Perlefter: The Story of A Bourgeois

II

I think that now is the time to reveal Perlefter’s first name. He was called Alexander. It is certainly a meaningless coincidence that he was so named — and I don’t wish to give in to the seductive urge to make a strong connection with the character and name of my hero — yet I can’t help but relate that I lost my respect for Alexander Perlefter for the first time as I recalled how Alexander the Great hewed the Gordian knot with his sword; I imagined that Herr Perlefter had never done anything of the sort. On the contrary. As I have already mentioned, Alexander Perlefter had no love for decisive negotiations or irrevocable resolve. He was not happy entering into those areas from which there were no straight and easy paths back. He liked to linger on the bridges that link one to both here and there because they allowed the person upon them to choose neither. Alexander Perlefter always crossed bridges. He had his cautious nature to thank for all that he achieved. His nature was forged by his own experiences. He was cautious.

Had he been named Florian, Ignatz or Emanuel my respect for him would have lasted longer. He was the first Alexander I had ever known in my young life. To me this name embodied the entirety of Herr Perlefter’s personality. But, if I took him for the great Macedonian King Alexander, he naturally failed to measure up by comparison. Yes, as soon as I saw him I had to smile. From the first glance he was unremarkable, just an ordinary man. But when I got a closer look, when I examined the individual parts of his face, his right profile and his left, I knew that there were many secrets that lay hidden within that merited further exploration; I realized, above all, that the name Alexander did not suit him and that such a name as would suit him did not exist. It must be a word, both soft and yet tough, fading away from its own edges into other sounds, indecipherable and thus unusual, of an extraordinary ordinariness. Unfortunately such a name does not exist. Such a word does not exist.

Perlefter’s body size was indeterminate. He could seem very small and at the same time very large. If he was unhappy, but also if he was lying, it seemed that he sank into himself like a body made of flaccid rubber. He might sometimes sit on a little children’s chair and other times in a large leather armchair. Yes, I find myself in no small amount of embarrassment when I am unable to say whether Herr Perlefter was large, small or medium in size.

He could also, as the situation required, seem either strong or weak, infirm but also mighty. He was able (probably without even realizing it) to change the shape of his stomach, and, as nature had given him a narrow chest and delicate shoulders that gained muscle and fat over time, it remained uncertain whether he was actually broad-shouldered or narrow-framed.

He had a round, balding head and above the neck a small shiny bulge, so that it looked as though his brain could not find a place in its natural shell and therefore made itself a sort of back room. One could not tell at what point the forehead ended and the hair began. The bare skull lent Perlefter’s entire personality a rather naked appearance, shiny and needlessly revealing, as if he had bared himself to force your embarrassment. His ears stood very far apart, were small, feminine and could even have been called dainty if had they been pressed closer to the head. They were eavesdroppers, listening to the world from distant outposts.

I could never determine the colour of his eyes. They didn’t change — no, they remained ever the same — but they were without colour, rather, a collection of different residues, colours from an old palette that had commingled. Brown, grey, green and amber-yellow at the edges. By day, by night and in the twilight, ever were these eyes so, of an indistinct colour — round, small, open and naked. They were truly the eyes of a difficult-to-comprehend, ever-astonished and good-natured man. They stood very far apart, so that his nose had space to spread, and yet he had been given a narrow, well-shaped girlish nose, slightly flattened at the tip, that glowed like ivory between his round, rose-tinted cheeks. His mouth was also small and his lips red. All the more notable was the space in the middle of his sinuate chin, in which the entire majesty of Perlefter rested and out of which it radiated.

Yes, majesty, for in spite of everything Perlefter possessed a kind of majesty, like most people who are doing well. It was not the majesty of greatness but simply that of well-being. He looked wholly innocent when he was happy, like a chubby child. And yet bitterness slumbered within his joy. And just as he did not like resolute action, he had no resolute sensations. When he was happy, he made himself worried at the same time. As soon as he became depressed he was already hopeful. He could neither love nor hate. He either liked someone or he didn’t like someone. Nevertheless he felt apprehensive for his children despite not wanting to. For he feared loss. What he possessed he wanted to keep. He wanted to keep his wife, although she bored him, and he felt for her only what one might for a housekeeper. Men of his type usually loved animals. Perlefter, however, feared animals, large and small; he even tried to get out of the way of birds so they didn’t flutter around in front of him. He offered the dutiful cab horses that he encountered in the streets only a shy glance, for he didn’t trust a creature he didn’t understand. And he treasured the police, not only because they caught thieves, robbers and murderers but also because they were in charge of locking up stray dogs. In the Perlefters’ house there were cats, and he would have liked to have shot them had he owned a gun and not been afraid to use it.

No, Perlefter did not like animals, and he was indifferent to people. Nevertheless, he was regarded as the most caring family man, the most love-seeking person, the most emotional citizen, for tears came easily for him. He could weep like an actor when the situation demanded it. He could feign joy at the happiness of others. He could play love, hatred, friendship, enmity, excitement, passion, sickness, even intoxication after he had only a sip of alcohol. He did not drink much; he drank very seldom, for he took no pleasure in alcohol. Yet he set out good wine before his guests and claimed to know about it. He tasted it with his tongue when he praised this or that variety, and it was quite easy to believe that he had drunk a lot in his lifetime. Perhaps alcohol would have brought him pleasure if he did not continue to fear that he would lose in drunkenness his composure, his secrets and probably also money. Because of that he had lately begun to excuse himself on account of illness, but he was not sick. But neither was he well. He could become sick if he wanted or when he feared illness.

For even more dear to him than the lives of his children was his own life. In the still of the night hours he could hear Death’s approaching gallop. Conjuring fearful imagery, he was threatened by his own imagination. When Herr Perlefter had rheumatic pain in his bones he could already experience an amputation, see a crutch, a wheelchair, an operating table and sharp instruments. And he often had rheumatic pain in his bones and various other pains elsewhere. ‘Take care of yourself!’ shouted his friends. ‘Take care!’ cried his wife with fright in her voice, while the voices of his friends quivered with friendly and cheerful sympathy. Perlefter took care of himself, but his anxiety was greater than his care. In the midst of his self-ministrations he was overtaken by fear, and it bore him pain. Because of that his family nagged, ‘He’s not taking care of himself!’

I should not, at the risk of someone accusing me of injustice, question the possibility that owing to his poor childhood and his earnest efforts he had become somewhat frail. It is quite possible. To tell the truth, Herr Perlefter did have a difficult childhood. He was the son of a poor father of many children who had failed at various careers and whose strict principles could not be loosened by his poverty. Alexander saw himself as the only one among his siblings who could adapt to these strict principles and become the favourite son. By submitting to the cruelty and obeying he deprived it of nourishment. However, the others only increased the fatherly tyranny through their disobedience, poor manners and rebellion against the rules of the house. There was nothing, though, from which Alexander Perlefter was further removed, and hated more, than poor manners. He would not run or climb, he was anxious in front of young ladies — just as he was before the wild boys and teenagers who threatened him — and he told the teacher, the principal and even the caretaker that the others had stolen the bell and put shreds of paper in the headmaster’s cap. Alexander brought home the best report card, received some pocket money as a reward and made his way to the circus to see for himself the things of which everyone was so excitedly speaking. He went in a blue suit made of durable rep, with a crisp collar around the neck, and behind him followed his gang of brothers making fun of him. Alexander did not concern himself with them. He knew that they had no money and that they would be turned away at the entrance to the circus. But how did he feel when he saw that some of his brothers infiltrated the line of those who were waiting for tickets to get inside and that they succeeded? Some begged adults to take them in because every adult was allowed to bring one child in for free, and others begged so long that they were able to gather enough money for the entrance fee. Why? Should Alexander give up his precious money for a few horses that were wild anyway and which could gallop out of the arena and into the audience, while the others paid no money for this diversion and thus could truly enjoy the amusement? Alexander was so annoyed that he turned back and informed his father of his brothers’ behaviour. For snitching he received permission to wear his new suit of sturdy rep for the rest of the afternoon. His brothers got a thrashing in the evening. He heard them wailing, and each of their cries delighted his heart.

When he was big enough he left school, although a career as a teacher had been predicted for him while he was still resolute in his studies. In reality, nothing interested him less than books and science. Certainly, he would have become a professor if he had been forced (I know, we’ve all met this kind of professor), and at wistful times, when Perlefter was feeling nostalgic, he would say, ‘If only I had made a sacrifice for my father! What kind of professor would I be now?’ Yes, he would have been a professor. What a sacrifice!

But his father was not in favour of him becoming a professor. He sent Alexander to a flour factory. There one had to carry sacks. Alexander did not like hard work. Alexander was so diligent, so mannered, so obedient that he was made overseer of the other sack carriers. Soon he was paying them their weekly wages. Although Alexander was no longer content he enjoyed more honour than his counterparts and was, with little money, a big shot. Other flour handlers took notice of him. But he also had the luck to appeal to grain dealers. He joined a large grain concern. He became the director. He now had a salary and not simply wages. He decided to get married. For a wife is the first step to professional independence — when God provides a dowry the need to earn money is no longer a concern. It was therefore necessary to seek a wealthy wife. He succeeded in finding one. His bride was an awkward girl, no longer young and not pretty. But she was still a girl. She thus belonged to that category of person of whom Alexander was always respectful. He did not need respect in this case. The girl sneaked out to meet him. Out of this relationship emerged a kind of love. It led to a marriage that might be called happy. And as Alexander Perlefter was not very experienced he fathered children against his will. There were four children, and he was now with his brother-in-law’s company. It was then that the brother-in-law suffered a fatal heart attack. He left behind a widow. She had always been a little frivolous and to the family was an ill-mannered abomination. Alexander inherited his brother-in-law’s business. The widow lost in court. Perlefter paid her every month a small sum of his own volition, as anyone would, he insisted over and over. He said, ‘I ask no gratitude!’ quite insistently. The widow visited him, she was a white-seamstress, and Perlefter gave her work and recommended customers for her, rich merchants of his acquaintance. For him she took 10 per cent off the price. Perlefter permitted her to demand triple the price from everyone else. ‘Herr Hahn can afford it!’ he said. But Herr Hahn could also refuse the price. Indeed, he complained to Perlefter about the widow’s outrageous requirements, and Perlefter said indignantly, ‘Outrageous! I will tell this person!’ But the person said to him, ‘He’s a dirty miser, this Hahn!’

It is quite interesting enough to write in more detail about the career of Herr Perlefter. In any case, it can be seen that, whether good or bad, from the start he had an angel accompany him along his way, one with a weakness for businessmen, removing inconvenient obstacles and associates and diligently rewarding the dedication with which Perlefter saved small or large amounts. For the sake of thoroughness, I will also share that Perlefter was a distinguished businessman, respected member of the stock exchange, that he had begun a wholesale timber business and then had the magnificent idea of using the wood himself. For when he realized, after careful calculation, that those to whom he sold the timber earned more than he did, he decided to be his own customer. He thought first of a furniture business. He could employ one of his countless poor relatives to turn the bad wood into good wardrobes. As it happened, the widow described earlier had married a respectable carpenter. A carpenter who was a relative was certainly better than one who was a stranger. A furniture business was thus not a bad idea. Then the death of another of Herr Perlefter’s brothers-in-law brought a still better idea. The brother-in-law died from neglected gallstones and left behind a considerable sum of money and two inexperienced daughters who were not able to make the preparations for their father’s burial, and so Herr Perlefter had to take it on himself. He went to a coffin establishment and became annoyed over the high prices. But he was not annoyed for long. As he felt the coffin he realized through his great expertise that it was hewn from miserable wood. One certainly spent more on a coffin than on a piece of furniture. The customers in a furniture shop were young engaged couples. And, from personal experience, Perlefter knew that happiness, particularly the happiness of love, is so overpowering that one forgets to be critical. On the other hand, it could be assumed that misfortune makes one uncritical and blind against the defects of merchandise that was destined anyway to rot in the ground. Who among all the kin would dare to skimp on the last necessity of a deceased loved one? Certainly coffin-making was a brilliant occupation, and the statistics of the previous year showed that there were more deaths than engagements. So Perlefter founded a coffin shop. The carpenter whom the widow had married began to make good coffins out of bad pine. Thus Perlefter was finally relieved of his voluntary commitment to support the seamstress as he had given her husband work.

So Herr Perlefter continued to grow in stature. Among the pillars of human society he was an outstanding one. He could no longer escape the various honours that were bestowed upon him, although he claimed he would have rather avoided them. He became a councillor and member of the Liberal and Moderate Party Club. I cannot underestimate this Moderate Party Club, neither its magnificent facilities nor the integrity and character of its members, their power and possessions. They were men as upright, as solid, as steady as the wide leather armchairs in which they sat, smoking and speaking of the politics of the country and the world. They were council members, parliamentarians, ministers in the making and former ministers. Within the club there were class differences. Naturally Herr Perlefter had to greet a minister first. Naturally the response from the minister was quite condescending. There were moderately educated businessmen and also their academic counterparts, men of scientific backgrounds. This club had numerous tables, and at each one sat a select company. One could determine the influence of a club member by the manner in which they treated the servants, who, like all the servants of the world, were the best at understanding such nuances. And, although Perlefter and people like him were not always pleased with the behaviour of the upper classes, they were proud of this, of their good fortune at being allowed to share the same room with them.

It was, as I said, a club of the Moderate Party, which had no great significance in the country but had newspapers — a lot of papers and skilful pens. It was as if this party had been created for Alexander Perlefter. It was like that bridge where he liked to linger; it required no decisiveness or risky actions — rather, it seemed moderating. It mediated, it created no decisive enemies, it met Perlefter’s world view, it left God alone — as well as the princes and the rich people — but also the workers, the homeless and the gypsies.

One might assume that this club was frequented by people such as Perlefter. But it was not so. As far as I could tell, there were not many of the ordinariness of Alexander Perlefter. The opportunity was offered me, on a few occasions, to dine at the club. I came to know some of the members. Perlefter introduced me to them. He did not fail to praise my talents and achievements in front of the men to whom he introduced me, although he himself did not think as much of my talents and achievements as he pretended. Afterwards he did not forget to describe for me, enthusiastically, the importance, the greatness and the character of each man. I recall that neither Herr Perlefter nor I had made any impression upon these people. They nodded in a friendly manner and smiled, revealing their yellowed smoker’s teeth and gold fillings, but I disappeared from their memory as might any indifferent object, some insignificant poster or the number of a taxi they had used. I didn’t bother trying to make an impression on these great and decorous men because I was too anxious trying to memorize their faces and their mannerisms. Thus I knew that the divorce lawyer, Herr Doctor Sigismund Grunewald, who used to be known as Grünewald, wore a full beard that looked like a black carpet which has become grey around the edges through frequent use. He had rather thin fingers with improbably strong knuckles, which looked like nodes or frostbite scars. With these white and sinister fingers he often stroked his beard, stretching them apart to make a sort of natural comb out of them. At the attorneys’ table sat the former minister Lierecke, a man whose bushy beard concealed his upper and lower lip and who liked furtively and absentmindedly to wipe his fingers dry on the end of the tablecloth. There was also in the club the tin-can manufacturer Simmwinger, a grey gentleman with striking and colourful wide neckties and high collars, in whose ears were whitish-yellow tufts of overgrown moss. Frequenting the club was the café owner and former master baker Ringelhardt who owned the three largest cafés in the city and who always spoke loudly as if he were addressing the thousands of customers at one of his packed locations. There also came into the club a pensioner named Major Grohl, a small man with a red and porous nose who, although he wore civilian clothes, could not manage without the spurs on his boots and who ever lived in an eternal cloud of silver clinking and owned a large sheep-dog that answered to the unusual name of Kratt. There was also the Member of Parliament, Schundeler, a young man from the garment industry who through diligent studies of the national economy and several courses in public speaking had worked his way to becoming a representative of the people. I can recall the tobacco dealer Zopf, the watchmaker and jeweller Beständig, the riding-school owner Nessedolt, the Fire Department inspector Teul, the government commissioner Taklap and the Jewish rabbi Bloch.

All these men esteemed Perlefter. He received respect from all of them. But there were different grades of respect, and they corresponded to the different social levels of gentleman. Herr Perlefter was on familiar terms with some of them. Some he even called his friends. But they were really not all his friends, those whom he thus designated. When he, for example, said ‘My friend, the Minister’ it wasn’t true. It was safe to assume that the Minister never said ‘My friend, the merchant Perlefter’. But what did it mean? There was a small nuance. For, in reality, none of these men would have paid him any attention had he not been one of their club mates. They loaned each other money — with interest naturally. They did business with each other but only when each party profited. And thus they ensured not only their own well-being but also secured friendships. For how can one resent an institution that only earns or at least will never cost anything?

Perlefter’s membership of this club was seen at home as an honour and a signifier of rank. Frau Perlefter often said to her guests, ‘My husband’s in a club!’ or ‘Do you know what happened yesterday? My husband heard it at the club!’ She spoke the words slowly, stretching her voice in such a way that the harmless term seemed sinister, terrible, as if it were a supreme court. On the other hand, Alexander spoke of his club as if it were perfectly ordinary and understandable. ‘I’m going to the club!’ he said, as one would say, ‘I’m going to take the tram.’ And so when Perlefter said ‘club’ there was a moment of silence at the table, and I distinctly believe that each family member was proud during that very brief moment and actually imagining themselves in the club. It was practically as if all the club members were there in the room. It was not as if Herr Perlefter was going to the club but, rather, as if the club had come to Perlefter.

To the family there was nothing that could not be accomplished with the help of the club. ‘Enquire about it some time at the club!’ said Frau Perlefter. If one needed the assistance of the police, they said, ‘Bring it up at the club!’ Perlefter himself often said, ‘I will see what can be done about it at the club!’ or ‘I will discuss this at the club!’ And only in the most difficult and desperate times did he say, ‘I’m going to speak with the editor Philippi.’

The editor Philippi was the final authority and rightfully so. For he held the post of City Editor at one of the larger papers. Nobody could speak ill of him. He could easily speak ill of everyone else. But he did not often do so. He looked quite dumb but was very intelligent. He had a small, neatly maintained goatee of an uncertain, slightly greenish colour. His gentle large brown eyes were like lacquered lifeless balls. He spoke only when he was addressed. Summer and winter he wore galoshes. Pince-nez dangled from a thin chain over his flowery waistcoat with mother-of-pearl buttons. He liked to sit at the outermost edge of his seat. It was as if he wanted to spare the seat. He was a bachelor. There were rumours that he had had an affair with a housekeeper and had two illegitimate sons. This City Editor was necessarily secretive. One would certainly not like him if one would not need him so often. No, people didn’t actually like him, but they did need him often. He had influence. He was Perlefter’s most distinguished acquaintance. People often gave him the title ‘Editor’, but that was not really his actual title, or they pretended not to know that he was not a doctor and called him ‘Doctor’. He rejected both. He smiled foolishly with his bulging ball-eyes, but his seeming stupidity was not to be trusted. One said of him that he was a man of honour. He conducted no business. He lived, in reality, very modestly, always wearing his rubber overboots to save his leather boots because in his opinion the streets were too muddy. Have I mentioned this already? He was one of the most distinguished visitors to Perlefter’s house. For although to Herr Perlefter education meant as little as poverty, and he held the editor in low esteem because he either did not know how to make use of his connections or had no interest in doing so, he tried to pretend that there was nothing more worthy of respect in the world than an honest and talented poverty, an unfulfilled grandeur. Perlefter casually announced the names of most of his visitors with seeming impatience, almost incidentally. On the other hand, he placed sharp emphasis on the name Philippi. ‘Editor Philippi comes today!’ said Perlefter. ‘He initiated the visit himself.’ But that was not true. Perlefter had taken a long time to persuade him. Nevertheless the family believed that Philippi himself had applied to visit Perlefter. And the family was proud.

Professor Strisower was also invited. He was known as the Little Professor. He was an instructor in Oriental languages, a professor for thirty years, hard of hearing, awkward, frail-looking but healthy and untiring. He came, did not recognize anyone, mixed up the children, pondered about common things and accepted the most remarkable without astonishment. One had to peel his coat off, lead him to a chair and make him aware of the food and drink that lay before him. He fastened his serviette tightly around his neck and sat there like a little child and ground his jaws. He listened to what he was told. But he parsimoniously and mistrustfully heard each word that was spoken from across the table. For he was afraid that people were speaking ill of him and mocking him. He was picked up late in the evening by his housekeeper, an evil-looking but good-natured woman with a thick shawl over her arms who waited for the professor in the hall, sitting in the corner like a toilet attendant and slurping tea and munching cakes.

Herr Perlefter sometimes asserted his views about the Professor. ‘A poor old man,’ said Perlefter. ‘He ought to get married. He should have children to provide for him and a wife. For what is the purpose of man on earth? To found a family and to be happy, each according to his options. What does he have from life? And this is a celebrated man, one whom the world has to thank for many discoveries. He is one of those people who will only begin to be appreciated for the first time after his death. I wouldn’t like to have his head! What must be going on in the brain of such a man? He must have a hundred thoughts per minute. I have to wonder why learned men aren’t better paid. All of them are poor devils!’ Thus Perlefter ended his monologue, sorry that he was right.

Sometimes he would suddenly say, and as if a most serious thought had been awakened within him, ‘My son will not be a professor!’

No! There was no doubt that Perlefter would not make a professor out of his son. He had great respect for professors, but he regarded them with that timidity which one has in the face of holy men and hermits, people whom one reveres, whom one even holds above oneself, yet whom one deplores and with whom one would not wish to trade places for any amount of money.

He made an exception only for such professors whose knowledge and field of speciality was medicine, the celebrated surgeons who earn thousands with a little knife and whom every man with lung disease requests for a consultation. Two of these famous men were officials in Herr Perlefter’s party. But one never saw them at public events; they earned a great deal of money but had so little time.

Among the educated people one had also to consider the great lawyers, whose witty and poignant speeches could be read in the newspapers. These defence lawyers sometimes took on a cause for free if it was a very challenging case and there was a chance they might become celebrities. Unfortunately murderers were not very wealthy. Herr Perlefter felt sorry for the lawyers. ‘If I think about it,’ he said, ‘quite often such a celebrated and gifted man must work for free. And how he must work, the poor fellow! How much intelligence a lawyer must apply! The prosecutor is no dummy either, eh? But the defender must be a thousand times smarter. He can even convince a murderer himself that he has not murdered!’

‘So,’ I said to Herr Perlefter, ‘is that OK? Can one allow a murderer to be acquitted just because the public defender comes up with good excuses?’

‘He won’t be acquitted!’ replied Perlefter.

‘But what if he is acquitted after all?’

‘It happens once every ten years!’

‘That’s quite often enough!’

‘It’s actually very seldom!’

‘But let’s not argue over this!’

‘We already are! I say “seldom”; you say “often”!’

And thus could Perlefter silence even a stubborn opponent. He escaped from arguments. He was actually not as dumb as he made himself out to be. It was as if he were made of rubber. He curled himself up, but then he was there again at the forefront, where you had not expected him. The truth was, he actually had nothing against acquitted murderers so long as the defence lawyer gave a handsome argument. These he read at night before he fell asleep in the Freien Zeit, the big newspaper that came to the house twice a day and which had a fondness for sentimental and witty articles. Herr Perlefter first read the business section, for which the editor Philippi was responsible. Then came the daily editorial, which Perlefter sometimes read twice. The editorial was always anonymous, but the whole world knew that it was personally written by the publisher of the newspaper, Herr Brandstadt. Nobody called this anonymous personality by name, although everyone knew who it was. One said only ‘he’.

‘What did he write today in the Freien Zeit?’ asked Herr Perlefter’s brother who never had time to read.

‘He wrote an excellent piece on obligations. You must read it!’ answered Herr Perlefter.

But when Herr Brandstadt dealt with home politics Perlefter said, ‘Phenomenal, this editorial, a magnificent article!’ He agreed with all the opinions of the author. Brandstadt wrote to Perlefter’s soul. The editor found exactly those words upon which Perlefter had chewed but could not quite get out. Nevertheless it seemed to Perlefter as soon as he had finished reading the article that the very same words had escaped his lips once before. He often said, ‘I said exactly the same thing to Hahn yesterday. Today it’s in the newspaper.’

What had he said word for word to Hahn? ‘On principle, I am against unrest. At a minimum, every incidence of unrest corrupts and damages our business transactions. One mustn’t do everything to the extreme. Let me speak of all this. Disputes are unnecessary. One can always reach an agreement. I want peace at any cost. We all want peace. We need it. I’m not in favour of extreme antagonism, but rich and poor must both exist. The rich, however, must sustain the poor. I’ll do what I can. God is my witness!’

Well, this was not the speech from the editorial in the Freien Zeit verbatim. But the sense was, without question, the same.

Perlefter’s political world-view was ever unchanging. Thus the views he held before the war remained the same after the war. Formerly he had proper respect for the Emperor. Although he was not in love with the monarchy, he believed it was a necessity. The war disturbed him, although his earnings were ever greater. Yes, I must confess to Perlefter’s credit that he did not like war. It is true that he had been exempted. He had nothing to fear. He feared anyway. Everything was topsyturvy. If a clerk was absent-minded they could still call him to arms! Out of error, but the misfortune would be the same. When once I came to Perlefter with two medals that had been given to me during the war he brought me to the club. He infused a tenderness into all the words he spoke to me. He led me through all the rooms and showed me to anyone who would see me. He was proud of my bravery, and I had to play the victim that Perlefter was introducing to the public. I played it.

‘For what did you receive these medals?’ he asked.

‘Certainly not for something respectable!’ I said.

That offended Perlefter. He was so vain about my medals that my disparagement outraged him. Then he became friendly again.

‘Aha, you’re modest!’ he said.

‘No, not at all,’ I replied. ‘Because it is no merit to be a hero in a war!’

‘It is, however, once again wartime,’ sighed Perlefter.

And the discussion became pointed once again.

He was anxious about the Russian Revolution. Would they socialize? Would they take everything away from the wealthy like they did in Russia? It proved that the monarchy was the safest bet. If things had gone according to his views they would have left the Emperor alone and yet still made peace. When he saw that nobody was going to socialize anything the Republic pleased him. He preferred not to worry about politics any more.

‘Now I have another worry!’ he said. But he had no worries.

He bought a large hotel. It was one of the best transactions of his life. But he sighed, ‘Ach, this hotel! Why’d I have to buy this? Such a hotel brings nothing but trouble!’

It brought him only money. There was an opening night. His colleagues at the club who had wanted to be ministers had now become ministers. It is true that they no longer had important titles, but they did hold offices whose appellations were still quite lovely-sounding titles. The editor Philippi also came. For weeks this celebration was all that was spoken of in Perlefter’s house. Should the children also go? Or Frau Perlefter alone?

Frau Perlefter went there alone. She had a dark and thus youthful-looking evening-dress made for the occasion. She could have wept for joy when she saw the brilliant sign and the dazzling reception.

But she actually wept the next day, for she had lost her brooch in the excitement. ‘This is an irreplaceable loss!’ said Perlefter. He let his wife cry for the whole day. When he saw that she hadn’t prepared any supper he softened, and he bought her a new brooch. None the less the doctor came. Frau Perlefter had a nervous heart. The loss had shaken her. She had to take bromide and yet still could not sleep. Perlefter was sincerely perturbed. He disliked disturbances, disorder, the servants free and running wild, and the commands that his wife issued from her bed made him timid. He wanted to escape the house.

But he didn’t leave. For at the depths of his soul lurked the fear of a still worse illness that could befall his wife. He remained at home. He sought comfort in unhappiness. ‘I’ll never get any peace around here!’ he lamented happily. Yes, he was genuinely happy when he complained.