Mustn’t leave out the ones who only want the League to act as a gendarme to police frontiers, and the ones who dream of a universal republic much larger than just Europe, the ones who talk to other people and the ones who talk to themselves, like Madame Merken, she is extremely proud of carrying off her little intrigue so successfully, her husband will go to Bedin, in the end he accepted the job despite the scandal, he told her he was accepting it on one condition, he was going to need a new secretary, he would have to employ young Erna.
Madame Merken gave in, but pondered the matter, why is she always the one to give in? still, he’d agreed to leave Heidelberg, the thousand-year-old university where the professors swell with self-satisfaction when invited to dine at the home of some sausage manufacturer. Berlin, invited to the feast! But keep quiet about all that, keep even quieter about Germany, unite, close ranks, advance, I’m just a philosopher’s wife, but I know two things that philosophers forget, you achieve nothing without politics and in politics prudence gets you nowhere, the future belongs to those who push at doors which open into the unknown, kick down doors, unleash fanaticism, make things happen, create the moment for things to happen, the only philosophy which will survive is the philosophy which keeps abreast of the times, bold men stand ready and waiting, they are rough, they laugh at philosophy but they hold the secret which sets History moving once more, I want to join them, in silence, my husband’s job is to philosophise the silence, but he mustn’t be too aware of what he’s doing, just do his job, no more.
A week of battles over ideas, to begin with it meant genuine exchanges of views but that didn’t last, Max laughing, saying I’m not sorry I came, I feel as if I’m taking part in a football match wearing crampons, no, that’s too simple, let’s say a game of soule, an old sport played back home, one third football, one third rugby, one third wrestling or boxing with a cycle race thrown in, all taking place in the same stadium-cum-velodrome, the Europa team of Pan-Europeans are first out of the north bend, Wolkenhove in the lead sets the pace supported by his team-mate Kappler, fifteen metres up now on the Nationals team, they pick up the pace, Kappler’s magic pedals, the Pan-Europeans flash past along the yellow track in full view of a public of dark suits and white shirt-fronts, cheers, hooters and pretty women, now thirty metres up on the pursuing riders, but at the tail of this group there are signs of flagging, three men, the team’s weakest links, one is Berthelot, Briand’s deputy, they are finding it hard to keep up the pace set by Wolkenhove and Kappler, signs that they’re tiring.
And behind this group, Bainville puts on a spurt, Bainville is leader of the team in pursuit, the Nationals, Bainville and the Prussian Kuhn, an alliance of opposites, the rebirth of Germany is a condition of the rebirth of the West, absolutely not so, Europe must gather under the intellectual aegis of France, meantime they swap the lead with each other until such time as they are able to catch and overtake the stateless Pan-Europeans, Bainville and Kuhn are now only a dozen wheel-widths from Berthelot who is still having difficulty with the pace, the Nationals are being supported by the Conservatives, the Pan-Europeans respond and Wolkenhove dribbles, charges off ball at his feet down the space to his the right, comes up against centre-back Kuhn, good ball control by Wolkenhove, a dribble leftward then a flick of the foot, the ball goes to the right of Kuhn, Wolkenhove goes round Kuhn on the left, a terrific sidestep, Wolkenhove reconnects with the ball behind the wrong-footed Kuhn but is then brought down by Tardieu, defender of the gold standard, free-kick taken by Maynes, the only currency worth having is thought, a left hook, the spectators are on their feet, Regel takes the punch, Merken follows up with an uppercut to the liver for today the gregarianisation of man nowadays must go under the name of Europe.
Regel back-pedals, keeps his guard low, rapid movements of his upper body, ducks, regains control of his legs, philosophy will never solve the crisis of Europe, the concept of crisis is consubstantial with philosophy, Regel very elegant, keeps pegging away with his left to make Merken keep his distance, Europe, said Hegel, is the absolute end of History, Merken is off-balance, Regel does not hit him very hard, he boxes the way you keep up a conversation, the crowd jeers Regel, it’s women’s stuff, as elegant as Al Brown, philosophy and Europe are locked in a permanent symmetry, Regel’s blind spot! Merken the Boar from the Black Forest tries to get under his opponent’s guard, the disarray of Europe stems from the neglect of Being, at the back of the scrum Maynes releases his three-quarters, a high kick over the curtain of the back line to chase, Kappler and Wolkenhove, a gap such as you dream about, the only proper expression is that which is concertedly European, they’re in their opponents’ twenty-two but Bainville relieves the pressure on his side, finds touch on the left of the field, around the halfway line, it’s taken quickly, Van Ryssel catches for the Pan-Europeans, the United States of Europe, the move is closed down by the opponents of federalism, Jacques Seydoux, deputy director of the Quai d’Orsay, this Pan-European union reeks of the Hun, ball recovered by Regel who passes it to Kappler.
A superb cross pass from Kappler to Briand, the bell clangs, still twenty laps to go, a cash prize will be given by the Van Ryssel Company to the fastest time on the next lap, Merken feeds his backs, if you don’t want Europe to be annihilated you will have to deploy new spiritual forces, Kappler has taken over the lead, ups the pace, a ripple runs through the stands, spectators drained by fatigue and lack of sleep roar but do not applaud, Kappler isn’t French.
New counter-attack by Merken from his twenty-two, eight-hundred kilos, the combined weight of the eight forwards, a heavy pack, gives no quarter, we’re on our way to Being without knowing where we’re at with Beingness, a long kick into touch, it’s up to our people, heart of the West, to resist the darkness that is descending on the world, on the ground the League of Nations is using a very promising tactic, WM formation, Stresemann, has the ball at his feet, attacking half-back, behind the centre circle, steadies the play, I’ve visited the factories of the Cash Register Co. at Dayton, the huge canteen with the firm’s motto: ‘The World is my Country’, Stresemann dribbles, long reverse pass out to the left wing, the Europeans are going to have to unite very quickly otherwise they’ll end up being nothing more than an outpost of American companies, players in WM, a football revolution, three defenders, two defensive backs and two offensive, three attackers, Europe is a threat to the universal character of the League of Nations, Briand watches Stresemann, never trusted the man, Regel providing support for his Chancellor, the ball is back in the centre circle again, the spirit of Weimar is the spirit of Kant, a terrific long one-two between Regel and Stresemann who passes down the right wing to Wolkenhove who centres, Kappler chests it down, a quick flick over the opposing back, a half deflection, a volley, the future of Europe must be guided by some ideal, fine save by the Nationals’ keeper who boots the ball straight back into the centre circle.
The ball is trapped by Henderson, the League of Nations left winger who is also the British Empire’s representative at the Waldhaus, he backs Europe, Henderson leaving the ball behind him makes a run down the touch line, we’ve just banned Dawn, a dangerous English film which tells the story of the alleged fate of Miss Cavell and in so doing has threatened Anglo-German relations, Henderson followed by Kuhn who is marking him very closely and falls into the trap, then realises his mistake and turns just as the number 7 passes the ball back to Henderson, Henderson also wants a European Social Charter, rise of the opponents of a Social Charter, free market! free movement! regrouping of the Nationals and supporters of laissez-faire, rejection of the Social Charter, they stay on the high shoulder of the track, the Pan-Europeans run of out steam, a tight pack of sprinters, the spectators in the velodrome sing ‘Ramona’, litres of alcohol to overcome the searing heat of the sausage, the amazing machine continues spinning on its wooden ring, for the young Drieu Europe is an abstract civilisation, mechanical and surrealist, given to sport and drugs, onanistic, Malthusian and mystical, not artistic, in the Quai d’Orsay some voices are demanding that Russia should not be forgotten, but first Bolshevism will need to be brought to heel, the latest form of Asiatic pride!