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- Herausgeber: e-artnow
- Sprache: Englisch
Thomas Mann's 'Royal Highness' is a satirical yet profound exploration of dynastic decline and societal transformation in pre-World War I Europe. Through the fictional principality of Grimmburg, Mann crafts a narrative that blends classical realism with incisive social critique, echoing both the nuanced prose of Dickens and the perceptivity of Dostoevsky. The novel delves into the life of Prince Klaus Heinrich, whose personal journey from privileged insularity to a broader societal consciousness serves as an allegory for the fading relevance of aristocracy. Mann's meticulous style, characterized by its rich descriptions and layered characters, effectively captures the essence of an era standing precariously at the brink of modernity. Thomas Mann, born into an aristocratic family in Lübeck, Germany, was acutely aware of the societal tectonics that characterized his time. His personal experiences of privilege interwoven with the changing tide of the bourgeoisie provided fertile ground for his reflection on class and the human condition. 'Royal Highness' exemplifies Mann's profound engagement with the socio-political currents of the early 20th century and his masterful ability to reflect them through literature. Mann's insight into human nature and societal structures undoubtedly enriches this narrative. 'Royal Highness' is essential reading for those captivated by the intersection of history, literature, and social commentary. Mann's quintessential blend of intricate storytelling and philosophical depth invites readers to reflect on the perennially relevant themes of power, identity, and transformation. With its rich tapestry of characters and eloquent prose, the book remains a compelling narrative from one of the most incisive literary minds of the 20th century. Those who appreciate classical European literature will find Mann's work both enlightening and enduring in its contemporary resonance. This translation has been assisted by artificial intelligence.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026
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Royal Highness
Table of Contents
Prelude
It is on Albrechtsstraße, the main thoroughfare of the Residenz, which connects Albrechtsplatz and the Old Palace with the Guard Fusiliers' barracks – at noon on a weekday, at an indifferent time of year. The weather is moderately good, indifferent. It is not raining, but the sky is not clear either; it is uniformly white-gray, ordinary, unfestive, and the street is bathed in a dull and sober light that excludes any mystery or strangeness from the atmosphere. Traffic is moderately busy, without much noise or crowding, in keeping with the not very bustling character of the city. Tram cars glide by, a few cabs roll past, and on the sidewalks the inhabitants move about, colorless people, passers-by, the public, people. Two officers, their hands in the slanted pockets of their gray paletots, come toward each other: a general and a lieutenant. The general approaches from the castle side, the lieutenant from the barracks side. The lieutenant is very young, a milk-bearded, half-child. He has narrow shoulders, dark hair, and cheekbones as broad as many people in this country have, blue, somewhat tired-looking eyes, and a boyish face with a friendly, reserved expression. The general is snow-white, tall and broad-shouldered, an extremely commanding figure. His eyebrows are like cotton wool, and his moustache covers both his mouth and chin. He walks with slow force, his sabre clinking on the asphalt, his plume fluttering in the wind, and with every step the large red breast flap of his coat slowly swells up and down. So they approach each other. – Could this lead to complications? Impossible. The natural course of this encounter is clear to any observer. Here is the relationship between old and young, between command and obedience, between aged merit and tender inexperience; here is a vast hierarchical distance; here are rules. Natural order, take your course! And what happens instead? Instead, the following surprising, embarrassing, delightful, and perverse spectacle unfolds. Upon seeing the young lieutenant, the general changes his demeanor in a strange way. He composes himself and yet becomes smaller, as it were. He dampens the pomp of his appearance with a jolt, so to speak, he puts a stop to the noise of his saber, and while his face takes on a gruff and embarrassed expression, he is clearly unsure of where to look, what he is trying to hide, so that he stares obliquely at the asphalt from under his cotton-wool eyebrows. The young lieutenant, too, when observed closely, betrays a slight self-consciousness, which, strangely enough, seems to be mastered by a certain grace and discipline to a greater degree in him than in the elderly commander. The tension in his mouth turns into a smile that is both modest and kind, and his eyes gaze past the general and into the distance with a quiet and controlled calm that seems effortless. Now they are three steps apart. And instead of performing the prescribed salute, the very young lieutenant tilts his head back slightly, simultaneously withdraws his right hand—only his right hand, which is striking—from his coat pocket, and with this same white-gloved right hand makes a small encouraging and obliging gesture, no stronger than opening his fingers with his palm facing upward; But the general, who had been expecting this sign with his arms hanging down, reaches for his helmet, bends over, gives way to the sidewalk with a half-bow, so to speak, and greets the lieutenant from below with a red face and pious, watery eyes. Then the lieutenant, his hand on his cap, returns the salute of his superior, returns it with a childlike friendliness that moves his whole face, returns it—and walks on.
A miracle! A fantastic appearance! He walks on. You can see him, but he sees no one; he looks straight ahead between the people, a little like a lady who knows she is being watched. People greet him, then he greets them back, almost warmly and yet from a distance. It seems he is not walking well; it is as if he is not very used to using his legs or as if the general attention is hindering him, so uneven and hesitant is his gait, yes, at times he even seems to limp. A policeman stands to attention, an elegant woman stepping out of a shop sinks to her knees with a smile. People look back at him, nod their heads in his direction, raise their eyebrows and whisper his name...
It is Klaus Heinrich, the younger brotherof Albrecht II and next in line to the throne. There he goes, you can still see him. Known and yet a stranger, he moves among the people, walking in the crowd and yet surrounded by emptiness, walking alone and carrying the burden of his highness on his narrow shoulders.
The inhibition
Shots were fired when news reached the residence via the various modern means of communication that Grand Duchess Dorothea had given birth to a second child by a prince at Grimmburg. Seventy-two shots rolled across the city and countryside, fired by the military from the ramparts of the "citadel." Immediately afterwards, the fire brigade also fired the city's salute cannons so as not to be outdone, but there were long pauses between the individual detonations, which caused much amusement among the population.
Grimmburg Castle dominated the picturesque town of the same name from a bushy hill, its gray sloping roofs reflected in the flowing river, and could be reached from the capital in half an hour by an unprofitable local train. There it stood, the castle, defiantly built in gray days by Margrave Klaus Grimmbart, the progenitor of the princely family, rejuvenated and repaired several times since then, equipped with the conveniences of changing times, always kept comfortable and honored in a special way as the ancestral seat of the ruling house, as the cradle of the dynastic family. For it was the house law and tradition that all direct descendants of Grimmbart, all children of the reigning couple, had to be born here. This tradition could not be ignored. The country had seen clear-minded and skeptical sovereigns who had mocked it, and yet they had shrugged their shoulders and complied. Now it was too late to deviate from it. Reasonable and appropriate or not – why break with a venerable custom that had proven itself, so to speak? The people were convinced that there was something to it. Twice in the course of fifteen generations, children of ruling lords had been born in other castles as a result of some coincidence: both had met an unnatural and ignoble end. But from Henry the Penitent and John the Violent, along with their lovely and proud sisters, to Albrecht, the father of the Grand Duke, and Albrecht himself, JohnAlbrecht III, all the sovereigns of the country and their siblings had been born here, and six years ago Dorothea had given birth to her first son, the heir to the Grand Duchy, here...
Incidentally, the ancestral castle was a refuge as dignified as it was peaceful. As a summer residence, one might even prefer it to the stiffly charming Hollerbrunn because of the coolness of its chambers and the shady charm of its surroundings. The ascent from the small town, that somewhat grueling cobbled alley between poor homes and a broken wall parapet, through massive gateways to the ancient tavern and guesthouse at the entrance to the castle courtyard, in the middle of which stood the stone statue of Klaus Grimmbart, the builder, was picturesque, but not comfortable. But a handsome park covered the back of the castle hill and led down leisurely paths to the wooded and gently undulating terrain, which was full of opportunities for carriage rides and quiet strolls.
As for the interior of the castle, it had undergone extensiverenovation and beautification at the beginning of JohannAlbrecht III's reign, at a cost that had caused much talk. The furnishings of the living quarters had been supplemented and renewed in a style that was both chivalrous and comfortable, and the coat of arms tiles in the "courtroom" had been restored exactly according to the pattern of the old ones. The gilding of the mischievous cross vaults, which varied in many ways, appeared bright and cheerful, all the rooms were fitted with parquet flooring, and both the large and small banquet halls had been decorated with large murals by the artist Professor von Lindemann, an outstanding academic, depictions from the history of the ruling house, executed in a bright and smooth manner that was far removed from and oblivious to the restless demands of younger schools. Nothing was lacking. Since the castle's old fireplaces and strangely colorful stoves, built up to the ceiling in round terraces, were not very usable, anthracite stoves had even been installed in view of the possibility of a winter stay.
But the day of the seventy-two shots was the best time of year, late spring, early summer, the beginning of June, one day after Pentecost. Johann Albrecht, notified by telegram early in the morning that the birth had begun, arrived at Grimmburg station at eight o'clock on the unprofitable local train, where he was greeted with blessings by three or four official personalities, the mayor, the district judge, the pastor, and the town doctor, and immediately proceeded to the castle by carriage. Accompanying the Grand Duke were Minister of State Dr. Baron Knobelsdorff and Adjutant General of the Infantry Count Schmettern. A little later, two or three ministers, the court preacher and president of the church council, D. Wislizenus , a few gentlemen with court and high court positions, and a young adjutant, Captain von Lichterloh, arrived at the ancestral castle. Although the Grand Duke's personal physician, General Physician Dr. Eschrich, was with the new mother, Johann Albrecht was in the mood to ask the young local doctor, a Dr. Sammet, who was also of Jewish descent, to accompany him to the castle. The simple, hard-working, and serious man, who had his hands full and had not expected such an honor, stammered several times, "Very gladly... very gladly...," which elicited a few smiles.
The grand duchess used the "bridal chamber" as her bedroom, a pentagonal, very colorfully painted room located on the first floor, which offered a magnificent view of forests, hills, and the winding river, and was decorated all around with a frieze of medallion-shaped portraits, images of princely brides who had waited here for their rulers in days of old. There lay Dorothea; a wide and strong ribbon was tied around the foot of her bed, which she held on to like a child playing carriage, and her beautiful, voluptuous body was doing hard work. Doctor Gnadebusch, the midwife, a gentle and learned woman with small, delicate hands and brown eyes that took on a mysterious gleam through round, thick glasses, supported the princess, saying:
"Just hold on tight, Your Royal Highness... It's coming quickly... It's very easy... The second time... it's nothing... Please: knees apart... And always keep your chin on your chest..."
A nurse, dressed like her in white linen, also helped and walked around quietly with vessels and bandages during the breaks. The personal physician, a grim, black-bearded man whose left eyelid seemed paralyzed, supervised the birth. He wore his surgical gown over his general physician's uniform. From time to time, Dorothea's trusted chief lady-in-waiting, Baroness von Schulenburg-Tressen, a corpulent and asthmatic lady of distinctly bourgeois appearance, who nevertheless tended to bare a great deal of bosom at court balls, appeared in the boudoir to check on the progress of the delivery. She kissed her mistress's hand and returned to a remote chamber, where a few thin ladies-in-waiting were chatting with the grand duchess's chamberlain on duty, a Count Windisch. Doctor Sammet, who had pulled the linen gown over his tailcoat like a domino, remained at the washstand in a modest and attentive posture.
Johann Albrecht was in a vaulted room conducive to work and contemplation, separated from the "bridal chamber" only by the so-called dressing room and a passageway. It was called a library because of several handwritten folios leaning against the massive bookcase, which contained the history of the castle. The room was furnished as a study. Globes adorned the wall border. The strong wind from above blew through the arched window, which was open. The Grand Duke had had tea served to him, and his valet Prahl had brought the dishes himself; but it stood forgotten on the secretary's desk, and Johann Albrecht paced from one corner to the other in a restless, unpleasantly tense state. His gait was accompanied by the incessant creaking of his lacquered boots. Wing adjutant von Lichterloh listened to it, bored in the almost empty passageway.
The ministers, the adjutant general, the court preacher, and the court officials, nine or ten gentlemen, waited in the reception rooms on the upper ground floor. They wandered through the large and small banquet halls, where arrangements of flags and weapons hung between Lindemann's paintings; they leaned against the shaft-like pillars that unfolded above them into colorful vaults; they stood in front of the ceiling-high, narrow windows and looked down through the leaded panes over the river and the little town; they sat on the stone benches that ran along the walls or on armchairs in front of the fireplaces, whose Gothic roofs were supported by ridiculously small, stooped, grotesque little stone figures. The cheerful day made the braid trim on the uniforms, the medal stars on the padded chest bulges, and the broad gold stripes on the dignitaries' trousers glisten.
Conversation was difficult. Three-masted ships and white-clad hands were constantly raised in front of mouths that opened convulsively. Almost all the gentlemen had tears in their eyes. Several had not found time to eat breakfast. Some sought distraction by fearfully studying the surgical instruments and the spherical, leather-covered chloroform vessel that General Surgeon Eschrich had placed here just in case. After Grand Marshal von Bühl zu Bühl, a strong man with a swaggering gait, a brown toupee, golden pince-nez, and long yellow fingernails, had told several stories in his rambunctious chattering manner, he made use of his gift of sleeping with his eyes open in an armchair—losing consciousness of time and space with a motionless gaze and in the best posture, without in the least violating the dignity of the place.
Dr. von Schröder, Minister of Finance and Agriculture, had a conversation that day with Minister of State Dr. Baron Knobelsdorff, Minister of the Interior, Foreign Affairs, and the Grand Ducal House. It was a lively conversation that began with a discussion of art, moved on to financial and economic issues, made rather disparaging remarks about a high-ranking court official, and also dealt with the persons of the highest nobility. It began when the gentlemen, their hands behind their backs with their hats in them, stood in front of one of the paintings in the Great Banquet Hall, and both were thinking more than they were saying. The Minister of Finance said: "And this? What is it? What is happening there? Your Excellency is so knowledgeable..."
"Superficially. It is the investiture of two young princes of the house by their uncle, the Roman emperor. Your Excellency can see the two young gentlemen kneeling and taking their oath on the emperor's sword in a grand ceremony..."
"Beautiful, unusually beautiful! What colors! Dazzling. What lovely golden curls the princes have! And the emperor... it is the emperor as he appears in the books! Yes, this Lindemann deserves the honors he has received."
"Absolutely. He deserves the honors he has received."
Doctor von Schröder, a tall man with a white beard, delicate gold-rimmed glasses on his white nose, a small belly that rose abruptly below his stomach, and a bulging neck that overflowed the embroidered stand-up collar of his tailcoat, looked a little doubtful, without taking his eyes off the picture, touched by a mistrust that sometimes came over him in conversation with the baron. This Knobelsdorff, this favorite and highest official, was so ambiguous ... At times, his remarks and replies were tinged with an intangible mockery. He had traveled widely, he knew the globe, he was so well-informed, interested in a strange and free way. Nevertheless, he was correct. Mr. von Schröder did not fully understand him. Despite all their agreement, it was not possible to feel completely in accord with him. His opinions were full of secret reserve, his judgments of a tolerance that left one wondering whether they meant justice or contempt. But the most suspicious thing was his smile, a smile of the eyes without any involvement of the mouth, which seemed to arise from the wrinkles arranged radially at the outer corners of his eyes, or, conversely, had caused these wrinkles over time ... Baron Knobelsdorff was younger than the finance minister, a man in his prime at the time, although his trimmed mustache and smoothly parted hair were already slightly graying—stocky, by the way, with a short neck and visibly constricted by the collar of his court dress, which was buttoned up to the hem. He left Mr. von Schröder a moment to ponder his perplexity and then continued: "Only, in the interests of a commendable court finance department, it might be desirable for the famous man to be a little more content with stars and titles, and... to put it bluntly, how much might this pleasing work of art have cost?"
Mr. von Schröder came back to life. The desire, the hope of communicating with the baron, of achieving intimacy and confidential harmony with him, made him eager.
"Exactly my thought!" he said, turning to resume his walk through the halls. "Your Excellency takes the words right out of my mouth. What might have been paid for this 'feudal grant'? What about the rest of the colorful splendor here on the walls? For, in sum, the restoration of the castle six years ago cost a million."
"Badly calculated."
"Round and nice! And this sum checked and approved by the Grand Marshal von Bühl zu Bühl, who is indulging in his pleasant catalepsy back there, checked, approved, and swept away by the court finance director Count Trümmerhauff..."
"Swept away or remained guilty."
"One of the two! ... This sum, I say, imposed and expected of a treasury, a treasury..."
"In a word: the treasury of the Grand Ducal Asset Management."
"Your Excellency knows as well as I do what you mean by that. No, I am feeling cold... I swear that I am neither a miser nor a hypochondriac, but I feel cold in the pit of my stomach at the thought that, in the face of the prevailing circumstances, one is calmly throwing away a million – for what? For nothing, a pretty whim, for the splendid restoration of the ancestral castle where one must be born..."
Mr. von Knobelsdorff laughed: "Yes, my God, romanticism is a luxury, an expensive one! Excellency, I agree with you – of course. But consider that ultimately the whole malaise of princely economy has its roots in this romantic luxury. The evil begins with the fact that the princes are farmers; their fortunes consist of land, their income from agricultural yields. Nowadays... They have not yet been able to decide to become industrialists and financiers. With regrettable stubbornness, they allow themselves to be guided by certain obsolete and ideological basic concepts, such as the concepts of loyalty and dignity. Princely property is bound by loyalty – entailed. Advantageous sales are out of the question. Mortgage pledging and obtaining credit for the purpose of economic improvement seem inadmissible to them. The administration is strictly prevented from freely exploiting business opportunities – by dignity. Forgive me, isn't that so! I am telling you basic truths. Those who value good manners as much as this type of person does cannot and will not keep pace with the freedom and uninhibited initiative of less stubborn and less idealistic business people. Well then, what does the positive million mean in comparison to this negative luxury, which was sacrificed for a pretty whim, to repeat Your Excellency's expression? If only that were all! But then there are the regular costs of maintaining a reasonably dignified court. There are the castles and their parks to maintain, Hollerbrunn, Monbrillant, Jägerpreis, not to mention ... the Hermitage, Delphinenort, Fasanerie and the others ... I'm forgetting Segenhaus Castle and the ruins of Haderstein ... not to mention the Old Castle ... They are poorly maintained, but it is an expense... There is the court theater, the gallery, the library to support. There are a hundred pensions to pay – even without legal obligation, out of loyalty and dignity. And what a princely manner the Grand Duke intervened during the last flood... But that is a speech I am giving!"
"A speech," said the Minister of Finance, "with which Your Excellency intended to oppose me, while you are supporting me with it. – Dearest Baron" – and here Mr. von Schröder laid his hand on his heart – "I am confident that there can be no misunderstanding between you and me about my feelings, my loyal feelings. The king cannot do wrong ... The highest person is above reproach. But guilt ... ah, what an ambiguous word! ... guilt exists, and I place it without hesitation on Count Trümmerhauff. That the former holders of his position deceived their sovereigns about the material situation of the court was in the spirit of the times and was forgivable. The behavior of Count Trümmerhauff is no longer so. In his capacity as court finance director, it would have been his duty to put a stop to the prevailing ... carelessness, and it would still be his duty today to instruct His Royal Highness without reservation ..."
Mr. von Knobelsdorff smiled with raised eyebrows.
"Really?" he said. "So it is Your Excellency's view that the count's appointment was made for this purpose? And I can imagine the justified astonishment of this nobleman when you explained your view of things to him. No, no... Your Excellency must not be mistaken in thinking that this appointment was a measured expression of His Royal Highness's will, which the appointee had to respect above all else. It meant not only "I know nothing," but also "I want to know nothing." One can be an exclusively decorative personality and still be capable of understanding this... Incidentally ... sincerely ... we all understood it. And for all of us, there is ultimately only one mitigating circumstance: that there is no prince in the world to whom it would be more fatal to speak of his debts than to His Royal Highness. Our lord has something in his nature that makes such pettiness die on the lips ..."
"Very true. Very true," said Mr. von Schröder. He sighed and stroked the swan feather on his hat thoughtfully. The two gentlemen sat facing each other at a raised location, a window seat in a spacious alcove, outside of which ran a narrow walkway, a kind of gallery that offered a view of the town through pointed arches. Mr. von Schröder said again:
"You answer me, Baron, you seem to contradict me, and your words are more incredulous and bitter than mine."
Mr. von Knobelsdorff remained silent with a vague and conciliatory gesture.
"It may be," said the Minister of Finance, nodding gloomily at his hat. "Your Excellency may be right. Perhaps we are all guilty, we and our predecessors. How much could have been prevented! You see, Baron, ten years ago, there was an opportunity to restructure the court's finances, to improve them, if you will. It was missed. We understand each other. The Grand Duke, charming man that he is, had it in his power at the time to improve the situation through a marriage that could have been called brilliant from a healthy point of view. Instead ... my personal feelings aside ... but I will never forget the look of despair with which the amount of the dowry was mentioned throughout the country ..."
"The Grand Duchess," said Mr. von Knobelsdorff, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes almost disappeared completely, "is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen."
"A response that befits Your Excellency. An aesthetic response. A response that would hold true even if His Royal Highness's choice, like that of his brother Lambert, had fallen on a member of the court ballet..."
"Oh, there was no danger of that. The gentleman's tastes are difficult to satisfy, as he has shown. His needs have always been the opposite of the lack of choice that Prince Lambert has displayed throughout his life. He decided to marry late in life. Hope for direct descendants had been all but abandoned. For better or worse, people resigned themselves to seeing Prince Lambert, whose indisposition we can all agree on, as the heir to the throne. Then, a few weeks after his accession, Johann Albrecht met Princess Dorothea and exclaimed: "Her or no one!" And so the Grand Duchy had a mother of the nation. Your Excellency mentioned the concerned expressions that arose when the amount of the dowry became known – you did not mention the jubilation that nevertheless prevailed. A poor princess, indeed. But is beauty, such beauty, not a joyful power? Her entrance was unforgettable! She was loved when her first smile flitted over the watching people. Your Excellency must allow me to profess once again my belief in the idealism of the people. The people want their best, their higher self, their dream; they want to see something like their soul represented in their prince—not his purse. There are other people to represent that..."
"They are not here. Not here with us."
"A regrettable fact in itself. The main thing is that Dorothea has given us an heir to the throne..."
"May heaven grant him some sense of numbers!"
"Agreed..."
Here the conversation between the two ministers ended. It broke off, it was interrupted, namely by Wing Adjutant von Lichterloh announcing the happy completion of the delivery. There was a commotion in the small banquet hall, and all the gentlemen suddenly gathered there. One of the large carved doors had been thrown open, and the adjutant stood in the hall. He had a reddened face, blue soldier's eyes, a flaxen bristly mustache, and silver guard braids on his collar. Excited and a little beside himself, like a man who has been delivered from deadly boredom and is full of joyful news, he boldly disregarded form and protocol in the spirit of the extraordinary moment. He saluted cheerfully, raising the hilt of his saber almost to chest height with his elbow outstretched, and called out with a high-spirited snarl: "I humbly report: a prince!"
" A la bonne heure," said Adjutant General Count Schmettern.
"Delightful, very delightful, I call that most delightful!" said Grand Marshal von Bühl zu Bühl in his chattering manner; he had immediately regained consciousness.
Presiding Church Council President D. Wislizenus , a smooth-faced gentleman of fine bearing, who was the son of a general and had attained his high position at a relatively young age thanks to his personal distinction, and on whose silky black coat a medal star bulged, folded his white hands below his chest and said in a melodious voice: "God bless His Grand Ducal Highness!"
"You forget, Captain," said Mr. von Knobelsdorff with a smile, "that your statements interfere with my rights and duties. Until I have thoroughly investigated the matter, the question of whether it is a prince or a princess remains completely undecided..."
Everyone laughed at this, and Mr. von Lichterloh replied: "At your service, Your Excellency! I also have the honor of requesting Your Excellency, on the highest authority ... "
This exchange referred to the Minister of State's role as registrar of the Grand Ducal House, in which capacity he was called upon and required to determine the sex of the princely child by his own observation and to officially record it. Mr. von Knobelsdorff completed this formality in the so-called dressing room, where the newborn had been bathed, but lingered there longer than he himself had expected, subsequently puzzled and detained by an embarrassing observation, which he initially kept secret from everyone except the midwife.
Doctor Gnadebusch revealed the child to him, and her eyes, shining mysteriously behind thick glasses, moved back and forth between the Minister of State and the little copper-colored creature with one—just one—hand reaching blindly, as if she wanted to ask, "Is it true?" It was true, Herr von Knobelsdorff was satisfied, and the wise woman wrapped the child up again. But even then she did not stop looking down at the prince and up at the baron until she had directed his eyes where she wanted them. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes disappeared, he furrowed his brow, examined, compared, felt, and investigated the case for two or three minutes, and finally asked, "Has the Grand Duke seen this yet?"
"No, Your Excellency."
"When the Grand Duke sees this," said Mr. von Knobelsdorff, "tell him that it will grow out."
And he reported to the gentlemen on the upper ground floor: "A strong prince!"
But ten or fifteen minutes after him, the Grand Duke also made the unpleasant discovery—it was inevitable and resulted in a brief, extremely unpleasant scene for General Physician Eschrich, but for Dr. Sammet from Grimmburg, it resulted in a conversation with the Grand Duke that greatly increased his esteem and was useful to him in his later career. In short, this is how it all happened.
During the afterbirth, Johann Albrecht had returned to the "library" and then lingered for some time at the bedside, hand in hand with his wife. He then went to the "dressing room," where the infant now lay in his high, delicately gilded crib, half covered by a blue silk curtain, and sat down in an armchair that had been quickly pulled up beside his little son. But as he sat there looking at the sleeping child, he noticed something that others would have preferred to keep hidden from him. He pulled the blanket back further, frowned, and then did everything that Mr. von Knobelsdorff had done before him, looking successively at Dr. Gnadebusch and the nurse, who fell silent, glancing at the half-open door to the boudoir and returning to the library with agitated steps.
Here he immediately sounded the silver bell decorated with an eagle that stood on the desk and said very briefly and coldly to Mr. von Lichterloh, who entered clanking: "I request Mr. Eschrich."
When the Grand Duke was angry with someone in his entourage, he used to strip them of all their titles and dignities for the moment, leaving them with nothing but their bare name.
The aide-de-camp clattered his spurs again and withdrew. Johann Albrecht paced the room a few times, creaking loudly, and then, when he heard Mr. von Lichterloh usher the summoned person into the anteroom, he took up his position at the desk.
Standing there, his head turned imperiously in half profile, his left hand firmly planted on his hip, brushing away the satin-lined frock coat from his white waistcoat, he looked exactly like his portrait by Professor von Lindemann, which, as a counterpart to Dorothea's, in the "Hall of the Twelve Months" in the residential palace, next to the large mirror above the fireplace, and of which countless reproductions, photographs, and illustrated postcards had been distributed to the public. The only difference was that Johann Albrecht appeared as a heroic figure in that portrait, whereas in reality he was barely of medium height. His forehead was high and bald, and beneath his gray eyebrows, his blue eyes, dimly shaded, gazed into the distance with weary arrogance. He had the broad, slightly too high cheekbones that were a characteristic of his people. His sideburns and the beard on his lower lip were gray, and his twisted mustache was almost white. Two unusually deep furrows ran diagonally down from the flared wings of his squat but elegantly curved nose into his beard. The lemon-yellow ribbon of the Order of Constancy shone in the neckline of his piqué waistcoat. The Grand Duke wore a small bouquet of carnations in his buttonhole.
Surgeon General Eschrich entered with a deep bow. He had taken off his surgical gown. His paralyzed eyelid hung heavier than usual over his eyeball. He made a grim and unhappy impression.
The Grand Duke, his left hand on his hip, threw his head back, stretched out his right hand, and moved it back and forth in the air several times, palm up, briefly and impatiently.
"I expect an explanation, a justification, Surgeon General," he said, his voice wavering with irritation. "You will be so kind as to answer me. What is the matter with the child's arm?"
The personal physician raised his arms slightly—a weak gesture of powerlessness and innocence. He said:
"Your Royal Highness... An unfortunate coincidence. Unfavorable circumstances during Your Royal Highness's pregnancy..."
"Those are just empty words!" The Grand Duke was so agitated that he did not even want an explanation, he simply prevented it. "I am telling you, sir, that I am beside myself. An unfortunate accident! You had to prevent unfortunate accidents..."
The Surgeon General stood in a half-bow and spoke in a submissive, lowered voice, looking down at the floor.
"I humbly beg to remind you that I am not solely responsible. Privy Councilor Grasanger examined Your Royal Highness—a gynecological authority... But no one can be held responsible in this case..."
"No one... Ah! I take the liberty of holding you responsible... You are accountable to me... You monitored the pregnancy and supervised the delivery. I relied on the knowledge befitting your rank, Surgeon General, I placed my trust in your experience. I have been sorely deceived, sorely disappointed. The result of your conscientiousness is that a ... crippled child has been brought into the world ..."
"Would Your Royal Highness most graciously consider..."
"I have considered. I have weighed it up and found it wanting. Thank you!"
Surgeon General Eschrich backed away, bowing his head. In the anteroom, he shrugged his shoulders, his face very red. The Grand Duke paced back and forth in the "library" again, creaking in his princely anger, unreasonable, uninformed, and foolish in his loneliness. But whether he wished to offend his personal physician even further or whether he regretted having deprived himself of any clarification, after ten minutes the unexpected happened: the Grand Duke sent for the young Dr. Sammet to join him in the "library" via Mr. von Lichterloh.
When the doctor received the message, he said again, "Very gladly... very gladly..." and even blushed a little, but then behaved excellently. Admittedly, he did not completely master the formality and bowed too early, already in the doorway, so that the adjutant could not close the door behind him and had to whisper to him to step further forward; but then he stood there freely and comfortably and answered satisfactorily, although he showed the habit of speaking a little heavily, with hesitant preambles, and frequently inserting a "yes" between his sentences, as if for simple reinforcement. He wore his dark blond hair cut short and his mustache hanging carelessly. His chin and cheeks were clean-shaven and a little sore from it. He held his head slightly tilted to one side, and the look in his gray eyes spoke of intelligence and active gentleness. His nose, sloping too flatly toward his mustache, hinted at his origins. He wore a black necktie with his tailcoat, and his waxed boots were of a rustic cut. With one hand on his silver watch chain, he kept his elbow close to his upper body. His appearance expressed integrity and objectivity; it inspired confidence.
The Grand Duke addressed him with unusual kindness, somewhat in the manner of a teacher who has reprimanded a poor student and then, in a sudden burst of gentleness, turns to another.
"Doctor, I asked you to come... I would like your opinion on this phenomenon on the body of the newborn prince... I assume that it has not escaped your notice... I am faced with a mystery... an extremely painful mystery... In a word, I ask for your opinion." And the Grand Duke, changing position, ended with a perfectly beautiful gesture of his hand, leaving the floor to the doctor.
Doctor Sammet watched him silently and attentively, waiting, as it were, until the Grand Duke had finished his princely demeanor. Then he said: "Yes. – This is a case that, although not very common, is nevertheless well known and familiar to us. Yes. It is essentially a case of atrophy."
"I must ask... 'atrophy'...?"
"I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness. I mean stunting. Yes."
"Quite right. Stunting. That's correct. The left hand is stunted. But that's unheard of! I don't understand! Nothing like this has ever happened in my family. Recently, there has been talk of heredity..."
Once again, the doctor silently and attentively observed this distant and commanding gentleman, who had only recently heard that people were now talking about heredity. He simply replied: "Forgive me, Your Royal Highness, but heredity cannot be considered in this case."
"Oh! Really not!" said the Grand Duke a little mockingly. "I find that satisfying. But would you kindly tell me what you are actually talking about."
"Gladly, Your Royal Highness. The malformation has a purely mechanical cause, yes. It was caused by a mechanical inhibition during the development of the embryo. We call such malformations inhibition formations, yes."
The Grand Duke listened with fearful disgust; he visibly feared the effect of each new word on his sensitivity. He kept his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth open; the two furrows running into his beard seemed even deeper as a result. He said, "Inhibition formations... But how on earth... I cannot doubt that every care was taken..."
"Inhibitions," replied Dr. Sammet, "can arise in various ways. But one can say with reasonable certainty that in our case... in this case, the amnion is to blame."
"I must ask ... 'The amnion' ..."
"It is one of the egg membranes, Your Royal Highness. Yes. And under certain circumstances, the detachment of this egg membrane from the embryo can be delayed and proceed so slowly that threads and strands form between the two... amniotic threads, as we call them, yes. These strands can be dangerous because they can entwine and constrict entire limbs of the child, for example, completely cutting off the blood supply to a hand and possibly requiring amputation, yes."
"My God... amputation. So we should be grateful that it didn't come to an amputation of the hand?"
"That could have happened. Yes. But it ended with constriction and, as a result, atrophy."
"And that was not recognizable, not foreseeable, not preventable?"
"No, Your Royal Highness. Absolutely not. It is quite clear that no one is to blame. Such inhibitions work in secret. We are powerless against them. Yes."
"And the deformity is incurable? The hand will remain stunted?"
Dr. Sammet hesitated, looking kindly at the Grand Duke.
"There will be no complete compensation, no," he said cautiously. "But even the stunted hand will develop a little, oh yes, at least that much..."
"Will it be usable? Functional? For example... for holding the reins or for hand movements, such as those one makes..."
"Useful... a little... Maybe not very. But there's also the right hand, which is completely healthy."
"Will it be very noticeable?" asked the Grand Duke, searching Dr. Sammet's face with concern... "Very conspicuous? Will it greatly impair the overall appearance, do you think?"
"Many people," replied Dr. Sammet evasively, "live and work with more severe impairments. Yes."
The Grand Duke turned away and paced the room. Dr. Sammet respectfully made room for him by retreating to the door. Finally, the Grand Duke returned to his desk and said:
"I am now informed, Doctor; thank you for your presentation. You understand your field, there is no question about that. Why do you live in Grimmburg? Why don't you practice in the capital?"
"I am still young, Your Royal Highness, and before I devote myself to a specialist practice in the capital, I would like to spend a few years gaining a wide range of experience, practicing and working in all kinds of ways. A small country town like Grimmburg offers the best opportunity for this. Yes."
"Very serious, very respectable. Which specialty do you plan to pursue later?"
"Pediatric diseases, Your Royal Highness. I intend to become a pediatrician. Yes."
"You are Jewish?" asked the Grand Duke, throwing back his head and narrowing his eyes...
"Yes, Your Royal Highness."
"Ah. – Would you answer one more question for me... Have you ever felt that your origins were an obstacle in your path, a disadvantage in professional competition? I ask as a sovereign who is particularly concerned with the unconditional and private, not just official, validity of the principle of equality."
"Everyone in the Grand Duchy," replied Dr. Sammet, "has the right to work." But then he said more, began laboriously, uttered a few hesitant words, moving his elbow like a short wing in an awkward, passionate manner, and added in a subdued but inwardly eager and urgent voice: "No principle of equality, if I may be permitted to make this remark, will ever be able to prevent exceptions and special forms from persisting in the midst of communal life, which are distinguished from the bourgeois norm in a sublime or disreputable sense. The individual would do well not to ask about the nature of his special position, but to see the essential in the distinction and, in any case, to derive an extraordinary obligation from it. One is not at a disadvantage compared to the regular and therefore comfortable majority, but at an advantage, if one has one more reason than they do to achieve unusual things. Yes. Yes," repeated Dr. Sammet. It was the answer he confirmed with two yeses.
"Good... not bad, very remarkable at least," said the Grand Duke, weighing up the situation. There seemed to be something familiar, but also something like an excess, in Dr. Sammet's words. He took his leave of the young man with the words: "Dear Doctor, my time is up. Thank you. This conversation—apart from its embarrassing circumstances—has been very satisfying for me. I am pleased to award you the Albrecht Cross, Third Class, with the Crown. I will remember you. Thank you."
This was the conversation between the Grimmburg doctor and the Grand Duke. Shortly thereafter, Johann Albrecht left the castle and returned to the residence by special train, mainly to show himself to the festive population, but also to hold several audiences in the city palace. It was certain that he would return to his ancestral castle in the evening and take up residence there for the next few weeks.
All the gentlemen who had gathered at Grimmburg for the birth and who did not belong to the Grand Duchess's court were also taken on the special train of the unprofitable local railway, some of them in the immediate company of the monarch. But the Grand Duke traveled the distance from the castle to the station alone with Minister of State von Knobelsdorff in an open landau, one of the brown-lacquered court carriages with a small golden crown on the side. The white feathers on the hat of the bodyguard in front fluttered in the summer breeze. Johann Albrecht was serious and silent on this journey, appearing depressed and gloomy; and although Mr. von Knobelsdorff knew that the Grand Duke, even in intimate company, did not tolerate being addressed without being asked or invited to speak, he finally undertook to break the silence.
"Your Royal Highness," he said imploringly, "you seem to be taking the minor anomaly that has been discovered on the prince's body so much to heart... Nevertheless, one would think that on this day the reasons for joy and proud gratitude would so greatly outweigh..."
"Oh, dear Knobelsdorff," replied Johann Albrecht, irritated and almost tearful, "you will forgive my displeasure; you will not demand that I sing. I see no reason to do so. The Grand Duchess is well—that is certain. And the child is a boy—again, good. But now it is born with atrophy, an inhibition caused by amniotic strands. No one is to blame for this; it is an accident. But accidents for which no one is to blame are the truly terrible accidents, and the sight of the prince should arouse feelings other than pity in his people. The hereditary grand duke is delicate, one must constantly fear for him. It was a miracle that he survived pleurisy two years ago, and it will be nothing less than a miracle if he reaches old age. Now heaven has given me a second son – he seems strong, but he is born with one hand. The other is stunted, useless, a deformity; he must hide it. What a complication! What an obstacle! He must constantly brave it before the world. It will gradually have to be made public so that it does not seem too offensive when he first appears in public. No, I still cannot get over it. A prince with one hand..."
"With one hand," said Mr. von Knobelsdorff. "Did Your Royal Highness repeat that phrase deliberately?"
"Deliberately?"
"So not? ... Because the prince has two hands, only one of them is atrophied, and if you want, you could say he is a prince with one hand."
"Well, then?"
"And so one would almost wish that it were not Your Royal Highness's second son, but the one born under the crown who bore this slight deformity."
"What are you saying?"
"Well, Your Royal Highness will laugh at me, but I am thinking of the gypsy woman."
"The gypsy woman? I am patient, dear Baron!"
"The gypsy woman—pardon me!—who prophesied the appearance of a prince from Your Royal Highness's house—a prince 'with one hand'—that is the traditional phrase—a hundred years ago, and who attached a certain, strangely worded promise to the appearance of this prince."
The Grand Duke turned around in the back seat and looked silently into Mr. von Knobelsdorff's eyes, at the outer corners of which radiating wrinkles played.
"Very entertaining!" he then said and sat back down.
"Prophecies," continued Mr. von Knobelsdorff, "tend to come true in such a way that circumstances arise which, with a little good will, can be interpreted in their sense. And this is made much easier by the generous wording of every true prophecy. 'With one hand' – that is good oracle style. Reality brings a moderate case of atrophy. But in doing so, much has been accomplished, for who prevents me, who prevents the people, from taking the hint for the whole and declaring the conditional part of the prophecy fulfilled? The people will do so, at the latest when the rest, the actual promise, should come true in some way; they will rhyme and interpret, as they have always done, in order to see fulfilled what is written. I do not see clearly—the prince is the second-born, he will not reign, the opinion of fate is dark. But the one-handed prince is here—and so may he give us as much as he can."
The Grand Duke was silent, inwardly shaken by dynastic dreams.
"Well, Knobelsdorff, I will not be angry with you. You want to comfort me, and you are not doing a bad job of it. But we are in demand..."
The air was filled with distant, polyphonic shouts. The grim-faced crowd gathered behind the cordon at the station. Officials stood in front of it, waiting for the carriages. The mayor was seen lifting his top hat, drying his forehead with a printed handkerchief, and holding a piece of paper in front of his eyes, memorizing its contents. Johann Albrecht assumed the expression with which he would receive the simple address and respond briefly and graciously: "My dear Mr. Mayor..." The town was decked with flags; its bells were ringing.
All the bells in the capital were ringing. And in the evening, without any special request from the magistrate, there were festive illuminations of their own accord—grand illuminations in all districts of the city.
The country
The country measured eight thousand square kilometers and had a million inhabitants.
A beautiful, quiet, unhurried country. The treetops of its forests rustled dreamily; its fields stretched and spread out, faithfully cultivated; its industry was undeveloped to the point of poverty.
It had brickworks, it had a little salt and silver mining—that was almost everything. At best, one could still speak of a foreign industry, but to call it vibrant would have been bold. The alkaline healing springs that rose from the ground in the immediate vicinity of the capital and formed the center of pleasant bathing facilities made the residence a health resort. But while the baths had been visited from far and wide at the end of the Middle Ages, their reputation had later been lost, drowned out by the names of others and consigned to oblivion. The most substantial of its springs, called the Ditlindenquelle, unusually rich in lithium salts, had only recently been tapped under the reign of JohannAlbrecht III. And since there was no emphatic and sufficiently loud advertising campaign, it had not yet been possible to bring its water to the world's attention. One hundred thousand bottles of it were shipped out each year – more like less than more. And not many strangers traveled here to drink it on the spot...
Every year, the state parliament discussed the "poor" financial results of the transport companies, which was meant to describe and confirm a thoroughly and completely unfavorable outcome: that the local railways were not profitable and the railways were not yielding any returns – sad, but unalterable and ingrained facts, which the Minister of Transport explained in illuminating but recurring statements with reference to the peaceful commercial and industrial conditions of the country and the inadequacy of domestic coal reserves. Krittler added to this the somewhat poorly organized administration of the state transport companies. But there was little spirit of contradiction or negation in the state parliament; a sluggish and sincere loyalty was the prevailing mood among the representatives of the people.
Railway revenue was by no means the most important source of state income from the private sector; in this forest and farmland, forestry revenue had always been in first place. The fact that it too had fallen, declined to an alarming extent, was more difficult to justify, even though there were more than enough reasons for it.
The people loved their forest. They were a blond and stocky type with blue, pensive eyes and broad, slightly high cheekbones, a people who were sensible and honest, healthy and backward. They were attached to the forest of their country with all their hearts and minds; it lived on in their songs; it was the source and home of inspiration for the artists it produced, and it was not only in terms of the gifts of the mind and soul that it bestowed that it was rightly the object of popular gratitude. The poor gathered their firewood in the forest; he gave it to them, they had it for free. They walked bent over, gathering all kinds of berries and mushrooms between its trunks and earned a little money from it. That was not all. The people realized that his forest had a decisive beneficial influence on the weather conditions and health conditions of the country; they knew well that without the magnificent forest surrounding the residence, the spring garden out there would never fill with paying strangers; and in short, this not very industrious and advanced people should have understood that the forest was the most important asset, the most productive property in the country in every way.
Nevertheless, they had sinned against the forest, desecrating it for years and generations. The grand ducal state forestry administration could not be spared the most serious accusations. This authority lacked the political insight that the forest had to be preserved and protected as an inalienable common good if it was to benefit not only the present but also future generations, and that it would take its revenge if it were exploited excessively and short-sightedly for the benefit of the present, without regard for the future.
This had happened and was still happening. First, large areas of forest soil had been depleted of their fertility by constantly and excessively depriving them of their litter fertilizer in a haphazard manner. This had been done so extensively that in some places not only the recently fallen layer of needles and leaves, but also most of the debris from previous years had been removed, partly as litter and partly as humus, and handed over to agriculture. There were many forests that had been stripped of all their fertile soil; there were others that had been degraded to stunted stands as a result of litter raking; and this could be observed in both communal and state forests.
If these practices had been carried out to alleviate a momentary emergency in agriculture, they could have been excused, for better or worse. But although there was no shortage of voices declaring agriculture based on the use of forest litter to be inadvisable, even dangerous, the litter trade was pursued without any particular reason, purely for fiscal reasons, as they said, for reasons which, when viewed in the light of day, were only one reason and purpose, namely to make money. For it was money that was lacking. But in order to create it, capital was constantly misused until the day came when it was realized with horror that an unexpected devaluation of this capital had occurred.
They were a farming people, and in a misguided, artificial, and inappropriate zeal, they believed they had to be modern and display a ruthless business spirit. One characteristic was the dairy industry ... a word needs to be said about this here. Complaints were voiced, especially in the annual reports of the public health officers, that a decline in nutrition and thus in the development of the rural population could be observed. How so? The cattle owners were bent on turning all available whole milk into cash. The commercial training in milk utilization and the development and productivity of the dairy industry tempted them to put the needs of their own households on the back burner. Nutritious milk became rare in the countryside and was increasingly replaced by low-fat milk, inferior substitutes, vegetable fats, and, unfortunately, alcoholic beverages. The Krittlers spoke of malnutrition, even of the physical and moral debilitation of the rural population. They presented the facts to the chamber, and the government promised to give the matter serious attention.
But it was all too clear that the government was fundamentally inspired by the same spirit as the misguided livestock owners. In the state forest, the clear-cutting continued unabated; the trees could not be replanted, and this meant a progressive reduction in public property. They may have been necessary at times when pests had infested the forest, but often enough they had been ordered solely for the fiscal reasons cited, and instead of using the income from the felling to purchase new forest land, instead of reforesting the felled areas as quickly as possible, instead of in short, to compensate for the damage that had been done to the capital value of the state forest, the liquidated funds had been used to cover current expenses and to redeem bonds. Now it seemed certain that a reduction in the national debt was highly desirable, but the critics believed that the times were not conducive to using extraordinary income to feed the redemption fund.
Anyone who had no interest in glossing over the situation had to admit that the state finances were in ruins. The country was burdened with six hundred million in debt – it bore this burden with patience and a spirit of sacrifice, but with an inner sigh. For the burden, which was already far too heavy, was tripled by the high interest rates and repayment terms imposed on a country with a shattered credit rating, whose bonds were deeply, deeply undervalued and which was almost considered one of the "interesting" countries in the world of financiers.
The series of bad financial periods was unforeseeable. The era of deficits seemed to have no beginning and no end. And mismanagement, which was not improved by frequent changes of personnel, saw borrowing as the only remedy for the creeping affliction. Von Schröder, who was still finance minister at the time and whose pure character and noble intentions should not be questioned, was personally ennobled by the Grand Duke for having managed to place a new high-interest bond under the most difficult circumstances. He was sincerely intent on raising the state's credit, but since he knew no other way to help himself than by incurring new debts while paying off old ones, his approach proved to be a well-intentioned but costly deception. For when promissory notes were bought and sold at the same time, a higher price was paid than was received, and millions were lost in the process.
