Harlequin's Millions (12 page)

Afternoon of a Faun
moved them even more deeply than “Harlequin's Millions,” and that they wanted nothing better than to hear, over and over again, the melancholy voice of the flute accompanied by the symphony orchestra, conducted by Herbert von Karajan, who during the recording must have felt just as intensely whatever it was that now compelled Dr. Holoubek to hold his face in his hands, his curls trembling between his fingers as if he were crying … Mr. Václav Kořínek said to me quietly … In July eighteen-hundred-and-eighty-seven the thirty-seven-year-old journeyman FrantiÅ¡ek Å těrba, father of five, was brought before a
four-member court in Mladá Boleslav and sentenced to three months in prison and a week of fasting because he had threatened the town guard Mostbek, who had been given orders to evict Štěrba from his council house. Štěrba pleaded that he was a resident of this municipality and that it was their responsibility to find him another place to live. He wouldn't budge, and even as they were ripping out the living room doors, the windows and the stovepipe, he waved his fist and shouted that he'd beat Mostbek black and blue, break every bone in his body, and he called him a scoundrel and a crook. Before the court he pleaded that it had been an act of desperation. Even when it stormed and hailed he had sat with his underaged children in his house without windows or doors … And
The Afternoon of a Faun
had finished playing, Dr. Holoubek seemed to wake up again, he lifted the needle from the record and stood there, deeply moved, overwhelmed, and looked around uncomprehendingly, the old women hung on his every word with unblinking eyes, and yes, now I could see that the doctor really was a faun and that all the women had turned into nymphs, at least for the moment, in splendid harmony, and I wished, no doubt like all those other lady pensioners, that this doctor would stay with us forever, that once a week he would teach us about classical music, in the dining hall with the huge fresco billowing across the ceiling that showed the battle
of King Alexander the Great, who looked so much like Dr. Holoubek, who wiped the tears from his eyes and raised his arms as if in surrender and said … And now Herbert von Karajan will play
Les préludes
by Franz Liszt, you obviously need no further explanation, it's clear to me that you can see straight into the heart of classical music, I'll say only one thing,
Les préludes
is both an expression of and answer to the question … What is life? And he placed the needle on the record and, rubbing his hands together, sat down on the Count's white chair in the middle of the hall, he crossed one leg over the other, dug his chin into his palm and listened intently, and so it happened once again that somehow, because of him, because of his brooding demeanor and fine physique, all the women in the Count's former banquet hall immediately believed in the first few notes, the men just sat there looking puzzled, they were sorry they had let themselves be lured here, they would've been better off watching television or going for a beer in the little town. Perhaps if they had been initiated into the world of classical music by a young lady doctor instead of Dr. Holoubek, they would've been carried away too, like the old women … And that symphonic poem by Franz Liszt was truly an even more powerful, more terrifying affirmation of the feeling that life on earth could only ever be complete and beautiful if nourished by love, by the relationship between man
and woman, a young woman, who loves with all her being, with her body, with everything, completely, like the statues of the young months in our park, the symphony orchestra poured out its sorrow and longing and rose and fell on waves of emotion, one after the other, the music swelled decisively and triumphantly to the declaration, Franz Liszt's heartfelt utterance, that without love, without great love, one couldn't survive … and that one had to fight for such love. The orchestra now thundered with all its trombones, trumpets and kettledrums, and the women sitting in their chairs threw back their heads, so that they looked headless, they gazed up at the ceiling, where the Greek armies were fighting the Persians, in the middle of the battlefield Alexander the Great, hair streaming and arms waving, led his soldiers against the foe, when the armies clashed it was as if the lances and weapons came crashing down from the ceiling, like the clashing branches of the old chestnuts along the castle road … The old men cupped their hands around their mouth and tooted along with the orchestra, which was conducted by Herbert von Karajan, and they tooted and trumpeted, they knew this part of
Les préludes
, and their trumpeting filled not only the dining hall but the entire castle. And I remembered that these trumpets and this passage from
Les préludes
, that during the Protectorate this was the theme song of the radio program that brought reports
from the battlefield, where the Germans had defeated France and Poland, and the old men, who had been young in those days, were no doubt remembering that very same thing. Dr. Holoubek stood up, looked around uncomprehendingly, he was young, he undoubtedly couldn't remember the theme song that had ushered in every Wehrmachtbericht … And suddenly the door flew open and the Sudeten German woman from Pecer burst into the dining hall, the orchestra had calmed down and the weary, conciliatory tones gave the impression that the parties had settled their differences, but then once again the trombones and horns and trumpets sounded, and the German woman from Pecer stood there, eyes shining, with a knotted tablecloth over her shoulder holding her most valuable possessions, she handed Dr. Holoubek her identity card and cried … Our boys have taken back Sudetenland, they're marching into Pecer, permission to evacuate, sir! And Dr. Holoubek stood there and didn't know what to say to the old woman, her eyes were still sparkling at the sound of the trombones and kettledrums and trumpets, and the whole symphony orchestra, but then the triumphant fanfare died away and once again you heard the slow, tender, dying melody that softly answered the question … What is life?, the final tones were filled with reconciliation, with lost love regained … And so the melody ended as it had begun, though in
a somewhat higher sphere … And the old lady, the German woman from Pecer, suddenly looked sad, her outstretched arm, which was about to hand over the identity card, now dropped to her side, she turned around and walked, disappointed, out of the dining hall to put her most valuable possessions back in the closet and night table … And in the dining hall all eyes were wide, the unblinking eyes of the pensioners stared into the very heart of the music, which had given each of them their own answer to the question … What is life? Even the old lady from Pecer, even that tune from the Wehrmachtberichten, those weekly radio bulletins during the war, they suddenly said more about the music than you would have expected … Dr. Holoubek picked up several more gramophone records and said … Friends, the music we have heard tonight has formed such a strong bond between us that I feel we've come to know each other better, so now, for you and you alone, I shall play Brahms's Violin Concerto Opus Seventy-Seven, performed first by Georg Kulenkampff and then by our very own Váša Příhoda … He placed the needle on the record and sank down into the armchair, the old women listened like countesses to the violin concerto, as played by Georg Kulenkampff, who, with the delicate thread of his violin, stitched a wistful embroidery. The witness to old times Mr. Karel Výborný wanted to say something, but Mr. Kořínek put his
finger to the other man's lips and listened attentively to the violin's lament, three Mariáš players tiptoed into the dining hall, they were holding their cards in their hands like three fans, they sat down to listen to the violin concerto. Georg Kulenkampff had already finished playing his version, now Váša Příhoda was playing the same yet completely different Concerto Opus Seventy-Seven by Brahms, and I heard and knew that Váša Příhoda had gained such power over his listeners that it made them moan, suddenly I could see Váša Příhoda before me, just as I had seen him years before giving a concert in our little town, with piano accompaniment, he didn't have much hair, even in those days, but his face was soulfully beautiful, in those days he was quite short and fat, but because of that he and his violin seemed to form a single entity, he played in those days with his eyes closed, so that the slenderness of his spirit might be transported through his fingers to the bow and strings and ultimately to the ears of the listeners, who were profoundly moved, in those days I was filled not only with the beauty of that concerto, but also with a sacred trembling and joy that someone could make a violin concerto look and sound so beautiful. Now, here at the retirement home, Váša Příhoda moved the listeners so deeply that they couldn't suppress their tears and sobs. Even Dr. Holoubek couldn't bear it any longer, he jumped up, his white coat was
pulled taut, the doctor clutched at his throat, something was choking him, something that couldn't get out, he stood there like that for several moments, the old women rose from their chairs, terrified, and threw up their hands. The doctor staggered, ran to the window and tried to push aside the nylon curtains, he wanted to open the window, but the more he tried the more entangled he became in the curtains, Váša Příhoda stopped playing for a moment and the orchestra majestically, with powerful symphonic chords, repeated the violin phrase, Dr. Holoubek tried to push the curtains aside with both hands to reach the window handle, but they wouldn't relent, and so, with one powerful conductor-like sweep of his arm, the doctor yanked the curtains off the wall, cornice board and all, and now nothing could keep the window from flying open so that the doctor could get some air. But then all the women proceded to do exactly the same thing the doctor had done, they threw open three more windows and greedily inhaled the cool evening air. But while they were leaning out the windows, Dr. Holoubek ran into the middle of the dining hall, once again Váša Příhoda raised his bow and played the next phrase, this phrase was more than Dr. Holoubek had bargained for, it was a kind of joyous devastation … The old women formed a circle around the doctor, who in a burst of passion had pulled out a fistful of his curls, then he picked up one of
the Count's chairs, a beautiful white chair, and smashed it against the carpet, breaking its legs, I saw some of the women pulling out tufts of their bleached blond hair and throwing them into the draft from the open windows, and then they too began smashing up the Count's white chairs, bits of wood flew everywhere, one by one the chairs toppled over, but Váša Příhoda, tenderly and dreamily, went on embroidering that sweet, delicate song of melancholy love, he seemed to be playing from a great distance, as if to wound Dr. Holoubek even more deeply, the doctor now raised his hands, he held them in the air as if in prophetic rapture, intoxication … and then started running, he ran through the corridor weeping and wailing and rushed helter-skelter down the stairs, all the old women ran after him, some failed to take the bend, skidded on their slippers, didn't get back up, but clambered down the stairs on their hands and knees, to the vestibule, where Dr. Holoubek had already run out the front door. I hurried after the women, not to find out what the doctor was going to do, but to see something I never would have believed could happen. But the white coat was already running in through the front door and Dr. Holoubek headed back upstairs, he took two, three stairs at a time, careful to avoid the old women lying here and there, but now the women were following him up the stairs, their hair had come loose, they had lost
their handbags, hats, their eyes were wide with ecstasy, they hurried after the doctor, who stood in the middle of the dining hall again and spread his arms wide, threw them open, but after a few more notes of the violin concerto he could no longer control himself and to the amazement of all the men grabbed one of the broken white chairs and threw it out the open window, I saw how the broken legs seemed to hover briefly in the open window with the black air in the background and how only then the chair fell into the sand of the courtyard, and the women fought each other to get hold of the next chair and tossed it out the window too, and the old men looked uncomprehendingly at the frenzied women, the witnesses to old times shook their heads, whispered to each other, the cardplayers stood up and with an angry sweep of their hands they cursed everything they saw happening in the dining hall, then walked out into the corridor to continue their game of Mariáš, Dr. Holoubek went to the phonograph, put his ear against it, listened closely to Váša Příhoda and suddenly gave a loud shriek as if Váša Příhoda's violin bow had sailed into the dining hall and gouged out his eye, because Dr. Holoubek clapped both hands over his face and ran back out of the room, with the old women close behind him, he ran as fast as he could, stumbling over the old ladies lying here and there on the stairs and in the vestibule, he leapt over them and ran out
into the courtyard, then he ran through the park, leaping over the benches and knocking them down, the old women hobbled along after him, from there it was a sprint across the meadow to the fishpond, where Dr. Holoubek came to a standstill, the old women caught up with him and looked him in the face, from the open windows of the Count's former banquet hall you could hear the powerful chords of the symphony orchestra … and Dr. Holoubek stepped into the shallow pond, he waded in up to his knees, the old women waded in after him, Dr. Holoubek bent over and scooped up a few handfuls of cold water and splashed it on his face, the old women bent over too and scooped up a few handfuls and pressed the water to their painted faces … And the doctor was suddenly wide awake, he trudged out of the pond and walked slowly, painfully slowly back toward the courtyard, in the meadow were sheaves of hay, all of a sudden Dr. Holoubek began dancing around them, he grabbed fistfuls of hay and threw them in the air to the rhythm of his galumphing wet shoes, the old women too surrendered to the dance and threw fistfuls of hay into the air, the doctor danced like a faun, from the open windows Váša Příhoda went on playing his violin concerto, the doctor began dancing more slowly, the broken white legs of the discarded chairs gleamed in the darkness, and the old women, dancing just like the doctor, moved to the rhythm of