Read Traveler of the Century Online
Authors: Andrés Neuman
Traveler of the Century (27 page)
Indeed, it was not bad for Wandernburg. The large rectangular dance floor was thronged with couples and groups. Some dancers wore masks, which was only legally allowed inside the Apollo Theatre. At the far end of the room, an imperial marble staircase led from the dance floor up to the surrounding galleries occupied by private tables and a small orchestra. The orchestra was playing a lively polonaise without bothering to discriminate between the loud and soft notes. Reaching from the galleries up to the ceilings were huge windows with square panes, classical mouldings, Doric friezes and imitation capitals. Enormous gaslit chandeliers in the shape of vine leaves hung between each window. Ãlvaro and Hans left their coats in the
cloakroom and made their way slowly inside.
cloakroom and made their way slowly inside.
Hans hated dance halls, but at the same time they fascinated him, precisely because he never went to them. The crowd was a floating perfume, a shifting blot. In the light from the gas lamps, the ladies' arms and shoulders seemed separate from their dresses. The rows of dancers twirled and untwirled like threads round a bobbin. Dresses and jackets touched, brushed against one another, merged. Heads glided, hats passed one another like birds, fans fluttered of their own accord. Hans saw a glass of punch float by, and tapped Ãlvaro on the back, pointing towards the refreshment tables. Walking ahead, Ãlvaro gestured to him to go over and he would follow shortly. Hans veered towards the side tables, narrowly avoiding being ensnared in the middle of a quadrille. Trying his best not to collide with anyone, his eyes on his feet rather than on faces, he freed himself from the tangle. Just as he was reaching his objective, he raised his head and saw her.
He saw her, and she was smiling at him.
Her décolletage was ample as a map. A map tracing the splendours of her neck, the outline of her veins, the contours of her collarbones. Collarbones that resembled a necklace.
Hello, said Sophie, are you dancing or watching?
Watching, he replied. Or conversing. May I have the pleasure of this conversation?
They asked for two glasses of punch and clinked glasses, drifting towards a quieter corner of the room. Hans was finding it hard to direct his gaze any higher than her collarbones, and he scolded himself, afraid of seeming like an idiot. He had never seen Sophie Gottlieb dressed for a ball, he hadn't needed to in order to desire her skin, her smell, her touch; now he wondered what would become of him after seeing her in this gown. She noticed Hans's embarrassment. She felt flattered and pretended, of course, to disapprove of the way he was looking at her. To
be honest, Hans said, longing to say something else, I never expected to find you in a place like this. Really? Sophie laughed. Do you imagine Dante and Aristotle are my sole amusements? And why ever not? Hans said. I'm sure even they would want to dance with you. Aristotle and Dante might, retorted Sophie, but apparently you wouldn't, do you really not like dancing? Not much, Hans admitted, and I'm rather bad at it. I see, she said handing him her glass. Men never like anything they aren't good at. But have no fear, we can talk. Between dances. Will you excuse me?
be honest, Hans said, longing to say something else, I never expected to find you in a place like this. Really? Sophie laughed. Do you imagine Dante and Aristotle are my sole amusements? And why ever not? Hans said. I'm sure even they would want to dance with you. Aristotle and Dante might, retorted Sophie, but apparently you wouldn't, do you really not like dancing? Not much, Hans admitted, and I'm rather bad at it. I see, she said handing him her glass. Men never like anything they aren't good at. But have no fear, we can talk. Between dances. Will you excuse me?
And Sophie fluttered her eyelashes, and joined a line that had begun a quadrille, leaving Hans holding a glass of punch in each hand.
Sophie danced as fluently as she spoke, and in an identical styleânot overly mannered but elegant. She was charming to watch because she appeared to dance as though there were far more interesting things on her mind than to charm those watching her. From time to time, she would pause in front of a partner, lean forward to listen to what he had to say, then laugh softly before continuing to twirl. Hans wished he was beside her, dancing instead of thinking. But he had never been capable of overcoming his feeling of clumsiness and frustration the moment he moved his feet. Whenever he tried to dance he had the impression of an army of doubles jerking around him, multiplying as through a prism, showing him how ridiculous he looked. It became impossible for him to differentiate between his clumsiness and his embarrassment, and these feelings fed off one another until he finally fled to the side of the dance floor for safety. Watching Sophie and her friends, admiring their harmonious crossovers, he thought the difference might be that men tended to come apart when they danced, whereas women came together, uniting their minds and bodies. Noticing that Sophie kept stealing him glances as she danced, Hans could feel
her getting closer. He knew it was too late for him to turn tail and run like he did on the bridge in his dream. He looked down at what was below and saw his feet, and then he felt awkward and joyful and helpless.
her getting closer. He knew it was too late for him to turn tail and run like he did on the bridge in his dream. He looked down at what was below and saw his feet, and then he felt awkward and joyful and helpless.
The orchestra paused for a break, the dancers applauded. As the couples, squares and rows broke up, Hans spotted Ãlvaro, whom he had lost sight of, in a clear space on the dance floor. He was talking to a young woman who had her back turned, and whom Hans thought he recognised. She seemed to be listening attentively even as she tapped her foot on the floor. She turned slightly and Hans glimpsed her in profile. It was Elsa. He tried in vain to hear what Ãlvaro was saying. Suddenly, Sophie came over to resume their conversation. Her collarbones moved in rhythm with her still panting breath. Once or twice, Hans imagined he saw Sophie sneak a glance at the patch of bare flesh between the top button of his shirt (which owing to the heat he had just undone) and the knot in his cravat.
A moment later, Elsa walked discreetly over to them. She greeted Hans with a nod, reminded Sophie of the time, then whispered something in her ear. Sophie nodded and took her by the arm. She allowed Hans to kiss her hand, although she withdrew it immediately. Suddenly adopting a serious air (That irresistible air Sophie has, thought Hans, when she returns to reality) and took her leave. Shall we meet again tomorrow? she asked. Yes, of course, he replied, at the salon. No, said Sophie walking away, I mean afterwards, here. Hans nodded without thinking.
Someone tapped him on the back.
Where's my drink? Ãlvaro chuckled, I've been waiting ages for it!
Â
I grant you we have been waiting for it a long time, said Hans, but once there are no more borders and we have a customs
union, why any need for a single centre, a headquarters? I am all in favour of unification, but not centralisation. How naive, retorted Professor Mietter, that's a utopia, especially in a nation as fragmented as ours. On the contrary, Hans insisted, our tradition of decentralisation makes federalism easier, think about it, the same laws and policies could govern each region without any of them yielding to a central power. That regional sacrifice, said Professor Mietter, if indeed it is a sacrifice, would be a lesser evil for the good of the fatherland. Nowadays, sighed Hans, everyone wants unification, and Germany is swarming with patriots. The odd thing is that the French invaders and not the patriots began this unification,
on est patriote ou on ne l'est pas
, Professor! My dear friends, interposed Ãlvaro, if you will allow me to say something about your country ⦠(But Monsieur
Urquiho
, Sophie protested, this is your country, too!) Well, yes, in a sense, you are right, no matter, what I wanted to say is that I agree with Hans, because in my country, forgive me, in Spain, similar ironies exist. For instance, whether the purists like it or not, if Spain had been more centralised, Joseph Bonaparte would have easily controlled the whole country, do you see? (Not entirely, to tell the truth, Professor Mietter said.) Yes, it was precisely this autonomy of the provinces that saved us from complete defeat, because there are many fronts, not just one. Each region was fighting for a common territory, but they almost did so entirely separately. And so you could say Spain's federalist spirit saved her national sovereignty. Ironic, isn't it? I don't know.
union, why any need for a single centre, a headquarters? I am all in favour of unification, but not centralisation. How naive, retorted Professor Mietter, that's a utopia, especially in a nation as fragmented as ours. On the contrary, Hans insisted, our tradition of decentralisation makes federalism easier, think about it, the same laws and policies could govern each region without any of them yielding to a central power. That regional sacrifice, said Professor Mietter, if indeed it is a sacrifice, would be a lesser evil for the good of the fatherland. Nowadays, sighed Hans, everyone wants unification, and Germany is swarming with patriots. The odd thing is that the French invaders and not the patriots began this unification,
on est patriote ou on ne l'est pas
, Professor! My dear friends, interposed Ãlvaro, if you will allow me to say something about your country ⦠(But Monsieur
Urquiho
, Sophie protested, this is your country, too!) Well, yes, in a sense, you are right, no matter, what I wanted to say is that I agree with Hans, because in my country, forgive me, in Spain, similar ironies exist. For instance, whether the purists like it or not, if Spain had been more centralised, Joseph Bonaparte would have easily controlled the whole country, do you see? (Not entirely, to tell the truth, Professor Mietter said.) Yes, it was precisely this autonomy of the provinces that saved us from complete defeat, because there are many fronts, not just one. Each region was fighting for a common territory, but they almost did so entirely separately. And so you could say Spain's federalist spirit saved her national sovereignty. Ironic, isn't it? I don't know.
I maintain, said Herr Levin, raising a finger and clearing his throat, that if the Prussian leadership or the parliamentary-reform groups, ahem, stopped appealing so much to the national spirit and sought a united customs union once and for all, these questions would be far easier to resolve. Customs and commerce, gentlemen, that is the heart of the matter. Monsieur
Levin, Professor Mietter said, removing his spectacles and glaring at him, do you mean to reduce the entire national dispute to a question of commerce? Herr Levin was speechless for a moment, lowered his eyes, shook his head, and said almost in a whisper: Yes.
Levin, Professor Mietter said, removing his spectacles and glaring at him, do you mean to reduce the entire national dispute to a question of commerce? Herr Levin was speechless for a moment, lowered his eyes, shook his head, and said almost in a whisper: Yes.
What I'm saying, Hans went on, is that Germany, like other countries, continues dreaming of things that aren't to be, and this is exhausting. The good old failed empire, the Lutheran rebellion converted into an orthodoxy (that's your opinion, Professor Mietter muttered with a frown), forgive me, but it's true, Napoleon's betrayal, the utopia atJena, etc etc. Who knows what comes next, but that doesn't matter. It's as if we can only write history from a position of regret. And look where it gets us.
Increasingly, when Hans defended the ideas he had always believed in, he felt he was doing so in the name of a single causeâin the name of Sophie. Rather than, or as well as, out of a dialectical vanity, which of course he also possessed, Hans argued with such passion because he knew Sophie was in agreement with him. And each time he spoke, he felt he was arguing on behalf of that agreement, pushing it elsewhere, far away from there.
But Rudi began making his presence felt. Not with full knowledge of the facts, for nothing could really fluster himâafter all he was a Wilderhaus, but rather instinctively guarding against the intruder. Occasionally he would glance sideways at the round mirror hanging above the fireplace, and although he was too slow to glimpse any exchanges between Hans and Sophie, like a billiard ball arriving after the two others have cannoned off each other, he was aware now with whom he must disagree during the discussions, and what direction his interventions should take. He would do this in his own language, naturally, not in the tiresome one favoured by academics or the pretentious one used by pedants. He wouldn't argue a particular
point, for arguments were unpredictable and could always be refuted. No, he would speak from a place where he felt at ease, where he was unassailableâfrom his own social position. He was himself. He was Rudi Wilderhaus. Why, then, for God's sake, why did he sometimes feel so afraid?
point, for arguments were unpredictable and could always be refuted. No, he would speak from a place where he felt at ease, where he was unassailableâfrom his own social position. He was himself. He was Rudi Wilderhaus. Why, then, for God's sake, why did he sometimes feel so afraid?
Rudi decided to take advantage of the thoughtful silence that had descended on the room in order to make his move. He may have held few cards in that game, but those he had were of great value. And so he played his hand. His aim was not to offer his point of view, but to sweep away with a single gesture any possible interest in those of the others. And he knew a great deal more about gestures than anyone thereâhe had been trained in them. Rudi took advantage of the pause, which was beginning to undermine the intensity of the debate, in order to bring forward his usual brief meeting with Herr Gottlieb in the study. He slowly rose to his feet, waiting until he had attained his full height before tugging on his waistcoat and declaring in his best speaking voice: Politics, politics! Frankly I hardly find these discussions thrilling. They are at risk, how shall I put it, of becoming tedious, and in the end predictable. Do our happiness or our aspirations depend on the opinions of a chancellor or the proposals of a minister? Well, be that as it may, dear ladies, distinguished gentlemen, I must leave you in order to attend to some affairs. As always, it has been a pleasurable and most interesting evening. Herr Gottlieb, before I leave, when you are ready â¦
Herr Gottlieb hurriedly raised his whiskers, took Rudi's arm and asked if he would accompany him to his study for a brandy. Hans watched them turn to leave together and could think of no brilliant rejoinder or witty remark. And, perhaps for the first time, it occurred to him that Rudi Wilderhaus was cleverer than he had thought. He had the urge to go out onto the balcony or lock himself in the bathroom. But then Ãlvaro
came to his rescue.
came to his rescue.
Rudi had just turned his back on them. Ãlvaro uncrossed his leg, and, clearing his throat, called out: Herr Wilderhaus, pardon me, Herr Wilderhaus. Rudi wheeled round and gazed at him absent-mindedly. Pardon me, Herr Wilderhaus, Ãlvaro said again, smiling, how most impolite of us not to respond to an interesting point you made. You asked whether people's happiness or aspirations could depend on the decisions of politicians who happen to be in power. Allow me to give what you may think a predictable answerâyes, they can, if one does not own a thousand hectares of land.
When Herr Gottlieb returned to the drawing room and sat down to fill his pipe, Professor Mietter was discussing public displays of religion with Hans. The professor agreed that the restoration had brought about an excess of public religiosity, but in his view this needed to be addressed by a return to the critical roots of the Reformation. Hans maintained that Europe had missed a remarkable opportunity to give secular education a boost. (As he pronounced the word
secular
, Hans glanced at Herr Gottlieb and shrugged beatifically as though he had said the word
spiritual
. Sophie turned away stifling a laughâthis man was imitating her wiles.) I am hardly surprised, Professor Mietter said, bearing in mind Bonaparte's repression of religion. When my parents were young, there were a good many Protestants, who had their own place of worship, the Alta church, here in Wandernburg. The church stopped offering services when the Lutherans fled Wandernburg because of the prince's fanaticism. The same thing happened here as in Munich; people were up in arms if a Protestant bell rang on Good Friday. Professor, Herr Gottlieb said, forgive me, but you know that at other times the opposite was true. God knows I regret what happened to your good parents, but let us not forget we Catholics have also endured persecution. Ahem, Herr Levin broke in, on the subject
of persecution, it must be said that the children of Moses ⦠Gentlemen, Sophie smiled, giving Hans a sidelong glance, let us all agree we have persecuted one another equally and leave it at that. Will no one try a cake?
secular
, Hans glanced at Herr Gottlieb and shrugged beatifically as though he had said the word
spiritual
. Sophie turned away stifling a laughâthis man was imitating her wiles.) I am hardly surprised, Professor Mietter said, bearing in mind Bonaparte's repression of religion. When my parents were young, there were a good many Protestants, who had their own place of worship, the Alta church, here in Wandernburg. The church stopped offering services when the Lutherans fled Wandernburg because of the prince's fanaticism. The same thing happened here as in Munich; people were up in arms if a Protestant bell rang on Good Friday. Professor, Herr Gottlieb said, forgive me, but you know that at other times the opposite was true. God knows I regret what happened to your good parents, but let us not forget we Catholics have also endured persecution. Ahem, Herr Levin broke in, on the subject
of persecution, it must be said that the children of Moses ⦠Gentlemen, Sophie smiled, giving Hans a sidelong glance, let us all agree we have persecuted one another equally and leave it at that. Will no one try a cake?
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