by Thomas Mann
A cough was heard outside. A footman in olive-green livery threw open the swing doors with a quick, firm, and noiseless movement of both arms, and announced in a subdued voice: “His Royal Highness the Grand Duke.”
Then he stepped aside with a bow. Albrecht advanced through the room.
He had traversed the hundred yards from the Old Schloss hither in a closed carriage, with his huntsman on the box. He was in mufti, as almost always, wore a buttoned-up frock-coat with little satin lapels, and patent-leather boots on his small feet. Since his accession he had grown an imperial. His short fair hair was brushed back on each of his narrow, sunk temples. His gait was an awkward and yet indescribably distinguished strut, which gave his shoulder-blades a peculiar twist. He carried his head well back and stuck his short round underlip out, sucking gently with it against the upper one.
The Princess went to the threshold to meet him. He disliked hand-kissing, so he simply held out his hand with a soft almost whispered greeting—his thin, cold hand which looked so sensitive and which he stretched out from his chest while keeping his forearm close to his body. Then he greeted his brother Klaus Heinrich in the same way, who had waited for him standing with heels close together in front of his chair—and said nothing further.
Ditlinde talked. “It’s very nice of you to come, Albrecht. So you’re feeling well? You look splendid. Philipp wishes me to tell you how sorry he is to have to be out this afternoon. Sit down, won’t you, anywhere you like—here, for instance, opposite me. That chair’s a pretty comfortable one, you sat in it last time. I’ve made tea for us in the meantime. You’ll have your milk directly.…”
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I must beg pardon … I’m late. You know, the shorter the road … And then I have to lie down in the afternoon.… There’s no one else coming?”
“No one else, Albrecht. At the most, Jettchen Isenschnibbe may look in for a bit, if you don’t object.…”
“Oh?”
“But I can just as well say ‘Not at home.’ ”
“Oh no, pray don’t.”
Hot milk was brought. Albrecht clasped the tall, thick, studded glass in both hands.
“Ah, something warm,” he said. “How cold it is already in these parts! And I’ve been frozen the whole summer in Hollerbrunn. Haven’t you started fires yet? I have. But then again the smell of the stoves upsets me. All stoves smell. Von Bühl promises me central heating for the Old Schloss every autumn. But it seems not to be feasible.”
Poor Albrecht, said Ditlinde, “at this time of year you used to be already in the South, so long as father was alive. You must long for it.”
“Your sympathy does you credit, dear Ditlinde,” answered he, still in a low and slightly lisping voice. “But we must show that I am on the spot. I must rule the country, as you know, that’s what I’m here for. To-day I have been graciously pleased to allow some worthy citizen—I’m sorry I can’t remember his name—to accept and wear a foreign order. Further, I have had a telegram sent to the annual meeting of the Horticultural Society, in which I assumed the honorary Presidency of the Society and pledged my word to further its efforts in every way—without really knowing what furthering I could do beyond sending the telegram, for the members are quite well able to take care of themselves. Further, I have deigned to confirm the choice of a certain worthy fellow to be mayor of my fair city of Siebenberge—in connection with which I should like to know whether this my subject will be a better mayor for my confirmation than he would have been without it.…”
“Well, well, Albrecht, those are trifles!” said Ditlinde. “I’m convinced that you’ve had more serious business to do.…”
“Oh, of course. I’ve had a talk with my Minister of Finance and Agriculture. It was time I did. Doctor Krippenreuther would have been bitterly disappointed with me if I had not summoned him once more. He went ahead in summary fashion and laid before me a conspectus of several mutually related topics at once—the harvest, the new principles for the drawing up of the budget, the reform of taxation, on which he is busy. The harvest has been a bad one, it seems. The peasants have been hit by blight and bad weather; not only they, but Krippenreuther too, are much concerned about it, because the tax-paying resources of the land, he says, have once more suffered contraction. Besides, there have unfortunately been disasters in more than one of the silver-mines. The gear is at a standstill, says Krippenreuther, it is damaged and will cost a lot of money to repair. I listened to the whole recital with an appropriate expression on my face, and did what I could to express my grief for such a series of misfortunes. Next, I was consulted as to whether the cost of the necessary new buildings for the Treasury and for the Woods and Customs and Inland Revenue Offices ought to be debited to the ordinary or the extraordinary estimates; I learnt a lot about sliding scales, and income tax, and tax on tourist traffic, and the removal of burdens from oppressed agriculture and the imposition of burdens on the towns; and on the whole I got the impression that Krippenreuther was well up in his subject. I, of course, know practically nothing about it—which Krippenreuther knows and approves; so I just said ‘yes, yes,’ and ‘of course,’ and ‘many thanks,’ and let him run on.”
“You speak so bitterly, Albrecht,”
“No; I’ll just tell you what struck me while Krippenreuther was holding forth to me to-day. There’s a man living in this town, a man with small private means and a warty nose. Every child knows him and shouts ‘Hi!’ when he sees him; he is called ‘the Hatter,’ for he is not quite all there; his surname he has lost long ago. He is always on the spot when there is anything going on, although his half-wittedness keeps him from playing any serious part in anything; he wears a rose in his buttonhole, and carries his hat about on the end of his walking-stick. Twice a day, about the time when a train starts, he goes to the station, taps the wheels, examines the luggage, and fusses about. Then when the guard blows his whistle, ‘the Hatter’ waves to the engine-driver, and the train starts. But ‘the Hatter’ deludes himself into thinking that his waving sends the train off. That’s like me. I wave, and the train starts. But it would start without me, and my waving makes no difference, it’s mere silly show. I’m sick of it.…”
The brother and sister were silent. Ditlinde looked at her lap in an embarrassed way, and Klaus Heinrich gazed, as he tugged at his little bow-shaped moustache, between her and the Grand Duke at the bright window.
“I can quite follow you, Albrecht,” said he after a while, “though it is rather cruel of you to compare yourself and us with ‘the Hatter.’ You see, I too understand nothing about sliding scales and taxation of tourist traffic and peat-cutting, and there is such a lot about which I know nothing—everything which is covered by the expression ‘the misery in the world’—hunger and want, and the struggle for existence, as it is called, and war and hospital horrors, and all that. I have seen and studied not one of these, except death itself, when father died, and that too was not death as it can be, but rather it was edifying, and the whole Schloss was illuminated. And at times I feel ashamed of myself because I have not knocked about the world. But then I tell myself that mine is not a comfortable life, not at all comfortable, although I ‘wander on the heights of mankind,’ as people express it, or perhaps just because I do, and that I perhaps in my own way know more about the strenuousness of life, its ‘tight-lipped countenance,’ if you will allow me the expression, than many a one who knows all about the sliding scales or any other single department of life. And the upshot of that is, Albrecht, that my life is not a comfortable one—that’s the upshot of everything—if you will allow me this retort, and that is how we justify ourselves. And if people cry ‘Hi!’ when they see me, they must know why they do so, and my life must have some raison d’être, although I am prevented from playing any serious part in anything, as you so admirably express it. And you’re quite justified too. You wave to order, because the people wish you to wave, and if you do not really control their wishes and aspirations, yet you express them
and give them substance, and may be that’s no slight matter.”
Albrecht sat upright at the table. He held his thin, strangely sensitive-looking hands crossed on the table-edge in front of the tall, half-empty glass of milk, and his eyelids dropped, and he sucked his underlip against his upper. He answered quietly: “I’m not surprised that so popular a prince as you should be contented with his lot. I for my part decline to express somebody else in my own person—I decline to, say, and you may think it’s a case of sour grapes as much as you like. The truth is that I care for the ‘Hi!’ of the people just as little as any living soul possibly could care. I say soul, not body. The flesh is weak—there’s something in one which expands at applause and contracts at cold silence. But my reason rises superior to all considerations of popularity or unpopularity. If I did succeed in being a true national representative, I know what that would amount to, A misconception of my personality. Besides, a few hand-claps from people one does not know are not worth a shrug of the shoulders. Others—you—may be inspired by the feeling of the people behind you. You must forgive me for being too matter-of-fact to feel any such mysterious feeling of happiness—and too keen on cleanliness also, if you will allow me to put it thus. That kind of happiness stinks, to my thinking. Anyhow, I’m a stranger to the people. I give them nothing—what can they give me? With you … oh, that’s quite different. Hundreds of thousands, who are like you, are grateful to you because they can recognize themselves in you. You may laugh if you like. The chief danger you run is that you submerge yourself in your popularity too readily; and yet after all you feel no apprehensions, although you are aware at this very moment …”
“No, Albrecht, I don’t think so. I don’t think I run any such danger.”
“Then we shall understand each other all the better. I have no penchant for strong expressions as a rule. But popularity is hog-wash.”
“It’s funny, Albrecht. Funny that you should use that word. The ‘Pheasants’ were always using it—my schoolmates, the young sprigs, you know, at the ‘Pheasantry.’ I know what you are. You’re an aristocrat, that’s what’s the matter.”
“Do you think so? You’re wrong. I’m no aristocrat, I’m the opposite, by taste and reason. You must allow that I do not despise the ‘Hi’s’ of the crowd from arrogance, but from a propensity to humanity and goodness. Human Highness is a pitiable thing, and I’m convinced that mankind ought to see that everyone behaves like a man, and a good man, to his neighbour and does not humiliate him or cause him shame. A man must have a thick skin to be able to carry off all the flummery of Highness without any feeling of shame. I am naturally rather sensitive, I cannot cope with the absurdity of my situation. Every lackey who plants himself at the door, and expects me to pass him without noticing, without heeding him more than the door posts, fills me with embarrassment, that’s the way I feel towards the people.…”
“Yes, Albrecht, quite true. It’s often by no means easy to keep one’s countenance when ore passes by a fellow like that. The lackeys! If one only did not know what frauds they are! One hears fine stories about them.…”
“What stories?”
“Oh, one keeps one’s ears open.…”
“Come, come!” said Ditlinde. “Don’t let’s worry about that. Here you are talking about ordinary things, and I had two topics noted down which I thought we might discuss this afternoon.… Would you be so kind, Klaus Heinrich, as to reach me that notebook there in blue leather on the writing-table? Many thanks. I note down in this everything I have to remember, both household matters and other things. What a blessing it is to be able to see everything down in black and white! My head is terribly weak, it can’t remember things, and if I weren’t tidy and didn’t jot everything down, I should be done for. First of all, Albrecht, before I forget it, I wanted to remind you that you must escort Aunt Catherine at the first Court on November 1st—you can’t get out of it. I withdraw; the honour fell to me at the last Court Ball, and Aunt Catherine was terribly put out.… Do you consent? Good, then I cross out item 1. Secondly, Klaus Heinrich, I wanted to ask you to make a short appearance at the Orphan Children’s Bazaar on the 15th in the Town Hall. I am patroness, and I take my duties seriously, as you see. You needn’t buy anything—a pocket comb.… In short, all you need do is to show yourself for ten minutes. It’s for the orphans.… Will you come? You see, now I can cross another off. Thirdly …”
But the Princess was interrupted. Fräulein von Isenschnibbe, the Court lady, was announced and tripped in at once through the big drawing-room, her feather boa waving in the draught, and the brim of her huge feather hat flapping up and down. The smell of the fresh air from outside seemed to cling to her clothes. She was small, very fair, with a pointed nose, and so short-sighted that she could not see the stars. On clear evenings she would stand on her balcony and gaze at the starry heavens through opera-glasses, and rave about them. She wore two strong pairs of glasses, one behind the other, and screwed up her eyes and stuck her head forward as she curtseyed.
“Heavens, Grand Ducal Highness,” she said, “I didn’t know; I’m disturbing you, I’m intruding. I most humbly beg pardon!”
The brothers had risen, and the visitor, as she curtseyed to them, was filled with confusion. As Albrecht extended his hand from his chest, keeping his forearm close to his body, her arm was stretched out almost perpendicularly, when the curtsey which she made him had reached its lowest point.
“Dear Jettchen,” said Ditlinde, “what nonsense! You are expected and welcome, and my brothers know that we call each other by our Christian names, so none of that Grand Ducal Highness, if you please. We are not in the Old Schloss. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Will you have some tea? It’s still hot, and here are some candied fruits, I know you like them.”
“Yes, a thousand thanks, Ditlinde, I adore them!” And Fräulein von Isenschnibbe took a chair on the narrow side of the tea-table opposite Klaus Heinrich, with her back to the window, drew a glove off and began peering forward, to lay sweetmeats on her plate with the silver tongs. Her little bosom heaved quickly and nervously with pleasurable excitement.
“I’ve got some news,” she said, unable any longer to contain herself. “News.… More than any reticule will hold! That is to say it is really only one piece of news, only one—but it’s so weighty that it counts for dozens, and it is quite certain, I have it on the best authority—you know that I am reliable, Ditlinde; this very evening it will be in the Courier and to-morrow the whole town will be talking about it.”
“Yes, Jettchen,” said the Princess, “it must be confessed you never come with empty hands; but now we’re excited, do tell us your news.”
“Very well. Let me get my breath. Do you know, Ditlinde, does your Royal Highness know, does your Grand Ducal Highness know who’s coming, who is coming to the spa, who is coming for six or eight weeks to the Spa Hotel to drink the waters?”
“No,” said Ditlinde, “but do you know, dear Jettchen?”
“Spoelmann,” said Fräulein von Isenschnibbe. “Spoelmann,” she said, leaned back and made as if to draw with her fingers on the table-edge, but checked the movement of her hand just over the blue silk border.
The brothers and sister looked doubtfully at each other.
“Spoelmann?” asked Ditlinde.… “Think a moment, Jettchen, the real Spoelmann?”
“The real one!” Her voice cracked with suppressed jubilation. “The real one, Ditlinde! For there’s only one, or rather only one whom everybody knows, and he it is whom they are expecting at the Spa Hotel—the great Spoelmann, the giant Spoelmann, the colossus Samuel N. Spoelmann from America!”
“But, child, what’s bringing him here?”
“Really, forgive me for saying so, Ditlinde, but what a question! His yacht or some big steamer is bringing him over the sea of course, he’s on his holidays making a tour of Europe and has expressed his intention of drinking the Spa waters.”
“But is he ill, then?”
“Of cours
e, Ditlinde; all people of his kind are ill, that’s part of the business.”
“Strange,” said Klaus Heinrich.
“Yes, Grand Ducal Highness, it is remarkable. His kind of existence must bring that with it. For there’s no doubt it’s a trying existence, and not at all a comfortable one, and must wear the body out quicker than an ordinary man’s life would. Most suffer in the stomach, but Spoelmann suffers from stone as everybody knows.”
“Stone, does he?”
“Of course, Ditlinde, you must have heard it and forgotten it. He has stone in the kidneys, if you will forgive me the horrid expression—a serious, trying illness, and I’m sure he can’t get the slightest pleasure from his frantic wealth.”
“But how in the world has he pitched upon our waters?”
“Why, Ditlinde, that’s simple. The waters are good, they’re excellent; especially the Ditlinde spring, with its lithium or whatever they call it, is admirable against gout and stone, and only waiting to be properly known and valued throughout the world. But a man like Spoelmann, you can imagine, a man like that is above names and trade-puffs, and follows his own kind. And so he has discovered our waters—or his physician has recommended them to him, it may be that, and bought it in the bottle, and it has done him good, and now he may think that it must do him still more good if he drinks it on the spot.”
They all kept silence.
“Great heavens, Albrecht,” said Ditlinde at last, “whatever one thinks of Spoelmann and his kind—and I’m not going to commit myself to an opinion, of that you may be sure—but don’t you think that the man’s visit to the Spa may be very useful?”
The Grand Duke turned his head with his stiff and refined smile.
“Ask Fräulein von Isenschnibbe,” he answered. “She has doubtless already considered the question from that point of view.”