“Yes, that was his name,” replied Countess Adele. “But he wasn’t a Jew.”
“Well, his maternal grandmother was Jewish, and that is pretty much the same thing.”
“So was our common ancestor Adam,” said Malhof angrily. “Especially here, in this free and democratic Switzerland, you should not assume that tone. Here one must not brag too much of race and rank.”
A wrathful scowl contracted the brows of the haughty aristocrat. “I certainly shall speak my mind. Democracy does not impose on me. Besides, here, in Switzerland there are a few very good old families, even if they don’t have titles. For instance, there are the Hallwyls; only recently I subscribed for their coat of arms for my collection; ... and then, in our own country, thank God, the nobility still means something—it is the mainstay of the throne, the support of the faith—what do I care for Switzerland?”
“I beg of you, Coriolan, do not lose your temper,” said the Countess Adele soothingly, “and don’t talk so loud. What were we just speaking about? Oh, yes, that Helmer ... I wonder if it is the same man?”
Malhof signified with a nod that he was: “He has become a famous poet and has been a frequent visitor at the Garlett palace.”
“So-o-!” exclaimed the countess. “That is certainly not safe. The young man was in love with Franka. That is the reason Eduard dismissed him. And he has become so famous since?”
“It certainly does not take much to make a person famous nowadays,” remarked Coriolan. “No longer are there any more classical poets. And as to fame—that is something that belongs only to great men, great field-marshals and statesmen. Prince Eugene, Wallenstein, Metternich, the Archduke Karl, Radetzky—those are names haloed with glory. No such are to be found in this list.”
“Don’t you count great poets also?” asked Malhof.
“Well, the classics, as far as I am concerned—Goethe and Schiller.”