Royal Highness

as faithfully as possible, including inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and ellipsis usage. Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. They are marked like this in the text. The original text appears when hovering the cursor over the marked text. A list of amendments is at the end of the text. ROYAL HIGHNESS Translated from the German of THOMAS MANN by A. Cecil Curtis GROSSET & DUNLAP Publishers by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf COPYRIGHT, 1909, S. FISCHER, VERLAG MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS Prelude vii The Constriction 1 The Country 25 Hinnerke the Shoemaker 37 Doctor Ueberbein 64 Albrecht II 110 The Lofty Calling 146 Imma 168 The Fulfilment 265 The Rose-Bush 328 PRELUDE The scene is the Albrechtstrasse, the main artery of the capital, which runs from Albrechtsplatz and the Old Schloss to the barracks of the Fusiliers of the Guard. The time is noon on an ordinary week-day; the season of the year does not matter. The weather is fair to moderate. It is not raining, but the sky is not clear; it is a uniform light grey, uninteresting and sombre, and the street lies in a dull and sober light which robs it of all mystery, all individuality. There is a moderate amount of traffic, without much noise and crowd, corresponding to the not over-busy character of the town. Tram-cars glide past, a cab or two rolls by, along the pavement stroll a few residents, colourless folk, passers-by, the public—“people.” Two officers, their hands in the slanting pockets of their grey great-coats, approach each other; a general and a lieutenant. The general is coming from the Schloss, the lieutenant from the direction of the barracks. The lieutenant is quite young, a mere stripling, little more than a child. He has narrow shoulders, dark hair, and the wide cheek-bones so common in this part of the world, blue rather tired-looking eyes, and a boyish face with a kind but reserved expression. The general has snow-white hair, is tall and broad-shouldered, altogether a commanding figure. His eyebrows look like cotton-wool, and his moustache hangs right down over his mouth and chin. He walks with slow deliberation, his sword rattles on the asphalt, his plume flutters in the wind, and at every step he takes the big red lapel of his coat flaps slowly up and down. And so these two draw near each other.…