he saw and heard were different.
He had developed a cocky manner unseemly in a waiter, no matter how handsome and popular. Erneste, who was concerned for Jakobâs career and reputation, was distressed by this and tried to make this clear to him. âBe careful what you say, Jakob,â he told him a couple of times, and: âJakob, donât talk so big, people donât like it.â But it was no use, Jakob just smiled and rubbed his right eye with his forefinger or rested his hand on Ernesteâs belly and said, âIf you say so.â He was too self-assured to be impressed by Ernesteâs warning that he would sooner or later get into serious trouble with Herr DirektorWagner or with one of the guests. But he didnât get into trouble, even though he wasnât his former self. The changes Erneste perceived in him failed to impair his popularity; on the contrary, they seemed to enhance it.
Erneste was compelled to accept that this Jakob was the only one who now inhabited the body that never refused itself to him, day or night. Yet he clung to the hope that the real Jakob would one day reoccupy this body he knew so well, as if he had simply been away for a while. He could hold that body, but nothing more. What lay hidden within it escaped his grasp. It was a stranger who lay beside him, and he pined for the Jakob he knew and had lost, who was hidden behind the strangerâs façade. The new Jakob was merely granting him a reprieve. He loved the old Jakob, but the old one had gone.
Erneste felt sure that Jakob would leave him sooner or later. He knew his fate and wouldnât fight it. Fate was taking its course despite him.
The changes in Jakob had their advantages as well. The pleasure he gave Erneste became ever more intense, night after night. This, Erneste assumed, had to do with his winter in Cologne, where he had learned things of which they never spoke. He had developed an almost insatiable appetite, and since there was nobody else around to assuage it, Erneste was the one who ensured that he eventually drifted off to sleep. But for Jakobâs daily demands to satisfy him regardless of all else, Erneste might have gone madâmad for love of the real Jakob, whom he had lost and couldnât rediscover. But this mayhave been an idea that didnât occur to him until later on, when it was all over and he had been forced to acknowledge that the letter he craved from America would never come. Meantime, what mattered in Giessbach was to satisfy the requirements of the guests who were now arriving in unprecedented numbers. The demand for rooms was so great that applicants had to be turned away daily, especially as regular guests were given precedence. It was as if the whole world wanted to assemble at Giessbachâs Grand Hotel before disintegrating into its separate components.
Most of the guests came from Germany, many of them being Jews who had managed to get all or at least some of their assets out of the country and were now waiting at the Grand, either for a British or American visa, or for speedy permission to settle in Switzerland, or for a fundamental change in the political situation in Germany. The latter was a vain hope, and there was little prospect of acquiring a Swiss residentâs permit, which was not particularly sought-after in any case, given that one couldnât feel much safer in Switzerland than elsewhere in Europe. The Germans, as Jakob, too, reported, were going after all their potential enemies, particularly the Jews, who had been subject to special legislation since the previous September. But there were also guests who would naturally return to Germany in due course because there was no reason for them to leave the country for good. This resulted in the formation of cliques that either mingled or shunned each otherâs company, and Monsieur Flamin had to employ allhis strategic skill in seating guests appropriately, not only in the dining room but
He had developed a cocky manner unseemly in a waiter, no matter how handsome and popular. Erneste, who was concerned for Jakobâs career and reputation, was distressed by this and tried to make this clear to him. âBe careful what you say, Jakob,â he told him a couple of times, and: âJakob, donât talk so big, people donât like it.â But it was no use, Jakob just smiled and rubbed his right eye with his forefinger or rested his hand on Ernesteâs belly and said, âIf you say so.â He was too self-assured to be impressed by Ernesteâs warning that he would sooner or later get into serious trouble with Herr DirektorWagner or with one of the guests. But he didnât get into trouble, even though he wasnât his former self. The changes Erneste perceived in him failed to impair his popularity; on the contrary, they seemed to enhance it.
Erneste was compelled to accept that this Jakob was the only one who now inhabited the body that never refused itself to him, day or night. Yet he clung to the hope that the real Jakob would one day reoccupy this body he knew so well, as if he had simply been away for a while. He could hold that body, but nothing more. What lay hidden within it escaped his grasp. It was a stranger who lay beside him, and he pined for the Jakob he knew and had lost, who was hidden behind the strangerâs façade. The new Jakob was merely granting him a reprieve. He loved the old Jakob, but the old one had gone.
Erneste felt sure that Jakob would leave him sooner or later. He knew his fate and wouldnât fight it. Fate was taking its course despite him.
The changes in Jakob had their advantages as well. The pleasure he gave Erneste became ever more intense, night after night. This, Erneste assumed, had to do with his winter in Cologne, where he had learned things of which they never spoke. He had developed an almost insatiable appetite, and since there was nobody else around to assuage it, Erneste was the one who ensured that he eventually drifted off to sleep. But for Jakobâs daily demands to satisfy him regardless of all else, Erneste might have gone madâmad for love of the real Jakob, whom he had lost and couldnât rediscover. But this mayhave been an idea that didnât occur to him until later on, when it was all over and he had been forced to acknowledge that the letter he craved from America would never come. Meantime, what mattered in Giessbach was to satisfy the requirements of the guests who were now arriving in unprecedented numbers. The demand for rooms was so great that applicants had to be turned away daily, especially as regular guests were given precedence. It was as if the whole world wanted to assemble at Giessbachâs Grand Hotel before disintegrating into its separate components.
Most of the guests came from Germany, many of them being Jews who had managed to get all or at least some of their assets out of the country and were now waiting at the Grand, either for a British or American visa, or for speedy permission to settle in Switzerland, or for a fundamental change in the political situation in Germany. The latter was a vain hope, and there was little prospect of acquiring a Swiss residentâs permit, which was not particularly sought-after in any case, given that one couldnât feel much safer in Switzerland than elsewhere in Europe. The Germans, as Jakob, too, reported, were going after all their potential enemies, particularly the Jews, who had been subject to special legislation since the previous September. But there were also guests who would naturally return to Germany in due course because there was no reason for them to leave the country for good. This resulted in the formation of cliques that either mingled or shunned each otherâs company, and Monsieur Flamin had to employ allhis strategic skill in seating guests appropriately, not only in the dining room but
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