The house stands on one side of a square in which there are tall poplars. The house, built just before the French Revolution, is older than the trees. It contains a collection of furniture, paintings, porcelain, armor, which, for over a century, has been open to the public as a museum. The entry is free, there are no tickets, anybody can enter.
The rooms on the ground floor and up the grand staircase, on the first floor, are the same as they were when the famous collector first opened his house to the nation. As you walk through them, something of the 18th century settles lightly on your skin like powder. Like 18th-century talc.
Many of the paintings on display feature young women and shot game, both subjects testifying to the passion of pursuit. Every wall is covered with oil paintings hung close together. The outside walls are thick. No sound from the city outside penetrates.
2016/9/13
The Goalie's Anxiety At the Penalty Kick (Peter Handke)
WHEN JOSEPH BLOCH, a construction worker who had once been a
well-known soccer goalie, reported for work that morning, he was told
that he was fired. At least that was how he interpreted the fact that no
one except the foreman looked up from his coffee break when he appeared
at the door of the construction shack, where the workers happened to be
at that moment, and Bloch left the building site. Out on the street he
raised his arm, but the car that drove past --even though Bloch hadn't
been hailing a cab--was not a cab. Then he heard the sound of brakes in
front of him. Bloch looked around: behind him there was a cab; its
driver started swearing. Bloch turned around, got in, and told the
driver to take him to the Naschmarkt.
2015/8/21
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