Joseph Roth - Perlefter - The Story of A Bourgeois

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’.