Vienna Blood

29

THE ROOM WAS OPULENT: chandeliers, heavy drapes, gilt furniture, and a selection of Biedermeier oils. Gustav von Triebenbach was standing by a plinth, which supported a white marble bust of Richard Wagner. There were many guests-not all of them fully fledged members of the Richard Wagner Association but all committed to the cause. In the far corner of the room was a gleaming Steinway piano. Behind it sat Hermann Aschenbrandt and another young musician. They were playing a four-hands arrangement of Strauss's Morgenblatter.

Von Triebenbach sipped his champagne and surveyed the scene. He recognized several important dignitaries, including some close associates of the mayor and a minister belonging to the Christian Social party. Standing by the fire was a tall, distinguished-looking lady wearing a long black dress and a ruby necklace. This was Baroness Sophie von Rautenberg-Olbricht's patron. Von Triebenbach made a mental note that he should pay her a compliment by the end of the evening. Though in her fifties, she was still an attractive woman. To his knowledge, since the death of Von Rautenberg she had never taken a lover. He wondered whether he might one day persuade her to consider him as a possible candidate. Close to the baroness sat the Englishman, Houston Stewart Chamberlain. He was an honorary member of the association and was addressing a small group of admirers. Von Triebenbach had read Chamberlain's books and essays on “the great composer” and had enjoyed them immensely.

On the opposite side of the room, Von Triebenbach spotted Ruprecht Hefner. The lieutenant stood out from the crowd on account of his bright blue uniform (an Austrian officer was not permitted to wear mufti off duty). Hefner was talking to a pretty young lady in a dress made of yellow silk. Von Triebenbach did not recognize her but strongly suspected that she was the minister's daughter.

The cavalryman leaned close and whispered something in her ear. She blushed, looked nervously around the room, and marched awaylifting her skirts slightly in order to facilitate a nimble escape.

One day that boy will get into serious trouble.

Von Triebenbach caught Hefner's attention and raised his champagne flute. The officer smiled and crossed the floor, allowing the golden tassel to swing conspicuously from his pommel. A few people stopped talking in order to enjoy the Uhlan's magisterial progress.

“Baron!” said Hefner, bowing. “So good to see you again.”

“And you, Hefner-how long has it been?”

“Too long.”

“Indeed, I can't remember the last time I saw you at one of our little gatherings.”

“Ah yes, Baron, forgive me. I have been otherwise engaged of late. There was a rumor circulating around the barracks that His Majesty intended to inspect the eighteenth. Well, you can imagine the effect that had on a stickler like Kabok! We've been drilling day and night!”

“Of course-but you really must come again soon. We've had some very interesting guests, you know. At our last meeting we were honored by no less a personage than List.”

“Really? I was under the impression that the old man was dead.”

“Not Liszt, dear fellow-Guido List! The famous writer?”

“Oh, yes…”

The soldier's response lacked the brightness of tone associated with genuine recognition, but Von Triebenbach was not inclined to press the matter. “Never mind. Just come when you can.”

The music stopped and the room resounded with enthusiastic applause. The musicians half-rose from their seats, bowing and grinning in all directions. As soon as they sat down again, a stealthy staccato introduction preceded a fortissimo chord, which was in turn followed by a weightless, swinging accompaniment. When the melody of the Liebeslieder Waltz trickled down the keyboard-liquid and delicate-some of the audience began to clap again.

Von Triebenbach leaned closer to the handsome cavalry officer and lowered his voice. “Speaking of rumors, I heard that you had a set-to with Freddi Lemberg-at the opera?

“Did you?”

“Yes-and I understand too that he demanded satisfaction.”

“Who told you that?”

“Hefner, you cannot expect such an exchange to pass unnoticed.” The officer shrugged. “My dear boy,” Von Triebenbach continued, “you must be more discreet.” He nodded then toward the girl in the yellow dress, who had just reappeared. “With respect to all matters.”

Hefner grinned. “As usual, Baron, I am indebted to you for your wise counsel. However, I must beg to be excused-the matter that you now refer to is still unresolved.”

Hefner bowed and slipped into the crowd, clearly in pursuit of his quarry.

Von Triebenbach shook his head.

Oh, to be young again! To feel invincible!

Wistfully remembering the conquests of his own youth, Von Triebenbach edged toward the alluring Rautenberg widow. As he drew closer, he was distracted by the group seated around Chamberlain. Von Triebenbach could not hear his every word but he soon perceived that the Englishman was discoursing on his compatriot Sir Francis Galton. The thin but clear voice floated above the general hubbub. His German was perfect: “He has been petitioning the British government since the sixties… must sponsor competitive examinations in hereditary merit… those of superior stock might be invited to marry in Westminster Abbey and be encouraged by postnatal grants to produce strong and healthy progeny.” The crowd parted and Von Triebenbach got his first clear view of the Englishman.

Chamberlain's complexion was pale, and his hair and mustache displayed a variety of tawny shades. Below an extremely high forehead his face was curiously elongated. Indeed, his general appearance suggested attenuation-as though his whole body had been stretched. His lips were too full, almost feminine, and his eyes were large and reminded Von Triebenbach of those of a nocturnal mammal. Yet there was something distinctly aristocratic in his demeanor; perhaps it was his stillness, or the precision of his speech.

Von Triebenbach could now hear Chamberlain's every word.

“It is impossible to estimate the genius and development of our north European culture if we obstinately shut our eyes to the fact that it is a definite species of mankind which constitutes its physical and moral basis. We see that clearly today; for the less Teutonic a land is, the more uncivilized it is. He who at the present time travels from London to Rome passes from fog into sunshine, but at the same time from the most refined civilization and high culture into semi-barbarism-dirt, coarseness, falsehood, poverty.”

A waiter offered the baron a salmon canape, which he refused, eager to hear the Englishman.

“…On the one hand depth, power, and directness of expression as our most individual gift, and on the other, the great secret of our superiority in so many spheres, namely, our inborn tendency to follow nature honestly and faithfully.”

“Very true,” said one of his acolytes, which roused a rumble of general approval.

When the time comes, thought Von Triebenbach, we shall certainly be able to depend on the English.