Der Verschwender. Oh yes, Der Verschwender, Auersberger retorted, and the performance was so bad that it turned my stomach, and I immediately forgot all about it. At first the actor did not know how to react to Auersberger’s remarks. The Burgtheater has always had its detractors, he said, which is what happens to any institution that is superlatively good. The Burgtheater has always been attacked, especially by those who have been eager to join it and been rejected. All the actors who haven’t had an engagement with the Burgtheater, he said, inveigh against it until they land one. It’s always been like that. Anything out of the ordinary attracts hostility, he said. Hating the Burgtheater is an old Viennese tradition, just like hating the State Opera. Even the theater managers hate the Burgtheater, constantly ridiculing it until they succeed, by their unscrupulous endeavors, in becoming Burgtheater managers themselves. But look, the actor continued: where else would you see a performance of The Wild Duck like the one we’re doing at the Burgtheater? Nowhere! You can go wherever you like, but nowhere will you find a comparable performance of The Wild Duck. Nowhere, Auersberger replied, since you’ve just said yourself that this production of The Wild Duck at the Burgtheater is a failure, and that according to the critics the only successful aspect of the production is your own performance in the role of Ekdal. Your performance as Ekdal is superb, but apart from that the production’s no good. You can’t put it like that, the actor said, you can’t say that this production of The Wild Duck is no good, even though it may have its shortcomings. Even this partial failure is much preferable to all the other WildDucks I’veeverseen,and I’veseen all the Wild Ducks that have been put on in recent years. I once saw The Wild Duck in Berlin, the first postwar WildDuck,the Burgtheater actor said, at the FreieVolksbühne; I also saw The WildDuckat the Schillertheater. Both of them disastrous productions — and the same was true in Munich and Stuttgart. The German theater is praised only by total incompetents who haven’t the first notion of what theater is all about. It’s all fashionable journalism written by half-baked critics, said the actor. No, no, this Wild Duck at the Burgtheater is the best Wild Duck I’ve ever seen, and I’m not speaking from prejudice, even though I’m playing Ekdal in it. It’s far and away the best Wild Duck. I once saw the play in Stockholm — in Swedish the title is Vildanden. I didn’t like it at all. I felt I had to go to Stockholm to see the best Wild Duck there was to be seen, but it was a total disappointment. It’s not true that Scandinavian theaters put on the best performances of Scandinavian plays. I once saw a performance of The Wild Duck in Augsburg and found it far superior to anything I’d seen in Scandinavia. Naturally everything depends on Ekdal. If Ekdal’s no good the whole play’s no good. Don’t imagine for one moment that you hear the best Mozart performances in Salzburg or Vienna. People always make the mistake of thinking that a play gets its best productions in its country of origin. But they’re quite wrong. I once saw a Molière play performed in Hamburg in a way you’d never see it performed in Paris. And a Shakespeare production in Cologne that put all English Shakespeare productions in the shade. Of course it’s only in Vienna that you can see a good Nestroy production, the actor added. But not at the Burgtheater, Auersberger interjected. You’re probably right there, replied the actor. I have to admit that you’ve gota point. There’s never been a successful Nestroy production at the Burgtheater. But then where has there ever been a successful Nestroy production? Surely not at the Volkstheater, where by rights he belongs? Ofcourse not at the Volkstheater, Auersberger replied—at the Karltheater,but that was pulled down nearly thirty years ago. Yes, said the actor, it’s a great pity the Karltheater was demolished. In a way, he observed not unwittily, when they demolished the Karltheater they also demolished Nestroy. By they he meant the Viennese authorities, who have most of the city’s demolished theaters on their conscience. After the war more than half the theaters in Vienna were torn down, said Auersberger. Alas, how right you are! said the actor. In Vienna it’s always the best that gets demolished, Auersberger continued; the Viennese always demolish the best, but at the time they don’t realize that it’s the best — that dawns on them only after the event. The Viennese as a whole are expert demolishers and destroyers, demolition and destruction specialists. How right you are! said the actor, who had by now finished eating and had his glass replenished by the hostess. If a building in Vienna is especially beautiful, he went on, it’s sure to be demolished sooner or later — no matter whether it’s a particularly beautiful building or a particularly successful institution, the Viennese don’t rest content until it’s been demolished. And they treat people in just the same way, the actor went on: being incapable of recognizing a person’s goodness or worth, they proceed to tear him down, just as they would tear down a monument, having suddenly forgotten that it was they who put it up in the first place. My interpretation of Ekdal is in a certain sense philosophical, said the actor, but when you read what’s been written about Ibsen you’re none the wiser — on the contrary, you find that it only deranges the mind. And you can’t approach an exacting role like Ekdal with your mind deranged, said the actor. Young Werle, Gregers — that would have been the part for me thirty years ago, perhaps even twenty years ago. I’d have liked to play it, but whenever I got anywhere near playing it, The Wild Duck was taken off the repertory. Gregers would have been an even more appropriate part for me to play, he said, looking around at the others. I had the impression that none of them knew what he was talking about, except for Jeannie Billroth, who had just admitted to having recently read and seen The Wild Duck for the first time. Gregers would really have been the part for me, rather than Ekdal, said the actor, and it was now clear that nobody at the table knew what he meant. I used to dream of playing Gregers, he said. I was once invited to play the part in Düsseldorf, but I turned the invitation down because I didn’t want to leave Vienna. If I’d gone to Düsseldorf to play Gregers — who knows? — I might have lost my contract with the Burgtheater. I was naturally thankful to be engaged by the Burgtheater, he said, but all my life it’s pained me to have forfeited the chance to play Gregers. Only once was I offered the part. I always thought I’d play it one day, but I never did. If we pass up a chance like that, he said, it never comes around again. Psychological theater, said the actor, leaning back in his chair after accepting a cigar from Auersberger’s wife. She made to light it for him, but he forestalled her and lit it himself. We always want the highest, he said, but we don’t attain the highest just by wanting it, he said, uttering this sentence as though it were a quotation, possibly from some play or other. While he was having such a success as Ekdal, he said, he was already preparing for his next role. In an English play, he said. An English director was coming over from London, and rehearsals were due to start the following week. An English conversation piece, but not Oscar Wilde, he said. Oh no! And naturally not Shaw.