The Sleepwalkers

by Hermann Broch

  He was just picturing to himself that the old dame in the brothel must have put on the fires by this time and that it would be beautifully warm in there, when Marguerite appeared before him. Huguenau was glad to see her:

  “Tiens,” he said, “what are you doing here.… I thought you had run away … what have you done with the mark I gave you?”

  Marguerite did not reply.

  Huguenau felt he would be happier in the brothel:

  “You’re no use to me … you’re not fourteen yet … see that you get safely home.”

  Nevertheless he took her on his knee; it was warmer. After a while he asked: “Have you got on your warm knickers?” When she said yes he felt reassured. They snuggled closely to each other. The Town Hall clock rang through the fog; five o’clock, and how dark it was already.

  “Short days,” said Huguenau, “another year going past already.”

  A second clock followed with four and then five strokes. Huguenau grew more and more melancholy. What was the use of all this? what was he doing here? over there across the fields lay Esch’s place, and Huguenau spat in a wide arc in its direction. But then a sudden fear clutched him; he had left the door of the printing-shed wide open, and if there should be any looting that day they would smash his machine to pieces.

  “Get down,” he said roughly to Marguerite, and when she hesitated he boxed her ears. Hastily he searched his pockets for the printing-shed key. Should he himself return or should he send Marguerite with the key to Frau Esch?

  He was almost on the point of deserting his post and betaking himself home when he shrank back, for now there came a real terror that pierced him to the marrow; on the edge of the forest there was a dazzling flash, followed the next moment by a frightful detonation. He was just able to realize that it came from the barracks of the trench mortar company where some fool must have exploded what remained of the ammunition, but he at once instinctively flung himself down and was wise enough to remain lying on the ground to await further explosions. Right enough, two more violent detonations followed at short intervals and then the din subsided into a sporadic crackle.

  Huguenau peered cautiously over the stone parapet and saw the walls of the munition-sheds red and smouldering with the fire inside, and the roof of the barracks burning. “So it’s begun,” he told himself, stood up, and removed the dirt from his new winter overcoat. Then he looked round for Marguerite and whistled for her several times, but she had run away—home, he hoped. He had little time to deliberate, for already a crowd of men were coming running down towards him from the barracks with sticks, stones and some even with rifles in their hands. And to Huguenau’s astonishment Marguerite was running along beside them.

  Their objective was the jail, that was clear. Huguenau grasped that in an instant, and he felt like a chief of staff whose commands were being exactly carried out to the minute. “Fine fellows,” said something within him, and he found it the most natural thing in the world that he should join them.

  They reached the prison at the double, shouting and yelling. The gate was shut. A hail of stones rattled against it and then a direct attack was attempted. With the butt end of his rifle Huguenau crashed the first blow against the oaken panels. Someone had got hold of a crowbar, they had not to employ it very long, a breach was soon made, the door sprang open and the crowd surged into the courtyard. It was deserted, the staff had hidden themselves somewhere; well, they would soon be smoked out, these fellows—but from the cells rang a wild chorus: “Hurrah for freedom! Hurrah for freedom! Hip, hip, hooray!”

  When the first detonation came Esch was sitting in the kitchen. With one bound he was at the window, but started back when at the second explosion the loosened window together with the window frame flew at his head. Was it an air raid? His wife crouched on her knees among the splintered glass and babbled a Paternoster. For one second he gaped at her in open-mouthed amazement; all her life she had not prayed! then he jerked her to her feet. “Into the cellar, air raid.” Meanwhile from the top of the stairs he saw the munition store in flames, and heard the crackle of explosions coming from it. So it had begun. And his next thought was: “The Major!” To push his whimpering wife back into the room—her lamenting voice imploring him not to leave her still rang in his ears—to seize his rifle and rush downstairs was the work of a moment. The street was full of yelling people. From the market-place came a trumpet call. Esch panted up the street. Behind him a pair of harnessed horses were being led forward at a trot; he knew that they were intended for the fire brigade and it did him good to think that a remnant of order still remained intact. The fire-engine was already standing in the market-place, it had been drawn out, but the crew had not yet arrived in full force. The bugler climbed on to the driver’s seat and blew the summons again and again, but as yet only six men had turned up. From the other side of the market-place a troop of soldiers came running and the captain was sensible enough to put them at the disposal of the fire brigade; the fire-engine rolled away with a full complement.

  In the Town Hall all the doors were open. Nobody to be found: the Commandant’s headquarters empty. That was a relief to Esch; for at least they would not find the old man here if they came. But where was he? When Esch came out again he at last caught sight of a soldier and shouted at him asking whether he had seen the Commandant. Yes, the Commandant had called out the Civil Guard and was either at the barracks or the prison … which apparently had been stormed. To the prison, then! Esch broke into an awkward, heavy trot.

  While the crowd pushed their way into the prison buildings Huguenau had remained standing in the courtyard. It had been a success, without doubt it was a success—Huguenau made the sarcastic grimace that he could now manage quite well. The Major would get a nice surprise if he were to see him here, and Esch ditto. No doubt about it, it was a brilliantly triumphal success! nevertheless Huguenau felt uncomfortable—what next? he regarded the courtyard, the burning barracks gave a splendid light, but it was nothing so extraordinary after all, the courtyard looked just as he had always expected it to look. And he had had enough of this crowd too.

  Suddenly he heard piercing screams. They had hunted out a warder and were dragging him out into the courtyard. When Huguenau came up the man was lying as though crucified on the ground, except that one rigid leg jerked convulsively and rhythmically in the air. Two women had thrown themselves upon him, and the man with the crowbar was standing with hobnailed boots on one of the poor wretch’s hands and bringing the iron bar down with a thud on his tortured limbs. Huguenau felt that he was about to vomit. With panic in his belly and heart he shouldered his rifle and ran back to the town.

  The town lay sharply outlined with its pointed gables in the glare of the burning barracks, the black contours of the houses surmounted by the towers of the Town Hall and the churches. From these the clocks struck the half-hour serenely, as though a still deeper peace hovered over this human community. And the familiar strokes of the bells, the familiar sight of the houses, all the peace that was still there while round about everything was burning, turned Huguenau’s choking fear into a wild longing for human proximity. He ran straight across the fields, sometimes stopping to recover his breath. Then he caught a smell of cooked meat and once more the thought transfixed him that the door of the printing-shed was not locked, that the burglars and housebreakers would be streaming out of the prison now, and with redoubled fear, with redoubled resolution, he struggled on towards home.

  Hanna Wendling was lying in bed with a high fever. At first Dr Kessel had tried to lay the blame for it on her keeping her bedroom window open every night; but later he had had to admit that it was Spanish influenza.

  When the explosion took place and the window panes came crashing into the room Hanna was not in the least surprised: it was not she who was responsible for the closing of the windows, it had been forced upon her, and as Heinrich had neglected to have bars put on them, of course the burglars would climb in now. Almost with satisfaction she mentally n
oted: “The invasion from below,” and waited for what would follow next. But when a more deafening crash ensued she came to her senses and jumped out of bed with the sudden knowledge that she must go to her son.

  She held fast to the bed-post and tried to marshal her thoughts; the boy was in the kitchen, yes, now she remembered that she had sent him downstairs to be out of the reach of infection. She must go down to him.

  A strong draught blew through the room, blew through the whole house. All the windows and doors were driven out of their frames and on the first floor the panes of the whole glass frontage had been burst in, for at this high-lying part of the valley the air-pressure was particularly violent. The next detonation swept half of the tiled roof off with a great clatter. If the house had not been centrally heated a conflagration would have been unavoidable. Hanna, however, did not feel the cold, she scarcely noticed even the clattering din, she did not understand what had happened, nor did she try in the least to understand: passing the screaming housemaid, whom she met in the dressing-room, she hastened to the kitchen.

  In the kitchen it struck her that she must have been cold before, for here it was cosy. The windows down here had not suffered. The cook was crouching in a corner with the sobbing trembling child on her lap. The cat was lying peacefully in front of the stove. Also the curious smell of burning fireworks had vanished; this place smelt clean and warm. One had the feeling of having been rescued. Then she discovered that with incomprehensible presence of mind she had brought her bed-quilt with her. She wrapped herself in the quilt and sat down in the corner farthest from her son; she must take care that he did not catch the influenza from her, and she waved him away when he made to go over to her. The housemaid had followed her, and now the gardener and his wife arrived too: “The barracks are on fire … look there.” The gardener pointed towards the window, but the women did not dare to go across to it, but remained sitting where they were. Hanna felt perfectly clear in the head. She said: “We must wait for it to end,” and wrapped herself more firmly in her quilt. Suddenly for some reason the electric light went out. The housemaid screamed again, Hanna repeated in the darkness: “We must wait for it to end,” and then she fell again into a vague doze. The boy had fallen asleep in the cook’s arms. The housemaid and the gardener’s wife sat on the coal bunker, the gardener leaned against the fireplace. The windows still rattled, and from time to time another row of tiles fell from the roof. They sat in darkness, they all gazed at the lighted windows, they gazed without moving, and they grew more and more motionless.

  Esch hastened along the road that led downwards to the prison—his rifle had slid down from his shoulder, and he held it in his hands like a charging soldier. About half-way to the prison he heard the shouting of an approaching crowd. He flung himself into the bushes until they should have gone past. There were some two hundred men, a very mixed rabble, convicts among them, recognizable by their grey uniforms. Some of them were trying to sing the Marseillaise, others the Internationale. A man with a sergeant’s voice kept shouting perpetually: “Form fours,” but nobody paid any attention. At the head of the procession, above the heads of the marchers, swayed a puppet; it was the stuffed uniform of a prison warder hung from a cross-bar, from a sort of gallows—apparently they had stripped someone naked for this purpose; to the puppet’s chest a white placard was fastened, and in the flickering light of the burning depot Esch could make out the words “Town Commandant.” They actually had a child with them, perched on one of the men’s shoulders, a little girl who reminded one somewhat of Marguerite, but Esch had no time to think of such things; he waited until the procession passed and then, to avoid any stragglers, he kept to the fields adjoining the road and ran on.

  The lights of a motor-car suddenly appeared in front of him. Esch’s blood ran cold—it could only be the Major! the Major, blindly rushing into the arms of the rebels. He must be stopped! stopped at any cost! Esch slithered down the bank and stationed himself in the middle of the road, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his voice. But the occupants of the car did not notice him or did not want to notice him, and if he had not leapt to the side he would have been run over. He had just time to make sure that it was actually the Major’s car, and that besides the Major three soldiers were in it, one of them standing on the footboard. He stared helplessly after the car, then he ran for all he was worth behind it, he ran in terrible fear, expecting every moment to see something dreadful happening. And already in front of him there were several reports; they were followed by a crashing blow somewhat like an explosion, then came shouts and a general hubbub. Esch rushed up the bank again.

  The crowd was standing beside the first houses of the town; the neighbourhood was still lighted up by the fire. Taking cover behind the bushes Esch reached the first garden fence and creeping behind it could now draw near. The car had fallen on its side and lay burning on the opposite bank of the road. From all appearances the driver had lost control over the car and run into the bank when he saw the crowd, or he may have been hit by a stone. Half-doubled up in front of a tree on which he had split his skull, he was still groaning, while one of the soldiers lay outstretched on the road. Another, a sergeant, who appeared to have escaped with a whole skin, was surrounded by the raving mob. Under the fists and cudgels of the rioters he was making feeble and imploring gestures, saying something which could not be heard amid the noise: then he too sank down. Esch considered whether he should open fire on the crowd, but at that moment a blue flame burst from the bonnet of the car and someone shouted: “The car is exploding!” The crowd retreated, became silent and waited for the explosion. But when nothing happened, and the car merely went on quietly burning, cries arose of “To the Commandant’s quarters!” “To the Town Hall,” and the mob rolled on again towards the town.

  But where was the Major? Suddenly Esch knew; he was beneath the car and in danger of being burned alive. Goaded by fear Esch clambered over the wooden fence, rushed up to the car, and tugged at the wreckage; a dry sobbing overcame him when he saw clearly that he would not be able to lift it by himself. He stood in despair in front of the burning car, and burned his helpless hands with fresh attempts. Then a man came up. It was the third soldier and he was unhurt, for he had been flung right over the road bank and fallen in a field. Together they managed to raise one side of the car. Esch crawled underneath, supporting the body of the car on his back, and the soldier pulled out the Major. Thank God! But still they were not out of the wood, they must get out of reach of the perilously burning car as quickly as possible, and so they carried the unconscious Major up the bank and laid him down behind a few bushes on the grass.

  Esch knelt down beside the Major and gazed into his face; it was a peaceful face, and his breathing was regular, though feeble. His heart also was beating quietly and rhythmically—Esch had torn open the Major’s overcoat and tunic—and with the exception of a few burns and abrasions no external wound was to be found. The soldier stood by: “There’s the others too.…” Esch straightened himself with difficulty. All at once he felt that he could hardly drag even himself along, nevertheless he pulled himself together once more, and they carried the wounded sergeant also to safety. The bodies of the dead soldier and the dead chauffeur they laid at the side of the road.

  When it was finished Esch flung himself down on the grass beside the Major: “Must take a breath for a minute.… I’m done in.” He was so exhausted that when flames suddenly flared over the roofs of the town and the soldier shouted: “The fools have set fire to the Town Hall!” he scarcely paid any attention.

  In the hospital there had been chaos and confusion.

  At first everybody had rushed into the garden without regard to the patients who were unable to move; nobody listened to their lamentations.

  Kühlenbeck had had to exert all his authority to restore order again. He had single-handed shifted the gravest cases to the basement; he carried the patients like children in his arms, his voice boomed through the corridors, and he curse
d at everybody like a bargee, including even Flurschütz and Sister Mathilde, if his commands were not executed on the spot. Sister Carla had disappeared and could not be found.

  Finally things began to look ship-shape again. The beds were carried down from the devastated upper floor, and by twos and threes the patients reappeared. Some were missing. They were in the garden, or perhaps had strayed still farther, into the woods or somewhere.

  Flurschütz and an attendant set out to look for them. One of the first that they discovered outside the garden was Gödicke; he had not got very far and was standing on the hillside, which he had chosen as a coign of vantage, his two sticks uplifted towards the heavens.

  One would have thought that he was exulting.

  And in fact when they came nearer they heard him laughing with that barking, animal laughter for which all the inmates had been waiting for months.

  He paid no attention to the two of them when they shouted to him, and when they came nearer and made as though to lead him back he shook his sticks threateningly.

  Flurschütz felt somewhat at a loss:

  “But, Gödicke, do come along.…”

  Gödicke pointed with his sticks at the flames and bawled in delight:

  “The Judgment Day … arisen from the dead … arisen from the dead … you must go to hell if you don’t rise from the dead … the devil will get you all … he’ll get you all now.…”

  What was to be done with the man! But after they had stared at him for a while the attendant found the right words:

  “Ludwig, it’s the dinner-hour, come down from the scaffolding.”