forest after one of their riding jaunts, chattering away about what they called their specimens, one’s fears for their health could be happily forgotten.
Herr Florschütz was good for them too. From the first he had been quite unmoved by Albert’s tears. Once he had startled the little boy during one of the grammar lessons when Albert had been told to parse a sentence and did not know which was the verb – in this case ‘to pinch’ – Herr Florschütz gave young Albert a sharp nip in the arm so that Albert should, he said, know what a verb was. Albert, who had been in tears because he could not find the verb, was startled into silence. Herr Florschütz hinted that he did not think very highly of tears as a means of extricating oneself from a difficult situation, and as Albert had a natural aptitude for learning why not exploit that, and then he would be so proud of his achievement that he would want to crow with pride rather than whine in misery.
So Albert applied himself to learning and Herr Florschütz applauded; so did his father and the grandmothers. ‘You’re the clever one,’ said Ernest. Yes, it was much more pleasant to crow with pride; but only inwardly of course. He was learning very much about life.
He asked Ernest what he wanted to do when he grew up. Ernest thought for a while and said: ‘To govern like our father; to ride, to hunt, to feast, to enjoy life.’
Albert had replied: ‘I want to be a good and useful man.’
Ernest called him a prude which angered Albert, who struck his elder brother. Ernest retaliated and in a short time they were rolling on the grass in a fight.
Herr Florschütz, coming upon them, ordered them to stop and said they should copy out a page of Goethe for misbehaving.
As they did it, Albert apologised. ‘I started it.’
‘Is that what you call being a good and useful man?’ taunted Ernest. ‘Fighting your brother.’
‘I was wicked.’
‘Oh, well,’ laughed Ernest, ‘it’s better than being a prude.’
They laughed together, secure in the knowledge that nothing could change their devotion to each other; and as soon as they had finished their task they were off into the forest to collect wild plants for the collection which they had called the Ernest-Albert museum.
So passed the years until Albert was twelve years old.
The memory of that day in the year 1831 stayed with the Prince throughout his life. It had been an ordinary day. He and Ernest had been at their lessons all through the morning studying mathematics, Latin and philosophy, at which as usual Albert excelled. Ernest was longing for the afternoon when they would get out into the forest. He was anxious to add a special kind of butterfly to the ‘museum’ and hoped that he would be the one to capture it before Albert did. Meanwhile Albert was producing the answers required by their tutor and the lessons were running on the usual smooth lines.
At last Herr Florschütz shut the book before him and glanced at the clock.
‘I should like to hear the song you have composed,’ he said to Albert. ‘I wonder if it is up to the standard of the last.’
‘It’s even better,’ said Ernest, ‘Albert and I sang it last evening.’
‘Then I shall look forward to hearing it this evening.’
Albert hoped the hearing would not be too late; he liked to get to bed early, unlike Ernest, who preferred to sit up half the night. Albert could not keep awake. He would if possible retire after supper on the pretence of reading history, religion or philosophy and Ernest, guessing what was actually happening, would creep up to the room and find him asleep over his books.
Nothing could keep him awake; as soon as supper was over the drowsiness would attack him. What he would have enjoyed would have been to study, to take exercise in the forest, to shoot the birds and collect the butterflies for the museum, to hunt for rare plants and rocks and stones and to study music, compose his pieces, to be tried out with
Herr Florschütz was good for them too. From the first he had been quite unmoved by Albert’s tears. Once he had startled the little boy during one of the grammar lessons when Albert had been told to parse a sentence and did not know which was the verb – in this case ‘to pinch’ – Herr Florschütz gave young Albert a sharp nip in the arm so that Albert should, he said, know what a verb was. Albert, who had been in tears because he could not find the verb, was startled into silence. Herr Florschütz hinted that he did not think very highly of tears as a means of extricating oneself from a difficult situation, and as Albert had a natural aptitude for learning why not exploit that, and then he would be so proud of his achievement that he would want to crow with pride rather than whine in misery.
So Albert applied himself to learning and Herr Florschütz applauded; so did his father and the grandmothers. ‘You’re the clever one,’ said Ernest. Yes, it was much more pleasant to crow with pride; but only inwardly of course. He was learning very much about life.
He asked Ernest what he wanted to do when he grew up. Ernest thought for a while and said: ‘To govern like our father; to ride, to hunt, to feast, to enjoy life.’
Albert had replied: ‘I want to be a good and useful man.’
Ernest called him a prude which angered Albert, who struck his elder brother. Ernest retaliated and in a short time they were rolling on the grass in a fight.
Herr Florschütz, coming upon them, ordered them to stop and said they should copy out a page of Goethe for misbehaving.
As they did it, Albert apologised. ‘I started it.’
‘Is that what you call being a good and useful man?’ taunted Ernest. ‘Fighting your brother.’
‘I was wicked.’
‘Oh, well,’ laughed Ernest, ‘it’s better than being a prude.’
They laughed together, secure in the knowledge that nothing could change their devotion to each other; and as soon as they had finished their task they were off into the forest to collect wild plants for the collection which they had called the Ernest-Albert museum.
So passed the years until Albert was twelve years old.
The memory of that day in the year 1831 stayed with the Prince throughout his life. It had been an ordinary day. He and Ernest had been at their lessons all through the morning studying mathematics, Latin and philosophy, at which as usual Albert excelled. Ernest was longing for the afternoon when they would get out into the forest. He was anxious to add a special kind of butterfly to the ‘museum’ and hoped that he would be the one to capture it before Albert did. Meanwhile Albert was producing the answers required by their tutor and the lessons were running on the usual smooth lines.
At last Herr Florschütz shut the book before him and glanced at the clock.
‘I should like to hear the song you have composed,’ he said to Albert. ‘I wonder if it is up to the standard of the last.’
‘It’s even better,’ said Ernest, ‘Albert and I sang it last evening.’
‘Then I shall look forward to hearing it this evening.’
Albert hoped the hearing would not be too late; he liked to get to bed early, unlike Ernest, who preferred to sit up half the night. Albert could not keep awake. He would if possible retire after supper on the pretence of reading history, religion or philosophy and Ernest, guessing what was actually happening, would creep up to the room and find him asleep over his books.
Nothing could keep him awake; as soon as supper was over the drowsiness would attack him. What he would have enjoyed would have been to study, to take exercise in the forest, to shoot the birds and collect the butterflies for the museum, to hunt for rare plants and rocks and stones and to study music, compose his pieces, to be tried out with
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