Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

About time, lads! Reichardt cried as he saw Hans and Álvaro arrive carrying a cheese, two big loaves of bread and two bottles wrapped in brown paper. They said hello and sat down next to Lamberg, who was relaxing on his back, hands clasped behind his neck. We’re late, Hans said grinning, because Álvaro gets very talkative when he’s in a tavern. We’re late, Álvaro parried, knocking Hans’s beret off, because his lordship doesn’t possess a watch. Sorry, organ grinder, said Hans, what’s that smell? Toad’s turd! Reichardt replied, slicing into the cheese. What? said Álvaro, thinking he had misheard Reichardt’s gruff voice. And you’ll be next, said Reichardt, pointing the knife threateningly at Franz. The dog flattened its ears and scurried over to the organ grinder’s side for protection.

The bottles in the grass shone in the evening sun. A warm breeze stirred the fragrances of the pinewoods. The River Nulte tinkled as it raced along. Lamberg had been more talkative than usual. So, Hans asked, did the police break up the strike? No, no, replied Lamberg, they came later, the strike had already ended. (Who ended it? asked Hans.) I don’t know, I don’t know really, actually not everyone was sure of following it through, some only wanted a few days’ holiday and a better wage, well, we all wanted that. (And what about those who attacked the foreman? said Hans.) That was only a small group, mostly the strike organisers. (But you supported the strike, didn’t you? said Hans.) Yes, well, sort of. (That Körten is a bastard! said Reichardt. You should have thumped him as well!) I don’t know, suddenly we got scared, because that wasn’t the plan, and then the police arrived. (But why did the strike stop before they arrived? asked Hans.) Oh, I think a few of the strikers made an agreement. (With Gelding? Álvaro asked. Behind the delegates’ backs?) Possibly, I don’t really know, I think they went to the boss’s office to speak to him and when they came out again they’d reached an agreement about the wages. It was around that time the police arrived. Then we left and … (I’m sorry, Álvaro interrupted, but what happened to the delegates?) The delegates? Well, they were dismissed, they were all dismissed. (And didn’t anyone stand up for them? said Álvaro.) Yes, of course, we tried, but it was impossible. It was a case of them or us. And there were only five of them, and us was everyone else at the mill, do you see? That’s what happened. That’s all I know. No one likes anyone being dismissed.

Lamberg’s eyes were very red and he was scraping at the ground with a twig. Hans remained silent. He glanced at Álvaro out of the corner of his eye. That Gelding is a bastard, sighed Álvaro. I’ve got to go home, said Lamberg standing up. But it’s Sunday today, said Reichardt, stay a bit longer and we’ll walk back together. That’s why I’m going, replied Lamberg, because it’s Sunday. I need to sleep. I need to sleep a lot.

When Lamberg disappeared through the pine trees, Reichardt looked at Hans and Álvaro, spat a gob of wine-stained spittle and grumbled: You’ve scared the lad off. He’s got enough troubles. Don’t talk to him any more about politics or any of that stuff and nonsense. I’d like to see you two as wool workers. All I’m saying, protested Álvaro, is if they fought back a little, all the mill workers, starting with Lamberg, would have better lives. Forty years ago there was a revolution in France and the working people rose up. Then came Napoleon, who, however much of a dictator, put an end to privilege and redistributed land. Instead, what do we have now? For your information, Reichardt replied, your bloody Napoleon was worse than the clergy, doling out more titles than ever in exchange for this or that. We never had so many counts and barons, and that went for the whole of Saxony. Things have never changed for us — the same infernal drudgery, working the land and paying taxes. That’s the reality. The rest is politics and stuff and nonsense, a lot of stuff and nonsense. You’re right, said Hans pensively, but since the end of the Revolution, and I think this is what Álvaro is referring to, there has only been one solution for Europe, the same one as always. We don’t want Napoleon back, we want the promise there seemed to be then, do you see? The feeling that it was possible to change the old order. That’s the problem as I see it — all the countries in Europe have agreed not to change anything. I hope the French keep chopping each other’s heads off until there aren’t any left, they already came here and we don’t need them. Look, Álvaro said, not so long ago in Spain there was a French-style constitution, and this constitution proposed selling off land, like that owned by your bosses, and handing it over to peasants like you. More stuff and nonsense! Reichardt said. Do you suppose the ones who draw up these constitutions know anything about the land? I’m old now and I don’t give a damn, but I’ll tell you why your infernal revolution never reached the countryside — because we peasants didn’t start it ourselves. The wealthy families used us, they took over, then forgot about us. No one told the French peasants what would happen afterwards, no one explained their rights, or taught them how to organise themselves. You make me laugh with your revolution! Anyway, for God’s sake, you’re a businessman! (That’s neither here nor there, Álvaro protested, you can be what you want and have the ideas you have.) What do you mean neither here nor there! Of course it is! I’m sick of all your sanctimonious speechifying! Your Revolution didn’t stop the peasants here bowing and scraping to the landowners out of fear. In case you didn’t know, the year after Paris, the peasants here in Saxony mutinied. And do you know what many of them did? They kept on calling the bloody slave-drivers we were rebelling against sir! The revolution was a farce. And do you know something else? I won’t believe in any revolution that isn’t started by those who do all the work, not all the talking. That is if I live to see another, which I doubt.

Reichardt turned away, his gaze fixed on the river. Upset by his response, Álvaro took his time in replying: All right, but surely you can’t deny your situation improved somewhat under Napoleonic law. It gave you freedom and the right to acquire land. Oh yes, of course, Reichardt said, turning back, how generous to give us our freedom. But tell me, lad, once we were free, how were we meant to pay for a blasted acre of land? Look, when I was a boy, I saw with my own eyes people surrendering to the French without a fight. I saw French soldiers march into Wandernburg one afternoon, and the next morning they were helping washerwomen hang out their linen, do you understand? Shit, I’ll never forget those blue uniforms, the posture of those grenadiers, sitting bolt upright in their saddles, how we admired their blasted uniforms! And I remember their muskets, how they’d get twisted up in the sheets. The young girls smiled at them, sang songs in French as they washed their linen and looked at the soldiers in a way that … Anyhow, I don’t know why they needed their muskets. Well, the girls used to slip messages into the barrels. Sometimes the soldiers would accidentally step on a sheet and the girls would look at the boot print and laugh, and go back to the river and you wouldn’t see hide or hair of the girls or the soldiers until evening. It was bloody unbelievable. Everyone trusted them. I still know some French words, damn it! Some nights I have weird dreams and wake up with words like botte or peur or faim ringing in my ears, and I get a lump in my throat. And do you know what happened then? Do you? They betrayed us. They used us all. And when we began to demand what rightfully was ours, the princes allied with the French sent in more troops, more guns, and that was that. They attacked us, fired at us, accused us of not wanting to work. They told us if we didn’t go back out to the fields they’d shoot us. Oh, and while they were at it, they raped our women. You can’t learn that from reading books and newspapers. Revolutions! Look at the calluses on my hands, lily-liver.