crème royal, powdered themselves, sprinkled themselves with perfume, even wore scented nightclothes, so that all the corridors smelled even more strongly of perfume and makeup, the whole castle smelled like a dressing room in a theater, and all the pensioners looked forward to the possibility that they might be lucky enough to run into Dr. Holoubek, that he would return their greetings gratefully, give them a courteous bow, because the old doctor, even though he smoked, could never stand it when one of the pensioners smoked in the castle corridors, and even though the old doctor himself drank, he would start yelling if a pensioner smelled of beer or gin, threatening to send the pensioner straight back to wherever he’d come from, back home as punishment … And Dr. Holoubek had another passion, he loved classical music, he was so crazy about it that he simply had to talk about it all the time, because he wanted to share that beauty with the rest of the world. One afternoon he invited all classical music buffs to come to the dining hall, he had brought along a phonograph and spoke in a voice filled with emotion … Friends, today I’d like to transport you all to the realm of sound, allow me to play you a recording of Claudio Arrau performing Liszt’s Liebeslied … while I read to you from the work of the poet Freiligrath … and he placed the needle on the record and Claudio Arrau began playing the love song, a nostalgic melody, each finger pressing the keys with great emphasis, Dr. Holoubek read aloud, in a soft voice … O love, as long as love you can, O love, as long as love you may, The time will come, the time will come, When you will stand at the grave and mourn … And most of the old women were so moved that they began humming this song of love, softly, and then their gentle humming, their choral lament, grew louder and stronger, and I too was deeply moved, because like me probably most of the old women had specified in their last will and testament that this Song of Love be their last song, the song that would be played as their coffin was being lowered into the grave or slid slowly into the cremation oven … Now, under the fingers of Claudio Arrau, the piano thundered through the Count’s former banquet hall and the old women and a few of the men hummed along with the love song as if it were a chorale, suddenly that last song was a High Mass, a song whose words were now replaced by a waterfall of notes, sparkling piano tones that rang out like a spring hailstorm against a tin roof and then returned to that hymnlike melody … Dr. Holoubek read out the final lines of the poet who had inspired Liszt … And guard your words with care, lest harm flow from your lips, but the loved one recoils and mourns … Mr. Otokar Rykr said to me in a low voice … In Palacký Avenue the butcher Antonín Huněk could be seen flaunting his belly and Roman nose in his shop at number one hundred fifteen, equally big-bellied was his counterpart at number fifty-one, the baker Antonín Štolba, whom you would often see, covered with flour, smoking a cigarette in the doorway of his bakery. Before Štolba the house had been occupied by the furniture maker and sexton Vambera. His pride and joy was a starling he had trained to pull a glass of water into his cage with a little winch. And in that same Palacký Avenue, above the entrance to the shop belonging to Tusar, Votava-Paljas’s son-in-law, were two half-wreaths decorated with wooden lemons and bay leaves. In the window were glass jars of pickled cucumbers, crystallized fruit, quite expensive in those days, Saint John’s bread, yellow gummies shaped like various figures, sugared pretzels, pink and white candies that tasted like soap, chocolate wafers and licorice root. At the entrance to the shop stood a herring barrel, on the counter was a vat of Russian sardines, better known as Russians ’n Onions … Dr. Holoubek was now holding up another record, and said … If I may, I’d like to play you a particular excerpt from a symphonic poem for orchestra, written by Zdeněk Fibich, you’ll hear the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by none other than Václav Neumann, the work is called At Twilight, it is an immortal love song that stirs the hearts of all who hear it and is best known simply as Poem. And the pensioners’ eyes filled with tears, they were restless with excitement, the doctor placed the needle on the record, but the Philharmonic was still playing that part of the piece in which the young Fibich is climbing the stairs to the home of the Schulz family, the doctor lifted the needle and moved it to a different spot on the record and then sat down in the Count’s armchair, after several chords the Czech Philharmonic fell silent and when the opening notes of the love song were heard, the old women began humming along with the orchestra, Mr. Neumann the conductor undoubtedly imagined himself as the young Fibich, with his declaration of love to young Miss Shulzová, the old women and men couldn’t restrain themselves and accompanied his