The Night of the Generals (23 page)

Hartmann cowered over the wheel as if a cold and steely hand might grip him by the nape of the neck at any moment, though he knew that all he could feel was the General's cold and steely gaze. There was no escaping the sensation, so the best thing was to accept it as calmly as possible. This must be just another of the bewildering eccentricities for which Tanz was noted.

Hartmann traversed the Place de la Concorde and parked the car beside the Jardin des Tuileries on the corner of the Rue de Rivoli--exactly where it had stood the day before. Tanz climbed out and stood there surveying his surroundings like a man who was seeing them for the very first time.

"You go on ahead and buy the tickets," he told Hartmann. "Then get hold of a catalogue and follow me round the exhibition. I want details, but only constructive ones. Don't try and blind me with science."

What followed was an exact repetition of the previous day's performance. The General stalked past the paintings as though he were inspecting a guard of honour. Methodical as ever, he examined No .1 in the catalogue first, then No .2, then No .3 and so on, allotting each picture precisely the same number of seconds.

Hartmann followed Tanz as he had done twenty-four hours earlier, reading out the same details in the same discreet undertone.

"Edouard Manet,Vase of Peonies, painted 1864-63, signed, oils 91 x 69 centimetres..."

General Tanz's tour of inspection was such that he never entirely came to rest. It was impossible to tell whether or not his pale eyes registered what swam into their field of vision. From time to time he clasped his hands together behind him, kneading his fingers until the knuckles cracked under the strain. His pursed lips resembled the coin slot in a telephone booth. For a full hour, not a word emerged from them.

Hartmann felt dazed and apathetic. The exertions of the previous twenty-four hours had sapped his powers of resistance and left him as weary as a dog after a long day's hunting. He began to tell himself, in so far as the interminable catalogue notes left him time, that there was a reason--some reason--for everything. A man like Tanz always knew what he was doing. Any other explanation was unthinkable. The man was a general.

At last, the end of Hartmann's ordeal came in sight. They had already reached the upper floor and only a third of the pictures, at most, remained to be seen. When they passed Monet's three remarkable versions of Rouen Cathedral--in the light of dawn, early morning and high noon--General Tanz seemed to be on the point of shaking his head. He evidently failed to grasp why anyone should have bothered to paint the same scene three times, but that did not prevent him from appreciating the artist's seemingly futile perseverance.

Then, as though drawn to them by a loadstone, Tanz strode up to the central group of van Gogh's paintings. At first it seemed as if he found them no more than agglomerations of paint, wall-coverings, catalogue numbers. He reacted negatively to the Arles section as to the Auvers. Neither Dr. Gachet nor the church nor the inn were capable of holding his gaze or halting his progress.

Suddenly he stopped as if brought up short by a wall. Before him hung the van GoghSelf-Portrait, "Vincent in the Flames," a glowing, glassy-green inferno of icy, all-devouring flames, a human being at the seething heart of the Universe, a man's last glimpse of himself before night falls on his soul for ever.

Tanz stood rooted to the spot. Minutes passed. Then Hartmann saw his granite shoulders begin to sag as though weighed down by a massive but invisible load. His head drooped, but his eyes remained fixed on van Gogh's merciless expression of man's ultimate torment.

At length, and with a visible effort, the General mustered his reserves of energy. He straightened up, turned, and walked to the staircase, body erect but feet trailing. His right hand groped for the banister as he made his way downstairs. Emerging into the open, he stumbled across the gravel forecourt, past the weather-worn garden benches, to the balustrade.

Here he stood supporting himself, breathing heavily like a marathon-runner breasting the tape. His back slowly straightened and his gaze travelled across the Place de la Concorde, where the guillotine had once stood, to the Champs-Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe at its further end, in the shadow of which, probably unknown to him, lay the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Hartmann posted himself behind the General at what he considered to be an appropriate distance, not understanding what had happened, merely waiting without knowing what for.

He waited for thirty-five minutes.

Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler thought she knew the world--her world--pretty well. She was aware of her husband's weaknesses and of his commendable efforts to conceal them, efforts which succeeded admirably with everyone but her.

"Your daughter's honour and future happiness are at stake, Herbert."

"Perhaps so," said General von Seydlitz-Gabler, hedging, "but I have a nasty feeling that our daughter's idea of her honour and future happiness differs considerably from yours."

"These are the facts, Herbert. Ulrike was out of her room almost all night, but she didn't leave the hotel. That much is certain. The only question is: whom could she have been visiting in the hotel?"

"Whom indeed!"

"Why not Tanz?"

Frau Wilhelmine produced this trump card from her sleeve with studied composure. She measured the world by her own standards. Why, she asked herself, shouldn't Ulrike have taken the gamble she herself had taken almost a quarter of a century ago? In her own case, not that Herbert seemed to remember, it had virtually been a question of confirming afait accompli, but Ulrike might easily be capable of doing the same thing under less favourable circumstances.

"Impossible!" Von Seydlitz-Gabler's voice rang with conviction. "Not Tanz!"

"We obviously can't remain indifferent to Ulrike's goings-on, but I admit that we may be biased. What we need is to discuss it with--someone who can be regarded as neutral and reliable. You know who I'm thinking of?"

Von Seydlitz-Gabler was in no doubt whatsoever. The only name which presented itself was that of Kahlenberge--Kahlenberge the reliable, the experienced, the crafty. He was just the man for a ticklish problem of this sort.

Kahlenberge appeared wearing an air of cheerful deference.

Frau Wilhelmine had no intention of rushing things. She proceeded diplomatically, first fulfilling her social obligations by ordering the floor waiter to serve coffee and brandy. Then, after a monologue on the subject of maternal solicitude, she produced her punch line: "Could it have been General Tanz whom my daughter visited last night?"

"Quite possible," Kahlenberge replied laconically, "but scarcely probable. After all, he's not the only man who was staying here last night."

"General Kahlenberge," Frau Wilhelmine said urgently, "I can see that you know something about this affair."

"Your ladyship is very acute."

"I insist on the truth, Kahlenberge," von Seydlitz-Gabler demanded.

"Of course, sir, though I'm a little reluctant to give a frank answer in this particular case. It may lead to misunderstandings."

"Not with me," Frau Wilhelmine assured him. "Please go on."

"When a young girl stays away from her room all night," Kahlenberge said smoothly, "why should the man in question be a general? Why shouldn't it be someone of her own age--a young lance-corporal, for instance?"

"A lance-corporal!" Frau Wilhelmine's spontaneous yelp of outrage could not have been more heartfelt if she had caught a butler adulterating vintage burgundy with common tap-water. "May I inquire what prompts you to make such a suggestion?"

"I occasionally have a chat with Otto, my chief clerk," said Kahlenberge. "He can be very interesting at times."

"And do you make a practice of discussing private matters with this man?"

"Only private matters. It isn't my habit to discuss official business with my subordinates."

"Quite right," put in von Seydlitz-Gabler, who evidently felt it necessary to advertise his presence from time to time. "When we're on duty we issue orders and give instructions."

"I'm not unaware of that, Herbert." Frau Wilhelmine's eyes remained fixed on Kahlenberge. "The only thing I am unaware of is the precise nature of General Kahlenberge's conversations with his clerk."

"Otto is rather like an old and trusted retainer. He's a gossip of the first order--knocks any woman into a cocked hat, saving your presence. He makes a habit of telling me all he knows, hears or suspects on any subject."

"My daughter included?"

"Your daughter included. You see, Otto has a friend, a lance-corporal named Hartmann."

"Hartmann?" said Frau Wilhelmine.

"You may remember him. You were kind enough to take him under your wing in Warsaw."

"It can't be true!" von Seydlitz-Gabler exclaimed in outraged tones.

A gentle flush mantled Frau Wilhelmine's neck and rose to her cheeks. It was an alarm signal. "My constant concern for the welfare of your men is entirely disinterested and has never overstepped the bounds of propriety, Herbert. Surely you wouldn't reproach me for it!"

"Forgive me, my love!" von Seydlitz-Gabler said hastily. "Of course I'm not blaming you. It's this young swine--what's he called again?--Hartmann, that's right, I'll remember the name. How dare a person like that intrude into our private affairs? I just can't believe it."

"Go on, General Kahlenberge," Frau Wilhelmine urged dramatically. "Don't spare my feelings."

Her request was totally superfluous. Kahlenberge hadn't the least intention of sparing anyone's feelings.

"Your daughter got to know Hartmann in Warsaw, though how well I cannot say. They exchanged letters, and since they reached Paris they've been seeing each other again."

"Seeing each other again!" interjected Frau Wilhelmine, clutching at a straw. "That needn't necessarily mean anything. It may be quite harmless. Besides, lance-corporals don't stay at the Hotel Excelsior."

General Kahlenberge cleared his throat significantly and glanced at von Seydlitz-Gabler as though he were a placard bearing an important announcement. Frau Wilhelmine followed his gaze.

"Have you something to tell me, Herbert?"

"Absolutely nothing, my dear, except for one small detail. Lance-Corporal Hartmann is staying in this hotel on Kahlenberge's orders and with my approval."

"And what's he supposed to be doing here?"

"Lance-Corporal Hartmann's job," Kahlenberge announced cheerfully, "is to make General Tanz's leave as pleasant as humanly possible."

"Incredible," said Frau Wilhelmine tonelessly. "Well, Herbert?"

"The situation will be rectified," promised the G.O.C.--"through the proper channels, of course. I refuse to tolerate such an infamous breach of trust. Take the necessary steps, Kahlenberge."

INTERIM REPORT

EXTRACTS FROM FURTHER DOCUMENTS, RECORDS AND STATEMENTS Information volunteered by Hector Meurisse of Paris, hall porter, still employed by the Hotel Excelsior when interviewed in 1960 "Our hotel, which you tactfully call the Hotel Excelsior--and I'm sure the management will be most grateful to you for being so discreet, monsieur--was one of the most reputable in Paris, and still is. We weren't directly controlled by the German authorities during the Occupation. We were merely instructed to give priority to special guests, and the guests they allotted us were all V. I. P. s--though not by international standards, of course.

"May I take another look at your list? Ah, yes, Frau Wilhelmine von Seydlitz-Gabler... Do I remember her? As if I could forget her! An extremely civil lady, but her wishes were law. She liked things to be just so, though her taste in food and wine wasn't entirely above reproach.

"Fräulein Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler... She was the lady's daughter, wasn't she? Let me think... Ah, yes, that's right. Didn't take after her mother, as far as I remember. A charming young lady, though she didn't look too happy. There were some unpleasantnesses. The police made inquiries about her, I recall. I never knew any details.

"Lance-Corporal Hartmann? No, I don't remember the name. General Tanz's orderly, you say? It's quite possible, but I don't think he could have been with us for more than a night or so. I've no idea when he arrived or left or what became of him.

"General Tanz? I'll never forget him. Every inch a general even in civilian clothes. I imagine he was spending his leave at the hotel. We had to charge him for several broken glasses and a mirror--they said he'd had an accident. Still, he carried himself like royalty."

From an interview with a former member of the S. D. in Paris, now a textile salesman in Frankfurt-am-Main. He was visited in the hope that he could fill in some background details: "You're welcome to give my name and full address if you want: Horst Torgauer, Frankfurt-am-Main, Zeil 17. Why should I object? I've got nothing to hide. Sure, I served with the S.D. in Paris, but in a subordinate position. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that, is there?

"Things are growing clearer these days, now that all these books of memoirs are putting the facts into their proper perspective. An oath's an oath, after all--not that it stops one being humane. I helped a lot of Jews in my time. Would you like details? I had some copies run off. Always treated our Resistance prisoners well, too. But then I've always been soft-hearted. A dyed-in-the-wool democrat, that's me.

"Lieutenant-Colonel Grau of the Abwehr? Yes, well... you just can't work with some people, can you? Once in a while he used to ask us for something, but whenever we wanted anything from him he made a hell of a fuss. A difficult man altogether, Grau. Pity we didn't get on. Of course, I never knew exactly what they had on him, but I remember Dr. Knochen--that was our boss--saying, the first time he met him: That man won't last long.' "

Unedited shorthand notes of a procedure which might loosely be termed instruction or training. They were made by a Lance-corporal who was selected, with several other O.R.S, for training as potential successors to General Tanz's two permanent orderlies. He later held the post for three weeks. Originally delivered by a Lieutenant Klaus-Dieter Zirsch, A.D.C. to General Tanz in spring 1944, these remarks were read aloud in 1961 to a circle of cronies known as "The Friends of Conviviality" who gather every Monday evening in a public house on the outskirts of Cologne. According to a statement made by ex-Sergeant Otto, to whom we owe our access to this document, the reading was a great success and was greeted with roars of laughter.