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Authors: William Boyd
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and subtle light effects. A view of a meadow with a wood beyond seemed bathed in the glow of powerful arc-lights, the shadows cast densely black, razor-edged, turning the banal panorama into something sinister and apocalyptic, making you wonder what blazing light in the sky caused this baleful iridescence. A Saharan sun shining on a northern European valley. There was another sunset which was so lurid that it seemed the sky itself was diseased, rotting. In a townscape – Village in the Snow – Lysander suddenly noticed that two houses had no doors or windows and the village church had a round ‘O’ on its steeple, not a cross. What secrets were harboured here in this humble village?
As he went round the room spotting these potent anomalies, Lysander found that he was growing impressed with Hoff’s subtly oblique and disturbing vision. The largest painting was a full-length portrait of a heavily made-up woman in an embroidered kaftan sitting in a chair – Portrait of Fräulein Gustl Cantor-De Castro – but a second glance revealed that the kaftan was unbuttoned in her lap to reveal her pubis. The arrowhead of dark hair had seemed part of the decorative frieze-motif on the richly embroidered kaftan. When he saw this, Lysander felt a genuine frisson of shock as he realized what he was looking at. The flat stare of the hard-faced woman appeared to be directed exclusively at him, making him seem either complicit in the exposure of her sex – she had undone these buttons just for him – or else he was a voyeur, caught in the act.
He turned away and saw a waiter circulating with a tray of wine glasses. Lysander helped himself to one – it was a Riesling, a little too warm – and moved away to a corner to survey the crowd, most of whom seemed more interested in talking to each other than looking at Udo Hoff’s new paintings. He wondered who was Hoff. You could spot the artists – one with a shaven head, one with no tie, one bearded fellow in a paint-spattered smock as if he’d just come from his studio. Absurd to demarcate yourself so obviously, Lysander thought – no class. He could see no sign of Miss Hettie Bull, however.
He set down his empty glass on a table and wandered off to glance at what was hanging on the mobile partitions. He jerked to a halt, almost comically, at what he saw next. Turning a corner to investigate what was on the reverse side of a partition filled with small, framed drawings of jugs and bottles he found himself in front of the cartoon, the original design, of a theatre poster. There it was – a near-naked woman cupping her breasts as some blunt-faced rearing dragon-monster, like a scaly eel, threatened her – one orange eye glowing and a snake’s forked tongue extended in the direction of her loins. Written on it was ‘ ANDROMEDA UND PERSEUS eine Oper in vier Akten von GOTTLIEB TOLLER ’. So Udo Hoff had designed the offending poster, the shreds and scraps of which he had seen throughout Vienna . . . One mystery solved. And Perseus not Persephone.
Lysander stepped back for a better view. It was a provocative and disturbing image, no doubt. The scaly neck and head of the monster with its solitary septic eye. Even the most innocent bourgeois could see what was meant to be symbolized here, no doubt about it. And the woman pictured, Andromeda, she seemed –
‘Did you ever see it?’ An English voice – Manchester accent.
Lysander turned. Dr Bensimon stood there in evening dress – white bow tie, tailcoat – his beard recently trimmed and neatened. They shook hands, Lysander finding it strange to see his doctor here, out of his context. Then he remembered Miss Bull was a patient, also.
Bensimon had obviously been thinking along similar lines. ‘Never thought to find you here, Mr Rief. Took me aback when I saw you.’
‘Miss Bull invited me.’
‘Ah. All is explained.’ He looked again at the poster and gestured at it. ‘The opera only had three performances in Vienna – at
As he went round the room spotting these potent anomalies, Lysander found that he was growing impressed with Hoff’s subtly oblique and disturbing vision. The largest painting was a full-length portrait of a heavily made-up woman in an embroidered kaftan sitting in a chair – Portrait of Fräulein Gustl Cantor-De Castro – but a second glance revealed that the kaftan was unbuttoned in her lap to reveal her pubis. The arrowhead of dark hair had seemed part of the decorative frieze-motif on the richly embroidered kaftan. When he saw this, Lysander felt a genuine frisson of shock as he realized what he was looking at. The flat stare of the hard-faced woman appeared to be directed exclusively at him, making him seem either complicit in the exposure of her sex – she had undone these buttons just for him – or else he was a voyeur, caught in the act.
He turned away and saw a waiter circulating with a tray of wine glasses. Lysander helped himself to one – it was a Riesling, a little too warm – and moved away to a corner to survey the crowd, most of whom seemed more interested in talking to each other than looking at Udo Hoff’s new paintings. He wondered who was Hoff. You could spot the artists – one with a shaven head, one with no tie, one bearded fellow in a paint-spattered smock as if he’d just come from his studio. Absurd to demarcate yourself so obviously, Lysander thought – no class. He could see no sign of Miss Hettie Bull, however.
He set down his empty glass on a table and wandered off to glance at what was hanging on the mobile partitions. He jerked to a halt, almost comically, at what he saw next. Turning a corner to investigate what was on the reverse side of a partition filled with small, framed drawings of jugs and bottles he found himself in front of the cartoon, the original design, of a theatre poster. There it was – a near-naked woman cupping her breasts as some blunt-faced rearing dragon-monster, like a scaly eel, threatened her – one orange eye glowing and a snake’s forked tongue extended in the direction of her loins. Written on it was ‘ ANDROMEDA UND PERSEUS eine Oper in vier Akten von GOTTLIEB TOLLER ’. So Udo Hoff had designed the offending poster, the shreds and scraps of which he had seen throughout Vienna . . . One mystery solved. And Perseus not Persephone.
Lysander stepped back for a better view. It was a provocative and disturbing image, no doubt. The scaly neck and head of the monster with its solitary septic eye. Even the most innocent bourgeois could see what was meant to be symbolized here, no doubt about it. And the woman pictured, Andromeda, she seemed –
‘Did you ever see it?’ An English voice – Manchester accent.
Lysander turned. Dr Bensimon stood there in evening dress – white bow tie, tailcoat – his beard recently trimmed and neatened. They shook hands, Lysander finding it strange to see his doctor here, out of his context. Then he remembered Miss Bull was a patient, also.
Bensimon had obviously been thinking along similar lines. ‘Never thought to find you here, Mr Rief. Took me aback when I saw you.’
‘Miss Bull invited me.’
‘Ah. All is explained.’ He looked again at the poster and gestured at it. ‘The opera only had three performances in Vienna – at
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