À mesa de salamaleques

“In a letter to their sister Fanny, Robert describes his attempt to assimilate to his elegant new surroundings and social life:

So little soup was served that afterwards the vegetables and the roast meat were doubly appealing. After lunch I passed the hours gazing at myself in four beautiful mirrors that were hung up in the blue living room, and yet came no closer to making sense of myself—on the contrary, I became stupider and stupider. Then I went calling and always returned home famished. You had to take the train, and that was splendid. I grew accustomed to hackney cabs, waiters, and refined ladies. I wore an elegant, long, black, close-fitting frock coat, a vest, silver-blue in color, trousers that didn’t fit so well, a tall hat and a pair of gloves balled up in my hands. I looked magnificent, for a coat like this makes one a human being. But I resolved to remain an honest man, and so I threw off these dainty coverings. I packed my miserable carpenter’s bag and sailed off.

As fond as he may have been of that coat—no doubt borrowed—which his brother’s roomful of mirrors encouraged him to admire, he seems not to have considered it anything more than a costume by means of which he might blend in. The camouflage seems not to have worked: Karl once received a dinner invitation that instructed him to bring his brother along “only if he isn’t too hungry.” 

Da introdução a Berlin Stories


Deixa Walser, eu também não sou boa a disfarçar que gosto de comer, à mesa de salamaleques onde isso é visto como mau gosto, e comer como um enfado. Por mim, mantenho a máxima de que pessoas que não gostam de comer, não são de se fiar. Ainda não me falhou.