The Claw of the Conciliator: Chapter I

The Village of Saltus

But strength still goes out from your thorns,
and from your abysses the sound of music.
Your shadows lie on my heart like roses
and your nights are like strong wine.

This unattributed poem was written by Gertrud von Le Fort, a German Catholic writer. Herman Hesse nominated her for the Nobel Prize in Literature, though she did not win such an award.

That’s about all I know about her from some quick searches, but I find it a curious inclusion into The Book of the New Sun. For those unCatholic or not predisposed to see Catholic iconography everywhere, I think this excerpt from this poem is quite Christlike in presentation. Thorns, heart, wine—if you’ve ever been in a Catholic church or just my mom’s house, you’d see the symbolism quite clearly.

The Shadow of the Torturer ends at a chaotic scene of violence and unrest at the walls of Nessus and the Claw of the Conciliator begins with a dream that echoes that moment but moves quickly on. It’s a disorienting feeling and one that may make you turn back to that earlier novel to see what you missed.

And what you missed is what Wolfe and Severian chose not to give us. For we are not in the country at some inn where a fair of sorts is about to be put on by the mayor—the alcalde (Spanish for magistrate/mayor)—in honor of Severian torturing someone named Morwenna and Barnoch.

Quite the curious detail, though it tells us much of the land beyond Nessus. Where torturers were looked upon with disgust and distrust or with the air of a legend within Nessus, he’s seen as a major and honorable figure in the country. The hand of the law. The Autarch’s law.

With just these little bits of details scattered haphazardly before us without any explanation, we see the changing world that Severian experiences. How much his life has changed in the last year, in the last few days. From outcast to dupe to honored figure.

We learn, too, of the Autarch’s war, which seems to have gone on for quite some time.

“You wouldn’t believe how many I’ve seen coming up our road here. But precious few going back. Well, that’s what war is, I believe. I always try to tell myself they’re still there—I mean, wherever it was they went—but you know and I know there’s a lot that have gone to stay. Still, the singing makes a man want to go with ‘em.”

I asked if he had news of the war.

“Oh, yes, sieur. I’ve followed it for years and years now, though the battles they fight never seem to make much difference, if you understand me. It never seems to get much closer to us, or much farther off either. What I’ve always supposed was that our Autarch and theirs appoints a spot to fight in, and when it’s over they both go home. My wife, fool that she is, don’t believe there’s a real war at all.”

An endless, pointless war, swallowing young men by the thousands.

Here we stand in the country surrounding Nessus and we first feel the powerful nonsense of the Autarch. While the nobility, as we learned, are suspicious of the Autarch, with Vodalus waging some kind of revolution against him, the country people accept him as a force like nature.

A war with no effect or point but one that must go on because the leaders say so.

We get no bitterness in this description. The innkeeper could be describing some far away natural disaster for all it seems to matter.

But when Severian asks what his wife thinks is happening, he says that she believes they’re looking for Vodalus.

This sets Severian off into a reverie and he tells us, once more, of his memory, though this is an anguished admission.

Whatever I possess I would give to become one of you, who complain every day of memories fading. My own do not. They remain always, and always as vivid as at their first impression, so that once summoned they carry me off spellbound.

Thus and so, we return to Urth and the Book of the New Sun.

We are deliberately left somewhat bewildered by the new circumstances, mundane as they seem. Severian is somewhere new, beyond Nessus, performing the work of his guild, for which he is honored.

Jonas remains with him. But what of Dorcas?

What of all else?

A bit of vocabulary for all of us:

Cerbotana - pretty close to the Spanish for blowgun.

Autochthons - indigenous people.

Vingtners - winemakers.

Kelau - no idea.

It’s a humble beginning to this second volume that leaves us primarily with questions.

But there’s a whole book ahead of us and I find it fitting that both of these novels begin with Vodalus.

The name rings like a gong in Severian’s chest.