Kornel Esti

XI

In which is an account of the most excellent hotel in the world.

“ARE YOU AWARE OF THE RICH RANGE OF HOTELS?” KORNÉL Esti turned to us. “I could find a lot to say about it.

“There are family hotels, in which we feel more comfortable than at home, free from domestic tensions in addition to being independent. There are pleasant, intimate, nice hotels. There are dismal hotels, especially in the country, which have something in common with out-of-tune pianos, inducing melancholia with their dull mirrors and damp quilt covers, and then there are hotels that drive one to despair, accursed, deadly hotels, where on a November evening one might easily commit suicide. There are cheerful hotels, where even the taps laugh out loud. There are stif, ceremonious, silent hotels, chatty hotels, boozy hotels, cheeky hotels, showy, loud, worthless hotels, reliable, calm, lordly hotels, noble with the rust of the past, frivolous hotels, ponderous hotels, healthy hotels, in which the sun shines even from the drains, and sick hotels in which the table limps and the chair wobbles, the chest of drawers is on crutches, the sofa is consumptive, and the pillows lie on the bed breathing their last. So there are very many kinds of hotels.

“The last time I went abroad I passed through a small country on my way home. There I came across a hotel which I have to remember specially.

“This hotel was excellent. It was so excellent that I’ve never seen the like anywhere. I have no qualms about saying that it was the most excellent hotel in the world.

“My car had been racing along in the dust of twilight among decrepit, single-story hovels when it came to a halt outside a thirteen-story skyscraper complete with plaster roses and a dome, which contrasted sharply with its lowly surroundings and was obviously intended for the accommodation of distinguished foreigners who strayed that way.

“I immediately realized that I had come upon no ordinary place.

“The horn of my car had scarcely sounded than staff emerged from the revolving door of the hotel. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them — a veritable small army.

“One member of staff opened the door of my car, a second helped me out, a third took of my English dust coat, a fourth took my American traveling trunk, a fifth my two suitcases, a sixth my crocodile leather briefcase, and a seventh my French newspaper, which I’d left on the passenger seat. All this happened in the twinkling of an eye, fast, smoothly.

“Those who had no part to play in this stood on the asphalt in a relaxed line, not in military fashion, but none the less in disciplined, silent readiness.

“All of them wore braided hats and curious, violet-colored uniforms that might have come from some operetta. When I walked past them as if inspecting a parade, the braided hats — at no audible word of command — were dofed to reveal well-brushed heads.

“This was how guests arriving from afar were greeted, with that assured, sincere, almost puerile respect which must always have been stored in the very depths of their hearts, where no change in fickle fortune could ever eradicate it, and the only reason that such respect hadn’t previously been shown to me must have been simply that until that day they just hadn’t known me.

“I looked for a long time at my tiny army. I gained the impression that should need arise they were even prepared to shed their blood for me. Tears came to my eyes. A king could not have been received with greater fealty.

“The army, all the more heroic for its small size, dispersed, without trumpet call or drumroll, at a sign from the clean-shaven, graying gentleman who, until then in the background, was directing them. This was the bell captain. He addressed me in English, and bore a striking resemblance to Edison.

“With inef able tact Edison escorted me through the foyer, which was decorated with exotic plants. He ushered me into a capacious room. He indicated a chesterfield and requested me ‘to be so good as to be seated.’ When I had obeyed he pressed a button.

“The capacious room, without a sound, began to rise. I then realized that it was the elevator.

“It was a wonderfully equipped elevator. Apple-green bulbs shed a muted green light so that the sensitive eyes of guests should not be upset. In addition to the chesterfield, other leather-upholstered armchairs stood on the silk Persian rugs, while here and there in corners could be seen little tables with cigarettes and lighters, illustrated magazines, and chessboards on which the pieces were set out so that guests might dispel the ennui of their sojourn there with a little profitable, refreshing entertainment. Unfortunately, I had no time for these delights, as a few seconds later the elevator stopped with a melodious chime at its appointed destination on the second floor.

“Here I was received by a second detachment of staff, dressed in coffee-colored uniforms. At the bell captain’s bidding they opened the double doors opposite the elevator.

“Passing through the foyer I entered a large room, which on account of its dimensions I could rather call a throne room. Artistically draped brocade curtains poured from the Empire windows, which gave a view onto a swiftly flowing stream of blue water. Of this room opened a reception room, with white, gilded chairs, a dining room, a bedroom, and a smaller sitting room, together with a bathroom with a sunken marble bath and Venetian mirrors, in front of which glittered a countless profusion of perfume sprays, nail files, and small scissors. In every room — even the bathroom — three telephones were at the guest’s disposal. The first connected to the hotel switchboard, the second to the outside world, and the third — which had a pink handset — to I know not what.

“I could hardly believe my eyes as I stood in that suite, and then I inquired of the bell captain approximately how much it cost per diem.

“The bell captain didn’t reply. It seemed that he was hard of hearing. In that too he resembled Edison. By this time I was absolutely convinced that he didn’t just resemble him but that he was actually Edison himself.

“I therefore repeated my question loudly, as one usually speaks to the deaf. The aged inventor did hear that. But it seemed that he was shocked and somewhat distressed. He closed his eyes.

“The staff, ranged before us in a position of relaxed attention, likewise closed their eyes, modestly. Their spirits, which surely moved in higher spheres — in realms of thought unaffected by sordid material considerations — had been cut to the quick by my worldliness. It was as if a poet, in the blazing fire of inspiration, had been asked the price of potatoes.

“They all remained silent.

“I was about to apologize, to of er the explanation that I was a poet who earned his bread by the bitter toil of writing, and that therefore I regarded money as important and had a deep respect for it, when the bell captain gave expression to his disappointment by coldly, dispassionately letting fall a number — in dollars — such as all but laid me flat on my back.

“I asked to see another room.

“Thomas Alva Edison nodded courteously. He took me to the third floor, where egg-yellow uniforms awaited us. As I didn’t find the price of rooms suitable there either, we went to the fourth floor, among lackeys in blue and white, then to the fifth and sixth, ever up and up.

“Finally we reached the eleventh floor. Here very handsome blond pageboys in red were on duty.

“The bell captain was becoming worn out, but led me with a still respectful guard of honor along an endless corridor. Here and there a colored light was burning above the lintel of a door. I inquired what those were for.

“He didn’t reply at once.

“A t first he seemed amazed at my unsophisticated curiosity, at the fact that there was still on the earth anyone unaware of the purpose of such lights, and then with dignified brevity informed me that those lights took the place of bells and were meant for various members of the staff, with whom guests could make contact without disturbing one another’s tranquility and the perfect silence of the hotel.

“At the back, in a secluded corner, I found a room which more or less answered my ‘requirements.’

“But it was so luxurious, so splendid, that I don’t dare describe it.

“All that I’ll tell you is that I found on a little malachite table a long-ish wooden box shaped like a spinet, on which eighty-five black-and-white buttons presented me with a keyboard of an unknown kind.

“As I’m a keen musician and play the piano whenever possible, I immediately sat down and began to play Beethoven, the Pathétique sonata. Scarcely had I reached the Allegretto when I heard a quiet knock on my door.

“A flunky in evening dress appeared. Behind him a darkling crowd of staff awaited my orders. I immediately counted them. There were exactly eighty-five. From that I deduced that the long-ish, spinet-shaped instrument was the keyboard for the system that called the staff, and that by my playing I had — quite unthinkingly — summoned them all. I apologized.

“The more important of them took advantage of the occasion to introduce themselves one by one.

“I was a little surprised. My daytime room waiter resembled Chopin, and the night man, on the other hand, was like Shakespeare himself. My surprise increased immediately because I discovered that there was a certain system in this. The first chambermaid was like Cléo de Mérode,^* the second like Marie Antoinette, and the cleaner was the image of Annie Besant,^† the well-known theosophist.

“My amazement reached its peak, however, when among the large cohort of lesser servants I saw one after the other Eckener, the heroic oceanic pilot,^* Rodin, Bismarck, and Murillo, and then a bearded, shy gentleman who reminded me of the late lamented Tsar of Russia much more than his actual portraits.

“That wasn’t all. The hotel secretary looked like Schopenhauer, the chefs in charge of cold and hot menus resembled respectively Torricelli^† and Einstein, the stockroom manager Caruso, and a pale, sickly errand boy resembled the unhappy Dauphin, the son of Louis XVI who mysteriously disappeared.

“A glittering historical portrait gallery of international notables had come back to life in those worthy members of staff.

“What part the hotel management had in this, and whether they had selected them by virtue of resemblance, as a feature, a delightful idea with which to attract guests, or whether those living wax figures had come together by chance, I had no time to decide.

“I swear, however, by all that is holy, that it was absolutely as I describe. Here everyone resembled someone, and everything resembled something.

“Schopenhauer asked how he might be of service. I asked him to have my dusty shoes cleaned, because I would like to go out into the town and bathe in that swift, blue-watered stream as I had so wished to do from the very first moment I saw it.

“The grim Frankfurt philosopher took my desire as quite natural and human, and assured me that it would be satisfied forthwith.

“As he left he pointed out to me that all the staff spoke several European languages, the least well educated among them at least five, but the night porter spoke fifteen, not to mention Latin and Classical Greek, and so, should I chance to return home in the early hours, I could talk with him about the enjoyable experiences that I had had in my nocturnal excursions.

“With that he left. After that someone knocked. In came Nicholas II. He bowed very low with Slavonic humility, looked into my face, and then subjected my shoes to his spectacles without touching them with his royal fingers.

“The examination continued much as when a general medical practitioner examines a patient and in the process can see that it is a case of a specific and complex disease of some organ which he could in fact treat on the basis of his general medical training, but which it would be much more correct to refer to a specialist who deals exclusively with that sort of thing.

“He did not reveal that train of thought by a single word. He bowed low again and withdrew.

“After a brief interval Bismarck came back with Murillo, Eckener, and Rodin. They also stared at my shoes. It seemed that all five were preparing a diagnosis and recommended treatment. The whole thing was like a conference of doctors at the bedside of a very sick patient.

“They summoned a chambermaid, a new one whom I had not previously met — Fanny Elssler, if I remember correctly.^* She announced in ringing tones that this did not “fall within my sphere of influence.”

“Once more everyone left me. Only the faithful Bismarck remained at my side.

“A few moments later, four of the very handsome blond pageboys in red assigned to service in that corridor came into my room and trundled in an ingenious, electrically driven contraption on wheels, which each of them was steering with just the tip of his little finger. Under Bismarck’s expert supervision, my shoes were placed on the contraption with the aid of a tiny crane and, to the accompaniment of deep bows, removed.

“Scarcely an hour and a half had elapsed when the ingenious machine was trundled back. My shoes were now brilliantly clean.

“Stimulated by this excellence, this unaccustomed attention, I went to bathe. I splashed in the stream until evening, returning only for dinner.

“There were a few remaining guests in the dining room. For me a very long table had been laid, such as one would find at a banquet. Naturally I sat in the middle, the place of honor, alone.

“The delicious twelve-course meal was served at once. Most of all I wish to extol the crab, which swam with its marbled pink flesh in a thick, light gray sauce. Otherwise I rather drank. First, my favorite drink, a light beer, the golden nectar whose bitter foam, reminiscent of freshly baked rye bread, and nourishing scent of hops I have adored since childhood. I followed that with wine, Rhine wine and Greek aszú. Finally I settled on champagne. Bottle after bottle came to the ice-bucket, sweet and brut, and cooled slowly among the crystals of artificial snow.

“The fish was brought from the fish kitchen, the coffee from the coffee kitchen. Fresh bouquets were placed in the vases several times so that they should not wither while my eye and nose took pleasure in them.

“After dinner I asked for the bill. The staff clasped their hands and smiled. All meals went like that. They appeared altogether exceptionally willing. If I had asked them to set fire to the town for my pleasure, or to kill their beloved prince and place his head on my table in a silver tureen, cooked as Irish stew, I really believe that they would have done so without the least objection.

“Their courtesy grew and grew. So, however, did their number. This I sometimes estimated at four hundred, sometimes eight hundred. As, however, in my whole stay in the hotel I saw only eight guests, including myself, there were approximately a hundred staff to each guest.

“As I went down the corridor with its sound-absorbent carpet, they stood like silent caryatids along the walls. I only became aware of their existence when they raised their hats and greeted me quietly. Modesty and good manners were second nature to them. They were machines, not people.

“Just once it happened that a waiter was holding a cigarette furtively in his palm and exhaling smoke, but after glancing at me he was embarrassed at succumbing to so vile a passion, and his cigarette vanished at once. Where it vanished to, I do not know to this day. Perhaps he threw it into one of the ubiquitous asbestos-lined airtight ashtrays, or perhaps, pricked by conscience, he took it into his mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it, burning tip and all. The latter seems the more likely.

“I repeat, the staff were without equal. Every day they favored me with something. They pressed into my hand announcements printed on wood-free Japanese paper and worthy of consideration as works of art, and marvelously edited and wonderfully informative catalogues. With unflagging zeal they brought to my attention the hotel’s Dalcroze dance school^* and its Mensendik gymnasia, its bacteriological laboratory, its copying, shorthand, and typing office, its elegant swimming pool for dogs, its private car tire store, and indeed its lavishly equipped psychiatric institution, in which distinguished psychiatrists gave devoted attention at all hours of the day or night to the hotel’s deeply respected nervous and mental patients.

“I don’t wish to bore you all with further details, and will only say that I lived for ten days in that delightful, refined milieu.

“One morning I said into the recording machine at my bedside that the next afternoon I would be leaving for home on the two-fourteen electric train, and therefore they were to forward my trunk and suitcases — with the exception of my crocodile leather briefcase, in which I keep my manuscripts — to my Budapest address. I had the wax cylinder of the recording machine taken down to my friend Edison by Nicholas II. The Tsar brought a wax cylinder back. On placing this in the machine I was informed that the porter ‘had taken the necessary steps.’

“From this point the attention of the staff was redoubled, and minute by minute, hour by hour, increased by geometrical progression. Annie Besant, the cleaner, greeted me with sighs. Cléo de Mérode, Fanny Elssler, and Marie Antoinette came and went sorrowfully around me, as if they would scarcely survive my departure, and in their grief would end their young lives with poison. Chopin, Einstein, Murillo, Bismarck, Schopenhauer, Torricelli, Nicholas II, Caruso, Rodin, and the hapless little Dauphin too greeted me passionately with ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good evening’ every time that we met in the corridor. It sounded like the reminder of the Carthusians in the monastery: Memento mori.

“What were they reminding me of, in fact? Sometimes I thought that perhaps it was of the tip which they certainly deserved. It was enough, however, for me to glance into their faces, which reflected the pain caused by my imminent departure, enough for me to look into their eyes, red with weeping and which they tried in vain to hide, for me to be convinced of the contrary.

“That evening, after dinner, Edison and the headwaiter placed before me a slip of paper on a silver salver. It was a railway receipt showing that the train would take all my luggage home as express freight, and that the hotel had — in advance, naturally—‘settled’ the bill.

“I nodded in approval and made for my room.

“Before I could get to sleep I was startled by a terrible din. A raucous chorus of male voices was howling ‘Good night’ into my ear from close range. I leapt out of bed. There was no one in my room. What was happening was that the hotel’s enthusiastic and attentive male staff, who, as everyone knew, had a private reception and transmission set, were calling on me by radio.

“The same thing happened in the morning too, the difference being that on this occasion I was awoken by the dulcet tones of the female staff wishing me a good morning.

“Early in the morning of that final day I called on Edison at the reception desk, as I wished to pay. At the mention of money there appeared on his face that disparaging, world-weary smile. He assured me that I would still have time to ‘settle up,’ as my train did not leave until after two and I would still be taking lunch with them. In any case, my bill was mostly ready, and the finishing touches were being made to it even then in the Central Accounts office.

“With my crocodile leather briefcase in hand, I strolled slowly out into the palm grove at the end of the town, where I had previously worked every day on my garland of love songs, worthily famous on account of its immediacy and warm spontaneity, entitled Inhibitions and Transpositions.

“I sat down on the marble rim of the fountain. I daydreamed for a while. Then I attempted in my old established way to evoke the creative urge. I struck my forehead several times, one after the other, on the marble rim. I can only create if I completely switch off my intelligence.

“Unfortunately, this was not immediately successful. Intelligence is an extraordinarily stupid thing. On this occasion too it persisted in forcing itself upon me.

“Then others also drew my attention to the fact that there is intelligence on earth. Among them, the staff of the hotel.

“When I sneezed, the male and female staff of the hotel conveyed to me from a radio installed up a fifteen-foot palm tree and equipped with a loudspeaker, their wishes for my health.

“Nevertheless, in a couple of hours I succeeded in writing one of my major works — a two-line poem telling of the prescient hatred felt toward me by Elinor, my most recent inamorata.

“This exceedingly spiritual work quite wore me out. Afterwards I stared into space for a further two hours and waited for my intelligence to return.

“I was astonished to see an airplane land, as lightly and elegantly as a dragonfly, in a nearby clearing.

“It was making for my home. I myself don’t know why, but I got in and ordered the airplane to take me home at full speed.

“Up in the air, when the altimeter was reading twenty thousand feet and that swift, blue-watered stream looked as big as the platinum bracelet that Elinor wore on her wrist, above the clouds, above the snowy mountains, I suddenly realized that I’d forgotten to pay my hotel bill and had unintentionally not given tips to the staff who had so good-heartedly watched over me for almost two weeks.

“As a man phenomenally well trained in psychology, I know that there is no such thing as ‘unintentional’ and that we don’t ‘forget’ anything without cause. I immediately viewed my lapse as suspicious.

“I began to analyze myself with lightning speed. While the airplane looped the loop with a daring rush and I hung with my head upside-down, I continued my psychological analysis, which I quickly brought to a successful conclusion.

“I realized that my action had been subconsciously conscious, or rather consciously subconscious. But it had been astute, very astute. Nor could I have acted otherwise.

“When all was said and done, it would have been unthinkable to insult so excellent a hotel, such excellent staff, by offering them money. That would have been tactlessness, gross tactlessness.”

* Cléopatra Diane de Mérode (1875–1966), much-portrayed beauty and celebrated dancer.

† English theosophist (1847–1933) who followed Madame Blavatsky as high priestess of that movement.

* Hugo Eckener (1868–1954), aeronautical engineer, who in 1924 piloted the airship ZR3 on the first transatlantic airship flight.

† Evangelista Torricelli (1608–47), mathematician and physicist, associate of and successor to Galileo.

* The Viennese sisters Fanny (1810–84) and Therese (1808–78) Elssler were celebrated dancers.

* Émile Jaques-Dalcroze (1865–1941), the Swiss inventor of eurhythmics.