position.’
‘Will that involve more shouting?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘It didn’t appear to be working.’
The director bristled. ‘May I ask, Herr Doctor, if you have had any experience of managing the internal affairs of an opera house?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Or if you have ever been responsible for ensuring that visiting dignitaries are not disappointed when they come to see new, eagerly awaited productions?’
‘No. I have never been burdened with such responsibilities.’
‘As I suspected,’ said the director, raising his voice. ‘So you will appreciate why it is that I consider your critical remark somewhat inappropriate.’
Rheinhardt threw a distraught glance at Liebermann and then tried to appease Mahler. ‘Herr Director, I do apologise for—’ He was unable to finish.
‘In this particular instance,’ Liebermann interrupted, ‘I do not believe shouting will achieve very much.’
‘But I have no alternative,’ said Mahler, thumping the desk. ‘And I have found shouting to be the most effective means of communicating with opera singers. Moreover, the Hermann-Bündler are not the only ones who can issue threats. I have a few of my own which may encourage Schmedes to be more reasonable.’ The director clapped his hands together. ‘Until tomorrow, then, gentlemen?’
‘Herr Director,’ said Liebermann, ‘I think I can be of assistance. You see, I am a psychiatrist and frequently called upon to treat patients suffering from anxiety. It may be possible to treat Herr Schmedes’s stage fright using similar methods.’
‘Herr Doctor,’ said Mahler icily, ‘thank you for your kind offer, but I fear we do not have the time.’
‘What I have in mind would take no longer than twenty or thirty minutes.’
‘What are you proposing?’
‘Hypnosis. Let us attempt to remove Herr Schmedes’s anxiety by hypnosis.’
Liebermann took the metronome from the top of the director’s piano, wound the key to its limit, and placed the device on the desktop. He set the rod in motion and the room filled with a ponderous ticking like the inner workings of an enormous grandfather clock.
Erik Schmedes sat in front of the desk, closely observing the weight as it swung from side to side. Liebermann was seated beside him, while Mahler, Rheinhardt and Przistaupinsky stood by the door, beyond Schmedes’s line of vision.
‘Keep your eyes focused on the metronome,’ said Liebermann in a soft monotone. ‘Empty your mind – forget your worries – and watch the weight as it traces an arc – this way – then that – this way – then that. As you watch the weight you may find that your eyes are becoming tired, your eyelids heavier. If this happens, do not resist. Just accept and surrender. Listen. How pleasing the regularity of the beat, the gentle rhythm, like the rocking of a cradle – this way – then that. Watch the metronome and allow your mind to become a still surface, calm and untroubled.’
Almost immediately, Schmedes’s eyelids began to flicker. The muscles of his face became slack and his lips parted. Liebermann continued speaking in his gentle monotone, occasionally introducing commands instead of suggestions.
‘You are feeling sleepy … your eyelids are heavy … you are struggling to keep your eyes open.’
A few minutes later, Schmedes’s breathing had become slow and stertorous.
His head slumped forward.
‘On the count of three,’ said Liebermann, ‘you will close your eyes and sleep. A special sleep, in which you will be able to hear and understand every word I say. One – you are so tired – two – so very tired – three.’ Liebermann reached forward and silenced the metronome.
‘You are now asleep.’
Liebermann looked at his audience. Rheinhardt was smiling proudly and Mahler’s face was rigid with concentration, his hands clasped tensely in front of his mouth. Przistaupinsky was watchful, even distrustful, perhaps.
Liebermann continued. ‘Can you hear
‘Will that involve more shouting?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘It didn’t appear to be working.’
The director bristled. ‘May I ask, Herr Doctor, if you have had any experience of managing the internal affairs of an opera house?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Or if you have ever been responsible for ensuring that visiting dignitaries are not disappointed when they come to see new, eagerly awaited productions?’
‘No. I have never been burdened with such responsibilities.’
‘As I suspected,’ said the director, raising his voice. ‘So you will appreciate why it is that I consider your critical remark somewhat inappropriate.’
Rheinhardt threw a distraught glance at Liebermann and then tried to appease Mahler. ‘Herr Director, I do apologise for—’ He was unable to finish.
‘In this particular instance,’ Liebermann interrupted, ‘I do not believe shouting will achieve very much.’
‘But I have no alternative,’ said Mahler, thumping the desk. ‘And I have found shouting to be the most effective means of communicating with opera singers. Moreover, the Hermann-Bündler are not the only ones who can issue threats. I have a few of my own which may encourage Schmedes to be more reasonable.’ The director clapped his hands together. ‘Until tomorrow, then, gentlemen?’
‘Herr Director,’ said Liebermann, ‘I think I can be of assistance. You see, I am a psychiatrist and frequently called upon to treat patients suffering from anxiety. It may be possible to treat Herr Schmedes’s stage fright using similar methods.’
‘Herr Doctor,’ said Mahler icily, ‘thank you for your kind offer, but I fear we do not have the time.’
‘What I have in mind would take no longer than twenty or thirty minutes.’
‘What are you proposing?’
‘Hypnosis. Let us attempt to remove Herr Schmedes’s anxiety by hypnosis.’
Liebermann took the metronome from the top of the director’s piano, wound the key to its limit, and placed the device on the desktop. He set the rod in motion and the room filled with a ponderous ticking like the inner workings of an enormous grandfather clock.
Erik Schmedes sat in front of the desk, closely observing the weight as it swung from side to side. Liebermann was seated beside him, while Mahler, Rheinhardt and Przistaupinsky stood by the door, beyond Schmedes’s line of vision.
‘Keep your eyes focused on the metronome,’ said Liebermann in a soft monotone. ‘Empty your mind – forget your worries – and watch the weight as it traces an arc – this way – then that – this way – then that. As you watch the weight you may find that your eyes are becoming tired, your eyelids heavier. If this happens, do not resist. Just accept and surrender. Listen. How pleasing the regularity of the beat, the gentle rhythm, like the rocking of a cradle – this way – then that. Watch the metronome and allow your mind to become a still surface, calm and untroubled.’
Almost immediately, Schmedes’s eyelids began to flicker. The muscles of his face became slack and his lips parted. Liebermann continued speaking in his gentle monotone, occasionally introducing commands instead of suggestions.
‘You are feeling sleepy … your eyelids are heavy … you are struggling to keep your eyes open.’
A few minutes later, Schmedes’s breathing had become slow and stertorous.
His head slumped forward.
‘On the count of three,’ said Liebermann, ‘you will close your eyes and sleep. A special sleep, in which you will be able to hear and understand every word I say. One – you are so tired – two – so very tired – three.’ Liebermann reached forward and silenced the metronome.
‘You are now asleep.’
Liebermann looked at his audience. Rheinhardt was smiling proudly and Mahler’s face was rigid with concentration, his hands clasped tensely in front of his mouth. Przistaupinsky was watchful, even distrustful, perhaps.
Liebermann continued. ‘Can you hear
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