Chapter Twenty
By six the outcome was as good as certain. A few reports were still outstanding but those were localities whose few votes could no longer change anything. It was clear that the Social Democrats had pulled off an almost stunning victory. Old Stechlin was far behind. Progressive candidate Katzenstein from Gransee even farther. By and large both defeated parties calmly accepted events; among the Free Thinkers little disappointment could be noticed, and as for the Conservatives, none at all. Dubslav dealt with it completely from the cheerful perspective, his party comrades even more so. Each of them thought, “Winning is a fine thing, but sitting down to dinner even better.”
And, as a matter of fact, it was time to eat. Everyone longed to forget the whole boring process over a trout and a good bottle of Chablis. And once the trout was dispatched, and the saddle of venison began to beckon on the horizon, why, then the champagne was in sight as well. And the Prince Regent prided itself on the best of labels.
The table ran the length of the upstairs dining room. The majority of its occupants were manored lords or estate tenants, but also court councilors, fortunate enough to have “Captain of the Reserve” appended to their calling cards. To this gros d’armee were added forestry and tax officials, pension officials, preachers and high school teachers. At the head of the latter stood School Rector Thormeyer from Rheinsberg.
[ . . . ]
At six thirty – sconces and chandeliers were already burning – they ascended the steps, here and there a bit worn down, to the strains of the Tannhäuser March. Immediately before, some vacillation as to who would preside at table had still occurred. A few had been for Dubslav, expecting something stimulating from him, especially considering the situation. But the majority in the end rejected Dubslav’s chairmanship as absolutely unthinkable since the noble Lord of Alten-Friesack, despite his advanced years, had also appeared at the election. The noble Lord of Alten-Friesack, it was said, was simply – and from a certain standpoint rightfully and fittingly so – the pride of the county, a unique personage in every way. Whether he could speak or not was, in a case like this where it was a matter of principle, utterly unimportant. In any case, the entire business of “being able to give a speech” was nothing but modern nonsense. The simple fact that the old man from Alten-Friesack would be sitting there was far, far more important than a speech, and his imposing cathedral chapter cross did not merely adorn him but rather the entire table.
[ . . . ]
And now the Tannhäuser March, performed by one of Thormeyer’s teachers, was brought to a conclusion, and when after a certain time the moment for the first toast had arrived, Baron Beetz arose and announced, “Gentlemen. Our noble Lord of Alten-Friesack is filled with the duty and desire to propose a toast to His Majesty our King and Kaiser.” And while the oldster in confirmation of this announcement raised his glass, Baron Beetz, continuing in the role of his alter ego added, “His Majesty, the King and Kaiser, long life to him!” The Alten-Friesacker affirmed his accordance with a nod, and as the young teacher hastened again to the old grand piano obtained at a Rheinsberg Castle auction, the entire length of the table struck up Heil dir im Siegerkranz, the first verse of which was sung standing.
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