"Karl Glogaver - 02 - Breakfast In The Ruins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

not quarrel.

As the inventor of "Practical Politics" (Real-Politik), Bismarck had a supreme
contempt for fluent talkers and for words, saying that only fools could imagine
that facts could be talked away. He cynically added that words were sometimes
useful for "papering over structural cracks" when they had to be concealed for a
time.

With his intensely overbearing disposition, Bismarck could not brook the
smallest contradiction, or any criticism whatever. I have often watched him in
the Reichstag - then housed in a very modest building - whilst being attacked,
especially by Lieb-knecht the Socialist. He made no effort to conceal his
anger, and would stab the blotting-pad before him viciously with a metal paper-
cutter, his face purple with rage.

Bismarck himself was a very clear and forcible speaker, with a happy knack of
coining felicitous phrases.

THE VANISHED POMPS OF YESTERDAY.

Lord Frederick Hamilton. Hodder and Stoughton, 1920.

There is a big color TV in the suite.

The Nigerian walks up to it. His penis is still slightly stiff. - Do you want
this on?
Karl is eight. It is 1883. Brunswick. He has a very respectable mother and
father. They are kind but firm. It is very comfortable.

He shakes his head.

- Well, do you mind if I watch the news? Karl is eight. It is 1948. There is
a man in pajamas in his mother's room. It is 1883...

KARL WAS EIGHT. His mother was thirty-five. His father was forty. They had a
large, modem house in the best part of Brunswick. His father's business was in
the centre of town. Trade was good in Germany and particularly good in
Brunswick. The Glogauers were part of the best society in Brunswick. Frau
Glogauer belonged to the coffee circle which once a week met, in rotation, at
the house of one of the members. This week the ladies were meeting at Frau
Glogauer's.

Karl, of course, was not allowed into the big drawing room where his mother
entertained. His nurse watched over him while he played in the garden in the
hot summer sunshine. Through the french windows, which were open, he could just
see his mother and her friends. They balanced the delicate china cups so
elegantly and they leaned their heads so close together when they talked. They
were not bored. Karl was bored.

He swung back and forth on his swing. Up and down and back and forward and up