Theophil’s Antiques continued to go from strength to strength as did Peppi’s fame. He was delighted when one of London University’s Colleges conferred on him an Honorary Doctorate. Another source of joy was Lucy’s appointment as an Adjunct Professor in another College. Initially, Peppi was concerned about her drained appearance when she returned home after her classes. To his relief she soon adjusted to her position, carrying on her new duties without neglecting their shop.
Being a realist, Peppi acknowledged that he had no cause for complaint. He continued to lead the active life of a businessman and, in addition, enjoyed excellent health. Undoubtedly, the need for a hearing aid was a nuisance. So was the cataract in his right eye. Still, none of these trifles was going to get him down: he was still going strong!
All the same, Peppi sensed a growing void appearing on the horizon. Frequently he felt morose, depressed and unwilling to step out of his daily routine. Lucy, who viewed him with mounting concern, was therefore not surprised when Peppi failed to display any emotion when Anna announced the birth of her daughter.
“I’m glad they’re going to call her ‘Helga’. But I’m not up to such a long flight, Lucy. Please give my apologies to Anna and tell her I’m gratified. I’ll give you a cheque and please get a nice gift for the baby.”
“Of course, Papa. But is it alright for me to go? Are you sure you can manage?”
“Yes, I can. Don’t worry about me. But don’t you tell Anna to come over to see me. It would be too much of a strain.”
“Alright, Papa,” said Lucy and rushed out of the room.
She left early the next morning. In the evening, after an uneventful day in the shop followed by a quick meal in a nearby restaurant, Peppi had a heart-to-heart with his ephemeral friend.
“Isn’t it time for me to join you, Theophil?” he asked, the moment he sensed the other’s presence.
“Now, now, Peppi. Aren’t you being melodramatic? You imply that you find life dull. Well, do you aspire to chase young girls in the Prater or in Soho at your age? Think of my erstwhile friend Faust – what good was Gretchen to him?”
“You know very well that that’s not what I’m after! That Schlemiel, Faust, can have them all! No, Theophil – it’s just that there is no meaning to my life any longer.”
“You feel hollow?”
“I do! But, perhaps, this is not a feeling you have experienced.”
“Oh, I know what you are talking about. I, too, know the meaning of boredom and isolation. What else would spur me to take an interest in you humans?”
“I’m not sure I understand,” admitted Peppi.
“Do you realise how old I am?”
“As old as the universe itself?”
“Quite,” affirmed the gentle voice in his mind. “And so is He.”
“What then makes us humans of any interest to you?”
“Both of us faced a problem. He solved it by demanding that you worship and obey him. My course is to observe humanity and set it free! Well, Peppi, can you guess the nature of the problem that spurred us to our respective resolves?”
“Could it be that in this way you found a … purpose – an aim?”
“Well spoken, my friend.” The soft voice chuckled. “Without an interest in humans, life would be dull for both Him and me. He, I suspect, would once again become a spirit hovering over an amorphous abyss. And I, Peppi, would cease to think, would cease to doubt and hence would cease to exist.”
“I think I understand. But why are you telling me all this, Theophil?”
“I hope to convey a message.”
“I can’t read it!”
“Try, Peppi.”
“You have told me many times yours is the force of pure reason!”
“It is, hopefully. And I have just defined the predicament I would face if there was no longer something to reason about or to arouse my curiosity.”
“So your existence would lose its meaning! Oh, I see! You are telling me I, too, have to find something that interests me: a sort of a new purpose in life.”
“Precisely!”
“But I’m close to eighty. Most of my contemporaries have passed on: even Tommy Berger!”
“All the more reason to enjoy your existence!”
“But what sort of ‘new thing’ can I launch at this time of life?”
“Something utterly new may very well be beyond your reach. But can’t you think of something related to your current interests – something that would give you a fresh focus without requiring a change in your way of life?”
“I often wanted to get into the old master paintings market; but most of the so-called ‘new’ discoveries are the work of second- or third-class artists. They are eulogised by the sales houses because the real treasures of the past are in museums or in select private collections and hence not for sale.”
“How about some other areas of artistic enterprise?”
“I can’t think of anything directly related to tapestries and old master prints!”
“Look a bit further afield, Peppi. How do you feel about plastic art?”
“I have no taste for sculpture. Hold on – are you, by any chance, referring to ceramics?”
“What do you have against them?”
“I’ve not had the time to get into the field. So I am not able to judge. Generally, though, I prefer pure art to functional art.”
“In your opinion, porcelain is a branch of applied arts. Well, let’s try to overcome your prejudice. Do you have any porcelain in your stock at present?”
“Lucy told me she bought a few figurines from a ‘rum sort of a chap’. Shall I go down and get them?”
“Let me save you the trouble,” said his friend and, even as he spoke, six mid-European figurines materialised before Peppi’s startled eyes. For a few moments they swayed pertly in front of him and then settled gracefully on his desk.
“Well, what do you think of them?” asked Theophil.
“They’re alright,” conceded Peppi.
“Just alright? Why not study them closely.” Noting Peppi’s baffled expression, he went on in the same coaxing tone: “Ah, you are still in the dark. Let’s try a different tack. Fix your gaze on any one of them and then try to magnify it.”
“Magnify it?” asked Peppi, just as bewildered as before.
“You are slow today, Freiherr von Stölzenfeld! Try to imagine any one of these figurines in the size of a grown-up person. Why don’t you try Lola, the ballet dancer.” There was a pause. “So the penny has dropped,” observed his visitor as Peppi’s eyes cleared. “Well, what do you think of her now?”
“She is magnificent. A fine, realistic, sculpture in porcelain! So are the other figurines.”
“Try to hazard a guess about their age!?”
“Judging by their attire: early to mid-18th century?”
“Quite so, Peppi. Well, what do you have to say about them now?”
“They are realistic – oh yes, I get it: realism in the midst of the Baroque and Rococo!”
“Do you still maintain that they constitute inferior, purely functional, art?”
“No, Theophil. I was wrong there. They are sculptures – real ones. And exceptional, at that. Further, they have an extra dimension: they are polychrome, whilst sculptures hewn in stone or cast in bronze are monochrome! These porcelain sculptures attain the Greek ideal of sculpture in colours!”
“They do; and this extra dimension drove 18th century sculptors from the studio to the porcelain kilns. They strove to create three dimensional representations of life, expressed in the full range of colours available for brush work!”
“Amazing … a revelation! Do you have anything else to show me?”
“Lucy has not unwrapped the second parcel. Shall we do it for her?”
“Please do!”
“Let me first fit this glove over your right arm and hand. Now straighten your arm out as far as you can and don’t bend it or move your hand any closer to your face; and keep still!”
The noise of beating wings was swiftly followed by the appearance of a peregrine falcon, flying majestically through the open window. It glided proudly around them, then, in response to a sound that appeared to emerge from Peppi’s lips, came to rest on the glove.
“Here,” said Theophil gently, as a hood slid over the bird’s eyes. As if by magic, the glove disappeared and the small translucent figurine, into which the falcon had metamorphosed, settled beside the other pieces. “Kändler: the greatest animal sculptor of all times,” explained Theophil.
“A brilliant artist,” said Peppi, deeply moved.
“And you have neglected his creations!”
“Isn’t it getting too late to make amends?”
“You are unlikely to excel, Peppi. There are too many specialised dealers and knowledgeable collectors in the field. But you should be able to launch a respectable porcelain section in your shop – the shop which bears my name.”
“Consider it done,” said Peppi thoughtfully. “But you know, once before, when I was despondent, you helped me out by …”
“… by distracting you; by diverting your attention to something new, something exciting.”
“As I used to do when little Anna came running to me with one of her woes.”
“Precisely. Don’t tell me you are offended because I’ve used the same tactics.”
“But then, are all our human affairs as insignificant, as fleeting, as a child’s momentary anguish?”
“Not necessarily,” retorted the eternal observer. “And a child’s momentary anguish, as you choose to call it, can have far reaching effects in its adult life. The therapy I have used in your case – and which you applied when Anna came to you crying bitterly – is based on a time-honoured formula. We cure the patient by giving him something to alleviate his suffering. Just now you were succumbing to boredom. I provided something new – something to arouse your interest.”
“And last time?”
“I provided a painting which diverted you from the wound inflicted by Anna.”
“I see. A priest, of course, would have proffered solace through faith.”
“Quite,” agreed Theophil, gratified. “And don’t forget Karl Marx’s saying: ‘religion is the opium of the people’. Opium is a great pain killer!”
“Strange,” reflected Peppi. “Since time immemorial you, Theophil, have been blamed for innumerable crimes committed by humanity. But my experience tells me you are kind. Further, many of the crimes were committed in His and not in your name!”
“The old dualism,” sniggered Theophil. “God’s name is employed as the incentive for a misdeed. For instance, one nation wants to destroy another. Its leader proclaims a war in the name of the Good Lord. The victim nation – so the manifesto goes – is sinful, corrupt, evil. It ought to be wiped out. After the perpetration of the crime, when a more humane generation feels ashamed of it, another seer blames the devil for having incited the mob or its leader. The Good Lord, Peppi, is the legitimation. The evil devil provides the excuse voiced much later. Quite a neat allocation of roles.”
“But – as you made Tommy Berger see – both good and evil are inherent in the creation,” mused Peppi.
“They are. And I, let me remind you, am not the Creator! Neither Eve’s curiosity nor the murder planted in Man’s heart is my doing! Am I then to be blamed for their effects?”
“Not on any rational grounds!” proclaimed Peppi.
When Lucy returned to London, she was pleasantly surprised by Peppi’s change in outlook. He had unpacked all the porcelain pieces she had acquired from the strange peddler and had gone on a shopping spree of his own.
“But how are we going to display all these pieces?” she asked, bewildered. “Our existing show rooms are full to the brim!”
“That’s no problem,” replied a cheerful and invigorated Peppi. “Mike Smith wants to close down his clock shop and retire. We can acquire the premises!”
“It’s as if somebody planned it for you!”
“It does look that way, doesn’t it?” agreed Peppi, trying hard to sound innocent.
Peppi’s discovery of porcelain was one of the major events in his long and fruitful life: it paved the way for his Indian Summer. In addition, the ripples on the surface of the pond – occasioned by the pebble Peppi dropped when he embarked on this new trade – affected the life of yet another person: my own self.