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Updated: June 6, 2025
Germany alone, according to this professor, was trying to impose itself upon the world in the name of racial superiority a superiority that nobody had recognized, that she was arrogating to herself, coating her affirmations with a varnish of false science. "Until now wars have been carried on by the soldiery," continued Hartrott.
"I repeat it," insisted Hartrott, "that this country is going to have internal revolution and colonial insurrection. I know perfectly well what I am talking about. . . . Russia also will break out into revolution with a red flag that will force the Czar to beg for mercy on his knees. India is going to rise against her, and Egypt, too, will seize this opportunity for her emancipation."
The officials now occupying the edifice had detained him that he might lunch with them. One of them had casually mentioned that the owner of the castle was somewhere about although nobody knew exactly where. This had been a great surprise to Captain von Hartrott who had tried to find him, regretting to see him taking refuge in the Warden's quarters.
It had become necessary to contradict this pedant who had become insufferable with his egotism. Hartrott almost jumped from his chair on hearing such a doubt. "What German is that?" "Nietzsche." The professor looked at him pityingly. Nietzsche had said to mankind, "Be harsh!" affirming that "a righteous war sanctifies every cause."
"You know," continued Argensola, "that in quarrelling with Wagner about the excess of Germanism in his art, Nietzsche proclaimed the necessity of mediterraneanizing music. His ideal was a culture for all Europe, but with a Latin base." Julius von Hartrott replied most disdainfully to this, repeating the Spaniard's very words. Men who thought much said many things.
War had extended one of its antennae even to the avenue Victor Hugo. It was a silent war in which the enemy, bland, shapeless and gelatinous, seemed constantly to be escaping from the hands only to renew hostilities a little later on. "I have Germany in my own house," growled Marcelo Desnoyers. "Germany" was Dona Elena, the wife of von Hartrott.
When the door closed, he approached his friend who was returning somewhat dismayed. Argensola no longer considered Doctor Julius von Hartrott crazy. "What a brute!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
The people, therefore, appreciating that these near-sighted authors were incapable of any genial vision of comradeship, called them Sitzfleisch haben, because of the very long sittings which their works represented. That was what this cousin was for him, a mere Sitzfleisch haben. Doctor von Hartrott, on explaining his visit, spoke in Spanish.
Von Hartrott wished to protect his uncle and began tracing on the wall near the door: "Bitte, nicht plundern. Es sind freundliche Leute." In response to the old man's repeated questions, he then translated the inscription. "It means, 'Please do not sack this house. Its occupants are kind people . . . friendly people." Ah, no! . . . Desnoyers repelled this protection vehemently.
"I mean it," insisted Hartrott. "The last hour of the French Republic as an important nation has sounded. I have studied it at close range, and it deserves no better fate. License and lack of confidence above sterile enthusiasm below." Upon turning his head, he again caught Argensola's malicious smile. "We know all about that kind of study," he added aggressively.
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