Brecht's lover by Jacques-Pierre Amette

"Yet again, Hans Trow realised that Theo Pilla filled the air around him with a sickly sweet kitchen smell. The biggest drawback of an intelligence service lies in having to choose complete idiots in the belief that they are closer to the majority of people, because they think and act like the most stupid. That's how a system collapses, thought Hans. A good Prussian doesn't condescend to work with the son of a cork seller from the Black Forest. Still, he continued to smile, and muttered his thanks so as not to discourage his assistant, or - worse - stifle his natural enthusiasm for denunciation.

That evening, the entrance hall of the old imperial theatre, there were a lot of children, a few workers near the the grand staircase, and above all, bureaucrats. They all look alike: dressed in dark clothes, ill-fitting coats. The sort of people who spend their time granting or obtaining permission, all the bureaucracy that lives parasitically off artistic work. They look like professors. They talk about the abuse of mercantilism and how the working classes have such a liking for pure smut. Men with square jaws and a military haircut, petty-bourgeois women whose eyes open wide at the sight of imperial gilding: they come here to regenerate themselves. Slowly they climb the staircase, leaving the traces of their damp soles on the carpet."