Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [72]
Hinterseer and Richard Wagner told a puzzled world about the perplexing contradictions in the German. And what is more, no one is more perplexed, searches more for his own identity, is more of an enigma than the German is to himself.
Chapter Thirty-two
ELEVEN O’CLOCK. THE GERMAN Council assembled. Sloe-eyed Ulrich Falkenstein appeared deceptively serene as he sat at the opposite end of the long table from the commander.
The council sat on both sides of the table, a half dozen of them former inmates of Schwabenwald whose years in the concentration camp had earned them a badge of respectability. The others had somehow kept themselves clear of all Nazi entanglements, remnants of the old Social Democratic Party for the most part. Almost all of them were without previous government experience; five of the council were women, something new in German politics.
“I would like to poll you,” Sean said, “to see if any of you have objection to the reading of the Legend of Rombaden.”
They looked at one another a bit puzzled, each shrugged in turn, then shook his head. No, there were no objections. Ulrich Falkenstein was not taken in; he studied Sean closely knowing the major was up to something. Sean’s eyes were sharper this morning, the brow furrowed more deeply as he scanned their faces. Falkenstein knew how to read this expression.
“Frau Meissner,” Sean said, “you are a native of Rombaden. Just how significant is this event to you?”
“Ach, what a question, Major. Hinterseer Day is our most important holiday. And the Legend of Rombaden is very close to all of us.”
“You grew up with it?”
“You don’t know. Among the actors at the Rombaden Theater the competition for roles in the reading was very great. It was discussed in every home, in the Ratskeller ...even in Princess Allee. For the children, the legend was performed in the puppet theater. As a schoolgirl, the mark of my accomplishments was the memorizing of new passages.”
And then, one by one, they attested to the integral part of their lives that the legend played and they praised the stature of Hinterseer and their pride in him.
Professor Hans Moltke was the intellectual of the council. He had been a teacher of German Literature until the Nazis drove him from the schools. Moltke kept himself and his family alive by losing his former identity and becoming a bank clerk during the Nazi era. “The poem,” he said, “certainly must be considered among a few dozen of the world’s masterpieces from the standpoint of pure literature, pure verse. Secondarily, it has attained extraordinary meaning to the people of this district. Hinterseer is Rombaden’s greatest son ... the link with immortality ... this means provincial pride. Moreover, the reading of the legend signifies the coming of summer. The people know they will again take trips to the forest and commune with nature. The legend brings them close to nature. As you know, Major O’Sullivan, we Germans have an uncommon love of the forest.”
“I am aware of that,” Sean said. Then he turned to Hoffman, the deputy with the broken back who now arranged the rendezvous with the informers. “Herr Hoffman. You are not from Rombaden. What does the legend mean to you?”
“Why,” he wheezed with enthusiasm at being singled out for a testimony, “every German schoolboy knows the legend. It stands with the masterpieces of Schiller, Goethe, and ...Heine.” Although a concentration-camp inmate, Hoffman stumbled on the last name ... a Jew.
“And you, Herr Maas. Why do you suppose the Nazis allowed the legend to be read?”
“Why not, Major? It is not a political poem and it is highly Germanic in nature.”
Ulrich Falkenstein listened with utter fascination as one by one they committed themselves without the slightest idea of what O’Sullivan was driving at. Sean opened his marked copy of the Legend of Rombaden.
“Frau Meissner. Would you care to venture what