Museum Piece

 

I have always enjoyed visiting museums and re-connecting with the past by looking at objects that were made centuries ago. I have also long had an interest in ancient history, particularly that of Greece and Rome.

I was therefore very keen, during a recent visit to Berlin, to take in the magnificent Altes Museum which has one of the world’s best collections of classical antiquities. I am not sure that my friend Bernie was quite so excited by the prospect. I had made contact with Bernie when I knew that he was going to be in Berlin on business. He had a spare day and was happy enough to join me on a tour round Museum Island to drink in the culture.

It was not long before I was oohing and aahing at the items on display in the Altes Museum. I spent quite a long time gazing at the collection of sculptured heads of Roman Emperors and other prominent people from that era. As I pointed out to Bernie, many of the images you see in books of ancient history that cover the Roman Empire are photographs of these very pieces, which are either the originals or copies made shortly afterwards to satisfy Roman demands for heads to adorn temples where various Emperor worship cults were encouraged.

“Look!” I said. “There’s Tiberius! And that’s Trajan! And Caracalla!”

I was in something approaching Seventh Heaven, although I don’t think that Bernie had even reached First Heaven at this stage. He was far more interested in something else that was going on in the room, and, as things turned out, I should have been too.

As I learned later, a young mother had brought her 6-year-old son to the Museum, although the boy’s interest in ancient history was probably around the level of my friend Bernie’s. The kid had been happily riding his skateboard on the paths that crisscross the Lustgarten in front of the Museum and was not best pleased to be told that he had to stop whizzing up and down and be dragged round the Museum.

As applies to all visitors to the Museum, backpacks and other encumbrances have to be checked in at the Museum entrance before their owners are allowed through into the galleries. The mother had tucked the skateboard into a strap on the outside of her backpack and had put it on the floor while buying her tickets for the Museum.

This was just the opportunity that the youngster had been waiting for. It took no time at all for him to pull the skateboard out from its strap and set off into the Museum. These smooth floors were just ideal for skateboarding, especially as he could weave his way around the various plinths and display cases at high speed and have a whale of a time so doing.

What made the game even more exciting was that his mother and several museum attendants were soon in hot pursuit. This was the chase to which Bernie had had his attention drawn. He could see that he was in an excellent position to solve the problem, which he did by standing in front of the approaching skateboarder and forcing him to stop.

At least, the skateboard stopped but the boy did not. He continued to run the length of the gallery, as did his pursuers.

And what did I do while all this was happening? I was still lost in a world of my own, completely mesmerized by the dozens of carved heads displayed before me. I just did not hear any of the commotion going on behind me.

I took a step backwards to get an overall view of the full display. My right foot caught the edge of the stationary skateboard, causing me to lose my balance. I spun halfway round, so that my left foot landed plumb on top of the skateboard.

The stationary skateboard was stationary no longer. It shot away with me on top, although my skateboarding skills left a lot to be desired. The owner of the skateboard, who had now been apprehended and was being hauled back into the gallery, would probably have been glad to give me lots of tips to improve my technique, but I was definitely not in the mood to ask for any.

My journey was ungainly but short. It ended when I crashed into a plinth on which stood a statue of a Roman lady, possibly a relative or concubine of one of the Emperors whose heads I had just been admiring, posing as the goddess Venus.

I was not aware that I had been travelling at any great speed, but it was clearly enough to cause the tragedy that then ensued. The statue could not stay any longer on its plinth but toppled backwards with me desperately clutching on to it for support.

When the lady hit the floor there was a loud crack and I saw to my horror that her head was no longer on her shoulders. It was now rolling away towards those of the Emperors. Neither was one of her arms still where it should have been.

Given that the lady was pretending to be the goddess Venus she was not wearing much to get in the way of her highly feminine curves, and I was now lying on top of her with my hands where they should certainly not have been.

Had she not been a statue, and a decapitated one at that, there was every chance that she might have had a very good case against me for a serious sexual assault.

All the faces around me, bar one, displayed shock and horror. The one that did not was that of my friend Bernie, who seemed to have found something to laugh at.

“You know they say that you’re only as old as the woman you feel?” he asked. I did not answer.

“Well”, he continued, “According to this label that makes you approximately 1,764 years old.”

He hadn’t finished.

“And, going by your current salary, that is the age you’re likely to be when you’ve finished paying for the damage”.

© John Welford