Gossip From the Forest

  They came to open sward. A grandiose vista ran amongst the trees down hill, up hill, down and up another, past terraces to the pale masonry of the Château of Compiègne.

  Maiberling: Napoleon slept there. I bet he was a bastard of a parent too.

  French soldiers stamped across the turf toward them, gesturing them back. Allez. Allez.

  Erzberger would have liked very much to continue in that sunny avenue and to sit amongst the urns on the warm terraces.

  Allez.

  The soldiers of the French republic raked the air energetically with bayonets.

  Matthias and the count turned back down the deer path, re-entering the forest murk slowly, finding it an unseasonable element.

  Maiberling: I could have forgiven my father if he’d been an insensitive man. But when I left university and was taken into the Foreign Office myself he invited me to his club and told me that a lot of Germany’s problems in foreign relations rose from the Kaiser’s unhappy boyhood. The Kaiser was kept in the nursery, hardly saw his mother, and was tyrannized by his tutor, that old pansy Hinzpeter. Hinzpeter taught him to ride by forcing him into the saddle at five years of age, withered arm and all, and lifting him off the ground and putting him back into the saddle every time he fell out. One day his mother watched the whole screaming riding lesson without making any protest. She took him from the nursery only to show him her shrine to her dead baby, and to tell him that none of her other children could make up for the loss of dear little Sigismund and to force him to look at the wax dummy of the infant she kept in a cradle and to make him pray over it. My father told me, the Kaiser is an emotional man and too much of his foreign policy is in terms of his emotional reaction to his mother. And his mother is, as you know, an English princess.

  For the elder Maiberling (whom he had never met) and perhaps for his distrait son, Matthias wanted to deflect the conversation to mere politics.

  Erzberger: I believe that’s a perceptive assessment of the Kaiser’s shortcomings.

  But Maiberling had hooked his left arm around the trunk of a birch and made a fist as if to rough it up. His voice became basso and insistent.

  Maiberling: That bastard who begot me! How do ordinary people feel? Their lives, their intimate bloody lives in the hands of men who don’t even love their children?

  Again Erzberger believed he heard hooves on the heavy earth behind him. He was too ashamed to drag his eyes, however, from the count’s pathetic history.

  Erzberger: What can I say, Alfred? Such a tragic life. Your sister and now your … your Inga.

  He saw the count blush and flutter his hand in a dismissive way.

  Maiberling: I expect you to be a friend, Matthias. And forgive me easily.

  Clump went the mythic stag somewhere behind them, its tines at their soft backs.

  Erzberger: Forgive you?

  Maiberling: Inga wasn’t killed. She simply dropped me. I felt myself flying apart in Spa, you see. Had to tell you something.

  Matthias said nothing. The muscles around his shoulder blades twitched.

  Maiberling: Now don’t carry on at me about it.

  Late in the afternoon two copies of a document entitled An Answer to Observations on the Conditions of an Armistice with Germany arrived in the German carriages. It seemed to have a stimulating effect on the general and Vanselow. They began writing annotations on its margins.

  Maiberling: You have to give it to those two. They’re workers.

  After dark, there was a message for Erzberger from Weygand.

  As the time allowed for coming to an agreement expires at 11 A.M. tomorrow, I have the honor to ask whether the German plenipotentiaries have received acceptance by the German Chancellor of the terms communicated to him and if not, whether it would be advisable to solicit without delay an answer from him …?

  Erzberger: After dinner. After dinner will do.

  Over dinner Erzberger talked to the others about an idea that had taken him from the flank in the forest that afternoon. Even through his fear of great roebucks, and his ears full of the blood of Lisa Maiberling, aged nine years, the concept had filled him with a creative elation. If peace negotiations could be commenced within days of the armistice, German plenipotentiaries would be negotiating not with an insane old soldier and obsessive British sailors but with men of wider ideas. With, for example, President Wilson. Who could be trusted to understand about famine. And railroads.

  Erzberger, exposing the idea to the others, watched all three faces firm with hope. If the armistice was swallowed up in peace negotiations then they would not be to blame for whatever was given away in 2417D. Onus would revert to those to whom it better belonged: the highest diplomats.

  Without warning, Matthias found himself hating the three radiant and obscure men he ate with. For his blood turned perceptive in him and washed the message down to his guts: of course you’ll be used again, Erzberger. Whatever urgencies, vanities, gallantries, fatalisms betrayed you into the forest will also carry you to The Hague, or wherever the congress of peace will be summoned.

  He left them at their coffee and sent a message back to Weygand. No, there was nothing from the Chancellor yet. Yes, they had requested by coded signals transmitted by permission of the Marshal that instructions should be quickly sent to them.

  About nine o’clock, Erzberger sat composing a telegram to Ebert. The others were predictably employed—Maiberling at the cognac.

  Weygand with an interpreter entered after knocking.

  He had two telegrams. Keeping his eyes fixed with a sort of arrogant innocence he gave them to Matthias. Of course we haven’t read them, said the eyes, we know how to treat other people’s private telegrams.

  Erzberger could not believe it: Ebert’s message stood all naked and uncoded in simple German for the Marshal to read. For the Marshal to conclude: ah, things are so sixes and sevens in Berlin, they’re willing to sign anything.

  The German Government to its plenipotentiaries arranging an armistice in France.

  The German Government accepts the conditions of the armistice communicated to it Nov. 8.

  THE CHANCELLOR OF THE REICH

  SCHLUSS

  3,084

  The second was much longer, two foolscap pages, in code. But so that he would know it must be worried out before he went into final talks with the Marshal, its tag said clearly OHL SPA and its signature Hindenburg. He foresaw Vanselow and Blauert eking it forth syllables at a time and his skin itched.

  Weygand’s interpreter asked whether, since the telegram ended with the word “Schluss,” they were to understand Ebert had been replaced by a further chancellor of that name?

  Erzberger: Not at all. “Schluss” simply means “Message ends.”

  The interpreter was not embarrassed. But thanked Matthias.

  Weygand: How long will your decoding take?

  Erzberger: An hour or so.

  Or three or four. But he could not tolerate the Marshal bedding down; so gave a sanguine estimate.

  When little Weygand left, Erzberger punched a leather bolster full force. Vanselow flinched, an agile step sideways.

  Erzberger: I wanted an answer. But not one they could read. Saying, give it all away, anything they ask.

  In front of Matthias’s lapse of control, Maiberling made a judicial face and grew analytic.

  Maiberling: You have to remember: these men like Ebert and Scheidemann have been preaching the revolution for forty years. They’ve been going off to socialist congresses in Stockholm or Geneva, first class on trade-union money, and talking about the great day that’s coming. Not omitting to get themselves photographed in Skansen or Chillon for their wives. Now the day has come and they’re frightened shitless. They’re like fat curates at the second coming of Christ. They’ll be guilty of a lot more silliness before they’re finished.

  The general put his hand gently on the Hindenburg message, which Blauert held in a nonproprietary way, as if to say, let anyone with acrostic skills come forward.
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  Von Winterfeldt: OHL seems to be the only machine that still works.

  He didn’t appear very pleased at OHL’s success.

  Everyone, even the count, fell to work, getting notes together.

  At midnight Erzberger looked up from his papers to discover the general stood by him, spying over his left arm in a friendly way.

  Von Winterfeldt: I’m ready. But Blauert says it will be another hour.

  Erzberger: We must let the Marshal know. We can’t have him going to bed.

  Von Winterfeldt: Herr Erzberger, I have never worked closely before with a member of your class.

  The general’s face showed no blushes for his feudal mind.

  Von Winterfeldt: The army … the army I came from … is the worst preparation.… In any case I take such newspapers as … Kreuzzeitung. Which aren’t genial toward you. Perhaps you know what they say?

  Erzberger: They say I was given a blank check to open the Propaganda-for-Neutral-Countries office and that I used it for my own interests.

  Von Winterfeldt: Yes. Exactly.

  By little movements of the corners of his mouth, the general begged pardon for his congenital reading habits. But Matthias went on reciting the Tory catechism on Erzberger.

  Erzberger: That I’m a member of the British Secret Service. That I concocted the Reichstag peace motion with the Jesuit general on Lake Thun and then went to Rome dressed as a monk to get the Vatican’s final orders.…

  Von Winterfeldt: You have to remember. Some people make up these stories for political reasons. Others believe them because they’re frightened.

  Comfort came so creakily from the old general, as if he was using certain glands for the first time in forty years. Erzberger therefore felt it would have been barbarous to say, I know that.

  Erzberger: Why did you become a soldier?

  Von Winterfeldt: It was the only chance you got in Prussia for looking picturesque.

  They laughed together thinly. An unaccustomed chorus.

  Von Winterfeldt: The price was high. I remember when I went to the military college at Potsdam. I was twelve years old. A senior cadet met me as soon as I got inside the gate. He asked me what my name was. I told him but he behaved as if I’d mispronounced it … my own name, mind you, that a person ought to be able to say however he likes. He instantly lashed me across the face with a dog chain. The dormitories were run by regular army corporals, good sons of Sade every one of them. Ours used to make us get down on our haunches with three concise German dictionaries under each arm. You might want to try it when you have the time. Only then if you’re interested in the subtleties of pain. Mind you, I grew up to be a senior cadet in the appointed mold. I didn’t ever feel a child needed to be beaten on the face with a dog chain but I certainly got used to dealing in all the average barbarities. So that when I got my commission in the hussars I was as exemplary as any other officer in freezing out of the regiment any unfortunate who didn’t have von und zu or at least von before his name. I suppose that secretly I was sickened but no one would have guessed.

  Awareness snapped on in von Winterfeldt’s eyes. In a rush he understood he was far out on the seas of confession; and with a peasant. There was a slight trembling of the elegant structures of his face before he gave himself up to the tide.

  The old Prussian’s hands began working, thumbs grating against forefingers. He could have been breaking invisible bread.

  Von Winterfeldt: You can imagine why I enjoyed living in Paris.

  Erzberger: Yes.

  Von Winterfeldt: But the French have their meannesses too.

  Erzberger: Yes.

  Von Winterfeldt: I think the Marshal is the worst Frenchman one could meet. The man has met me and knows he has. Yet not a sign …

  A BITTER AND ZANY THING

  In the small hours all the delegates’ eyes were bright, no one was petulant. Blauert handed them the deciphered clauses one by one and they incorporated them into their papers, working quickly, like editors an hour before deadline.

  An attempt [the deciphered telegram read] must be made to get a modification of the following points in the armistice terms.

  1. The extension to two months of the time for evacuation, the greater part of this time needed for the evacuation of the Rhine Provinces, the Palatinate, and Hesse, other wise the Army will collapse, as the technical execution of the terms is absolutely impossible.

  2. The right wing of the Army must be allowed to march through the corner of Maastricht (Holland).

  3. The abandonment of neutral zones for reasons of in ternal order, at least, must be restricted to a depth of 10 kilometers.

  4. Honorable capitulation of East Africa.

  5. A considerable reduction must be effected in the rail way material to be surrendered, otherwise (German) economy will be seriously endangered.

  6. Army provided with only 18,000 trucks, 50 per cent usable; surrender of the number demanded would mean complete breakdown of Army supply system.

  7. Only 1700 pursuit and bombing airplanes in existence.

  8. If there is to be a one-sided surrender of prisoners-of-war, at least the present agreements as to treatment of the latter must remain in force.

  9. The blockade must be raised so far as food supplies are concerned. Commissioners to deal with regulation of food supplies are on the way.

  If it is impossible to gain these points, it would nevertheless be advisable to conclude the agreement. In case of the refusal of points 1, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, a fiery protest should be raised along with an appeal to Wilson.

  So Hindenburg is the voice you hear exact guidance from. Never mind, Matthias. Be grateful for the reliable figures. Note them down. It would be a bitter and zany thing to give away any more than exists.

  Maiberling: Honorable capitulation of East Africa? Who cares a damn about that?

  Matthias was tempted to intone: for their children ask for bread and they give them honorable capitulation in East Africa.

  He did not say it in case it had a bad effect on his colleagues.

  THE ALL-HOURS DEITY

  The Marshal sat forward in his seat, dozing over his blackthorn, his big head laid sideways on his hands.

  Sometimes he woke for a little while to look out of gratified eyes and smile at both the admirals, then once more slept vigilantly. Like a fakir, a mad monk.

  Wemyss played with the pages of that morning’s special editions. He thought, why do I feel stale? He thought, it’s the flatulence that comes when you’re given too much too easily. Through little Ernst Vanselow, the dead imperial hand would give all the fleets away, murmuring only a little.

  At further occasional wakings the Marshal told them the same old news.

  The Marshal: This is the second night of the war I’ve missed my sleep. I wouldn’t do it now if it weren’t the last night of all. That’s not bad. That’s not bad.

  Sometimes Weygand brought him in memoranda freshly arrived from the Quai d’Orsay.

  The Marshal: How’s that old man Clemenceau tonight?

  Weygand: Not as composed as yourself, my Marshal.

  The Marshal: Why doesn’t he telephone the great god Monet? They could talk about diabetes.

  Weygand: I believe that Monsieur Monet keeps strict hours.

  The Marshal: Yes, they’re all Puritans at core. These libertines.

  Weygand: Of course, Ferdinand.

  And they looked at each other, giving off in chorus an intangible musk of joy. In being military. At having reliable prostates and an all-hours deity.

  When the Marshal dozed, sleep sat on his tongue as bland as chicken flesh.

  LAST MEETING

  Two A.M. Erzberger sent one of the staff officers to the Marshal’s train to ask for a last meeting. The officer also carried a message for transmission and for the Marshal’s eyes as well.

  It read: To be transmitted by OHL Spa to imperial Chancellor Ebert.

  Matthias knew that if Ebert had any status it was not imperial. But he used the
word in pity for his own nervous system, and for Ebert’s.

  Plenipotentiary powers have just arrived. As soon as the armistice is concluded, we recommend that you inform President Wilson of this immediately by wireless and request him to institute without delay negotiations for the conclusion of a preliminary peace so as to avoid famine and anarchy. We also ask that you make arrangements through Holland’s mediation for the first meeting of plenipotentiaries to take place immediately at The Hague. Only by the immediate conclusion of the preliminary peace will it be possible to mitigate the disastrous effect of the execution of the armistice terms.

  Up to the present our enemies are completely without any understanding of this danger.

  ERZBERGER

  The Marshal nominated two-fifteen for the session and ordered coffee for himself and the admirals.

  In Napoleon’s saloon the German delegates put on their coats and gloves. It was a sharp night and a thin foxy wind ran almost silently through the forest, scarcely brushing bark or leaf.

  Maiberling continued to behave with dignity, but on the duckboards, behind Erzberger, he made histrionic whispers.

  Maiberling: This is where we come down to it. Eh? We pay for all our little vanities. We’ll never be the same men again. Our women won’t recognize us.

  In 2417D the Marshal and the others sat already at table. They all kept busy at their papers. Admiral Wemyss sighted a document through the lens in his right eye socket and grunted at it a little. It might have been a proposal for some minute change in jack tars’ rations.

  The Marshal: Sit down, messieurs.

  He held a pen in front of him and gave it four febrile little jerks through the air, using both hands. He seemed to be pretending that he thought they might seize it out of his fingers and sign anything, at once.

  The Marshal: Have you come to tell us that you are ready to sign?

  Erzberger: There is information you must have first. Otherwise there will be no reality to our talks.…

  He handed across the table four copies of a digest he had made of the Hindenburg telegram. The Marshal and Weygand and the admirals received them with a scalding sort of toleration; studied them and made marks in the margins of their papers.