In Pfeildorff, Prince Rupprecht has spent the morning inspecting the new plague hospital established by Herr Hans Klenser, his chief medical officer. 'Inspecting', though, is probably too active a term for Rupprecht's efforts, which could more accurately described by terms such as 'loafing', 'laughing', and 'snoring'. Left to his own devices, there is very little that the prince has an interest actively in inspecting, unless those things are on top of a plate or under a corset. Rupprecht's advisors, however, have convinced him to at least make the effort in order to give his subjects the impression that he cares about them, even if that care seems to be expressed in an utterly indifferent way. The plague has hit the town hard. In addition to the large numbers of citizens that have expired, the interruption of commercial activity has caused great financial hardship. Many of the poorest have been reduced to eating their own shoes. Sadly, they don’t always remember to remove their feet first.
(Above) The prince addresses Herr Klenser. 'Klenser, I have spent the morning at your new hospital'.
'Indeed, my lord - and I hope that my progress has pleased you?'
Rupprecht frowns. 'Klenser, conditions at your plague hospital are positively medieval!'
'Medieval?' asks the physician.
'Yes - medieval: you have some explaining to do, chief medical officer!'
'Well I ... I ... have done my best, sire!' replies Klenser.
Rupprecht gesticulates. 'That's my point! You need to explain how things have improved so much! I mean, the hospital doesn't just have leeches, it has a full range of advanced medieval methods - toads, ducking stools - and the trepanning! Splendid drilling! You've brought the practice of medicine in the palatinate roaring into the fourteenth century!'
'You do me too much honor, my lord'.
'No, no, Klenser', says the prince waving his hand at at the doctor, 'never let it be said that I fail to recognise hard work in the service of the state'.
There is an almost audible rolling of the eyes from Rupprecht's grand chamberlain, Leopold von Fecklenburg, who gives a short cough that might also be mistaken for the words 'Me! What about me!'
Rupprecht freezes at the sound. 'Are you unwell, Fecklenburg? You aren't ... infected ... are you?'
'No! No, sire!' says the chamberlain hurriedly, eyeing with some alarm Klenser's attempts to unsheath a meat cleaver. 'I just choked on a ... leech, or something'.
Klenser nods. 'An excellent preventive step, my good chamberlain. Indeed, on that note, my lord, I have been considering the possibility perhaps of instituting a lockdown to control the spread of the plague'.
'Excellent, I love a good drink'.
No, sire - a lockdown: we pass edicts instructing the population to stay in their homes'.
'Excellent - I see too much of them as it is. We should definitely do it'.
'Of course, sire', says Klenser, 'you yourself must set an example'.
'It's a terrible idea', says Rupprecht. 'We should definitely not do it. Anyway, things seem to be progressing perfectly well. Reported incidences of the plague have collapsed!'
'Well, sir, there's nothing like the possibility of a really enthusiatic trepanning to sort out the time-wasters. The numbers of patients in my hospital has reduced significantly'.
'And the the corpses littering the streets around the hospital?'
'My lord, it is a scientific fact that the poor are quite lazy. The state cannot be held responsible if its citizens would rather catch a lethal plague and lie down and die rather than go out and do an honest day's toil'.
'You are a wise man, Klenser - I find your views refreshingly forward-looking'.
'Well, that's that', says Rupprecht, as Klenser wthdraws and Fecklenburg comes forward to converse with the prince. 'Can I go now, Fecklenburg? I've had about all the caring for my subjects that I can take in one morning'.
'Of course, sire. There are, in any case, other issues that we need to discuss'.
Rupprecht flops back into his chair. 'You're surely joking, chamberlain. How many poor people must I smell before I am released from the day's administrative chores?'
'Well, my lord, there are the issues relating to ...', he looks around, and lowers his voice ' ... our business in Schrote'.
'I thought that you said that your Jesuit friend was all over things. When will he contact the bishop?'
'Well, my lord, says Fecklenburg, checking his pocket watch. 'I should say, sir, any time around ... now'.
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