I had equally clear evidence of Paul’s strength of
character on another occasion, when I received the State Prize for Literature
(long before the Grillparzer Prize). This ended in what the newspapers called a
scandal. The encomium delivered by
the minister in the audience chamber of the ministry was utter nonsense,
because he merely read out from a sheet of paper what had been written down for
him by one of his officials charge with literary affairs. He said, for instance,
that I had written a novel about the south
seas, which of course I had not. And although I had been an Austrian all my
life, the minister stated that I was Dutch. He also stated that I specialized in adventure novels, though
this was news to me. More than once
during his encomium he aid that I was a foreigner, a visitor to Austria.
By this stage I was no longer annoyed by the idiocies he read out. I knew that this imbecile from Styria could not be blamed, because before becoming a minister he had been secretary to the Chamber of Agriculture in Graz, with special responsibility for stock breeding. Stupidity was written all over his face, as it is over the faces of all ministers without exception. It was distasteful, but not annoying, and I was able to endure the speech without difficulty.
It then fell to me to say a few words, by way of thanks for the prize, as it were. Just before the ceremony, in great haste and with the greatest reluctance, I had jotted down a few sentences, amounting to a small philosophical digression, the upshot of which was that man was a wretched creature and death a certainty. After I delivered my speech, which lasted altogether no more than three minutes, the minister, who understood nothing of what I had said, indignantly jumped from his seat and shook his fist in my face. Snorting with rage, he called me a curr in front of the whole assembly and then left the chamber, slamming the glass door behind him with such force that it shattered into a thousand fragments, Everybody present jumped up and watched in astonishment as the minister stormed out.
For a moment complete silence reigned, as they say. And then the strangest thing happened: the whole assembly, whom I can only describe as an opportunistic rabble, rushed after the minister, though not without shouting curses and brandishing their fists at me as they went. I clearly remember the clenched fist of Herr Henz, the president of thee Art Senate, brandished at me, and all the other marks of respect I was shown at that moment, as the whole assembly, consisting of a few hundred kept artists, most of them writers – colleagues of mine, one might say – together with their hangers-on, raced through the shattered glass door in pursuit of the minister. I will refrain from mentioning names, as I have no wish to appear in court over such a ludicrous matter, but they were the best known, most celebrated, and most respected names in Austrian letters.
They all raced out of the audience chamber and down the stairs after the minister, leaving me standing their with my companion. Like a leper. None of them stayed behind with us, they all rushed out, past the buffet that had been prepared for them, and followed the minister down the stairs – all except Paul. He was the only one who stayed with me and my companion, horrified, yet at the same time amused, by the incident. Later, when they could safely do so, a few of those who had a first disappeared slunk back and joined me in the audience chamber. This little group finally got around to discussing where to go for a meal in order to choke down the whole ridiculous episode.
Years later Paul and I would go through the names of those who had raced after this brainless Styrian politician in their unscrupulous subservience to the state and its ministers, and we knew why each had done so. The following day the Austrian newspapers carried reports of how Bernhard the nest fouler had insulted the minister, when in fact the opposite was the case: the minister Piffl-Percevic had insulted the writer Thomas Bernhard. However, the event drew fitting comment abroad, where people do not have to rely on the Austrian ministries and their involvement in artistic subventions. Accepting a prize is in itself and act of perversity, my friend Paul told me at the time, but accepting a state prize is the greatest.
By this stage I was no longer annoyed by the idiocies he read out. I knew that this imbecile from Styria could not be blamed, because before becoming a minister he had been secretary to the Chamber of Agriculture in Graz, with special responsibility for stock breeding. Stupidity was written all over his face, as it is over the faces of all ministers without exception. It was distasteful, but not annoying, and I was able to endure the speech without difficulty.
It then fell to me to say a few words, by way of thanks for the prize, as it were. Just before the ceremony, in great haste and with the greatest reluctance, I had jotted down a few sentences, amounting to a small philosophical digression, the upshot of which was that man was a wretched creature and death a certainty. After I delivered my speech, which lasted altogether no more than three minutes, the minister, who understood nothing of what I had said, indignantly jumped from his seat and shook his fist in my face. Snorting with rage, he called me a curr in front of the whole assembly and then left the chamber, slamming the glass door behind him with such force that it shattered into a thousand fragments, Everybody present jumped up and watched in astonishment as the minister stormed out.
For a moment complete silence reigned, as they say. And then the strangest thing happened: the whole assembly, whom I can only describe as an opportunistic rabble, rushed after the minister, though not without shouting curses and brandishing their fists at me as they went. I clearly remember the clenched fist of Herr Henz, the president of thee Art Senate, brandished at me, and all the other marks of respect I was shown at that moment, as the whole assembly, consisting of a few hundred kept artists, most of them writers – colleagues of mine, one might say – together with their hangers-on, raced through the shattered glass door in pursuit of the minister. I will refrain from mentioning names, as I have no wish to appear in court over such a ludicrous matter, but they were the best known, most celebrated, and most respected names in Austrian letters.
They all raced out of the audience chamber and down the stairs after the minister, leaving me standing their with my companion. Like a leper. None of them stayed behind with us, they all rushed out, past the buffet that had been prepared for them, and followed the minister down the stairs – all except Paul. He was the only one who stayed with me and my companion, horrified, yet at the same time amused, by the incident. Later, when they could safely do so, a few of those who had a first disappeared slunk back and joined me in the audience chamber. This little group finally got around to discussing where to go for a meal in order to choke down the whole ridiculous episode.
Years later Paul and I would go through the names of those who had raced after this brainless Styrian politician in their unscrupulous subservience to the state and its ministers, and we knew why each had done so. The following day the Austrian newspapers carried reports of how Bernhard the nest fouler had insulted the minister, when in fact the opposite was the case: the minister Piffl-Percevic had insulted the writer Thomas Bernhard. However, the event drew fitting comment abroad, where people do not have to rely on the Austrian ministries and their involvement in artistic subventions. Accepting a prize is in itself and act of perversity, my friend Paul told me at the time, but accepting a state prize is the greatest.
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