Traveller of the Century

by Andres Neuman

  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?

  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 style—not 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.

  The orchestra paused for a break, the dancers applauded. As the couples, squares and rows broke up, Hans spotted Álvaro, 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 Álvaro 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? Álvaro chuckled, I’ve been waiting ages for it!

  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 Álvaro, 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.

  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 at Jena, 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 cause—in 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 him—after 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 unpredict
able and could always be refuted. No, he would speak from a place where he felt at ease, where he was unassailable—from 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 there—he 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 …

  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 Álvaro came to his rescue.

  Rudi had just turned his back on them. Álvaro 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, Álvaro 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 answer—yes, 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 laugh—this 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?

  The festivals in Wandernburg today, Professor Mietter said swallowing a morsel of cake, masquerade as religious but in fact they are profane. They are a feast for the senses and, if I may say so, encourage wanton behaviour. Faith ends with such festivals and carnival begins. Professor, said Hans, wouldn’t you agree that true faith has never been exactly widespread? Perhaps some princes have a real interest in Lutheranism. But I don’t suppose they’d be against appropriating the Church’s lands either. You are incapable, said Professor Mietter, of seeing beyond the most naive materialism. Luther laid bare his times. He made the Vatican look like fools. He uncovered their lies. He held a mirror up to their faces. That is why they declared him an apostate and excommunicated him. These are real events. My dear Professor, said Herr Levin, far be it from me to defend Roman Catholic dogma, which, as you know, is not my passion in life. But let us accept that this was no simple rebellion, and that notwithstanding the Church’s abuses, the Reformation was, ahem, excellent business for the northern princes. Remember that Luther himself advised them to wipe out the peasants who had rebelled in allegiance with his ideas. These are also real events. You interpret them, said Professor Mietter, from a very personal point of view. As we all do, said Hans. Isn’t that what you call libre examen?

  Frau Pietzine was following the conversation with increasing unease, as though each argument were endangering her own convictions. She thought of her adored father confessor, clutched her necklace and said: Professor, why don’t you discuss these matters with Father Pigherzog? He is an erudite man, like yourself, a sensitive man who would do anything for his parishioners. Although you follow different doctrines, I am sure you would find it interesting. (That man, dear lady, said the professor, is a bureaucrat, a seller of indulgences.) Don’t be unjust towards Father Pigherzog! He is a true comfort and a guide to many of his parishioners. I agree, Herr Gottlieb nodded, speaking of which, my child, how long is it since you confessed? (Oh Father, sighed Sophie, as if I had the time!) Well, one of these Sundays. (Remember our agreement, she said, I go to Mass with you on Sundays and you stop insisting.) I know, my child, but just for once, occasionally, it wouldn’t … (Oh Father! said Sophie brightly. Your pipe is blocked, shall I fetch you some fresh tobacco?)

  Staring down at his whiskers, which appeared to be giving off smoke, Herr Gottlieb murmured: Bertold, tobacco.

  Hans became absorbed for a while watching Sophie’s restless hands and waiting for her lips to purse slightly when she made a comment. Hearing Herr Levin mention Kant, he turned his attention back to the conversation and waited his turn to speak. On the subject of religion, Hans said with a shrug, I simply follow Kant’s example. I doubt I shall ever understand the mysteries of the divine, and in the meantime there are many more unresolved matters here on earth. (Once again, Herr Hans, said Professor Mietter disapprovingly, you reduce human knowledge to the empirical, you are incapable of abstract thought, you haven’t gone beyond Hume.) On the contrary, Professor, on the contrary, I would say I expand it, empirical thought seems to me infinite! And I believe when little old reason ceases to bow to a superior power, it comes up against the biggest unknown of all—how to understand the world without any help from the divine, is this what you mean by limiting knowledge? (And I say to you, replied Professor Mietter, that if we dispense with the divine, our reason is left empty-handed.) That depends, I didn’t say I was opposed to any form of divinity. For me divinity is our two feet on the ground, don’t you see? (An interesting thought, ventured Herr Levin, but what of the higher emotions? Do we not explore the world through them? To what realm does a heartfelt prayer or a Bach cantata belong? Do Bach’s cantatas have their feet on the ground, or …)

  If you’ll allow me, said Sophie, joining in the debate, I don’t see why higher emotions cannot also spring from reason, why they need to be separated. For example? asked Herr Levin. For example in chess, Hans agreed, his eyes fixed on Sophie’s moist lips, isn’t it possible to be moved by the inexorability of a checkmate? I mean, don’t you consider that thinking to the limits of our possibility ennobles our spirit? I don’t know, Sophie said very slowly staring at Hans’s chin, if I’m able to play chess.

  Sophie opened her lips to cool them. Hans’s mind was no lon
ger on Kant, although it was occupied with empirical knowledge.

  The other members of the salon resumed their conversation about national religiosity. Professor Mietter railed against the Council of Trent. Herr Gottlieb spoke of an understanding between the different creeds. Herr Levin referred to the influence of Semitic studies and astronomy. Frau Pietzine extolled the Eucharist. Sophie tried to moderate the discussion, giving everyone a chance to speak, and doing her best to weave together the different themes. Álvaro and Hans whispered to each other, heads together. Gentlemen, gentlemen, Sophie said in a tone of light-hearted reprimand, pray do not leave us out of your reflections, they give every indication of being fascinating. As a matter of fact, Álvaro smiled, we weren’t engaged in any great discussion, you are already familiar with our religious limitations.

  Álvaro looked around him and saw that everyone was staring at him in silence. Very well, he said clearing his throat, a moment ago I was saying to Hans that countries that failed to undergo their own Reformation, such as Spain, Italy and Portugal, were obliged, as it were, to come up with a home-grown alternative—anticlericalism. What else were we to do, take Communion every Sunday, absolve our sins, and support the Inquisition? However, out of self-respect, we Spanish anticlericalists ended up rejecting every kind of religious manifestation. What worries me is that one day we may no longer be able to enjoy St John, St Teresa or St Augustine. And I think you Germans had an easier time of it, you had Luther, Bach and Lessing who acted as partial counterweights. For over half a century all we have had is Father Feijóo, may he rest in peace. You Germans invented the Reformation, and we Spaniards the Counter-Reformation, you split into two and we drove the other half out, just think what a difference (ahem, quite, said Herr Levin, but remember there weren’t two halves but three thirds, in the old Spain there were at least three religions, not forgetting the Toledo School, all those Christians, Jews and Muslims translating, ahem, as I mentioned before, works of astronomy and theology, naturally, not to mention Juan Hispalense, who), yes, yes, but that was centuries ago and since then there has been nothing, absolutely nothing. For centuries Spanish Catholicism has refused to cohabit with any other creeds or denominations, making it almost impossible to think seriously about God. You Germans on the other hand are capable of looking Christianity straight in the face and giving it a piece of your mind; you can dialogue with it without worshipping it or detesting it completely, you can even try to understand its reasons, and I admire you for that! (Bravo! said Professor Mietter sardonically, you speak like a Protestant!) I, on the other hand, cannot—I see a crucifix and my blood begins to boil. And then I am no longer capable of listening or of understanding a word, despite having been educated by monks. But perhaps German secularism is more logical. (Ah, said Herr Levin, incidentally, speaking of Lessing, let me tell you that besides being admirably logical he was an infamous anti-Semite. Being persecuted for his ideas did not prevent him turning his back on a persecuted people. Deep down, that is typically Jewish. Let go of my arm, will you dear.)