Sad Princes
by Tsarina Katīnova Uncornaia
simon
schnitzel-kaiser
hits well
in the month
of may
in may
Crown Prince Rupprecht missed Rathenau about as much after as before Truman Smith visited him on November 15. General Lebendorff on the right and Count Lerchenfelsch on the left and the crown prince in the middle. Not much room for movement. Lebendorff would welcome a putsch, Lerchenfelsch would decry one and he, being monarchy, had no choice but to pretend he had no serious political views. Sad business this of having no opinions.
What had happened yesterday, for instance, Rupprecht thought to himself. When Smith had been announced and handed in, he had inwardly sworn. “Zum toeffle,” along with other strong phrases beneath repetition. This is bad enough for the history of a prince, is it not? “To the devil” is not serious, but serious enough when plays and histories are written about one after one is dead. He thought this and more. He thought, what if this dipstick from Yale, this slick and flouncing emissary, this nobody with an agenda, this evangelist with a miserly mission actually asks for opinions from me? What if he has some connections I know little of and, reparations to be paid to the tune of 15 billion over thirty years or so, I irritate him and he goes back to Wilson, and Wilson forces another showdown with France along the Ruhr and we lose the factories we still have? What if . . . . But here he paused and collected himself. What if, he thought, with greater, if deliberate, calm, what if this Smith resumes discussions, as Ludecke had, of ties to Benito, as if I should have any knowledge of the Italian situation enough to speak favourably of fascism. No, Democrat I am not, but certainly not socialist.
This line of thought took him nowhere and he felt a renewed weakness of public personality, which made him inwardly fidgety again. Why do they send schweinwinkles like this to see me? I wish I could be left alone to listen to Wagner or Rudolf in my garden and simply have my drinks when I want without interference? Do I appear regal enough for him? Will I make that impression on Smith that says to him that I am Lurchenfelsch’s and Lebendorff’s equal, if not superior? And what of our seven hundred year reign? Bavarians have forgotten already all that we have taken from them and used for their good.
Along these lines, and others even less worthy of reflection, Crown Prince Rupprecht negotiated the waters of his own worth and appearance. When Smith left he said of him that he was a nutcase and should have repeatedly been hit on his cranium and about his head with a beer stein until he showed signs of intelligence or peace, whichever came first. Smith had been especially hard to take of all the foreign callers Rupprecht had ever received. He wanted to know about everything at once. No sooner had he asked a question about Bavarian beer, then he asked one about volkish women. And when he had barely asked that one, and before Rupprecht had even thought of an answer that would smartly show his between the positions of Ludendorff and Lerchenfelsch, Smith came at him with another about the current value of the German Mark, and next about the likelihood of another assassination such as Rathenau’s.
“Rathenau was a traitor,” burst from Rupprecht before he could stop himself. He had not been able to answer any of the other questions before Smith flipped another at him, so this time, before the question was even asked, he had decided to fling back an answer, any answer, as if the picture that the question painted was a Rorschach.
Once started he had to finish. “He hated Germany, and he made too much money on his own before he became Chancellor, and then he gave away too much to the allies. He was a traitor!” Smith looked at him with opened mouth and for the moment his interrogatives stopped. Rupprecht thought to himself, I don’t really believe these things about old Rach but that is what I have heard. I believe nothing about him. He was a fine statesman, but he was a Jew!
Ruprecht agreed with almost all Bavarians that the Jews were the main reason for Germany’s economic collapse. The result was that now the mark was set at 4500 to the dollar! When Smith finally left, shortly after this outburst of the prince’s, that royal took a bath, went to his garden, drank some gin and ate a palm nut. When he had inwardly settled down and felt he was once again the old Prince, he told himself that he would receive no more visitors. I wish to be melancholy for a week or so and then I will re-decide what mood I am in. Cheers! Here’s to Englehardt, and to Coburg, he said to himself as he stretched out on a bench near his water lilies, white and creamy against the blue of the enamel dishes that held them and the greener water in his little fish pond with its orange goldfish happily skimming about in it.
by Tsarina Katīnova Uncornaia
simon
schnitzel-kaiser
hits well
in the month
of may
in may
Crown Prince Rupprecht missed Rathenau about as much after as before Truman Smith visited him on November 15. General Lebendorff on the right and Count Lerchenfelsch on the left and the crown prince in the middle. Not much room for movement. Lebendorff would welcome a putsch, Lerchenfelsch would decry one and he, being monarchy, had no choice but to pretend he had no serious political views. Sad business this of having no opinions.
What had happened yesterday, for instance, Rupprecht thought to himself. When Smith had been announced and handed in, he had inwardly sworn. “Zum toeffle,” along with other strong phrases beneath repetition. This is bad enough for the history of a prince, is it not? “To the devil” is not serious, but serious enough when plays and histories are written about one after one is dead. He thought this and more. He thought, what if this dipstick from Yale, this slick and flouncing emissary, this nobody with an agenda, this evangelist with a miserly mission actually asks for opinions from me? What if he has some connections I know little of and, reparations to be paid to the tune of 15 billion over thirty years or so, I irritate him and he goes back to Wilson, and Wilson forces another showdown with France along the Ruhr and we lose the factories we still have? What if . . . . But here he paused and collected himself. What if, he thought, with greater, if deliberate, calm, what if this Smith resumes discussions, as Ludecke had, of ties to Benito, as if I should have any knowledge of the Italian situation enough to speak favourably of fascism. No, Democrat I am not, but certainly not socialist.
This line of thought took him nowhere and he felt a renewed weakness of public personality, which made him inwardly fidgety again. Why do they send schweinwinkles like this to see me? I wish I could be left alone to listen to Wagner or Rudolf in my garden and simply have my drinks when I want without interference? Do I appear regal enough for him? Will I make that impression on Smith that says to him that I am Lurchenfelsch’s and Lebendorff’s equal, if not superior? And what of our seven hundred year reign? Bavarians have forgotten already all that we have taken from them and used for their good.
Along these lines, and others even less worthy of reflection, Crown Prince Rupprecht negotiated the waters of his own worth and appearance. When Smith left he said of him that he was a nutcase and should have repeatedly been hit on his cranium and about his head with a beer stein until he showed signs of intelligence or peace, whichever came first. Smith had been especially hard to take of all the foreign callers Rupprecht had ever received. He wanted to know about everything at once. No sooner had he asked a question about Bavarian beer, then he asked one about volkish women. And when he had barely asked that one, and before Rupprecht had even thought of an answer that would smartly show his between the positions of Ludendorff and Lerchenfelsch, Smith came at him with another about the current value of the German Mark, and next about the likelihood of another assassination such as Rathenau’s.
“Rathenau was a traitor,” burst from Rupprecht before he could stop himself. He had not been able to answer any of the other questions before Smith flipped another at him, so this time, before the question was even asked, he had decided to fling back an answer, any answer, as if the picture that the question painted was a Rorschach.
Once started he had to finish. “He hated Germany, and he made too much money on his own before he became Chancellor, and then he gave away too much to the allies. He was a traitor!” Smith looked at him with opened mouth and for the moment his interrogatives stopped. Rupprecht thought to himself, I don’t really believe these things about old Rach but that is what I have heard. I believe nothing about him. He was a fine statesman, but he was a Jew!
Ruprecht agreed with almost all Bavarians that the Jews were the main reason for Germany’s economic collapse. The result was that now the mark was set at 4500 to the dollar! When Smith finally left, shortly after this outburst of the prince’s, that royal took a bath, went to his garden, drank some gin and ate a palm nut. When he had inwardly settled down and felt he was once again the old Prince, he told himself that he would receive no more visitors. I wish to be melancholy for a week or so and then I will re-decide what mood I am in. Cheers! Here’s to Englehardt, and to Coburg, he said to himself as he stretched out on a bench near his water lilies, white and creamy against the blue of the enamel dishes that held them and the greener water in his little fish pond with its orange goldfish happily skimming about in it.
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