Thomas Mann - TRISTAN - literature save 2

the deathly kiss of beauty on her brow-well, it is I, sir, who have seen to that! You,meanwhile, were probably spending your time with chambermaids in dark corners."But your son, Gabriele Eckhof's son, is alive; he is living and flourishing.Perhaps he will continue in the way of his father, become a well-fed, trading, tax-payingcitizen; a capable, philistine pillar of society; in any case, a tone-deaf, normallyfunctioning individual, responsible, sturdy, and stupid, troubled by not a doubt."Kindly permit me to tell you, sir, that I hate you. I hate you and your child, as Ihate the life of which you are the representative: cheap, ridiculous, but yet triumphantlife, the everlasting antipodes and deadly enemy of beauty. I cannot say I despise you-forI am honest. You are stronger than I. I have no armour for the struggle between us, I haveonly the Word, avenging weapon of the weak. Today I have availed myself of thisweapon. This letter is nothing but an act of revenge-you see how honourable I am-and ifany word of mine is sharp and bright and beautiful enough to strike home, to make youfeel the presence of a power you do not know, to shake even a minute your robustequilibrium, I shall rejoice indeed. DETLEV SPINELL."And Herr Spinell put this screed into an envelope, applied a stamp and a manyflourishedaddress, and committed it to the post.* * *Herr Klöterjahn knocked on Herr Spinell's door. He carried a sheet of paper in hishand covered with neat script, and he looked like man bent on energetic action. The postoffice had done its duty, the letter had taken its appointed way: it had travelled fromEinfried to Einfried and reached the hand for which it was meant. It was now four o'clockin the afternoon.Herr Klöterjahn's entry found Herr Spinell sitting on the sofa reading his ownnovel with the appalling cover-design. He rose and gave his caller a surprised andinquiring look, though at the same time he distinctly flushed."Good afternoon," said Herr Klöterjahn. "Pardon the interruption. But may I ask ifyou wrote this?" He held up in his left hand the sheet inscribed with fine clear charactersand struck it with the back of his right and made it crackle. Then he stuffed that hand intothe pocket of his easy-fitting trousers, put his head on one side, and opened his mouth, ina way some people have, to listen.Herr Spinell, curiously enough, smiled; he smiled engagingly, with a rather,confused, apologetic air. He put his hand to his head as though trying to recollect himself,and said: "Ah!-yes, quite right, I took the liberty-"The fact was, he had given in to his natural man today and slept nearly up tomidday, with the result that he was suffering from a bad conscience and a heavy head,was nervous and incapable of putting up a fight. And the spring air made him limp andgood-for-nothing. So much we must say in extenuation of the utterly silly figure he cut inthe interview which followed."Ah? Indeed! Very good!" said Herr Klöterjahn. He dug his chin into his chest,elevated his brows, stretched his arms, and indulged in various other antics by way ofgetting down to business after his introductory question. But unfortunately he so muchenjoyed the figure he cut that he rather overshot the mark, and the rest of the scene hardlylived up to this preliminary pantomime. However, Herr Spinell went rather pale.