The Technique of Beauty [1]

— How the Hares Run
(The Way Things Work)

El guardián de los libros [De bewaker van de boeken] – Jorge Luis Borges

From the Notes of Cornelis de Bondt:

— May 18, 2013

I just saw online that the new edition of the American handbook for mental disorders, the DSM-5, was released today. Exactly four months after my actions at the Stedelijk Museum, the Concertgebouw, and the Muziekgebouw aan ’t IJ in Amsterdam—actions with which I aimed to lay the foundation for an inquiry into the legal status of notated music, and thereby into the essence of our musical heritage. These actions were part of a reinvention of my own musical practice, and, of course, were driven by the resentful yet foolish arts policy of the Dutch government at the time, as well as the servile compliance of the cultural institutions.

Moreover, I had just received an email from a certain Taunis Haas, with an attachment—a letter that unsettled me for reasons still unclear.
It is not the facts themselves that form a sign, but our interpretation of them.

The salutation of his letter struck me immediately, so I will quote it in its original language, as it contains the brilliant metaphor for the issue of translations that he would elaborate on in later letters: “Sehr geehrter Herr De Bondt, mein Name ist Haas.”

“My name is Haas” — I was immediately thrown into confusion. Was this irony, a joke? The Dutch expression mijn naam is haas (which roughly means “I know nothing about this,” “I didn’t see anything, wasn’t involved,” in short, an excuse to stay out of it) originates from German. The anecdote behind the phrase goes as follows:

Victor von Hase, a German law student in Heidelberg, helped a fellow student who had killed his rival in a duel and, to escape prosecution, wanted to flee to France. Hase lent him his student ID to cross the border. At the university, Hase reported his card as lost. The trigger-happy student did manage to escape to France but lost the ID there. The card was found and returned to Heidelberg University. Hase was then summoned to court to explain how his ID had ended up in France. To extricate himself from the situation, he used the following legal formula: “Mein Name ist Hase, ich verneine die Generalfrage, ich weiß von nichts.” (“My name is Hase, I deny involvement in the charge, I know nothing.”)

Did Haas deliberately intend a wordplay, or was the reference to the expression purely coincidental? After all, his name Haas does not mean hare in German — that would be Hase. The ambiguity of his salutation works only in Dutch. Was he aware of this?

I decided to translate the letter, in the vain hope of quelling my unease.

Most esteemed Mr. De Bondt,

My name is Haas. I am a German musicologist and publicist, and I am reaching out to you to discuss several pressing issues in the field of art and cultural policy — issues that are of great importance to me and, I hope, to you as well. I wish to do so with your work and vision as a central point of reference. I have learned about your actions in response to the arts budget cuts, which have sparked my interest in you.

In particular — though this is anecdotal — your composition “Beethoven is Doof” serves as the initial impetus for my proposal. I see it as a study of the very nature of ‘translation,’ and by extension, of the fundamental dichotomy between form and content. An awkward distinction, yet one that stubbornly refuses to be eradicated. Not only is the main text itself dual in nature, but also the fact that the original layer — by which I mean, of course, the text by Boulez — was translated by you into Dutch. Moreover, there is that one passage in Boulez’s text — the Schönberg quote — which, for some reason, has been translated in multiple ways from German to French, then back to German, and also into English. It reveals fascinating misunderstandings that brilliantly illuminate the problem of form and content.

This brings me to another intriguing issue, one characterized by Richard Wagner in his infamous text “Das Judentum in der Musik” as the “What and How” (“Was und Wie”), thereby linking the form-content question to the matter of aesthetics and morality. And this leads me to an enigma I cannot comprehend — one on which I am eager to hear your thoughts:

How is it possible that the Dutch music scene, once internationally renowned for its diverse ensemble culture, allowed itself to be dismantled like meek sheep by those barbarians in government and the institutions — people who, instead of nurturing that culture, razed it to the ground? The very same artists, composers, and musicians who built and developed this culture from the late 1960s onward? Where did this compliance, this lack of solidarity and vision, come from?

I will keep this brief for now, just to give you an idea. Naturally, should you be willing to engage with my request, I will provide further information about myself, along with thoughts, opinions, and questions for us to discuss. I sincerely hope you will consider my proposal!

Mit vollkommener Hochachtung,

—Taunis Haas