"And the children grow up, his eyes deep
Without knowing they grow and die,
And all the men go their way" .
(Hugo Von Hoffmannstahl, Ballad of the outer life )
Jakob Wassermann is a storyteller. His works envelop, bewitch the reader who, thanks to them, found a little of that lost childhood, his novels lead us astray into a maze of intrigue, a "surprising ability of proliferation" in the words of Gabriel Marcel. confabulation , German Der Aufruhr um den Junker Ernst ( Insurrection to save the young squire Ernest), published by the remarkable editions of The Last Drop , is a beautiful book, unexpected, doubling from the past: in fact, published in Berlin in 1926, he had not yet been translated; second, its plot transports us into a Germany near and far at once, in Lower Franconia in the early seventeenth century. But if history accurately evoked, seems to be the pretext for this novel, she is a canvas on which an image is a subtle sign of this. The beautiful translation of Dina and Nathalie Regnier Sikiric Eberhardt (who had already offered a wonderful translation of Adalina Sylvio Huonder, by the same publisher) is inserted in the footsteps of Wassermann , whose language and shimmering abundant revives the distant past while we make it accessible and readable. Earlier this troubled seventeenth century in Germany where the Thirty Years War rages, a young boy, Ernest, found his mother missing for eight years, and who returns to his castle of Ehrenberg without being announced. The son grew up under the kind attention of servants, a teacher, a deaf servant, watched from afar by her uncle, Philip Adolphus, Bishop of Wurzburg. The child has an extraordinary gift, one to invent stories that fascinate his audience. This ability to arouse interest, give rise to the dream through the power of imagination lies at the center of this novel is both simple and subtle, which questions the reader about the power of literature.
"I want to create figures whose soul is the instrument of the purest and most sensitive of the game of destiny," writes Wassermann (quoted by Maurice Betz in his preface to Dietrich Oberlin , Editions Oswald, 1980). These disparate figures are illuminating on the relationship that man has the world of sense and language. Ernest Gold, the hero of the plot, appears to as both an antithesis and a replica of Caspar Hauser, a young man's private words, that captures the language and the ability to connect a hard struggle, but in a hopeless battle. Ernest, as Caspar, remained silent (until the age of six years). But in contrast to his mysterious brother, he charms his audience with his ability to create stories. It fantasize but do not lie, because nobody there spoke of him. His word console makes you forget all the sorrows. Thus, by storyteller he returns to his mother, unable, she gestures to find a mother to a son she had almost forgotten
"(...) he crouched on the floor beside her and calmly looked up at her eyes as big and as brown as chestnuts. He repeated: "Dry your tears. Crying makes old and ugly, and you're young and beautiful. If you dry your tears, I'll tell you a story ... Listen, I'll tell you a story ... "
relationship to the mother is reversed. Storyteller - storyteller is one who can dry the tears, divert attention from the sorrow, like a parent would with his child. Ernest, this very young man, carries his stories by real power over all beings, but he still uses it wisely. But the adults around him are unable or harmful. In the distance, outside his charmed circle of the floor, takes his uncle, bishop obsessed with the idea of evil that would extend its grip on the world, and tirelessly worked to hunt down heretics and witches. The man seemed untouchable, incapable of emotion, locked up in this madness and mysticism fueled by probing Gropp insidious advice of the father, his eminence grise, a Jesuit insensitive and cruel. But Ernest, for his fables, allows him to find the humanity buried deep inside him, timidly at first, but for the boy to feel a deep love and exclusive. He looked asleep, not daring to reveal his condition to light - indeed, no light penetrates this episcopal palace dark, humid and impenetrable. The affection he feels for his nephew can prove to others, but it is intense and intoxicating
"He came quietly and leaned over him to better contemplate the beautiful face that made him so strange sleep. But what was it that moved and burned in him? There is a curiosity that oscillates between heaven and hell, who sleep on the other is the secret of secrets. One for whom the body of man is the abode of the demons believe that is where you can watch the best and when fighting with the sweetness of a strange feeling, he hopes that daemons will desert the place of sin he eagerly scrutinizes. His curiosity is well justified and he has the right to tolerate his heart beat joyfully. It seemed so strange to this man of seventy years to feel attracted to another human being, of longing that is full of wonderful, imagine the blood flowing through these veins, the invoice members this body, to want to touch the bright skin, remember the smile curve these fresh lips like an almond soaked in warm milk. There was a being, and opposite him the world with all its treasures. That being single was more than the world; desire and direction remained fixed on him. "
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| Altdorfer View of Danube from Regensburg |
Through his tales, Ernest shows men that they are capable of loving. This seems paradoxical because the universe is that of dreams, imagination: indeed, the bishop, looking to sleep, trying to capture a little of that magic that makes the humanity of an exemption that around him happiness and affection. The storyteller is a dreamer who offers his dreams, he book its nothing personal, evokes no experience. He dispenses with generosity to the world, without distinction, throwing her beautiful stories in the face of the whole universe, animals, trees, mountains, stars ... For him, there is no distinction between inert and living: he "[ready] life to everything. Apples in the barn, the signet ring on his finger, the soap bubbles that [hang] the straw to the eaves dripping, the spinning wheel as a ladle. " One form of pantheism unconscious and spontaneous, which defines its report the world is to be loved by him. This attitude contrasts with the climate of suspicion and fear that reigns in Lower Franconia at that time. The bishop and his damned soul, the Jesuit, waging a witch hunt without a thank you, decimating a fragile population, subject to the influence of religion, as a prey to many superstitions. Men, women, kids, nobody is safe from this madness that mature neighbors in distrust, provoking denunciations, in a stinking atmosphere by the smoke from the numerous pyres. Thinking impress his nephew, the bishop lists all those he sent to die in a week, and the names follow one another in a menacing sequence that mixes old and nine year olds. "I think it is wrong to die by fire," replied Ernest, in a gentle first movement of revolt - because he never departed from this sweetness that captivates her listeners. But the disagreement expressed to him a sealed fate funeral. He joined the forces of magic and the devil in the eyes of the uncle blinded by a religious fury. Indeed, this period need scapegoats, and all disasters, drought, destruction, is attributed to witchcraft and servants the devil, whose presence haunts the man of God.
The novel takes on a grim seriousness, especially since the reader can not forget what time it was written. Indeed, Jakob Wassermann, this dreamy hot, this storyteller injured, early awareness of the abuses that arise in the Weimar Republic where, now, emerging ideas foul. Any work of this author less well known than his famous contemporaries - and friends - Thomas Mann and Hoffmannstahl is haunted by recurring themes: the innocence, is fought and broken, the demon identified and pursued. His characters are part of a haphazard geography which resembles their own. Thus, Ernest traveling the same roads, walks the same forest, contemplating the same landscapes as its creator. But Wassermann, membership is not a place: thus, Ernest, unhappy in the palace of his uncle which he tries to escape at every opportunity, is locked in a dungeon, and, finally free, can not find the castle of his childhood that was burned. It is everywhere and nowhere, its real and imaginary territory being storytelling. It does not exist by itself, but this "dreaming" which led out of himself, but to others. There is none for others, being worth only by his stories:
"He never revealed something of himself, he never said how he felt or what he intended to do, he never showed sadness or worry. On his person, the radiant dreamy attitude of his soul was drawn up like a shiny fabric through which it was not receiving anything of his inner life. "
This impermeability in the world is surprising. It closes in on itself, and it is to flourish in the need to create a universe that does not betray but it can deliver to others. Perhaps it comes as the writer, Ernest constituting a mirror in which may reflect the author - Wassermann perhaps, but all the others. His place in the heart of the world is defined: it distracted, dreaming, transports, and he charms his audience or his readers, it is also dependent on them. Fable is beautiful, because ultimately, salvation comes from a child organized crusade to free him. It's a bit unlike the Pied Piper of Hamelin, where the artist uses his powers for revenge against a population that has not been well received. Ernest, he has wanted the property to its listeners, but he is saved by them through the most innocent of them: children, yet able to respond to rebel, to refuse to submit to fear. Thus, the novel ends on a light and joyful feeling. The hero has learned from his rescuers to reach this humanity he was approaching by the dream. The meeting with the Reverend Spee (also a Jesuit, whose Stephane Michaud, author of a remarkable preface explains that this is a historical figure, a Dominican opposed the witch trials) that enables them to understand the magic of words is not enough not:
"You're still a magician, squire?" The squire asked, with trembling lips: "It's magic, my father? "It could be the magic, Spee replied thoughtfully, but a sort of magic about which we can not play much in the malleus maleficorum. There are games magic, my child, and there is love from the spell that manages to deflect his true duty of the human spirit that it employs. And you want me to say what is the real duty? This, you see I am not able to tell you. In this respect, the doctrines are but wind, the floor of an instrument bell. It must be born of your own feelings, you know? "
Also, the storyteller, the storyteller, the writer occupy in the world a delicate one, between a desire to charm, to bring also to encourage the mental journey, but this process should also lead them to themselves, in accepting this fiction that comes so easily should also reflect the reality to which they belong and participate. Having recognized this need, Ernest, without giving up the imagination and storytelling, decides to live in the heart of the world, and informs children who have saved, and who are eager to hear it Again:
"I'll tell you a story, the story of Ernest damoiseau Ehrenberg. But not today, maybe in a year, two years maybe. Just have a little patience, I only ask this, just a little patience. "
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| Emil Orlik, Portrait of Jakob Wassermann (1899) |
Jakob Wassermann, Confabulation , The Last Drop, October 2010 (translated by Dina Sikirica and Regnier Nathan Eberhardt, foreword by Stephen Michaud).
And a very nice article on this wonderful book here at the Taverne du Doge Loredan
Nikola defends heart Wassermann's novel about his audio blog Paludes
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