Sophie clasped her hands together smiling discreetly, and said: In principle I concur with Herr Hans’s dream. Herr Gottlieb’s eyes narrowed. He lit his pipe, and appeared to set his thoughts on fire. Don’t exaggerate, Professor, said Álvaro (don’t exaggerate about what? asked Professor Mietter), about Spain (ah, said the professor). Would anyone like some more pastries? Sophie said, standing up and evading Hans in the round mirror.
For a while Hans’s mind strayed from the discussion. When he went back to it, Álvaro was speaking. Spain? he was saying, well, that depends, I was in the habit of reading Jovellanos and Olavide. My dear man, Professor Mietter said, with genuine interest (although Hans, still unable to distinguish the nuances of his voice, thought he was being ironic), I’m afraid we do not know who those two might be. Then it will be my honour to enlighten you, said Álvaro (and now Hans was unsure if he meant it ironically), and don’t worry, Professor, we Spaniards are used to it — my country boasts few thinkers, the few we have are rather good at it, and abroad everyone thinks we have no thinkers at all. Olavide was a courageous man, too much of a Voltairean to be a Sevillian, or too much of a Sevillian to carry out a French-style revolution. Scarcely anyone read him then and now they read him even less. Jovellanos on the other hand became quite well-known. He was a learned man although, shall we say, not without his contradictions. His vocation as a priest compromised his reformist tendencies, if you see what I mean. Naturally, he was too intelligent not to offend many people. Where I come from, dear friends, even moderate liberals end up in exile. A change of monarch was enough to send Jovellanos from the Madrid court to the Asturian mines, and from there to a prison where he was allowed to swim in the sea under guard, without ever really changing his cautious opinions (how interesting! exclaimed Frau Pietzine. It reminds me of a novel I read recently. My dear, Sophie said, stroking her arm, do tell us about it later) until at the last he died of pneumonia. I would even go so far as to say, my friends, that in Spain it is well nigh impossible to be a liberal and not to die of pneumonia. To Hans’s surprise, Professor Mietter took a notebook from his pocket, jotted down a few words and said: And in your estimation, Herr Urquiho, what is Hovellanos’s best work? Urquijo, Álvaro said, smiling. His best work? That is hard to say. In my view Jovellanos’s greatest achievement was to make Spain understand that the way its people play, amuse themselves and fight bulls depends on the way they live, work and are governed. Ah, I see, Mietter said, glancing up from his notebook, a product of the French Enlightenment. Álvaro sighed: A genuine one, yes. Hans sensed he was holding something back and asked: But? Pleased by his intuitive response, Álvaro nodded at him as he replied: Only that he took Communion every fortnight! (Hans glanced at Herr Gottlieb and stifled a laugh). There it is, the Spanish Enlightenment was a melancholy joke.
Seeing her mollify Professor Mietter with praise as she smiled enthusiastically, Hans began to suspect Sophie’s silence was strategic rather than a result of her having no opinions. Perhaps she enjoyed the passion of their debates. Perhaps she encouraged them by avoiding interrupting their ripostes while keeping the professor as happy as possible. This woman will reduce me to a nervous wreck, thought Hans. But, mein Herr, said Professor Mietter, straightening his spectacles, order in Europe is absolutely essential; I need hardly remind you of all the wars and invasions we have endured. Professor, replied Hans giving a sidelong glance in the mirror, there will never be order in Europe without a just order in every country. Is it not worth at least giving a thought to the fact that the constitutions imposed on us by our invaders have given us greater freedoms than our own?
At that moment, there was an interplay of glances — in the round mirror Hans saw Herr Gottlieb turn to look at him, while at the same instant he saw Sophie trying to catch his eye in the glass to signal to him he should look round. Hans wheeled just in time to say: I beg you to excuse my vehemence, sir. Herr Gottlieb shook his head, as though declining to issue any judgement. My dear Monsieur Hans, Sophie broke in, my father is respectful of everyone’s opinion and appreciates the freedom with which we express ourselves in this salon. It is one of the things I most admire about him, is it not, dear Papa? Herr Gottlieb smoothed his whiskers in a gesture of modesty, took his daughter’s hand and settled back in his armchair. This, ahem, commented Herr Levin with unexpected archness, is precisely what I was saying, laissez faire, laissez passer. Everybody laughed as one. An invisible cog appeared to be released and began turning once more. In the mirror, Hans saw Sophie raise her eyebrows.