Frank Tallis: Vienna Secrets

“Herr Doctor,” said the bishop, “do you think what you did was wrong?”

“I did what I thought was best for my patient,” said Liebermann.

“Yes,” said the bishop, “but was it wrong to stop Father Benedikt from administering the last rites to a dying Catholic?”

“I am a doctor,” Liebermann continued. “When I am called to attend a patient, I do not see a Catholic patient, a Jewish patient, or a Muslim patient. I see only an individual in need of care, a fellow citizen of Vienna.”

“But we are not all the same, are we?” said the bishop. “We are, in many ways, quite different.”

“I do not believe that people are so very different,” Liebermann replied. “Particularly when they are dying. In the final moments, we all want peace, not terror.”

The bishop frowned. “If you encountered the same situation again, would you repeat your actions?”

“Yes,” said Liebermann. “I would.”

Eisler coughed into his hand and caught Liebermann’s eye.

“Tell me, Herr Doctor, if you were asked to write a letter to the old baron explaining your reasons for denying his son the last rites, would you do so?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And if you were also asked to include in that letter an apology-not for what you did but for causing the old baron distress-would you do that too?”

“Indeed.”

Eisler and Professor Roga looked at each other and nodded.

“Well, gentlemen,” said the chancellor, “I think we are in full possession of the facts. Could those who consider Dr. Liebermann’s conduct unbefitting a physician in the employ of the General Hospital please raise their hands?”

The bishop and Schmidt registered their vote.

The chancellor looked to his left, and then to his right.

“Two in favor of Herr Dr. Liebermann’s dismissal, and two against. It is therefore incumbent upon me as chancellor to resolve this matter by casting a vote.” Professor Gandler sighed. “Herr Dr. Liebermann, I must be frank. I have not been impressed by your arguments. Moreover, you have risked exposing the hospital to a damaging scandal. In my personal dealings with you I have found you to be rash, proud, and unwilling to accept advice. You cannot disguise poor judgment behind a veil of immature idealism and expect unanimous approval.”

“Hear, hear,” said Schmidt.

“This hospital needs good doctors,” the chancellor continued. “It does not need self-appointed crusaders, an Order of Hippocratic Knights!” The chancellor paused before adding, “However, you acted in accordance with the necessities of your profession…” Gandler grimaced and uttered his final words with obvious discomfort. “And you will be retained.”

“Gandler?” Schmidt was looking at the chancellor, bemused.

The chancellor’s concluding remark was so unexpected that Liebermann was not confident that he heard it correctly.

“I can stay… in my post?”

“Yes,” said the chancellor, unsmiling.

The bishop and Schmidt had begun a private conference.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may leave, Herr Doctor.”

Liebermann bowed, turned on his heel, and walked briskly toward the antechamber. The sound of discontented voices followed him.

“Really, Gandler,” Schmidt was saying. “This is quite unacceptable…”

Liebermann passed through the antechamber, and the moribund clerk opened the double doors to allow him back into the hall. As soon as they were closed behind him, Liebermann made an obscene gesture in the face of Princess Stixenstein, laughed hysterically, and ran toward the stairs. He skidded to a halt when he saw Rheinhardt waiting by the balustrade.

“What are you doing here?” said Liebermann.

“I wanted to be the first to know. Well?”

“I haven’t been dismissed. I can stay in my post.”

Rheinhardt embraced the young doctor and emitted a deep, resonant chuckle. “Then we must celebrate!”

They walked to the Cafe Landtmann and sat outside. Rheinhardt ordered mountains of food: zwiebelrostbraten, beef tenderloin with crisp onions; krautrouladen, cabbage stuffed with mincemeat, parsley, and pepper; saure nierndln, soured kidneys; and warme rahmgurken, warm cucumbers in cream sauce. He also ordered two bottles of red wine, one of which was consumed in a matter of minutes.

“You know,” said Liebermann, “it’s most peculiar. I really wasn’t expecting the chancellor to vote in my favor. And the municipal councillor, Schmidt, seemed genuinely surprised, shocked almost. I could hear them arguing about it as I left.”

“Well,” said Rheinhardt, scooping a tangle of onions onto his fork, “perhaps he had good reason.”

“What do you mean? Good reason?”

Rheinhardt pulled a face, a slightly pained expression.

“I have a small confession to make.”

“What?”

“I wrote a note to the chancellor yesterday… and said that the security office intended to commend you to the emperor for an imperial and royal award. I mentioned that you recently helped us to foil a politically sensitive plot to foment racial discord.” Rheinhardt shoveled the onions into his mouth. “I indicated that the judgment of the hospital committee would not look very good if they dismissed a doctor so rewarded by the emperor.”

“And is it true?” Liebermann asked. “Is the security office really considering putting my name forward?”

“I raised the issue with the commissioner.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he’d think about it.”

“Then you lied, Oskar!”

“Well,” said the inspector, “that’s a matter of opinion.” He drained his wineglass and pointed at one of the dishes. “Try those kidneys. They’re quite stupendous.”

From the journal of Dr. Max Liebermann

I was passing through Judenplatz and stopped to consider the relief depiction of the baptism of Jesus Christ. I can remember my father pointing it out to me as a child and explaining the meaning of the Latin inscription beneath. He doesn’t read Latin, so he must have been recollecting what someone else-possibly his father-had told him. The translation he gave, as I remember it, was accurate enough. The inscription says, “By baptism in the River Jordan bodies are cleansed from disease and evil, so all secret sinfulness takes flight. Thus, the flame rising furiously through the whole city in 1421 purged the terrible crimes of the Hebrew dogs. As the world was once purged by the flood, so this time it was by fire.” My father explained the nature of the event being commemorated and gave it a name: the first Viennese geserah.

Jews were accused of desecrating churches and of ritual murder. Jewish property was appropriated by the monarchy. The old synagogue-I imagine it must have been like the Old-New Synagogue in Prague-was burned to the ground and Jews were forcibly baptized. Those who refused were put to death in a great fire on the Erdberg. My father said something like, “The city authorities have not seen fit to remove this monument.” I am not sure that then I understood what he meant. But it stayed with me because I was aware of his sadness and anger. Although it has taken six hundred years, progress has been made. Today, Jews may be insulted and abused, but they will never be consigned to the flames again. We Viennese are far too civilized.

I have arranged to see Miss Lydgate on Tuesday. We are going to a lieder concert-Mathilde Leibnitz with Kronenberg at the keyboard. Gretchen am Spinnrade is on the program. There are three women in every man’s life. Wheels turn. Time passes. And she who is unattainable remains forever young, perfected by the inaccuracies of memory and unsatisfied desire.