Royal Higness

by Thomas Mann

  What was toward? A Grand Ducal Schloss was about to be sold? Nonsense! Which Schloss?—Delphinenort. Schloss Delphinenort in the North Park? Twaddle! Sold? To whom?—To Spoelmann. Ridiculous! What could he do with it?—Restore it, and live in it. That’s all very well. But perhaps our Parliament might have something to say to that.—They don’t care twopence. Had the State any responsibility for keeping up Schloss Delphinenort?—If they had, it’s a pity they hadn’t recognized it, dear old place. No, Parliament had no say in the matter. Have the negotiations advanced at all far?—Rather, they’re completed. Goodness gracious, then of course the exact price is known?—Naturally. Sold for two millions, not a farthing less. Impossible! A Royal Palace! Royal palace be blowed! We’re not talking of the Grimmburg or of the Old Schloss. We’re talking of a country house, an unused country house which is falling in pieces for lack of funds to keep it up.

  So Spoelmann intended to come back every year and spend several weeks in Delphinenort?—No. For he intended rather to come and settle among us altogether. He was sick of America, wanted to turn his back on it, and his first stay amongst us was merely to spy out the land. He was ill, he wanted to retire from business. He had always remained a German at heart. The father had emigrated, and the son wanted to come back home. He wished to take his part in the modest life and intellectual resources of our country, and to spend the rest of his days in the immediate neighbourhood of the Ditlinde Spa.

  All was confusion and bustle, and discussions without end. But public opinion, with the exception of the voices of a few grumblers, trended after a short hesitation in favour of the idea of sale; indeed without this general approval the matter could never have gone very far. It was House Minister von Knobelsdorff who first ventured on a cautious announcement of Spoelmann’s offer in the daily press. He had waited and allowed the popular feeling to come to a decision. And after the first confusion, solid reasons in favour of the project had made themselves felt.

  The business world was enchanted at the idea of having so doughty a consumer at its doors. The æsthetes showed themselves delighted at the prospect of seeing Schloss Delphinenort restored and kept up—at seeing the noble old building restored to honour and youth in so unforeseen, indeed so romantic a way. But the economically-minded brought forward figures which were calculated to cause grave misgivings as to the financial position of the country. If Samuel N. Spoelmann settled among us, he would become a tax-payer—he would have to pay us his income-tax.

  Perhaps it was worth while showing what that meant. Mr. Spoelmann would be left to declare his own income, but, from what one knew—and knew fairly accurately—his residence would mean a yearly revenue of two and a half millions, in taxes alone, not to mention what he paid in rates. Worth thinking about, wasn’t it? The question was put straight to the Finance Minister, Dr. Krippenreuther. He would be wanting in his duty if he did not do all he could to recommend the sale in the highest quarters. For patriotism demanded that Spoelmann’s offer should be accepted, and patriotism was paramount above all other considerations.

  So Excellency von Knobelsdorff had had an interview with the Grand Duke. He had informed his master of the public opinion, had added that the price offered, two millions, considerably exceeded the real value of the Schloss in its present condition, had remarked that such a sum meant a real windfall for the Treasury, and had ended by slipping in a hint about the central heating of the Old Schloss, which, if the sale was carried through, would no longer be an impossibility. In short, the single-minded old gentleman had brought his whole influence to bear in favour of the sale, and had recommended the Grand Duke to bring the matter before a family moot. Albrecht had sucked his lower lip softly against the upper, and summoned the family moot. It had met in the Hall of the Knights over tea and biscuits. Only two feminine members, the Princess Catherine and Ditlinde, had opposed the sale, on the ground of loss of dignity.

  “You will be misunderstood, Albrecht!” said Ditlinde.

  “They will charge you with want of respect to your high Station, and that is not right, for you have on the contrary too much; you are so proud, Albrecht, that everything is all the same to you. But I say No. I do not wish to see a Crœsus living in one of your Schlosses, it is not right, and it was bad enough that he should have a family physician and take the Prince’s suite in the Spa Court. The Courier harps on the fact that he is a tax-paying subject, but in my eyes he is simply a subject and nothing else. What do you think, Klaus Heinrich?”

  But Klaus Heinrich voted for the sale. In the first place, Albrecht got his central heating; secondly, Spoelmann was not one of the common herd, he was not soap-boiler Unschlitt—he was an exception, and there was no disgrace in letting him have Delphinenort. Finally Albrecht had, with downcast eyes, pronounced the whole family moot to be a farce. The people had long ago made up their minds, his Ministers urged the sale, and there was nothing left for him to do but to “wave to the engine-driver and start the train.”

  The family moot had taken place in spring. From that time onwards the negotiations for sale, which were carried on between Spoelmann on the one hand and the Lord Marshal von Bühl zu Bühl on the other, had proceeded apace, and the summer was not far advanced before Schloss Delphinenort with its park and out-buildings had become the lawful property of Mr. Spoelmann.

  Then began a scene of bustle and confusion round and in the Schloss, which daily attracted crowds to the northern side of the park. Delphinenort was improved and partly reconstructed inside by a swarm of workmen. For quick, quick, was the order of the day, that was Spoelmann’s wish, and he had only allowed five months’ respite for everything to be ready for him to enter into possession. So a wooden scaffold with ladders and platforms shot up at lightning speed round the dilapidated old building, foreign workmen swarmed all over it, and an architect came with carte blanche over the seas to superintend the work. But the greater part of the work fell to our native manual workers to perform, and the stonemasons and tilers, the joiners, gilders, upholsterers, glaziers, and parquet-layers of the city, the landscape gardeners and heating and lighting experts, had plenty of remunerative work all through the summer and autumn.

  When his Royal Highness Klaus Heinrich left his window in the “Hermitage” open, the noise of the work at Delphinenort penetrated right through to the Empire room, and he often drove past the Schloss amid the respectful greetings of the public, in order to satisfy himself of the progress of the restoration. The gardener’s cottage was painted up, the sheds and stables, which were destined to accommodate Spoelmann’s fleet of motors and carriages, were enlarged; and by October, furniture and carpets, chests and cases full of stuffs and household utensils had been delivered at Schloss Delphinenort, while it was whispered among the bystanders that inside the walls skilled hands were at work fitting Spoelmann’s costly organ, which had been sent from over the sea, with electric action.

  There was much excitement to know whether the park belonging to the Schloss, which had been so splendidly cleaned up and trimmed, was to be fenced off from the public by a wall or hedge. But nothing of the sort was done. It was Spoelmann’s wish that the property should continue to be accessible, that no restraint should be placed on the citizens’ enjoyment of the park. The Sunday promenaders should have access right up to the Schloss, up to the clipped hedge which surrounded the big square pond—and this did not fail to make an excellent impression on the population; indeed, the Courier published a special article on the subject, in which it praised Mr. Spoelmann for his philanthropy.

  And behold! when the leaves again began to fall, exactly one year after his first appearance, Samuel Spoelmann landed a second time at our railway station. This time the general interest in the event was much greater than in the preceding year, and it is on record that, when Mr. Spoelmann, in his well-known faded coat and with his hat over his eyes, left his saloon, loud cheers were raised by the crowd of spectators—an expression of feelings which Mr. Spoelmann seemed rather inclined to resent, and which
not he but Doctor Watercloose acknowledged with blinking eyes and a broad smile. When Miss Spoelmann too alighted, a cheer was raised, and one or two urchins even shouted when Percy, the collie, appeared springing, leaping, and altogether beside himself, on the platform. In addition to the doctor and Countess Löwenjoul there were two unknown persons in attendance, two clean-shaven and decided-looking men in strangely roomy coats. They were Mr. Spoelmann’s secretaries, Messrs. Phlebs and Slippers, as the Courier announced in its report.

  At that time Delphinenort was far from ready, and the Spoelmanns at once took possession of the first floor of the chief hotel, where a big, haughty, paunch-bellied man in black, the steward or butler of the Spoelmann establishment, who had preceded them, had made preparations for them, and put the chamber-velocipede together with his own hands. Every day, while Miss Imma with her Countess and Percy went for a ride or a visit to some charitable institution, Mr. Spoelmann hung about his house, superintending the work and giving orders, and when the end of the year approached, just after the first snow had fallen, prospect became fact, and the Spoelmanns took up their abode in Schloss Delphinenort. Two motor cars (their arrival had been watched with interest—splendid cars they were) bore the six members of the party—Messrs. Phlebs and Slippers sat in the hinder one—driven by the leather-clad chauffeurs, with servants in snow-white fur coats and crossed arms beside them, in a few minutes from the hotel through the City Gardens; and as the cars dashed along the noble chestnut avenue which led to the drive, the urchins climbed up the high lamp-posts which stood at all four corners of the big spa-basin, and waved their caps and cheered.…

  So Spoelmann and his belongings settled down among us, and we basked in the light of his presence. His white-and-gold livery was seen and known in the city, just as the brown-and-gold Grand Ducal livery was seen and known; the negro in scarlet plush who was doorkeeper at Delphinenort soon became a popular figure, and when passers-by heard the subdued rumble of Mr. Spoelmann’s organ from the interior of the Schloss they lifted a finger and said: “Hark, he’s playing. That means that he’s not got colic for the moment.”

  Miss Imma was to be seen daily by the side of Countess Löwenjoul, followed by a groom and with Percy capering round, riding, or driving a smart four-in-hand through the City Gardens—while the servant who sat on the back seat stood up from time to time, drew a long silver horn from a leather sheath and wound a shrill warning of their approach; and by getting up early one could see father and daughter every morning go in a dark-red brougham, or, in fine weather, on foot through the park of Schloss “Hermitage” to the Spa-Garden, in order to drink the waters. Imma for her part, as already mentioned, again began a course of visits to the benevolent institutions of the city, though she appeared not to give up her studies for all that; for from the beginning of the half-term she regularly attended the lectures of the Councillor Klinghammer at the University—sat daily in a black dress with white collar and cuffs among the young students in the lecture-theatre, and drove her fountain-pen—with her forefinger raised in the air, a trick of hers when writing—over the pages of her notebook.

  The Spoelmanns lived in retirement, they did not mix in the life of the town, as was natural in view both of Mr. Spoelmann’s ill-health and of his social loneliness. What social group could he have attached himself to? Nobody even suggested to him that he should consort with soap-boiler Unschlitt or bank-director Wolfsmilch on confidential terms. Yet he was soon approached with appeals to his generosity, and the appeals were not in vain. For Mr. Spoelmann, who, it was well known, before his departure from America had given a large sum in dollars to the Board of Education in the United States, and had also stated in so many words that he had no intention of withdrawing his yearly contributions to the Spoelmann University and his other educational foundations—he, shortly after his arrival at “Delphinenort,” put his name down for a subscription of ten thousand marks to the Dorothea Children’s Hospital, for which a collection was just being made; an action the nobleness of which was immediately recognized in fitting terms by the Courier and the rest of the press.

  In fact, although the Spoelmanns lived in seclusion in a social sense, a certain amount of publicity attached to their life among us from the earliest moments, and in the local section of the daily newspapers at least their movements were followed with as much particularity as those of the members of the Grand Ducal House. The public were informed when Miss Imma had played a game of lawn tennis with the Countess and Messrs. Phlebs and Slippers in the “Delphinenort” park; it was noted when she had been at the Court Theatre, and whether her father had gone with her for an act or two of the Opera; and if Mr. Spoelmann shrank from curiosity, never leaving his box during the intervals and scarcely ever showing himself on foot in the streets, yet he was obviously not insensible to the duties of a spectacular kind which were inherent in an extraordinary existence like his own, and he gave the love of gazing its due.

  It has been said that the “Delphinenort” park was not divided from the Town Gardens. No walls separated the Schloss from the outer world. From the back one could walk over the turf right up to the foot of the broad covered terrace which had been built on that side, and, if bold enough, look through the big glass door straight into the high white-and-gold garden-room in which Mr. Spoelmann and his family had five-o’clock tea. Indeed, when summer came, tea was laid on the terrace outside, and Mr. and Miss Spoelmann, the Countess and Doctor Watercloose sat in basket chairs of a new-fangled shape, and took their tea as if on a public platform.

  For on Sunday, at any rate, there was never wanting a public to enjoy the spectacle at a respectful distance. They called each other’s attention to the silver tea-kettle, which was heated by electricity—a quite novel idea—and to the wonderful liveries of the two footmen who handed the tea and cakes, white, high-buttoned, gold-laced coats with swan’s-down on the collars, cuffs, and seams. They listened to the English-German conversation and followed with open mouths every movement of the notable family on the terrace. They then went round past the front door, in order to shout a few witticisms in the local dialect to the red-plush negro, which he answered with a dental grin.

  Klaus Heinrich saw Imma Spoelmann for the first time on a bright winter’s day at noon. That does not mean that he had not already caught sight of her often at the theatre, in the street, and in the town park. But that’s quite a different thing. He saw her for the first time at this midday hour in exciting circumstances.

  He had been giving “free audiences” in the Old Schloss till half-past eleven, and after they were finished had not returned at once to Schloss “Hermitage,” but had ordered his coachman to keep the carriage waiting in one of the courts, as he wished to smoke a cigarette with the Guards officers on duty. As he wore the uniform of that regiment, to which his personal aide-de-camp also belonged, he made an effort to maintain the semblance of some sort of camaraderie with the officers; he dined from time to time in their mess and occasionally gave them half an hour of his company on guard, although he had a dim suspicion that he was rather a nuisance as he kept them from their cards and smoking-room stories.

  So there he stood, the convex silver star of the Noble Order of the Grimmburg Griffin on his breast, his left hand planted well back on his hip, with Herr von Braunbart-Schellendorf, who had given due notice of the visit in the officers’ mess, which was situated on the ground floor of the Schloss near the Albrechts Gate—engaged in a trivial conversation with two or three officers in the middle of the room, while a further group of officers chatted at the deep-set window. Owing to the warmth of sun outside the window stood open, and from the barracks along the Albrechtstrasse came the strains of the drum and fife band of the approaching relief guard.

  Twelve o’clock struck from the Court Chapel tower. The loud “Fall in!” of the non-commissioned officer was heard outside, and the rattle of grenadiers standing to arms. The public collected on the square. The lieutenant on duty hastily buckled on his sword belt, clapped hi
s heels together in a salute to Klaus Heinrich and went out. Then suddenly Lieutenant von Sturmhahn, who had been looking out of the window, cried with that rather poor imitation of familiarity which was proper to the relations between Klaus Heinrich and the officers: “Great heavens, here’s something for you to look at, Royal Highness! There goes Miss Spoelmann, with her algebra under her arm …?”

  Klaus Heinrich walked to the window. Miss Imma was walking by herself along the pavement. With both hands thrust into her big flat muff, which was trimmed with pendent tails, she carried her notebook pressed to her side with her elbow. She was wearing a long coat of shiny black fox, and a toque of the same fur on her dark foreign-looking hair. She was obviously coming from “Delphinenort” and hurrying towards the University. She reached the main guardhouse at the moment at which the relief guard marched up the gutter, over against the guard on duty, which standing at attention in two ranks occupied the pavement. She was absolutely compelled to go round, outside the band and the crowd of spectators—indeed, if she wished to avoid the open square with its tram-lines, to make a fairly wide detour on the footpath running round it—or to wait for the end of the military ceremony.

  She showed no intention of doing either. She made as if to walk along the pavement in front of the Schloss right down between the two ranks of soldiers. The sergeant with the harsh voice stepped forward quickly. “Not this way!” he cried and held the butt of his rifle in front of her. “Not this way! Right about! Wait!”

  But Miss Spoelmann fired up. “What d’you mean?” she cried. “I’m in a hurry!”

  But her words were not so impressive as the expression of honest, passionate, irresistible anger with which they were uttered. How slight and lonely she was! The fair-haired soldiers round her towered head and shoulders above her. Her face was as pale as wax at this moment, her black eyebrows were knitted in a hard and expressive wrinkle, her nostrils distended, and her eyes, black with excitement and wide-opened, spoke so expressive and bewitching a language that no protest seemed possible.