Thomas Bernhard - Old Masters

I said, and I told my nephew he was the victim of a delusion, he should dismiss this absurdity from his mind. But my nephew insisted: he had seen my Tintoretto hanging on the wall at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Naturally this unbelievable piece of information from my nephew gnawed away at my mind and, basically, gave me no peace. My nephew must be the victim of some error, I kept thinking all along. But I could not dismiss the business from my mind. Good Lord, you cannot imagine the value of that Tintoretto, an heirloom, a great-aunt on my mother's side, my so-called Glasgow aunt, left me the Tintoretto, the Englishman said, Reger said. I have the painting hanging in my bedroom because there it seems safest to me, there it hangs above my bed, worst possible angle for light, the Englishman said, Reger said. Thousands of old masters are stolen in England every day, the Englishman said, Reger said, there are hundreds of organized gangs in England who specialize in the theft of old masters, especially of Italians, who are particularly popular in England. I am no art connoisseur, sir, the Englishman said, Reger said, I understand absolutely nothing about art, but of course I appreciate such a masterpiece. I could have sold it many times, but as yet I do not need to, not as yet, the Englishman said, Reger said, but of course the time may come when I have to sell the White-Bearded Man. I do not actually have only the White-Bearded Man by Tintoretto, I possess several dozen Italians, a Lotto, a Crespi, a Strozzi, a Giordano, a Bassano, all of them, you know, really great masters. All from the Glasgow aunt, the Englishman said, Reger said. I should have never come to Vienna if I had not been tormented by the suspicion that my nephew might after all be right when he says that my Tintoretto hangs at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. I have never been interested in Vienna because I am not a music connoisseur either, not even a music lover, the Englishman said, Reger said, nothing would have made me come to Austria except that gnawing suspicion. And now I am sitting here and I see that my Tintoretto does in fact hang on the wall here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum. See for yourself, the White-Bearded Man in the reproduction here, the one that hangs in my bedroom in Wales, is the Tintoretto that hangs here on the wall at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, the Englishman said, Reger said, and once again the Englishman held open the black leather book before my eyes. It looks as if it is not merely the same but absolutely identical, the Englishman said, Reger said. The Englishman rose from the settee and stepped quite close to the White-Bearded Man and for a while remained standing in front of the White-Bearded Man. I observed the Englishman and admired him at the same time, because I had never yet seen a person with such positively superhuman self-control, Reger said, I observed the Englishman from Wales and I reflected that, faced with such a monstrous situation, that is to say down to the last hair the very same picture hanging at the Kunsthistorisches Museum as in my bedroom in Wales, I would have completely lost my self-control. I watched the Englishman stepping up quite close to the White-Bearded Man and staring at him, naturally, as I was watching him from behind, I could not see his face, Reger said to me, but I knew of course, even though I was watching him from behind, that he was staring at the White-Bearded Man, now more or less disconcerted. For a long time the Englishman did not turn round, and when he did his face was as white as chalk, Reger said. I have rarely in my life seen a face quite as white as chalk, Reger said, least of all an English face. Before rising from the settee and staring at the White-Bearded Man, the Englishman had that typical red-tanned English face, now his face was as white as chalk, Reger said about the Englishman. Disconcerted is not even an adequate expression, Reger said about the Englishman. Irrsigler had been watching the scene the whole time, Reger said, Irrsigler had silently stood in the corner which you pass to go to the Veronese paintings, Reger said. The Englishman sat down once more on the Bordone Room settee, on which I had remained sitting the whole time, and said that it was in fact one and the same painting, the one hanging over his bed in his bedroom in Wales and the one here on the wall of the Bordone Room at the Kunsthistorisches Museum. He was staying at the Hotel Imperial, which his nephew had recommended, the Englishman said, Reger said. I hate all that luxury but at the same time I enjoy it when I feel like it. He only ever stayed at the best hotels, the Englishman said, Reger said, in Vienna of course at the Imperial, just as in Madrid at the Ritz, just as in Taormina at the Timeo. But I greatly dislike travelling, only once every few years, and mostly the reason is not pleasure, the Englishman said, Reger said. It is perfectly obvious that one of these Tintoretto paintings is a forgery, the Englishman then said, Reger said, either this one here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum or mine, which hangs over my bed in my bedroom in Wales. One of the two must be a forgery, the Englishman said and briefly pressed his strong body against the backrest of the Bordone Room settee; at once, however, he straightened up and said, so my nephew was right after all. I cursed my nephew because I felt sure that he had told me some nonsense, because this nephew is in the habit of disquieting me from time to time with some business or other or perplexing me; incidentally, he is my favourite nephew even though he has got on my nerves as long as he has lived and is basically a good-for-nothing. But he is my favourite nephew. He is the most frightful of all my nephews but he is my favourite nephew. His eyes did not deceive him, the Englishman said, this Tintoretto here is in fact identical with mine in Wales. But there are two Tintorettos, the Englishman said then and once more leaned back on the Bordone Room settee only to straighten up again presently. One of the two is a forgery, he said, and of course I ask myself is mine a forgery or the one here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum? It is quite possible that the Kunsthistorisches Museum possesses a forgery and that my Tintoretto is genuine, indeed from what I know of the circumstances of my Glasgow aunt it is even probable. Shortly after Tintoretto painted this White-Bearded Man, the White-Bearded Man was sold to England, first to the family of the Duke of Kent, then to my Glasgow aunt. Incidentally, the brother of the present Duke of Kent is married to an Austrian, surely you know that, the Englishman suddenly said to me, Reger said, for the sake of a brief diversion, only to say immediately afterwards that the Tintoretto here, that is the White-Bearded Man at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, was quite certainly a forgery. An absolutely perfect forgery, the Englishman added. I shall discover very soon which White-Bearded Man by Tintoretto is the genuine and which the forgery, the Englishman said, Reger said, and then he said that it was also entirely possible that both White-Bearded Men might be genuine, that is by Tintoretto and genuine. Only a great artist like Tintoretto, the Englishman said, Reger said, could have succeeded in painting a second picture not as a totally similar but as a totally identical one. That, of course, would be a sensation, the Englishman said, Reger said, and walked out of the Bordone Room. He took leave of me with only a short Goodbye, and of Irrsigler, who had witnessed the whole scene, also with the same goodbye, Reger said to me. I do not know how the matter ended, Reger said, I have not concerned myself with it after that. Anyway, the Englishman was the person, Reger said, who was sitting on the Bordone Room settee on one occasion when I entered the Bordone Room. Apart from that, no one. Reger has had this illusion about the Bordone Room settee for more than thirty years, he maintains that he cannot think properly, that isЧитать дальше