White-Bearded
Man,
Reger said, and I therefore asked him if that was really his reason, and the Englishman nodded his head. Incidentally, he was speaking English, which I found agreeable, but then suddenly also German, very broken German, that broken German which all Englishmen speak when they believe they know German, which, however, is never the case, Reger said, the Englishman probably wanted to speak German rather than English in order to improve his German, and after all why not, when abroad one prefers to speak the foreign language unless one is a blockhead, and so in his broken German he said that he had in fact come to Austria and to Vienna solely for the
White-Bearded
Man,
not because of Tintoretto, he said, Reger said, but solely for the
White-Bearded
Man,
he was not interested in the museum as a whole, not in the least, he was not one for museums, he hated museums and had always only visited them reluctantly, he had only come to the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum in order to study the
White-Bearded
Man
because
back home he had just such a
White-Bearded
Man
hanging over his bed in his bedroom in Wales,
in actual fact the same
White-Bearded
Man,
the Englishman said, Reger said. I was told, the Englishman said, that at the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum there was just such a
White-Bearded
Man
as in my bedroom in Wales and that has been worrying me and so I have come to Vienna. For two years I had been worrying in my bedroom in Wales at the thought that just such
a
White-Bearded
Man by
Tintoretto was possibly really hanging at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna as in my bedroom, and so I travelled to Vienna yesterday. Believe it or not, the Englishman said, Reger said to me, the same
White-Bearded
Man
by Tintoretto which hangs in my bedroom in Wales also hangs here. I could not believe my eyes, the Englishman said, naturally in English, and when I assured myself that this
White-Bearded
Man is
the same as the one in my bedroom I was at first profoundly shocked. You concealed your shock very well, I said to the Englishman, Reger said to me. But then the English have always been masters of self-control, I said to the Englishman from Wales, Reger said, even at moments of extreme excitement they preserve their calm and sang-froid, I said to the Englishman, Reger said to me. All this time I compared my
White-Bearded
Man
by Tintoretto, the one hanging in my bedroom in Wales, with the
White-Bearded
Man
by Tintoretto in this room, the Englishman said and, producing his black leather book from his pocket, showed me in it a reproduction of
his
Tintoretto. Yes, indeed, I said to the Englishman, the Tintoretto reproduced in the book is the same as the one hanging here on the wall. You see, the Englishman from Wales said, you say so too! It is the same picture down to the last detail, I said, Tintoretto's
White-Bearded
Man
in your book is the same as the one hanging here on the wall. Right down to the last detail, as the phrase goes, you are bound to say that everything matches in the most startling manner, as if it were really one and the same picture, I said, Reger said to me. Yet the Englishman was not at all excited, Reger said, I would not have remained so cool in the face of the fact that the picture in the Bordone Room is in fact identical with the picture in my bedroom, Reger said, the Englishman looked at his black leather book in which the
White-Bearded
Man
from his bedroom in Wales was reproduced on a whole page and, as the phrase goes, in full colour, and again at the
White-Bearded
Man
in the Bordone Room. A nephew of mine was in Vienna two years ago and because he did not want to go to concerts every day he went to the Kunsthistorisches Museum one Tuesday, without actually being really interested, the Englishman said, Reger said, one of my numerous nephews who make a major trip every year to Europe or America or Asia, or wherever, and there, at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, he saw Tintoretto's
White-Bearded
Man
hanging on the wall; all excited he came to see me and told me he had, in a manner of speaking, seen
my
Tintoretto
at the
Kunsthistorisches
Museum.
Naturally I did not believe his story and laughed at my nephew, the Englishman said, Reger said, I regarded the whole business as a silly prank, one of those silly pranks my nephews delight in playing on me all the time.
My
Tintoretto
in
Vienna at the
Kunsthistorisches
Museum?
I
said, and I told my nephew he was the victim of a delusion, he should dismiss this absurdity from his mind. But my nephew insisted: he had seen my Tintoretto hanging on the wall at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Naturally this unbelievable piece of information from my nephew gnawed away at my mind and, basically, gave me no peace. My nephew must be the victim of some error, I kept thinking all along. But I could not dismiss the business from my mind. Good Lord, you cannot imagine the value of that Tintoretto, an heirloom, a great-aunt on my mother's side, my so-called Glasgow aunt, left me the Tintoretto, the Englishman said, Reger said. I have the painting hanging in my bedroom because there it seems safest to me, there it hangs above my bed,
worst possible angle for light,
the Englishman said, Reger said. Thousands of old masters are stolen in England every day, the Englishman said, Reger said, there are hundreds of organized gangs in England who specialize in the theft of old masters, especially of Italians, who are particularly popular in England. I am no art connoisseur, sir, the Englishman said, Reger said, I understand absolutely nothing about art, but of course I appreciate such a masterpiece. I could have sold it many times, but as yet I do not need to, not as yet, the Englishman said, Reger said, but of course the time may come when I have to sell the
White-Bearded
Man. I
do not actually have only the
White-Bearded
Man
by Tintoretto, I possess several dozen Italians, a Lotto, a Crespi, a Strozzi, a Giordano, a Bassano, all of them, you know, really great masters. All from the Glasgow aunt, the Englishman said, Reger said. I should have never come to Vienna if I had not been tormented by the suspicion that my nephew might after all be right when he says that my Tintoretto hangs at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. I have never been interested in Vienna because I am not a music
connoisseur
either, not even a music
lover,
the Englishman said, Reger said, nothing would have made me come to Austria except that gnawing suspicion. And now I am sitting here and I see that my Tintoretto does in fact hang on the wall here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum. See for yourself, the
White-Bearded
Man
in the reproduction here, the one that hangs in my bedroom in Wales, is the Tintoretto that hangs here on the wall at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, the Englishman said, Reger said, and once again the Englishman held open the black leather book before my eyes. It looks as if it is not merely the same but absolutely identical, the Englishman said, Reger said. The Englishman rose from the settee and stepped quite close to the
White-Bearded
Man
and for a while remained standing in front of the
White-Bearded
Man. I
observed the Englishman and admired him at the same time, because I had never yet seen a person with such positively superhuman self-control, Reger said, I observed the Englishman from Wales and I reflected that, faced with such a monstrous situation, that is to say down to the last hair the very same picture hanging at the Kunsthistorisches Museum as in my bedroom in Wales, I would have completely lost my self-control. I watched the Englishman stepping up quite close to the
White-Bearded
Man
and staring at him, naturally, as I was watching him from behind, I could not see his face, Reger said to me, but I knew of course, even though I was watching him from behind, that he was staring at the
White-Bearded
Man,
now more or less disconcerted. For a long time the Englishman did not turn round, and when he did his face was as white as chalk, Reger said. I have rarely in my life seen a face quite as white as chalk, Reger said, least of all an English face. Before rising from the settee and staring at the
White-Bearded
Man,
the Englishman had
that typical
red-tanned
English face,
now his face was as white as chalk, Reger said about the Englishman. Disconcerted is not even an adequate expression, Reger said about the Englishman. Irrsigler had been watching the scene the whole time, Reger said, Irrsigler had silently stood in the corner which you pass to go to the Veronese paintings, Reger said. The Englishman sat down once more on the Bordone Room settee, on which I had remained sitting the whole time, and said that it was in fact
one and the same painting,
the one hanging over his bed in his bedroom in Wales and the one here on the wall of the Bordone Room at the Kunsthistorisches Museum. He was staying at the
Hotel Imperial,
which his nephew had recommended, the Englishman said, Reger said. I hate all that luxury but at the same time I enjoy it when I feel like it. He only ever stayed at the best hotels, the Englishman said, Reger said,
in Vienna of course at the Imperial, just as in Madrid at the Ritz, just as in
Taormina
at the
Timeo.
But I greatly dislike travelling, only once every few years, and mostly the reason is not pleasure, the Englishman said, Reger said. It is perfectly obvious that one of these Tintoretto paintings is a forgery, the Englishman then said, Reger said, either this one here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum or mine, which hangs over my bed in my bedroom in Wales.
One of the two must be a forgery,
the Englishman said and briefly pressed his strong body against the backrest of the Bordone Room settee; at once, however, he straightened up and said, so my nephew was right after all. I cursed my nephew because I felt sure that he had told me some nonsense, because this nephew is in the habit of disquieting me from time to time with some business or other or perplexing me; incidentally, he is my favourite nephew even though he has got on my nerves as long as he has lived and is basically a good-for-nothing. But he is my favourite nephew. He is the most frightful of all my nephews but he is my favourite nephew. His eyes did not deceive him, the Englishman said, this Tintoretto here is in fact identical with mine in Wales.
But there are two
Tintorettos,
the Englishman said then and once more leaned back on the Bordone Room settee only to straighten up again presently. One of the two is a forgery, he said, and of course I ask myself is mine a forgery or the one here at the Kunsthistorisches Museum? It is quite possible that the Kunsthistorisches Museum possesses a forgery and that my Tintoretto is genuine, indeed from what I know of the circumstances of my Glasgow aunt it is even probable. Shortly after Tintoretto painted this
White-Bearded
Man,
the
White-Bearded
Man
was sold to England, first to the family of the Duke of Kent, then to my Glasgow aunt. Incidentally, the brother of the present Duke of Kent is married to an Austrian, surely you know that, the Englishman suddenly said to me, Reger said, for the sake of a brief diversion, only to say immediately afterwards that the Tintoretto here, that is the
White-Bearded
Man
at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, was quite certainly a forgery.
An absolutely perfect forgery,
the Englishman added. I shall discover very soon which
White-Bearded Man
by Tintoretto is the genuine and which the forgery, the Englishman said, Reger said, and then he said that it was also entirely possible that both
White-Bearded
Men
might be genuine, that is by Tintoretto and genuine. Only a great artist like Tintoretto, the Englishman said, Reger said, could have succeeded in painting a second picture not
as a totally similar but as a totally identical one. That, of course, would be a sensation,
the Englishman said, Reger said, and walked out of the Bordone Room. He took leave of me with only a short
Goodbye,
and of Irrsigler, who had witnessed the whole scene, also with the same
goodbye,
Reger said to me. I do not know how the matter ended, Reger said, I have not concerned myself with it after that. Anyway, the Englishman was the person, Reger said, who was sitting on the Bordone Room settee on one occasion when I entered the Bordone Room. Apart from that, no one. Reger has had this illusion about the Bordone Room settee for more than thirty years, he maintains that he cannot think properly, that is
think in accordance with his head,
unless he is sitting on the Bordone Room settee. At the Ambassador I have some very good ideas, Reger keeps saying, but on the Bordone Room settee at the Kunsthistorisches Museum I have the best, unquestionably always the best ideas, while at the Ambassador it is scarcely possible to get any so-called philosophical thinking going, it is a matter of course on the Bordone Room settee. At the Ambassador I think the way everyone else thinks, everyday matters and everyday needs, but on the Bordone Room settee I think the unusual and the extraordinary. For instance, he would be unable at the Ambassador to explain the
Tempest Sonata
in the same concentrated manner as on the Bordone Room settee, and to give a lecture such as the one on the Art of the Fugue with all its profundity and all its particularities and peculiarities would be quite impossible for him at the Ambassador,