1. Peppi’s Second Career
Following this encounter, Peppi started to go from strength to strength. His friendship with Dad remained intact, with each rejoicing at the other’s success. Their paths, though, did not cross again.
For Dad, the turning point was Russia’s withdrawal from Vienna in 1951. He and Peppi saw in it Theophil’s hand. Modern historians have come up with a more mundane explanation: Russia’s bridgehead in Vienna was of no military, political or tactical advantage. Austria’s unilateral declaration of neutrality – the price exacted by the Russians for their withdrawal – constituted a safer barrier against Western aggression than the sparse Red Army troops stationed in the old Habsburg capital.
Dad returned to Vienna by the end of the year. Within two years he was once again Vienna’s leading broker in the import of fruit and vegetables from Italy and Spain. He did not amass a fortune but enjoyed a comfortable and relaxed life. I, too, benefited from his success. He saw me through my postgraduate studies at Oxford. I visited his at least twice a year during this period. Apart from the pleasure of seeing him, I managed to rekindle my mid European heritage.
Peppi did not return to Vienna. A few days after the incident on the platform, he apprenticed himself to one of Munich’s leading antiques dealers. Initially, Herr Schultz was reluctant to take on a middle-aged trainee. To allay his fears, Peppi launched into an analysis-cum-classification of the main artefacts displayed in the show window and cabinets. Duly impressed, Herr Schultz offered Peppi a six month attachment.
Peppi passed with flying colours. When his probation was over, Herr Schultz offered him a regular post. The wages were meagre but Peppi soon earned a fair living out of his sales commissions. By the end of his second year in the trade, he had acquired expertise in tapestries and in old masters’ prints. He also established excellent relations with the clients, who regarded him a trustworthy and knowledgeable dealer.
Herr Schultz, alas, was unable to reap the benefits of the business’s success. It came too late. Having lost his wife in an air raid and his only son on the African front, he had no heir. This disappointing fact of life, and his natural fair mindedness, encouraged Herr Schultz to constitute the indefatigable and resourceful Peppi a full and equal partner. His only misgiving concerned their surnames: a high-class antiques business ought not to be carried on under two common names. Obligingly, Peppi changed his surname to Stölzenfeld.
They continued to work together for another five years, and the business went from strength to strength. Then Herr Schultz came up with an irresistible proposition. Admitting that he felt the need to retire, he suggested that Peppi pay him an annuity in consideration of his share in the business. Despite Helga’s doubts, Peppi accepted. Some fourteen months after his retirement, Herr Schultz passed away.
On his return to Munich after the funeral, Peppi settled into his leather chair, the special bottle in his hand, and took stock of his situation. He was some sixty-two years of age, in perfect health and happily married.
His two daughters were a source of joy. Lucy, it was true, remained a tomboy. Her blunt mannerisms and sharp tongue scared many a potential suitor away. But she was exceptionally bright, had consistently won all the school prizes on offer in the humanities and – to Peppi’s delight – had developed an interest in antiques. Her future, Peppi sensed, would be secure even if she remained unattached.
His second daughter, Anna, had the makings of a belle. She was mirror conscious, donned smart dresses and spent hours on her hairstyle. True, her marks in school were nothing to boast about and her piano teacher was taciturn when reporting on her progress and application. Peppi and Helga were unable to spur her into work. Helga grieved; Peppi remained unperturbed. “She may never develop into a business or career woman,” he mused complacently; “but she’ll sure know how to handle her husband and keep him happy and on the leash!”
Looking affectionately at his special bottle, Peppi concluded that all was well on the domestic front. Financially, too, his position was secure and, most importantly, he enjoyed his latest occupation and craved nothing else. Admittedly, he was well past the passions and great expectations of youth as well as the financial aspirations of mid-life. His main ambition was to use his remaining working years so as to expand Schultz and Stölzenfeld and turn it into the best antiques shop in Germany.
It took Peppi a few more years to achieve his target. In March 1966, Peppi’s standing was lauded in Der Spiegel. A reportage in its Art pages, which ranked the best known art and antiques shops in Western Germany, named Schultz and Stölzenfeld the leading experts in medieval tapestries and old master prints. Lucy and Anna were jubilant. Helga embraced Peppi in front of her daughters and, failing to suppress tears of joy, exclaimed: “At long last you’ve made it, Liebling!”
Peppi’s success did not go to his head. But it encouraged him to look for further openings for his business. Sensing that Munich was too small for him, he travelled first to Frankfurt and then to Hamburg with a view to opening branches. When he realised that both towns had their own well established dealers, he made a trip to Paris but realised that he would be unable to carve a niche for himself in the local thriving antiques market.
He was about to give up when Lucy, who had just graduated from Munich’s University with a summa cum laude in Classics and Medieval Philosophy, suggested that they attend an antiques fair in London. Helga was supportive, and so Peppi agreed. His real object, though, was to visit the Tower of London and to spend a few days in museums.
2. The London Venture
To his own surprise, Peppi fell in love with Old London Town. He spent an entire week in the British Museum and the V&A and admired the Strand and the boats sailing up and down the Thames. He enjoyed the West End and its sparkling theatres and felt awed by Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s. Indeed, he got so carried away that he investigated the possibility of transplanting Big Ben from its time honoured abode to Munich’s Town Hall. Fortunately, young Lucy persuaded her agitated father that his idea was improper.
Peppi and Lucy spent an extra week in London. One morning, as they were walking back to the hotel from the Portobello Market, they stumbled into Kensington Church Street. A good look at the wares and artefacts displayed in the show windows of the antiques shops convinced Peppi that he had found a suitable location for a branch. After some deliberation, Peppi rented a spacious shop that had just been vacated. His only concern was how to staff his new business. Unexpectedly, Lucy came up with a simple solution.
“If you want, I’ll run it for you, Papa. I’ve been helping you out in Munich for three years!”
“You are a good judge of antiques and you do know how to run the business, but do you really want to live all on your own in London? The British are alright but just a little bit funny, aren’t they?”
“You fear, Papa, that I won’t find a suitable husband in London!” giggled Lucy.
“That too,” admitted Peppi.
“But, Dad, I don’t intend to get married. I can manage perfectly well without a fool of a husband tied to my apron strings.”
“Oh well,” said Peppi resignedly. “If that’s the way you feel, you might as well start this new business here – if Helga agrees.”
“She will,” said Lucy.
They spent the next few days searching for suitable accommodation. Peppi’s idea was to purchase a flat in St John’s Wood. Lucy, however, recalled the covetous glances Peppi had cast at a house in Hampstead. Lucy, too, liked it. All the same, Peppi was unable to disguise his unease.
“What worries you, Papa? Hampstead is a safe area: just as safe as St John’s Wood.”
“I know. But I can’t bear the thought of your living all alone in such a big house. Suppose somebody loses his way on the heath and tries to get in?”
“Aren’t you just a bit fanciful, Papa?”
She had made her point. On her solemn promise to install a burglar alarm and keep the doors locked and bolted at night, Peppi agreed to buy the lovely house.
All that remained to be done was to find a suitable name for their new business. ‘Schultz and Stölzenfeld’ appeared inappropriate for a London based business. ‘Stölzenfeld and Daughter’ sounded even worse. Eventually, Peppi suggested ‘Theophil’s Antiques’.
“But we don’t know any Théophile. Why do you want to use a bogus name?”
“Why ever not?” countered Peppi, trying to sound authoritative.
“Why ever not,” mimicked Lucy. “Papa, that’s the funniest thing you have said in months! Still, I suppose Théophile sounds sort of cute.”
“It’s not ‘Théophile’ but ‘Theophil’ – without an ‘e’.”
“Lover of theorising? Come to think of it, I like it. Alright then, Papa.”
Helga was bemused when told of the exploits of her husband and elder daughter. “Well, well, so now we have two antiques dealers in our family. Whatever next!”
“Next is: Papa must become Herr von Stölzenfeld!” answered Anna.
“And why is that, my dear lady?” asked Peppi, looking affectionately at his younger daughter, a girl of fourteen, who was fast maturing into an attractive and self-assured woman.
“Because then I’ll be Fräulein von Stölzenfeld and everybody will treat me with great respect!”
“Now, now, Anna. Snobbery is a sin; and it’s also stupid,” censured Helga, but Anna persisted.
“But it’s cute to be Fräulein von Stölzenfeld!”
“And the British are great snobs,” intercepted Peppi.
“So because they are snobs you want to spend money for the privilege of adding a ‘von’ to your perfectly respectable name?” asked Helga, bewildered.
“Our teachers told us that Balzac just added ‘de’ in front of his surname. So why can’t Papa insert the ‘von’?” protested Anna.
The matter ended there. But Peppi went to bed in contemplative mood. After lengthy meanderings, he concluded that an antic, resorted to by a French penny-a-liner like Balzac, was equally fair for Peppi Stölzl. Shortly before her departure to London, Lucy discovered that the sign above their Munich shop had undergone a subtle change. The new insignia read: ‘Schultz & Stölzenfeld; Proprietor: Joseph-Dieter von Stölzenfeld’. Down to earth Lucy had a good laugh. Helga, in contrast, snorted upon hearing of Peppi’s most recent ascent. Anna took a very different view. Embracing her father ecstatically, she exclaimed: “And now you must buy a big signet ring, Papa.”
Under Lucy’s management, Theophil’s Antiques made steady progress. True, Lucy lacked Peppi’s psychological agility, monumental drive and natural knack for clinching a bargain. Clients, though, responded favourably to her sincere efforts to assist them and sensed that she was a fair and scrupulous businesswoman. Within two years, she had acquired a steady and loyal clientele. Her other achievement was the branching out into illuminated medieval books. In no time, she developed a first class expertise.
Peppi shuttled regularly between the two shops. After a while, he felt increasingly attached to London. Initially, he spent his evenings in the West End and occasionally went to a concert. Then, at Lucy’s instigation, he joined the famed Artiquar Club. Thereafter, father and daughter spent many a pleasant evening in the Club’s discreet Reading Room. Lucy, who had become a regular contributor to the Medieval Books pages of the Artiquar Quarterly, browsed professional literature whilst Peppi looked up old catalogues of London’s leading sales rooms. Shortly after Peppi became a member, he persuaded Lucy to let her name run for the illustrious post of Curator. Her doting father’s chest bulged with pride when his daughter was elected unanimously.
3. Becoming Freiherr von Stölzenfel
Problems surfaced when Peppi contributed an article on medieval tapestries from Anjou. A few weeks after its publication, he received a hand-written letter, carrying the postmark of Leipzig and signed ‘Karl Adelbert Freiherr von Stölzenfeld’. It ended with the words: “Will you kindly let me know forthwith by what right you sign your writings with a title conferred on my ancestor by Frederick the Great?”
A lesser man might have panicked. Peppi took the onslaught in his stride. To calm his nerves, he drew a few swigs from his cherished bottle. Under its strange influence he commissioned a private investigator’s report. The information he received confirmed the Freiherr’s exclusive right to his esteemed title but also established that the aging squire was penniless. When the nobleman’s fury had abated, Peppi began negotiations. In the end, the Freiherr agreed to receive a handsome stipend, and adopted Peppi into his family. In this way Peppi acquired the lawful right to use the ‘von’ and, as the old nobleman had no heir, was assured of succeeding to the time-honoured ‘Freiherr’ designation.
Lucy displayed her amusement without reserve. To her mind, it was all too silly for words. Helga, whose religiosity was reaching an advanced state, disagreed. Unable to hide her chagrin, she said the money could have been spent more sensibly on a donation to charity. She was appeased only when Peppi pointed out that the aging Freiherr was actually one of the deserving poor. Young Anna thought it best to keep her counsel. Late in the evening, though, when her mother had gone to church to listen to a preacher from Potsdam, she told Peppi affectionately: “So one day you will be a real Freiherr, Papa!” Peppi Stölzl beamed.
Time passed, and things continued to flow smoothly. For a while not a ripple disturbed the calm waters of their existence. Although Peppi was in his late sixties, he retained his old zest for life. Often, when Helga attended a religious function, he took Anna out to dinner.