Andres Neuman - Traveller of the Century

Don’t talk to me about von Weber, Professor Mietter said, banging a teaspoon against his cup, von Weber is nothing compared to Beethoven! Ahem, insisted Herr Levin, I am not suggesting he is, Professor, but surely you must agree opera was never Beethoven’s forte. A single movement of his — may God rest his soul! — is worth more than all the librettos, scores, stage sets, even the entire orchestra of your von Weber’s operas put together! Beethoven’s music has the ability to soothe men’s souls. Do you know why? Because Beethoven knew how to suffer. If the listener has also suffered, he feels a bond with Beethoven’s music. Alternatively, if he is happy then listening to it makes him feel relieved. Rudi, my dear, what do you think? asked Sophie, keen for her fiancé to give his musical opinion. What do I think about Beethoven? Rudi faltered. No, replied Sophie, about von Weber. I see, Rudi prevaricated. Well, I won’t be the one to deny his merits. Von Weber is not bad, not bad, of course. Hans tried to catch Sophie’s eye in the mirror, but she avoided him and ordered Elsa to bring more canapés. Rudi made an effort, adding: Mozart is the one I like. Do you know his opera The Magic Flute ? (Vaguely, Hans hastened to agree, with sly courtesy.) Well, I saw it performed recently and, well, it is, it has, without doubt it is a most original work, don’t you agree Sophie darling? Although I haven’t much time, I find going to the opera exceedingly agreeable (how could he even think of saying exceedingly ? thought Hans), indeed, my father and I have two annual season tickets for the Berlin Opera House. Also, and I mention this in case any of you are interested, I have a box at L’Opéra, une vraie merveille ! Don’t you think we ought to go, beloved? What? declared Frau Pietzine, her eyes lighting up. A box at L’Opéra, and you say it so casually? Madame, Rudi replied, tugging his lapels, one word from you and I shall place a carriage at your disposal. Ahem, if I may be so bold as to ask, said Herr Levin, the price of the season ticket is? … Ah, replied Rudi, let me think, I never remember these things, I don’t believe it is very expensive, provided one uses it! (Rudi concluded with a guffaw that caused Sophie to turn to Elsa once more to tell her that the jellies were watery. How could Petra have put so much water in the jelly!) L’Opéra, yes, the professor murmured, realising he hadn’t spoken for some minutes. Herr Mietter, said Rudi, if you ever want a box at L’Opéra, I have friends who could offer you one for little more than a florin. You are very kind, Herr Wilderhaus, replied the professor, however, on my occasional trips to Paris I usually go to L’Opéra already. Do you really? Rudi smiled, somewhat put out. How interesting, a magnificent building, is it not? Indeed, Herr Wilderhaus, the professor said, and as you so rightly say, it isn’t easy to find seats in a box. It so happens an old friend of mine, an exiled Argentinian general, lives there and gets me tickets. He is a rather sad man, he doesn’t seem like an army officer, his only aim in life is to educate his daughter. (Very commendable, very commendable, Herr Gottlieb applauded). Argentinian? said Álvaro, I have always wanted to travel to the Río de la Plata, has anyone ever been there? Hans was about to nod, but thought better of it and remained silent. Whatever for? asked Rudi, it is so far away! Indeed, said Professor Mietter, these Argentinians are very restless, they are everywhere at the moment. They have a penchant for Europe and seem to speak several languages. They talk incessantly about their own country, but never stay there.

What a shame, said Álvaro, that there isn’t a good theatre in Wandernburg. Quite, Sophie agreed. Bah! said Professor Mietter. You only have to travel a short distance. I wish we had operas in Wandernburg! Frau Pietzine sighed. Incidentally, Monsieur Urquiho , are you not an enthusiast of Spanish operetta? More or less, Madame, replied Álvaro, more or less. Ahem, in my humble opinion, Herr Levin reflected, theatre is superfluous. I beg your pardon? Professor Mietter said, astonished. Well, explained Herr Levin, I think actors do on stage more or less what the audience does at home, that is, they pretend. Whenever I go to a farce I think to myself: Why I am paying to see this, when all I need do is look behind closed doors! In that case, Sophie said, delighted by Herr Levin’s quirky sense of humour, at least the theatre shows us how to behave, that is, how to pretend. For me, Álvaro joined in, theatre doesn’t reflect real life, it ridicules it. I think theatre allows people to transform themselves, said Hans, on stage men can be women and slaves can be kings. My idea, declared Professor Mietter, and here we must agree with Schiller, is that theatre constructs public models to educate audiences. The aim of theatre is to depict opposing forces and to demonstrate convincingly that good prevails. And what about Shakespeare, my dear Professor? Sophie ventured. He is brilliant because he portrays evil in a convincing manner, his plays attempt to explain wickedness. Shakespeare, Mademoiselle, replied Professor Mietter, censures evil in the opposite manner. I adore operetta, said Frau Pietzine, the costumes are delightful, and, I confess, I have a weakness for anything with animals in it.

Frau Pietzine seemed to be overcome by an attack of cultural enthusiasm. She nodded violently, making her necklaces quiver. She laughed euphorically at Álvaro’s comments, with which she tended to agree. She questioned Hans about every country, opening her eyes wide and fluttering her eyelashes. She clasped Sophie’s hands and exclaimed: What a clever girl! Have you ever seen such a thing! Or she admired Rudi’s elegance despite his silence. All in all, it was probable that hours of lonely sobbing awaited Frau Pietzine when she returned home. Now, at her insistence, the conversation had turned to romances and historical novels. Everyone there (including Herr Gottlieb, who had just wound up the clock and said goodnight before retiring to his study with Rudi to discuss some details of the dowry) declared they had read one or more of Walter Scott’s novels. This great Scotsman, asserted Herr Levin, is far more than a simple novelist. (Fair enough, said Álvaro, but what is so simple about being a novelist?) Ahem, he is a painter, a poet! Álvaro, who was the only one who had read him in English, said that in Great Britain people would queue to buy his books, and that the translations he had seen, the Spanish ones in any case, were truly atrocious and all copied from the French. Frau Pietzine thought it unnecessary to be able to read English in order to understand the knights of old, and that, notwithstanding certain excesses typical of those benighted times, she wished modern life had preserved the colour, loyalty and chivalry of Scott’s stories. Then, for the first time Professor Mietter and Hans agreed on something, and they stared at one another in bewilderment — neither of them liked Walter Scott in the slightest. The professor said he lacked historical accuracy and credibility. Hans accused the author of being a reactionary, and affirmed that a single ironical verse by Robert Burns was worth more than any of Scott’s moralising novels. You really don’t find them charming? said Frau Pietzine with surprise. Those melancholy landscapes! Those noble bandits! Those fiery passions and ferocious battles! What gallantry and emotion, what fearless exploits! Life, my friends, is becoming more and more dull, don’t you think? Madame, said Álvaro, I see that gallant knights turn your head. Beaming, Frau Pietzine seized Sophie’s hand and replied: I am not the only one. My dear, let us leave these learned gentlemen with all their knowledge, I am sure you as a woman understand — is there anything more heart-rending than these heroines who are prepared to sacrifice everything for love, for their one true love, who will endure anything rather than renounce their feelings? Where can we find such loyalty today? My dear friend, replied Sophie, you know how much I value your opinion, yet I confess all these tragic women alarm me. Writers and readers love heroines, but they must be dead ones. And the wretched creatures are forced to sacrifice themselves hither and thither. Could we not have heroines who are a little happier? Frau Pietzine blinked a few times, but was soon smiling dreamily once more. Of course, my dear girl, of course, even so, aren’t they marvellous? I mean, is it human to remain unmoved when the Knights Templar discover the terrible curse of the chalice in The Secret of the Clashing Sword ? Or by the heart-rending final cry in The Unrepentant Temptress ? Or when the old king reveals the truth to his son in Sir Highwolf in the Nameless Tower ? Can anyone who has a heart not tremble when reading of the vengeance in Hindu Passion on the Cliff Edge or the fire in the castle in Rhythm’s Last Stand ? Your trouble, Madam, Álvaro sympathised, is that you are too big-hearted.