Vienna, Austria. January 1913. A snowy day. The scene: Café Ronacher, one of the famous gemütlichkeit Viennese coffeehouses of the era much favored by members of Freud’s circle.
Mid-afternoon, an off-hour. Most of the small marble tables are empty. The vaulted ceiling supports a dusty crystal chandelier. The air carries the mixed aromas of coffee, chocolate, and cigar smoke. Newspapers attached to sticks are neatly aligned on a rack. A battered billiards table fills an alcove. A black and white cat roams the room foraging for scraps.
The intense young man from Lou Salomé’s encounter on the Franzenring sits at a table dabbing with a brush at a small piece of cardboard. A portfolio of his watercolors is set against his chair out of sight. He wears the same shabby suit, necktie, and rotting pair of shoes. Whenever he hears the door open, he looks up to see who has entered. Each time, disappointed, he returns to his painting.
Finally Lou shows up. She wears the same heavy Russian fur jacket. As soon as the young man spots her, he covers up his watercolor, rises attentively, then fastens his eyes upon her in a manner she finds disquieting.
He greets her. ‘Hello, Frau Salomé. Thank you very much for coming. I am so grateful. And a little surprised, I admit.’
She eyes him warily. ‘You didn’t think I’d show up?’
‘No! I mean – of course I knew you would. It’s just …’
‘You sent me a well-mannered note along with a sincere apology. So here I am. Isn’t it better to behave with good manners than to stalk a middle-aged married lady on the street?’
‘Again I’m so sorry about that. I … I don’t know if I can explain it.’
She waves her hand to indicate he needn’t bother, then summons the waiter and orders a Viennese coffee. The waiter, who wears a formal black cut-away, bows to her, recognizing her as a regular.
She turns back to the young man. ‘Now tell me – what can I do for you?’
‘I’d hoped we might chat a bit.’
‘You have a topic in mind?’
‘Many. So many.’
‘You asked for this meeting, so you must state your purpose. Or, as they say in certain circles, place your cards on the table.’
‘My cards?’ He looks down at his watercolor, then at the portfolio resting by his feet. He’s tempted to open it and show her its contents. He takes hold of it, places it on the table so she can see it, then decides to talk with her a while before revealing his artwork.
‘You probably don’t remember,’ he tells her, ‘but our eyes met briefly at the Westbahnhof. I believe it was the day you arrived. You had lots of luggage. I wanted to offer help carrying your bags but you’d already engaged a porter. I tried to offer you one of my watercolors.’ He taps his portfolio. ‘Your friend, the woman you were traveling with – she stopped for a moment to look at them, but you swept right by.’
‘I was distracted.’
‘Still, I thought I detected a bit of scorn …’
‘Nonsense! I never behave with scorn, certainly not toward a stranger. We were anxious to get to our hotel and unpack.’
‘Do you like it there at the Zita?’
Lou smiles. ‘What an odd question. The hotel’s pleasant and convenient in that it’s close to what brought me here.’
‘Which is?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business. But since you’ve been following me around, I suspect you already know.’
‘You’re studying with the man who writes about sex.’
Lou laughs. ‘I suppose that’s one way to describe him.’ She exhales. ‘You asked for this meeting, so please say what’s on your mind. I’ll try to help you. If I can’t I’ll tell you that too.’
He nods. ‘I hoped we might discuss my paintings. Are you willing to look at them?’
She gestures for him to pass over his portfolio. He hands it to her tentatively. She takes it, looks through it quickly, then hurriedly shuts it and hands it back.
‘You want a critique?’
He nods again, this time eagerly. Sensing his vulnerability, she employs a gentler tone.
‘One doesn’t wish to be unkind. But I believe it’s always best to tell the truth.’
He nods, then steadies himself as if expecting a blow.
‘I have to tell you honestly that your paintings don’t speak to me. They’re pretty enough. You make nice pictures of famous buildings on tranquil unpopulated squares and streets. I imagine these sketches might be of interest to tourists. But they don’t tell me anything new about these places, or, more important, about the person who painted them.’ She stares at him. ‘I see you’re distressed. I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings. Clearly you worked hard on these and they’re meaningful to you. If your sketches don’t speak to me, they’re as likely to speak to someone else. Shall we leave it at that?’
‘Whew! I’d like to explain what I was trying—’
‘Art should speak for itself. I don’t mean to be harsh, but yours is simply not the kind of art I’m able to discuss. I think now I’ve probably said enough.’
He bows his head. ‘I appreciate your taking the time to look.’
Lou is relieved. The young man, well-mannered despite his shabby attire, has taken her criticism better than expected. ‘Merely an opinion. I should add that I admire people who make art and have the courage to put it out for judgment.’
He perks up at the word ‘courage.’ Observing him closely Lou understands that courage is a virtue he values in himself.
‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do that would make you like them more?’
She smiles kindly. ‘To interest me you’d have to paint in an entirely different way. I doubt you’d be willing to do that.’
‘Can you explain?’
‘I can. But first I must ask why my opinion matters to you?’
‘It matters a great deal, Frau Salomé. I recognized you right away. The moment I saw you at the station I knew who you were. That’s why I started following you. Not at first. But then at the Imperial Opera House, I caught your eye … or, rather, the eye of your friend. It was the night they performed Parsifal. I was in the standing-room area. You’ll find me there often. The two of you passed by on the way to your seats. I believe the other lady recalled seeing me at the station.’
‘She didn’t mention it.’
Actually there were three of us that night, Lou recalls. Ellen, herself, and the psychiatrist Dr Victor Tausk, another student of Freud, with whom she’s struck up a friendship and with whom she expects soon to begin an affair. She notes that the young man has neglected to mention she was part of a threesome. Did he actually not notice Victor, or is he leaving him out because he thinks he’s of no significance?
The young man continues describing the encounter. ‘It was very quick. You passed right by. I decided to wait outside after the performance then follow you. I saw you summon a hansom cab and overheard you give an address. That’s how I learned where you were staying.’
Lou stares at him. ‘I find this upsetting. No one likes being stalked. It makes one wonder what the stalker has in mind.’
‘I assure you I would never wish to bother you in any way.’
‘But you see, you have. Which is why I confronted you the other day. Ellen said: “There’s that man who’s been hanging around our hotel.” I didn’t like the sound of that, so I went straight up to you to express my annoyance.’ Lou pauses. ‘I must say, you didn’t make a good first impression.’
‘You were right to admonish me. I felt terrible.’
‘For being found out?’
‘For that, and even more for displeasing you. And yet I thank you for your admonishment. I learned a good lesson.’ He brightens. ‘And so here we are …’
Again she peers at him. She wonders whether he really thought she and Ellen wouldn’t notice him or whether he hoped they would so they would engage, an engagement he was too shy to initiate.
‘Yes,’ she tells him, ‘you achieved your aim. Now please tell me – what’s the point?’
‘The p-p-p-point? I wanted to meet you, speak with you, hear your voice.’
Oh dear, he’s stuttering again. She exhales. ‘I believe you simply wanted my attention. That was your motive, wasn’t it?’
‘You’re famous, Frau Salomé. I’ve seen people walk toward you, then turn and stare after you pass. I wager many would like to sit down with you and chat as we are now.’
She neither acknowledges this, nor laughs it off. She is becoming bored and a bit uneasy. Time, she thinks, to cut the encounter short.
‘My time here in Vienna is precious,’ she tells him. ‘I’m very busy. I spend nearly all my hours reading and studying with … the one who writes about sex, as you so amusingly put it. Is that really all you’ve heard about Professor Freud?’
‘I’ve heard he entices people to tell him their dreams. Then like a fortune-teller he reads their futures.’
‘You don’t have an inkling, do you? That’s fine. Sex is not everybody’s favorite subject.’ She peers at the wall clock. ‘I really must be off. There’s a seminar starting soon.’
She rises. He rises as well.
‘May I accompany you?’
‘Certainly not! Stay, have another coffee. I’ll take care of the bill.’
‘You’re very kind. I feel badly about not paying, but I’m short of funds these days.’ He looks at her longingly. ‘Will I see you again?’
She’s amused. ‘You haven’t had enough of me?’
‘There are many matters I’d like to discuss.’
Oh, I’m sure there are. ‘I’d be willing to have another coffee with you in six or seven weeks. We can discuss art then, and perhaps other topics. But before we meet I insist you spend some time looking at work by important contemporary artists. I’m thinking particularly of Klimt, Schiele, and Kokoschka. I have one other condition.’ She speaks strictly to him. ‘You are absolutely forbidden to follow me or Ellen again. I’m going to be very angry if I learn you’ve been lingering about with the pathetic beseeching expression you’re wearing now.’
The young man nods meekly. She notes that he responds well to severity.
‘If you meet my two conditions, which I think are reasonable, we shall meet again. You have my permission to wait six weeks, then write a letter reminding me.’
‘Thank you very much. I shall meet your conditions just as you’ve set them.’
‘So, goodbye then.’
She shakes his hand, then strides off.