Leviathan,
Arno Schmidt's short novella (18 pages), takes place on May 30, 1945
where the narrator, a German sergeant, and a number of other men, women,
and children, leaves the city of Berlin in a train's freight car.
A
point of historical context: the Battle of Berlin took place from April
20 to May 2, 1945, and it ended with the fall of Berlin to the Soviet
Red Army. On April 30, down in his underground bunker, Hitler committed
suicide. Winston Churchill would later write, “The bodies were
burnt in the courtyard, and Hitler’s funeral pyre, with the din of the
Russian guns growing ever louder, made a lurid end of the Third Reich.”
This
gloomy ragtag bunch hunker down in the ice cold freight car as it
haltingly rumbles along, the train intermittently the target of Russian
bullets . . . and eventually worse. Günter (the name I'll give the
narrator/sergeant) reflects, “Actually it's madness for us even to want
to pull out; it may be that 500 yards ahead the tracks have been blown
up.”
There's quite the assortment of German humanity represented
here. Anne Wolf, a good-looking gal Günter had a crush on back in his
schooldays. A pious (natch!) pastor offering prayers and proclaiming the
goodness of the Lord. The pastor's wife and seven children (“at least
somebody has trust in God!”). Several oldsters, one geezer knowledgeable
of Schopenhauer and another cursing the Führer, “Hitler, the no-good
bastard!” Two boys in Hitler Youth uniforms (“didn't want to help us
“flee” at first, naturally”).
Icy winds sweep in the freight car
(the door doesn't close completely). The freezing German gaggle are
caught in the grip of fear and pain. Yet, Günter finds the energy to
discuss cosmology with the old Schopenhauer enthusiast. And when the
pastor chimes in with “God is infinite”, Günter retorts, “You're
mistaken as well; there was once a demon of fundamentally cruel and
diabolical nature, but he too no longer exists.” Günter then elaborates
on the nature of the universe with his knowledge of mathematics and
physics. A reader familiar with these areas of study and Gnosticism will
find this section of the novella especially piquant.
And, oh,
those Hitler Youth. Günter sees them as “true children of the Leviathan
(Thou art my beloved son . . .); evil iron and deadly fire: ah yes,
they've turned out well.” Echoes of what the German author would write
in Dark Mirrors: the monster Leviathan passed on its predatory nature to us humans. The full title of this novella is Leviathan or The Best of Worlds. Arno Schmidt's irony runneth over.
Blood
and violence aplenty as we turn the pages. Likewise, with Günter's
philosophizing: “Nietzsche shared much of the blame, too, the
power-worshiper; he taught Nazi-tricks, really (“Thou shall love war
more than peace . . . “), the garrulous bastard; he's the father to
Breker's professional soldiers, who would starve if you took away their
rocks and clubs, because “they just never learned better.” He and Plato
were grand malefactors (and ignoramuses besides : cf. The natural
sciences).”
Toward the end of the tale, Anne comes over beside
Günter, who feels as gaunt and drained as Harry Haller. This reference
to Harry Haller the Steppenwolf proved too strong for me (I LOVE Hesse's
novel). When I spotted Harry Haller mentioned as I flipped through Collected Novellas (published by Dalkey Press), I simply had to read Leviathan as my next Arno Schmidt. I'm glad I did. Leviathan
is a powerful, moving work of fiction offering keen insight into one of
the darkest chapters of European history, a work worth any reader's
time.
Arno Schmidt, 1913-1979
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