Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

Alexandra was relieved, she had touched the impassioned heart behind those serious, desperate eyes. She smiled atClara. "Yes, this is one of Tuscany’s great pleasures. Do you know the frescoes of Piero de la Francesca in Borgo di SanSepolcro? There I made that discovery for the first time. The medium lets the frescoes appear almost transparent, andthey are forbiddingly severe as you say, for example his Madonna in the cemetery chapel."Clara’s face opened up, became animated and excited. "Do you paint?""No, I don’t. When I first came to Italy I had never before seen an original Italian painting. Venice and later Florencecompletely overwhelmed my senses. That was six years ago. Ever since I see their colors before my eyes. They are myrefuge and consolation during the cold, depressing winters in St. Petersburg."A shadow passed over Clara’s face. Hidden behind her forbidding features burnt an intense fire. Why did St. Petersburgdisturb her?"You two are completely absorbed into each other," remarked Friedrich.Alexandra fell silent.Sensitive as always, Claudia came to her rescue. "Clara, last night we hedged a plan. The six of us would like to spendthe end of August on the beach in Italy. It will be Konrad and Alexandra’s last month here before they have to return tothe Russian winter. It would be wonderful to just lie on some beach, take Otto along, and swim in the blue Adria. Wouldyou join us with Ruth?"Clara passed her hand over her forehead as if trying to wipe away her despondency and with a measured voice said. "Ihave buried myself in work for eight months. Ruth and I too need to get back among people. I cannot forever mourn myloss of Rainer. The sea and a wide beach would really be wonderful. I would like to join you. Do you have a particularplace in mind or may I make a suggestion?"She looked from Claudia to Alexandra. "A few years ago we spent a summer in a small pensione in Ca’ Savio, a villageof four houses an hour by boat north of Venice. The house is run by a real Italian mama, spartan, ridiculously cheap, noservice, everybody takes care of himself, one can use her kitchen or eat in a small, local fishermen’s trattoria in thevillage. The beach is right in front of the house, miles of beautiful, white sand, completely empty."Clara gazed absentmindedly at this vision and turned to Katharina with a smile. "The houseguests are poets, painters,and other artists from all over Europe. Katharina, you would not be bothered by any paparazzi. There is one unwrittenhouse rule, everybody has to bring one or two interesting books along to read to the assembled guests in the evening."Clara’s suggestion was received with enthusiasm. They hedged out the details well into the night.In parting Clara invited Alexandra. "Come, visit me and bring Otto along. I rent a studio in Berg on Lake Starnberg. Youtake the train to Starnberg and a small boat from there."Alexandra recognized Clara from far away, unmistakably statuesque, in a long white dress, she was waiting with foldedarms at the landing.Clara spontaneously embraced Alexandra. "Please, would you address me with the informal Du?"She greeted Otto."I rented the large dining hall and two rooms in the house of an absent member of the Bavarian Royal Family. It is veryclose."Alexandra laughed. "I did not realize, but Berg has a certain notoriety among us. Here I nearly killed a chicken the firsttime I drove Friedrich’s car. The view across the lake was so beautiful that I did not watch the road. Was this the placewhere King Ludwig drowned?"They walked along the lake shore. The slightly neglected, two-story house, right by the water, was shaded by old beechand chestnut trees. A small park separated it from the village. Tsinandali came to Alexandra’s mind and her belovedZaguramo."Here we are." Clara opened a French door from the terrace and let them in. In the center of the room stood two largeblocks of marble, unfinished sculptures, an arm, a head, the muscular body of a bearded man, still half-buried in theblock. The floor was covered with a thick layer of white marble dust.The spacious room took up the entire lake front of the house. Four French double doors created a soft and even light.The view through the trees onto the water, the houses of the town and the low, undulating hills on the opposite shore,quiet and lovely, a refuge for a distressed soul.Alexandra ran her slender fingers over the rough, snow-white, crystalline surface of the freshly broken stone."Have you seen Michelangelo’s unfinished Slaves in the Accademia in Florence?" asked Clara."No, sculpture is unexplored territory to me. The Michelangelos I saw, his David and Night and Day in San Lorenzo, leftme cold. I don’t know, is it the smooth perfection of their surfaces? But these are fabulous. The broken stone," shetouched the marble again, "is almost transparent. What are they?""They are a commission, a man and a woman, for a new building in Munich. I have Michelangelo’s Slaves in my mind allthe time, they are just like these, intentionally left unfinished, imprisoned in their blocks forever. I understand yourdifficulties with the Italian marbles, they are a challenge to the sculptor but hard to appreciate by the untrained eye."Clara went upstairs to get Ruth. "The children can play on the terrace outside."118