Prague in Focus: A Faust Prologue between Bits and Beans

PROLOGUE: THE STORM OF PREPARATION

It is an evening without a date. In the silence of an apartment in the 14th district of Vienna, a plan is brewing that spans the centuries. Ludwig, the unyielding, is preparing for his journey to Prague – the city that once celebrated him as a virtuoso and now, in this new time, again demands his sound. His host Johannes Frauenschuh, a painter and analyst of social currents, observes the spectacle. He is the anchor in Ludwig's stormy sea of packing lists and travel anxieties. The departure is still uncertain,but in the mind, the waves of the Vltava are already crashing against the pillars of the Charles Bridge.

FIRST ACT: THE LOGISTICS OF GENIUS

PLACE: The apartment of Johannes in Vienna-Penzing.
PERSONS: LUDWIG (the traveler), JOHANNES (painter and sociologist).

(The room is a battlefield. A modern rolling suitcase lies like a slashed monster on the floor. LUDWIG rummages in it with an intensity as if trying to tame a stubborn score. JOHANNES leans against the window, tablet in hand, glancing between the canvas and his guest.)

LUDWIG
(hurls a linen shirt with such force that it lands on a stack of sociological books)
It won't give way! It doesn't fit the norm!
Look at this maw, Johannes – a black hole for my belongings!
Should I really bow? Me?
Three days' time, back then, 1796! Three days full of dirt, dust, and the glory of waiting!
Back then, the stagecoach devoured the road, stone by hard stone,
and every blow of the axle, every jolt of the carriage was a beat in my chest,
a rhythm I forced into notes even before we reached Iglau!
And today?
You call it progress?
A whisk! A nothing! A greedy, godless gulping of distance!
In four hours to Prague?
They steal the journey from me before I even begin it!
Tell me, Johannes!
Why do you stare so picturesquely? You sociologist of empty spaces!
What do I pack for this 'Golden City' that seems to consist only of glass and haste?
This black tailcoat for the Lobkowitz clan?
It smells of mothballs and old pride.
Should I wear it with these rubber-soled shoes you call sneakers?
A mockery of every aesthetic! A break of form that cries to heaven!
And this flat thing in your hand – your idol of glass and light...
When it runs out of breath, Johannes... when the power runs out...
Am I then erased?
Am I just a mute echo in the ether when my suitcase crosses the border?
Write! Answer me!

JOHANNES
(takes the tablet, types with stoic calm and holds the display prominently in view)
THE DATE IS STILL SILENT, LUDWIG. TIME IS A RIVER, NOT A LAW.

LUDWIG
(restless, his voice thunders unfiltered through the room)
It is silent! It mocks!
I hate this lingering in the antechamber of fate!
Is it Monday? Is it Wednesday?
The Moldau does not wait for your digital calendar!
It flows, it urges, it whispers to me already from the Lesser Town!
I see it before me: The 'Golden Unicorn'.
There, where the cobblestone rhythm still speaks the old language.
But you say they have the internet there now? Radio waves through the thick walls?
An outrage!
I want to hear the wine in the tavern, not the whirring of the capsule machines!
And yet...
(he pauses, suddenly looks quietly out the window towards the west exit)
...there is a strange calm in it.
Here with you, in Penzing.
Perhaps that is the true victory of this era:
That I stand here, the coffee in the tin can,
the beans counted – exactly sixty, Johannes, that is the law of strength –
and know that I can set off at any time could.
This glass monster at the main station, the diamond roof, which hangs like a steel net over the tracks...
It waits for me.
It wants to devour me and spit me into the north.
But how do I get there without losing my dignity in your subways?
An anthill! A swarm of souls who do not know where they are rushing!

JOHANNES
(takes a thick graphite pencil and scribbles on a pad, while inserting a quick sketch of the Prague Castle)
NO SWARM. A PORTAL. U4, THEN U1.
IN TWENTY MINUTES YOU WILL BE UNDER THE GLASS ROOF.
I BOOK THE SEAT WITH A CLICK AS SOON AS YOU SAY YES.
NO WORD AT THE COUNTER. JUST A CODE OF LIGHT.

LUDWIG
(stares at the note, laughs dryly and briefly)
A click.
A finger point destroys the postilion and the counter clerk at the same time.
You little god of bits and bytes!
Well then!
I am ready, even if I am still lingering in the limbo of planning here.
My spirit is already on the Charles Bridge,
he walks among the statues of saints and seeks the first chord of the Moldau,
while my body is still wrestling with unruly socks here.
Let's drink, Johannes!
Black as the night, strong as a decree.
For when we first roll, when the ticket lights up on your screen like a will-o'-the-wisp,
then there is no turning back.
Then I am no longer a guest in Penzing.
Then I am sound on rails.

(He closes the suitcase lid with a crashing sound. Johannes smiles and begins to search for the best connection on the tablet, while outside the Viennese evening sky dips into a deep blue.)