Flight Without End

XV

George was complaisant. There are some qualities which can only be designated by a foreign word. A complaisant man has a more difficult life than one might think; the difficulties he has to cope with can close in on him in such a way that behind his smile, he becomes a tragic figure. George, who only knew success, who was much in demand with the ladies, who directed not only the orchestra of the opera theatre but also part of the citizenry — George was unhappy. He was very much alone in the midst of a well-disposed world of personal and general goodwill. He would have preferred to live in a hostile or a neutral world. His affability did not oppress his conscience but his intellect, which was about as great as the intellect of disagreeable men with many enemies. Every lie he told choked him. He would rather have told the truth. And so, at the last moment, his tongue would upset the resolve of his brain and instead of the truth there would ring out — often to George’s own surprise — some polite, rounded remark of an enigmatic, pleasant, melodious nature. Such men are often to be found by the Danube and the Rhine, the two legendary German rivers; few of the rough Nibelungs remain.

George did not love his brother; he suspected him of being the only one to see through his lies. He was glad when no more was heard of Franz. Missing! What a word! What an excuse for being sad, pleasantly sad, a new, hitherto unpractised complaisance. All the same, George was the only one who could help Franz for the time being.

Therefore I informed Herr George Tunda that his brother had returned.

Klara was overjoyed. For now her goodness, for so long undeployed and lying fallow, found a new object. Franz received two invitations, one cordially sincere and one cordially formal. The second, naturally, originated from George. Franz, however, who had not seen his brother for fifteen years and therefore had little means of knowing — although George imagined that Franz would see through him directly — Franz, who had hated his brother solely on account of the music, Franz travelled to the Rhine, to the city where they had a good opera, and some of the better reputed poets.