Joseph Roth
“The Triumph of Beauty” – “Bust of the Emperor”.
trans.: Maria Angelidou, Angelos Angelidis
ed., Agra, p. 122

By now the match has ended in a draw so there is extra time but both finalists keep taking penalties and neither of them misses so I can finally go home.

Stuck in the stands of the Parc des Princes in Paris, I watch my own Champions League final between Josef Roth and Stefan Zweig. And where, after Fantastic Night, I’m sure that Zweig gets the trophy, I see Roth preparing for his own penalty. I have little hope of even knowing that this is “the most impractical man who ever lived”, not even exercising, but wandering around Paris penniless and drinking, without work, even after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, even without countries.

After all, he confessed to his friend and current opponent: “I am here and there, I do not have a specific address where you could write.” Nevertheless, he moves towards the white penalty mark, with Zweich following him, asking him about the two novels he is currently writing. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you, Stefan. You see, the rules of chivalry require that you never give away a woman’s secrets. All I can tell you is what we both saw with our own eyes, that is, the anger of men in love, directed not at an unfaithful woman, but at a friend who revealed to them his deceit and infidelity.

Zweig seems intrigued and insists. From the stands I can’t hear what he is asking him about, and Roth answers him: “However, this is due to the understanding and insight of my old friend the doctor, since his healing waters, they say, work wonders for diseases of the uterus, infertility. and hysteria, he had every opportunity to study women’s physical and mental illnesses. But most importantly, he had the opportunity to be convinced of the equally wonderful, although more understandable effect of baths on these women from a significant number of young, strong, love-hungry men who, like some migratory birds, also fly – from the opening of the season – to resort town, ready to enjoy the healing power of its famous healing waters.

As Roth carefully places the ball on the white marker and moves forward a few yards, Zweig takes his place under the goalposts. He remembers that his friend wrote to him some time ago, on the day when Hitler became Reich Chancellor and Roth decided to emigrate permanently to Paris: “Barbarism, the kingdom of hell, is being established. They will burn our books, but we will be the target. We must leave so that only our books will be put on fire.” Now he left behind the old “red rot”, as he signed in leftist newspapers, and now his friend’s pro-royalist political views are nothing but their common cry of longing for the future of Europe, the country. they both love.

Beneath the goalposts, Zweig looks Roth in the eye, trying to get him to decide which angle to shoot. In the same way, Roth tries to guess which corner he will fall into. I would like to shout to them from the stands that the most fair would be a draw.

In just five years, Roth will die, and in three years, Zweich will die, ending his life in the queen of sports, distant Brazil. I can not do this. Roth is already rushing to the scenery and, like the harbinger of Ferenc Puskas, with a magical execution, a real “Triumph of Beauty”, he leaves a statue, just like the “Bust of the Emperor”, of his friend-goalkeeper Stefan Zweig. . And so the fanatical friend of the sport is still obsessed with the stands, while at the same time feeling extremely happy that he has ignored such wonderful players for so many years.

* Mr. Sotiris Goritsas is the director.