Nicholas Mosley - Hopeful Monsters

Bruno said to Franz 'But if there is no God, then why should you not just bow to the will of the strongest man?'

Franz said 'That is no reason for believing in a god.'

Bruno said 'I mean, why are you not a Nazi?'

Franz said 'Because on the whole I would rather be dead.'

Bruno said 'There is nothing in wanting to be dead that would stop you being a Nazi.'

I thought — But Franz, why do you go on saying you want to be dead? It is not true! What is the point of this journey?

I watched Minna as she stirred a cooking-pot over the fire. She was like a priestess getting in touch with spirits. I thought — Perhaps those days were the best when I was in love with Trixie: then we were innocents in some Garden of Eden.

I said to Minna 'Can I sleep with Bruno tonight?'

She said 'If you like.'

I said 'I think Franz is sad.'

She said 'I don't think Franz is missing me.'

I said 'What is it then?'

Minna said 'Oh I think that Franz perhaps sees further than any of us really.'

I said 'But we were so happy! I mean, that time of the duel.'

Minna said 'I suppose he sees that we can't go on being happy.'

I wondered — You mean, he might become a Nazi?

When I told Franz that I wanted to sleep with Bruno that night he smiled and said 'You are a witch!'

Bruno raised his arm in the Nazi salute and said 'Gracious lady!'

I thought — Oh we are all going round and round in the riddle, the sieve.

When Bruno made love there was the impression of something quite impersonal happening; an operation being performed on some animal. The animal suffered with quiet eyes. I remember turning my head to the fire: I thought — I am looking for someone to hold my head; some mistress, or master.

Minna and Franz seemed to be lying together side by side like effigies of the dead crusader and his wife.

I thought — Oh I am waiting, yes, for some chance of something new to come in from outside.

The castle we were heading for where there was to be the Festival of Students and of Youth was called the Schloss Rabe: it was a medieval building mostly in ruins on a crag above a lake. There were said to be students coming here from all over Europe. There were to be performances of music and drama. Political speeches were to be taboo — speeches were to do with the noises people made in their cooking-pots on the plains. A highlight of the festival was to be a performance of Goethe's Faust — not only the often-performed Part I, but scenes from the almost-impossible-to-perform Part II, in which the story of Faust's pact with the Devil moves from a personal to a universal and even mystical level. The parts of Faust and Mephistopheles were to be played by two of the leading actors of the day — Kreuz and Liebermann — the former a non-Jew and the latter a Jew. It was rumoured that some particular point was going to be made about this; they were going to do some exchange of roles; the question would be put — Who was the manipulator and who was the victim? At previous performances of this production there had been angry demonstrations and even small

riots outside the theatre. Politics had broken in; was it possible that there should be such taboos?

I thought — But is not the question old-fashioned, who are the manipulators and who are the victims?

The forest became more crowded as groups converged on the castle; we called out to each other like flocks of birds — for greeting or for warning. I thought — We are trying to ensure our own space, our identity: but still this does not seem to be quite what is happening. Perhaps we are more like those little bits of fungus called slime-mould that crawl together in the forest: they form a worm; this erects itself into a sort of penis; then it explodes, and little bits and pieces are scattered again in the forest.

There was one group we came across — our routes intertwining as if through a maze — which was a group of five or six boys, two of whom spoke together sometimes in English. I thought — Would it be easier to talk about the way we see and talk about things if we had another language with which to do this?

Schloss Rabe was on its crag over the lake; the village was below; there were thousands of students camping on the hills above. They were, yes, like an assembly come together for some millenium. I thought — But surely there would never be room for everybody in an ark.

We climbed amongst the groups that were like refugees or besiegers; we found a place for our camp on a piece of ground on the level but with thick undergrowth; we set about clearing it. We found that the group with the two English-speaking boys was clearing a space to one side of us. And slightly below us were the group of Nazi boys. I thought — So this is the way in which God's dice have come to rest in the forest.

Minna said to me 'For God's sake, let's you and I sleep together tonight!'

I thought — But I don't want to go back; I want to go forward.

It was in the morning when we set up our camp: the performance of Faust Part I was to be in the afternoon. Then there was to be an interval in which there would be time for supper: the scenes from Part II were to be done in the evening.

You remember the story of Faust? (Who am I talking to: you? or you?) Faust, usually taken to be representative of aspiring Western man, makes a pact with Mephistopheles, the Devil, whereby Mephistopheles will provide him with ever more extravagant experiences until such a time as he, Faust, may feel he has his heart's

desire and so will call 'Stop!' And then Mephistopheles can claim Faust's soul for his own. Faust does not worry much about the chances of his calling 'Stop!' Surely there will always be more to desire, more to experience, more to learn. And anyway — if he does reach some point which he feels is perfect, then what will it matter if the Devil does claim his soul! At the back of all this is the idea that God himself encourages the pact; it is by means of the dreams that the Devil dangles in front of humans, and in response to the disasters that come upon humans as they follow these dreams, that humans are roused out of torpor and carry out God's plans for evolution. And if in the process Faust loses his soul — well, it is always up to God, is it not, to organise some deathbed salvation and so cheat the Devil.

Bruno said 'I have told you, Faust is profoundly immoral.'

Minna said 'Why should God be moral?'

Franz said 'Do you know what you are saying?'

I thought — Yes, I want to know what I am saying.

In the enormous courtyard of the castle a stage had been set up: it backed on to a part of the building that was still in repair: there were doorways and windows with balconies in the facade above the stage. The courtyard was crowded: the audience was to sit on the grass of a central lawn. There were one or two fraternities identifiable by the ribbons in their caps or by armbands; but for the most part people in the audience seemed to have gathered in the hope of discovering a larger identity.

In the afternoon Kreuz was to play Faust and Liebermann Mephistopheles. I suppose there have been other performances in which Faust has been portrayed as a naive and even neurotic upward-striving Aryan and Mephistopheles as a crafty and manipulative Jew, the latter being the agent of Faust's perdition but also in the end — abracadabra! — of his salvation. In this production Kreuz presented himself obviously as some prototype of a Nazi: he wore leather boots and a brown tunic belted at the waist; he had a black-and-red-and-white armband. He seemed an unpleasantly childlike man; a disaffected fraternity member. He strutted up and down; he boasted and complained. Then when he seemed to see ghosts he crouched in a corner like a rat: he looked around as if for someone's arms to run to. When Liebermann as Mephistopheles appeared, he was a huge man in a long black cloak and a wide-brimmed hat: he had his hair in ringlets. Then when he opened his cloak for Faust to