhere else?"
"Oh, certainly not, my dear Abetz! perfect!"
"Then I can count on you? for an ode! . . . you will be our Bard of Honor! an Ode to Europe!"
They understood each other perfectly . . . complete agreement! . . . the Victory celebration on the Place de la Défense, delegations from all over Europe around the enormous statue, ten times bigger, wider, taller than "Liberty" in New York! really something! the Bard of Honor and his beard!
Just then, I don't know why, they stopped being in agreement . . . Chateaubriant thought it over . . . Abetz, too . . . Hoffmann, too . . . I didn't breathe a word . . . Chateaubriant broke the silence . . . he's got an idea! . . .
"Don't you think, my dear Abetz, that for such an event the Berlin Opera? the Paris Opera? both orchestras?"
"Certainly, certainly, my good friend."
"The Ride of the Valkyries! that's the music! . . . there's no other!"
We agreed again! completely! the Ride of the Valkyries!
But then he starts whistling! the Valkyrie! . . . out of tune! . . . he hums it . . . still more out of tune! . . . he mimes the trumpet with his ice-ax! all the way up to the chandelier . . . as if he were blowing! . . . blowing like mad! . . . Abetz ventures a word . . .
"Chateaubriant! Chateaubriant! Please . . . allow me . . . the trumpet only on the C, the final C . . . not on the G . . . the trombones play the G! no trumpets . . . no trumpet, Chateaubriant!"
"What? No trumpet?"
Suddenly I see a disconcerted man . . . just like that! . . . his ax falls from his hands . . . in half a second his face has changed completely . . . that remark! . . . he's haggard! . . . it's too much . . . he'd been in full flight! . . . he looks at Abetz . . . he looks at the table . . . he grabs a saucer . . . and Whing! he flings it! . . . and another! . . . and a plate! . . . and a platter! . . . like at a country fair! he's really steamed up! it all breaks against the shelves of crockery on the other side of the room! smithereens . . . and band . . . crash! and it keeps on coming! more wreckage! . . . an apoplectic fit! . . . the nerve of this Abetz punk telling him his Valkyrie wasn't right! the arrogance of that upstart! He wanted a victory celebration, did he! . . . crash! bang! ballistics and clay pipes! he'd show them! beside himself with rage! Abetz and Hoffmann duck on the other side . . . under the table! under the tablecloth! clatter! smash! dishes crashing all around them! that china really took some punishment! . . . He's unrecognizable in this fit! bristling! . . . his hair and his bush bristling with rage! disparaging remarks about his trumpet! . . . there must have been bad blood between them to begin with! definitely! . . . I'd heard there was trouble about the rent for their chalet in the Black Forest . . . that Abetz didn't want to pay it any more . . . or maybe his wife, Suzanne . . . trumpet, Valkyries, and Charlemagne weren't the real reason for his wild outbreak . . . it was something else, more serious . . . well, in a way . . . anyway here was Alphonse, always so polite, so well-bred, turned into a Valkyrie himself! . . . everything went! the whole room! . . . all the knick-knacks! an emotional volcano! madness! if Myrta, his dog, hadn't suddenly got so scared and started barking so loud! for all she was worth! Myrta, Alphonse's spaniel . . . bow wow! and she runs away! Alphonse calls her . . . she's far away! he runs after her . . . he dashes down the stairs . . . "Myrta! Myrta!" Abetz and Hoffmann yell after him: "Chateaubriant! Chateaubriant!" . . . you can imagine, I take the opportunity to clear out! I made a dash! I don't take the elevator! . . . it's pitch dark outside the Castle . . . air-raid warning! . . . there's always an air-raid warning! . . . I find Alphonse on the sidewalk . . . his Myrta hadn't gone far! she's very glad to be out of there! she makes a big fuss over her dear master! I can't see the dear master, it's too dark . . . but he speaks to me, his voice is still choked . . . with emotion! anger! . . . that crockery bombardment! . . . He'd certainly broken a lot of dishes! . . . he, always so precious, ceremonious, well-mannered . . . all of a sudden I saw him! a total barbarian!
"Well, Chateaubriant? Well?"
"Oh, Céline! My dear Céline!"
The old warmth was back again.
He clutches my hands, he squeezes them . . . he's in need of affection.
"Nothing at all . . . a mere trifle!"
"Do you think so, Céline? Do you really think so?"
"Come come! a little joke!"
"You think so, Céline?"
"Certainly . . . forget it!"
"But even so . . . how many plates do you think?"
It wasn't only plates he'd broken . . . all the china and soup bowls! very thorough! He hadn't seen himself in action: a regular maelstrom! boom! bang! against the shelves across the room, the rest of the china! the worst of it was that those things were marvels, complete sets, period Dresden! . . . they'd taken it from Gabold's, the fourth floor . . . all in Dresden . . . marquetry and fine porcelain . . . all pure Meissen . . .
"You know, Céline, I'm going to sleep at the Bären, I won't go back to the Castle . . . they've reserved a room for me . . . but they can keep it . . . I'll sleep at the Bären . . . We're leaving at dawn . . . all my men are at the Bären, my whole 'commando'" . . .
"Oh, certainly, Chateaubriant . . ."
His "men" were the moralists, the men who were supposed to manufacture the bomb . . . anyway that's what I thought . . .
"But Céline, would you? would you be so kind? I'd never find my way alone . . . the Bären . . . would you guide me? . . ."
Of course I would . . . I could find my way blindfolded anywhere in Siegmaringen . . . I never got lost . . . not in the darkest alley . . .
"This way, my friend! this way!" Oh, but there was still his rucksack! his knapsack! his matériel . . . his crap! it weighed a ton! . . . quite a supply of something! . . . he had to pass it over his big cape . . . or under! we tried . . . he couldn't make it . . . too heavy, too big! . . . we decided to carry it between us, we'd each take a strap . . . but very slowly, I couldn't go fast . . . neither could he . . . he used his ice-ax for a cane . . . that way he could manage . . . I told you he limped pretty badly . . . three of the collaborators had the same limp . . . a "distinguished limp" so to speak . . . Lesdain,° Bernard Faye,° and himself . . . none of them from war wounds, all "temporary deferment" . . . they even had their nickname . . . "the hobble brothers!" . . . to show you how malicious people can be! so the two of us start off, each with his strap . . . very slowly . . . we rest, we start up again every ten, twenty steps . . . some cargo! . . . we laugh about it! even he laughs! . . . we stagger . . . his materiel! he expects to get to the Tyrol with that? Halt! somebody up ahead of us! . . . I can't see this somebody . . . he flashes a beam in our eyes . . . a flashlight . . . he sees us! . . . must be a Boche! . . . it's a Boche policeman . . . "Where are you going?" we're not supposed to be out . . . he must know me . . . "to the Bären," I answer, "to the Bären . . . he's sick . . . krank . . ."
"Nur gut. Nur gut! gehe!"
We were all right . . . but Alphonse starts protesting! nobody had asked him anything . . . he stands up to the cop, his big bush in the flashlight beam . . . "Kraft ist nicht alles!" he shouts in his face! "force isn't everything" . . . I can see he's going to get himself pulled in! no! . . . the cop doesn't get sore . . . he even takes hold of the two straps, the famous rucksack, a feather for him! . . . he carries it . . . he escorts us . . . fine, we follow him . . . Chateaubriant and myself . . . it doesn't take us long to the Bären . . . we hear the Danube . . . the Danube breaking against the arches! . . . ah, the noisy, angry little river! . . . here we are! . . . the cop knocks . . . three knocks . . . another three knocks . . . somebody opens . . . there we are . . . "gute Nacht!" I leave Chateaubriant in the doorway . . . with his dog . . . the policeman puts the knapsack down . . .
"Good-by, my dear Céline!"
I never saw dear Alphonse again . . . I took the shuppo back to the Löwen with me . . . to get them to open the door . . . that crummy Frucht would have been only too glad to leave me outside . . . always have the police on your side . . . one of the things you learn in the mazes of life . . .
I was supposed to go to Laval's and I took you to Abetz's . . . that little dinner . . . forgive me! . . . another little digression . . . I'm always digressing . . . old age? . . . too full of memories? . . . I don't know . . . I'll know later . . . or other people will know . . . about oneself it's hard to tell . . . Anyway, to pick up where we left off . . . we were leaving the music room . . . I was supposed to go see Laval . . . I'd wanted to go for the last three days . . . since the skirmish at the station . . . when really it was his doing if it hadn't ended in a general massacre . . . only one dead! . . . I really had to go and congratulate him . . . and not discreetly! loud and clear! it's no good treading lightly with politicians! heavy does it! massive! . . . same as with dames! . . . politicians are debutantes as long as they live . . . admiration! . . . admiration! votes! You don't tell a young lady she's nice . . . no, you talk to her like Mariano: "Der's nobod lika you in alla woil!" that's the least she'll stand for . . . same with your politician! . . . besides I had a purpose . . . that he shouldn't raise a stink about the Delaunys . . . Brinon wasn't the only power in the Castle . . . I'd prepared my little spiel . . . at last I was on my way . . . from the music room to Laval's, one floor . . . only one flight . . . I've explained . . . I've told you what it was like . . . his setting, his office, his apartment, his floor . . . all First Empire . . . perfect First Empire! . . . you won't find anything better in Malmaison . . . or I'd even say as good . . . we know the terrible drawbacks of First Empire, that buttock-gouging style . . . absolutely impossible to sit down! . . . chairs, armchairs, divans! . . . resolutely "peach pit" . . . chairs for colonels, marshals! . . . barely time to listen and take off! . . . to fly from victory to victory! no connection with "Capuan delights!" but I was so tired, so much insomnia to catch up on, that I made myself very comfortable on the peach pits . . . I took a very nice rest . . . Naturally I started in with my compliment . . . How splendid he had been! Laval of Auvergne and the Maghreb and Alfortville! the incomparable! the attenuator-conciliator for whom London, New York, and Moscow envied us! . . . once I'd said my little piece, there was nothing left for me to do but nod, wag my head amiably . . . no need to talk . . . it was very comfortable at Laval's . . . he babbled all by himself . . . he didn't ask anything of me . . . except to listen, that was enough! . . . he was doing the talking . . . and he really threw himself into it! . . . he pleaded! . . . this . . . that . . . and then his case! . . . his Cause! . . . you could only nod, he "incarnated" France much too much to leave him time to listen . . . compliments or no compliments! I'd come to tell him that it was thanks to him the massacre had been nipped in the bud . . . that if not for him there would have been a hecatomb! . . . the sincere truth! . . . he didn't give a shit! all he wanted was for me to listen . . . he tolerated me as a listener! . . . not as a commentator! so I stowed my compliments . . . I sit down with my bag on my lap, my instruments, and Bébert on my lap, too, in his game bag . . . I knew his plea . . . he'd dished it out to me ten . . . twenty times . . . "that under the present conditions . . . the weakness of Europe . . . only one way of straightening everything out": his Franco-German policy! . . . his! . . . without his collaboration no use trying . . . there wouldn't be any History! or any Europe! that he knew Russia . . . etc. . . . etc. . . . I could nod and wag away . . . this would go on for an hour . . . at least . . . I knew all the variants, the mock objections, the impassioned appeals . . . he felt as if he were already buried! . . . in his family vault! . . . in Chateldon! . . . yes, but first . . . first! he'd demolish them all! all of them! . . . they wouldn't down him so easy! . . . he'd crush them first! . . . first . . . all of them! . . . all those jealous . . . envious deserters! all of his grotesque, slanderous detractors! yes! because he, Laval, he and nobody else, had France in his blood! . . . and all those idiotic midgets would have to admit that he had it in his pocket . . . and America, too . . . yes, America! . . . he could wind it around his finger . . . immense America! in the first place through his son-in-law! . . . and through his daughter, who was an American . . . and through Senator Taft, Roosevelt's Great Elector! . . .
