The 2 12 Pillars of Wisdom (32 page)

‘I should not wish to stand between you and cleanliness,’ he remarked cheerfully as he returned to his room, and von Igelfeld, appreciating the quiet humour of this aside, responded:
‘Mens sana in corpore abluto.’
Professor Waterfield did not appear to hear, or, if he did, chose not to say anything, which was a pity, thought von Igelfeld, as it was an aphorism that deserved a response. Perhaps he would have the opportunity to use it again when he next met his neighbour at the bathroom door; one never knew.

Now, beginning his ascent to his room, where he proposed to take his customary lunchtime siesta, he found himself face-to-face with a man whom he did not recognise from the previous evening’s dinner. This person was carrying a suitcase and von Igelfeld, glancing down at it, saw the initials MG painted discreetly above the handle. This, he concluded, must be Mr Matthew Gurewitsch. He had noticed that the guest room on the floor below his, a distinctly inferior guest room, he had been led to believe, had been allocated to Mr Gurewitsch, and a small name card had been attached to the door in recognition of this arrangement. Feeling more confident of his surroundings, after he had introduced himself to Mr Gurewitsch, von Igelfeld showed him to his room, which was unlocked.

‘A comfortable room,’ said von Igelfeld, noting with pleasure that the furniture was distinctly more worn than his own. ‘No bathroom, I’m afraid. But then these old buildings don’t take too well to modern plumbing.’

‘No bathroom!’ exclaimed Mr Gurewitsch. ‘Even the crypt on the set of
Aida
has hot and cold running water these days!’

‘Well, that is opera,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘This is Cambridge. And it seems that there’s no bathroom.’

‘But what do I do?’ asked Mr Gurewitsch.

‘There’s a bathroom over on the other side of the Court,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘It’s attached to the Senior Common Room. I think that you will have to use that one.’

‘You don’t have one upstairs?’ asked Matthew Gurewitsch hopefully.

Von Igelfeld was silent for a moment. If he told this new visitor about the bathroom that he shared with Professor Waterfield, then that would mean that there would be three people sharing, rather than two. Two was bad enough, of course – look what had happened that morning – but if there were three people using the one bathroom, that would be even worse. It did not matter that Mr Matthew Gurewitsch appeared to be an extremely agreeable man, it was purely a question of practicality. The bathroom issue was a problem which the College should face, and it was not up to visitors like von Igelfeld to have to shoulder the responsibility of everyone’s bathroom needs. No, that would be to expect too much. He had no
locus standi
in bathroom matters in Cambridge and there was no moral obligation on his part to draw the attention of others to the existence of such bathroom facilities as there were.

At the same time, it was clear to von Igelfeld that he could not tell a lie. The motto of the von Igelfeld family was
Truth Always
, and he could not ignore this. It was true that he had deviated from it in that unfortunate encounter with Dr Max Augustus Hubertoffel, the psychoanalyst, but he had dealt with the moral sequelae of that lapse in as honourable a way as he could. But the incident had reminded him of the need for strict truthfulness. So his words would have to be chosen carefully, and here they were, forming themselves with no particular effort on his part: ‘I do not have a bathroom in my rooms,’ he said.

Although quite spontaneous, the words were well chosen. It was indeed true that von Igelfeld did not have a bathroom in his room. There was a bathroom in the vicinity – on the landing to be precise – but this did not belong to von Igelfeld and therefore the precise terms of Matthew Gurewitsch’s question did not require it to be disclosed. He felt sorry for Matthew Gurewitsch, and for the many others like him in Cambridge who presumably had no bathroom, and this prompted him to invite the new visitor to join him for coffee in the Senior Common Room.

‘I could introduce you to some of the Fellows,’ he said expansively. ‘Dr C. A. D. Wood, Mr Wilkinson . . .’ He tailed off. Perhaps it was not a good idea. Poor Matthew Gurewitsch, no doubt exhausted after his journey, would hardly wish to be plunged into the unfathomable intrigues of mathematicians. ‘Or we could talk just by ourselves,’ he added. ‘That might be better.’

Matthew Gurewitsch was happy to do either, and after he had found a place for his suitcase on a rather rickety table near the window, he and von Igelfeld made their way across the Court towards the Senior Common Room. Their conversation as they walked was easy, and von Igelfeld felt delighted that he should have made the acquaintance of this interesting man before people like Hall, Dr C. A. D. Wood and the Senior Tutor could buttonhole him and effectively put him off Cambridge forever. Here was a man who really knew about his subject, and von Igelfeld revelled in the snippets of information – inside information – which studded his conversation. Had von Igelfeld seen the la Scala production of
Il Trovatore
last season? No? Well, did he know that the conductor had caused an uproar by playing the tenor’s showstopper in the original key of C, rather than down half a step (
anglice
, tone) as is usually done so that tenors can more safely interpolate a climactic high note that Verdi never wrote? ‘Of course,’ Matthew Gurewitsch added, ‘the inauthentic high note was omitted, too. That’s what Italian musicologists call philology.’

Von Igelfeld expressed surprise, and remarked that in future one would have to watch that roles of countertenors were not taken down for the convenience of basses. Or even the Queen of the Night could be transcribed for
basso profondo
, thus removing all those troublesome moments for sopranos. Would that not make it easier? Matthew Gurewitsch had laughed.

‘Everything is possible in opera these days,’ he said. ‘That is what I wish to talk about in my lecture. I want to look at what has happened to
Trovatore
recently. I want to issue a warning.’

‘That is very wise,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘People must be warned.’

They entered the Senior Common Room to find six or seven dons sitting in the various chairs which dotted the room. Dr C. A. D. Wood was present, and waved in a friendly fashion to von Igelfeld, and Dr Hall, who had decided against lunch in the refectory in favour of Stilton and biscuits in the Common Room, was sitting at a small table by himself, lost in quiet contentment.

Von Igelfeld took Matthew Gurewitsch over to Dr C. A. D. Wood and introduced them. She, in turn, made introductions to a rather mild-looking man who was sitting beside her, but who had stood up when the guests came to join them.

‘This is Dr Plank,’ she said.

Plank shook hands with von Igelfeld and then with Matthew Gurewitsch.

‘I should warn you that you will not find Dr Plank’s name in any college lists should you try to look for it,’ remarked Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘And that is not because he is not a member of the College.’

This Delphic remark caused von Igelfeld to turn and look at Dr Plank, who had now sat down and had folded his hands over his stomach in a relaxed way. If this man were in disgrace of some sort, and had been excluded from the lists, then it did not appear to distress him. This was very strange, and there was something in Dr C. A. D. Wood’s voice, an edge perhaps, which gave von Igelfeld the impression that she did not like Plank and was only sitting next to him on sufferance.

For a few moments, nothing was said. Matthew Gurewitsch glanced at Plank and then at von Igelfeld. Then he looked at Dr C. A. D. Wood. Dr C. A. D. Wood looked at Matthew Gurewitsch, and then at von Igelfeld. She did not look at Plank. Plank looked down at his shoes, and then across the room at Dr Hall, who looked back at him for a moment and then transferred his gaze to his Stilton.

Then Plank spoke. ‘The reason why there’s no Plank in the lists is not because there’s no Plank – there is – but because Plank is not spelled Plank. That is why.’

Von Igelfeld looked puzzled. This was another English idiosyncrasy. How many ways were there of spelling Plank? Planc? Planque?

Plank appeared to be enjoying the guests’ confusion. ‘You may be aware,’ he said, ‘that there are various English surnames which are spelled and pronounced in quite different ways. One of the best-known examples is Feather-stonehaugh, which is pronounced Fanshawe. Then there is Cholmondley, which is simply pronounced Chumley, and of course anybody called Beauchamp is usually Beecham.’

Von Igelfeld nodded. ‘I have noticed that,’ he said. ‘There was a Professor Chumley at a conference once and he pointed out that the spelling of his name was rather different. That would not happen in Germany.’

‘No,’ said Plank. ‘I gather that German is spelled as you pronounce it. Curious, but there we are.’

‘So how do you spell Plank?’ asked Matthew Gurewitsch.

‘Haughland,’ said Plank.

Von Igelfeld could not conceal his astonishment. ‘Haughland?’

‘Indeed,’ said Haughland (
voce
, Plank). ‘It’s an old family from the eastern fens somewhere. Virtually in the water.’

‘But your humour remained dry,’ observed Matthew Gurewitsch.

This remark brought silence, which was only broken when Dr C. A. D. Wood rose to her feet to leave.

‘I have to go, Plank,’ she said curtly. And then, more genially: ‘Good afternoon, Professor von Igelfeld. Good afternoon, Mr Gurewitsch. I look forward to seeing you at dinner.’

That afternoon, von Igelfeld spent several very rewarding hours with the Hughes-Davitt Bequest before returning to his rooms to write a letter to Prinzel.

‘This is an extraordinary place,’ he wrote. ‘Nothing is as it seems. However, I am immensely pleased with the Library and with the Hughes-Davitt Bequest, which has some first-rate material, wasted in this country, if you ask me; it would be far better looked after in Germany. However, at least I can put it into some sort of order and I shall eventually publish a paper on it. So my time here will be well spent.

‘However, there is the issue of my colleagues. So far I have not met one, not one, who would survive in a proper German academic institution, apart from the other visitor at the moment, Mr Matthew Gurewitsch from New York. He is very well informed and has a fund of information about operatic matters. I fear that he may not be properly appreciated here, but we shall see what sort of response he gets to his lecture at the beginning of next week. Poor man! The mathematicians and the like who live in the College are unlikely to understand what he has to say; for the most part their minds are taken up with mathematical disputes and with plotting against one another. This has made the Master a nervous wreck, and indeed he is close to tears most of the time.

‘How I long to be back in Germany, where everything is so solid and dependable. How I long to be back in the Institute common room, exchanging views with my colleagues. I am even missing Unterholzer, although I cannot quite bring myself to write to him yet. Perhaps next week. Please make sure, by the way, that he does not try to take my room while I am away. I know that he would like to do this, as he has done it in the past. I am counting on you to see that it does not happen.

‘In this pallid land, then, I remain, Your friend eternally, Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld.’

He posted the letter in the College post-box, and then, it being a pleasant evening, he went for a stroll through the Fellows’ Garden and out along the river. The Fellows’ Garden was peaceful, in a way that only an English garden can be peaceful, and even the thought of de Courcey’s detached skull did not disturb the feeling of
rus in urbe
which the garden encouraged. He found the giant wisteria bush which the Master had mentioned, and he found, too, a magnificent fuchsia hedge which ran along the southern boundary of the garden. There were benches, too, carved stone benches on which weary Fellows might sit and enjoy the flowers and shrubs, and it was on one of these that von Igelfeld was seated when he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him. He turned round, jolted out of a pleasant reverie in which he was back in Italy, in Tuscany, with the smell of lavender and rosemary on the breeze. Dr C. A. D. Wood and Dr Hall were bearing down upon him along the small path that cut through the lavender beds.

‘Ah, there you are Professor von Igelfeld,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘Hall and I were hoping to find you. Dr Porter said that he had seen you through his binoculars – he likes to watch the garden, you know. Nothing better to do, I suppose.’

The two Fellows joined him on his bench. As they sat down, the bench tilted slightly in the direction of Dr Hall, and von Igelfeld had to move over quickly towards Dr C. A. D. Wood in order to stop the entire party being tipped over.

‘You have a beautiful garden,’ said von Igelfeld conversationally.

‘Yes,’ said Dr Hall. ‘And I find it best at this time of year – very early autumn, even if the colour is diminishing somewhat.’

‘It’s a good place to talk,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘There’s no chance of the Master interrupting one’s conversation. He suffers from hay fever, and so this is the place where we go when we need to talk about anything important.’

‘I would not wish to prevent you,’ said von Igelfeld, beginning to rise to his feet.

Dr C. A. D. Wood pulled him back onto the bench. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please don’t go. We actually wanted to talk to you, didn’t we, Hall?’

Dr Hall nodded. ‘That’s why we came out here. We wanted to have a quiet word with you.’

Von Igelfeld said nothing. Was this the plotting which the Master had warned him about?

‘It’s about the Augusta lecture,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘The opera lecture.’

‘I am looking forward to it immensely,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Mr Matthew Gurewitsch has some very interesting ideas. I suspect that he will be controversial.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood quickly. ‘He was a good choice. That’s why I hope that he has the chance to deliver his lecture.’

Von Igelfeld was confused. Why should there be any question about that? Mr Matthew Gurewitsch had arrived safely from New York and was all prepared to deliver the lecture, which he had already discussed with von Igelfeld. He could not see why any difficulties should arise.