Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

I said 'Don't we have to become participants in our stories?'

Minna had got hold of the horns of the cow or bullock or bull. The animal jerked its head back. Minna was pulled up and half onto its neck; she was kicking her legs as if to get up on its back; she was like someone scrabbling on a rock face. The animal tossed its head and whirled away; Minna clung on, half dragged, her feet touching the ground every now and then; she and the animal were like some sort of Catherine wheel. Franz got up and ran after her. I stayed where I was. I thought — Oh yes, to participate in our own stories, we would be like gods coming down.

Minna had fallen off the cow or bullock or bull. She was lying like a white hole cut out of the dark grass. Franz was kneeling at her head. He was like a satyr. He had taken his shirt off. With it he was dabbing at Minna's face.

I thought — They have had their duel. How could one explain this? They are the children of Achilles and Penthesilea?

There was a stampede of cows, bullocks or bulls, in the distance; black shapes rushing as if to the edge of a cliff.

I lay back. I must have slept for a time. When I woke, the moon was still full.

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I had had a vision (how does one tell the difference between wakefulness and dreaming?) of Franz kneeling over Minna and Minna kneeling over Franz: they were as huge as the earth and sky: they were entwined; they were interchangeable; they made a circuit. Minna's breasts hung down; Franz's arms hung down; Minna was the earth, Franz a firmament. I thought — There are seeds falling on the ground by which we are all fed. My own head was like the sky on the ground. After a time, I slept again.

Duels fought by The Corps customarily took place at six o'clock in the morning at an inn about an hour's walk from the town. Serious duels were of course illegal, so they had to happen at this place and at this time. I could not remember exactly what arrangements had been made about the duel: it seemed that we had to be at this place the next morning. I thought — But anyway, this or that will happen. Franz and Minna were coming walking towards me across the grass. They were holding hands. They were naked. The moon had gone, and there was a thin watery light. I thought — We will see, won't we, what happens.

Franz said 'You are all right?'

I said'Yes, I'm all right.'

I thought — The earth has been fed, and watered -

— There was that man in the cage: in the end he died.

There was a path along the edge of the forest towards the inn where the duel might be fought. We set off, Franz and Minna and I, in the half-light of dawn, in some sort of procesion. Minna led the way; Franz followed; I came behind. Minna was naked; Franz had put on his trousers; I wore my clothes. I thought — We are like people carrying something sacred in a litter: some god perhaps who is ill; who has had a look at the world, and so now perhaps he will help people to die. Minna carried the branch of a pine tree in her hand; it bounced and waved as she walked, like the wings of a bird. I carried Minna's clothes. I thought — But perhaps Franz will no longer want to die.

We passed close to a farmhouse where there were the sounds of cows being milked. I thought — If people see us they will not believe us: they will think we are some sort of gods come down.

When we were close to the inn, Minna stopped and held out her hands for her clothes. She was bespattered with bits of grass and mud and smelled of dung. She put on her skirt: She did not put on her blouse. Franz went on to the inn: I followed him. There was an annexe to the inn where fraternities met and where their duels were

sometimes fought: it was like a village hall, hung with arms and banners. There were a few people already there from those who had been in the beer-cellar the night before: they were sitting round the walls and were once more smoking and drinking beer. A space had been cleared in the centre of the hall. Albrecht was there; he had taken his shirt off; his chest was being bandaged ready for the duel. The boy whom Franz had asked to be his second was there; he carried two swords. Franz was already stripped to the waist, so that it was as if he had been preparing for the duel. I thought — And so what will happen when Minna comes in? Franz went up to the boy with the swords and took one of them; then he turned to the door; he seemed to be waiting for Minna. I noticed that Franz's body was also flecked with mud and grass and what smelled like dung; people in the hall were watching him. The boy who was Albrecht's second went up and talked to Franz; Franz did nothing; Albrecht watched them. There was a shaft of sunlight coming in through one of the windows of the hall: it was reddish, and there were bits of dust floating in it like stars. Franz held out his sword and seemed to touch the light. Then Minna came in: she was not wearing her blouse, so it was as if she too were ready for a duel; she went and stood in the shaft of sunlight; it was as if she were in the water of a river. Everyone in the hall had stopped talking. They were watching Minna. Minna had closed her eyes. The light splashed over her. Franz pointed his sword towards Minna; Minna turned so that it almost touched her breast; then Franz put the sword down on the ground. Minna bent to pick it up. Then she straightened and held the sword pointed to the ground.

There was a banging on the door of the hall. Someone seemed to have locked the door. Then people broke in: there were two policemen and people who seemed to be from the town; a man and a woman who looked like farmers. The policemen wore black and shiny hats: they came halfway across the hall and then stopped, staring at Minna. Minna was standing half naked in the river of light, holding the sword. I thought — Now, now, will this image rest in people's minds, when the light of the stream has gone over them? Then both Minna and Franz turned to me and held out their hands for their clothes. I gave them to them. Then people in the hall started talking. It appeared that someone from the town had seen Franz and Minna and me at night in the field; the farmer and his wife had seen us walking in our procession in the early morning. And so they had called the police because they had seen us naked;

not because we were going to fight a duel; but now, presumably, we could not fight a duel. Franz and Minna were putting their clothes on: the boys who were Franz's and Albrecht's seconds had taken charge of the swords. There was still a faint smell of grass and dung of the early morning. People kept breaking off from their talking to look at Minna. Franz went over to Albrecht and put his hands on his shoulders and bent his head: after a time Albrecht lowered his head and put a hand to the back of Franz's neck. The shaft of sunlight had turned into a rather pale thin colour like that of a dream. I thought — Well there are sometimes nuggets of gold that are found at the bottoms of rivers. There were all these people gathered around the policemen opening and shutting their mouths, but it did not seem to matter much what they were saying. I thought — We have done what we wanted to do; whatever it was; perhaps we can all now leave the theatre. Then — But oh, can this never be repeated? I waited for Minna and Franz. No one was paying much attention to us now. I thought — One day there may be no more men in cages who need to die. Eventually the police did come and question Franz and Minna; but neither they nor Franz nor Minna had much to say. I thought — Indeed about this there is not much to say: there was something of a goddess about Minna.

At the end of 1928 Husserl retired as Professor of Philosophy at Freiburg and Heidegger, who had once been a favourite pupil, took his place. Husserl had apparently expected that Heidegger would carry on his work of trying to find certainty through the so-called 'scientific' investigation of ideas; but during the time that Heidegger had been away from Freiburg he had published Being and Time and had become famous in his own right at least amongst students; although no one seemed able to say very clearly what the book was about. Indeed Heidegger seemed to be saying (so I gathered) that 'certainty' could not be put into words: it was to do with an attitude, a state of mind, a performance: words were good for saying what things were not; they were not good for saying what things were. I thought — Well, yes, certainly, I have come across this sort of thing before.