In the opening chapters of Part II, "Pseudoreality Prevails," Ulrich visits Count Stallburg, "the Emperor and King of Kakania." There is a second count, Count Leinsdort, who Ulrich "should have gone to see next, as Count Stallburg wished," but instead he visits his [Ulrich's] "great cousin" Ermelidna Tuzzi.
Here's is Ulrich's first impression of Count Stallburg:
. . . Ulrich was received by his Excellency inside a great hollow prism of the best proportions, in the center of which this unpretentious, bald-headed, somewhat stooped man, his knees bent like an orangutan's, stood facing Ulrich in a manner that could not possibly be the way an eminent Imperial Court functionary of noble birth would naturally look --- it had to be an imitation of something. His Excellency's shoulders were bowed, his underlip drooped, he resembled an aged beagle or a worthy accountant.
Since it takes a while for Count Stallburg to speak, Ulrich has time to reflect (always an unpredictable occupation) and he "suddenly thought of Moosbrugger. Here was the Power of Clemency close at hand; nothing seemed to him simpler than to make a stab at it." The subject makes Stallburg's "eyes open wait" and the narrator sums up the effect.
Just a few words, adroitly planted, can be as fruitful as a rich garden loam, but in this place their effect was closer to that of a little clump of dirt one has inadvertently brought into the room on the soles of one's shoe.
But Count Stallburg politely side-steps the issue and decides to like Ulrich -- "such spontaneity from a man so well recommended came to seem to him refreshingly resolute and high-spirited" -- and gives him a letter of introduction to the chairman of the great patriotic campaign. As he leaves, Ulrich decides that he is still "unimpressed."
This was simply a world that had not yet been cleared away. But still, what was that strong, peculiar quality it had made him feel? Damn it all, there was hardly any other way to put it: it was simply amazingly real.
* * *
In chapter 21, even though Ulrich doesn't see him, we're allowed a glimpse of Count Leinsdorf, "the real driving force behind the great patriotic campaign -- to be known henceforth as the Parallel Campaign."
Leinsdorf's secretary is reading him a passage from a book by Fichte, a German philosopher. Leinsdorf dismisses it: "the book may be all right, but this Protestant bit about the Church won't do." What Leinsdorf is looking for is a symbol, a great idea, for the campaign. And he's on the verge of discovering it. Nothing specific, of course.
But he [Leinsdorf] was certain that he was in the grip of a great idea. Not only did it kindle his passion --- which should have put him on his guard, as a Christian of strict and responsible upbringing -- but with dazzling conclusiveness this idea flowed directly into such sublime and radiant conceptions as that of the Sovereign, the Fatherland, and the Happiness of Mankind.
Leinsdorf has convinced himself "that 'the people' were 'good'." This, despite the fact that:
. . . he had never known "the people" . . . except on Sundays and holidays, when they poured out from behind the scenery as a cheerful, colorful throng, like an opera chorus. Anything that did not fit in with this image, he attributed to "subversive elements," the work of irresponsible, callow, sensation-seeking individuals.
Musil concludes this introductory sketch by deciding: "It is a safe bet that most of the common people over whose order Count Leinsdorf kept anxious and ceaseless vigil linked his name, when it came up, with nothing but their recollection of . . . [his] doorkeeper."--- a man who "stood in a heavy braided coat, his staff in his hand, gazing through the hole of the archway into the bright fluidity of the day, where pedestrians floated past like goldfish in a bowl."
* * *
Hermine Tuzzi, who styles herself as "Ermelinda" Tuzzi, is the wife of Hans Tuzzi, the Section Chief of "the Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs" and "one of the few men who could influence the fate of Europe." Ulrich has been told she is "a woman you must get to know," but he can never get a "detailed description of this lady's qualities." He considers her "a high-minded beauty" and nicknames her "a second Diotima . . . after the celebrated female teacher of love."
But Ulrich was mightily surprised when he made his visit. Diotima received him with the indulgent smile of an eminent lady who knows that she is also beautiful and has to forgive men, superficial creatures that they are, for always thinking of her beauty first.
Diotima is also obsessed with the great idea of the Parallel Campaign:
Diotima began by calling the Parallel Campaign a unique, never-to-recur opportunity to bring into existence what must be regarded as the greatest most important thing in the world. "We must and will bring to life a truly great idea. We have the opportunity, and we must not fail to use it.
Ulrich, being the naive thinker that he is, asks: "Do you have something specific in mind." She doesn't, course. But the narrator kindly explains:
No, Diotima did not have anything specific in mind. How could she? No one who speaks of the greatest and most important thing in the world means anything that really exists. What peculiar quality of the world would it be equivalent to?
Diotima is not intimidated by Ulrich's questions. She considers it "an incredible privilege . . . to call on a whole nation . . . to awaken it in the midst of its materialistic preoccupations to the life of the spirit."
As Ulrich leaves Diotima he experiences "a semi-comical feeling." His only relief comes from seeing "the little chambermaid with dreamy eyes," yet it is only "when he was out in the street again that he felt what an uncommonly alive and refreshing sight the little maid was after Diotima's presence."
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