The Children's Book - A. S. Byatt [326]
“Let us drink to Griselda. Die schöne Griselda.”
“Die schöne Griselda. You don’t speak German.”
“No, I don’t. I am learning. I need to read it, for my work.”
“She is like a statue in a story. Or a marionette. She doesn’t feel.”
Julian said carefully “I don’t think that is true.” He did not know if he wanted to share his discovery with this edgy creature, who didn’t seem to have made it for himself.
Wolfgang said “There is no good in coming to see her. She smiles and sees nothing. Such a nice English lady. Such a princess. All her hair is controlled on her head. No one has ever disturbed her. Maybe no one can or will. Forgive me. It is the brandy.”
There was a long silence. Wolfgang said “I am sorry. Maybe you—maybe you yourself—”
“Oh no. Nothing of that kind.”
Another silence. Damn it, it was only fair. And moreover, it had a certain narrative interest.
“I noticed,” Julian said, and searched for words. “You noticed I was—unhappy.”
“No, no, as a matter of fact, not. I noticed her. I saw her look at you.”
“Look?”
“I haven’t seen her look at anyone else, like that.”
“Look?”
“Oh, don’t be exasperating. She’s interested in you. Not in anyone else. That I’ve noticed.”
“Oh.” Wolfgang pulled himself together, and gave a somewhat demonic rueful smile, because that was the shape his face was. He said “I am an idiot. That idea makes it worse. You see—she is a fairytale princess. She has ingots and ingots of gold in the Bank and she must marry another such, or find a donkey that shits ingots, forgive me. I make dolls. I make artificial men move around.”
“You could say you are an artist?”
“I could, but I should not be heard. I should have boots thrown at me and be ejected.”
“I don’t see why you give up so easily,” said Julian. He added, with real venom, “It is hardly fair to her …”
“On the contrary,” said Wolfgang. “That is what it is.”
In September 1910 the Second International Workingmen’s Association held its Congress in Copenhagen. Joachim Susskind and Karl Wellwood went together and attended groups on antimilitarism. Socialism was international, it crossed frontiers, it was the brotherhood of men and women. Susskind was also in touch with Erich Mühsam and Johannes Nohl’s “Gruppe Tat” (the Group for the Deed) in Munich, a very Munich mixture of men of letters, workmen, revolutionaries. Leon Stern was passionately interested in this. So were Heinrich Mann, Karl Wolfskehl and Ernst Frick. The deliberations in Copenhagen concentrated on the possibility of calling an International General Strike, an act of defiance to prevent a war. The resolution was proposed by an Englishman, Keir Hardie, just returned to the English Parliament with an increased majority, and Edouard Vaillant of France. They recommended that “the affiliated Parties and Labour organisations consider the advisability and feasibility of the general strike, especially in industries that supply war materials, as one of the methods of preventing war, and that action be taken on the subject at the next Congress.”
Hardie was supported by the Belgian, Vandervelde, and by the charismatic Jean Jauràs. He was opposed by the German socialists, who were established in the German government, and whose unions had money and investments which they feared to put in jeopardy. As large congresses tend to do, faced with demands for precise, planned actions, they passed another resolution, condemning militarism, suggesting that organised labour in member countries “shall consider whether a general strike should not be proclaimed if necessary in order to prevent the crime of war.” Conditional verbs, and future decisions, said Joachim Susskind, still at heart an anarchist. Keir Hardie wrote to his lover, Sylvia Pankhurst
Sweet, nay but did you not promise to have no more imaginings. There was nothing, darling, only on the typewriter it seems to come easier.
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