“Imagine my condition on hearing this news. I couldn’t allow that irreplaceable treasure, that benefactor of humanity, to be lost. One day I called on him at his luxurious palace. When I stepped into the huge bedroom, which was completely darkened except for a single green electric light, I glanced at the president and my heart sank. There he lay in the bed, propped up on pillows piled high, his head clamped in the cooling helmet, like the wounded soldier of science and literature. I caught a heavy scent of poppy seed, wafted toward him by an automatic electric apparatus at his bedside. Facing the bed — clearly on medical instructions — could be seen the colored image of a magic lantern projected on a screen, a calm lake surface, for the purpose of evoking sleep, the redeemer, long desired in vain. All the time, however, the president was trying to jump out of bed. Two nurses were holding his hands. His face was as white as chalk.
“He was pleased to see me, for he knew me and once or twice had actually spoken to me after lectures — an unforgettable distinction for me. Now his deathly pale hand took mine and squeezed my fingers nervously. I recommended him to call in my young friend Zwetschke, who had opened his practice only recently but whom I knew to be a clever man and trusted implicitly. His apathetic entourage — an old lady, a retired colonel, and a legal adviser — seized upon my proposal. They sent for him, and a few minutes later he appeared.
“First of all Zwetschke opened the shutters and turned out the electric light and the magic lantern. The light of noon flooded the bedroom. He sat down at the patient’s bedside and smiled at him. He didn’t examine him. Like me, he knew him very well from the Germania lecture sessions. He didn’t sound his chest, didn’t look studiously at his pupils or take his pulse, nor tap his knee with the little steel hammer that he had. He took the ridiculous cooling gadget off his head and advised him not to worry about a thing, to go on living as before, not to spare himself at all. He would have thought it best if he could call an extraordinary session at once, or a special committee, but because of the summer recess that was not possible. Zwetschke shook his head and bit his lip. Suddenly he got up. He told me to get the president dressed, then turned on his heel and on the way out whispered to me to stay with him.
“We had scarcely given him his frock coat, his black cravat, and his sharply creased trousers when from outside, from the next room, from behind the closed double door, we heard Zwetschke’s distinctive voice. He was giving orders in a somewhat Prussian tone: left, right, forward, forward. We all listened in astonishment. Even the president himself raised his gray head inquisitively. The double door of the bedroom opened. Then we saw six footmen, under the personal supervision of Zwetschke, slowly but surely bringing in the familiar massive oak table from the Germania. Another servant carried the presidential chair. Zwetschke watched the scene without saying a word. He gave a nod of approval. From his pocket he took the presidential bell and placed it on the table. At that he led the president to the table with infinite tact and delicacy, sat him in the chair, and asked him to ring and open the session. The president rang. ‘I declare the session open,’ he said. And then there took place the miracle which medical science and anxious public opinion had been awaiting in vain for a month: the president’s eyelids closed and he sank into a deep, healthy sleep.
“My friend and I stood side by side in excitement and watched — he with the understanding of the expert, I with only the curiosity of the writer. Zwetschke took out his pocket watch, started the timer, and measured his rate of respiration. He glanced at me triumphantly. The chest was rising and falling rhythmically, the pale face was slowly gaining color, filling out almost visibly. The organs that had so long been driven were at rest. Blessed Mother Nature herself had taken over the cure. The president was now asleep, as he could only be in the lecture hall, within a framework of decorum and etiquette. His head sank down and rose again. That circumstance increased my admiration for him even more, because it indicated that he behaved at home as elsewhere, that he was a real gentleman. He slept for twelve hours without a break. Zwetschke, who didn’t leave his side for a moment, even taking his lunch and dinner beside him, was surprised to see as midnight approached that the president picked up the bell, shook it, and declared ‘the session is closed,’ which meant that he’d had his sleep out, but also that we’d saved his life.
“The president wouldn’t even allow Zwetschke to leave the mansion. He opened a separate wing for him, and he had to stay with him for a fortnight until he was back on his feet. Actually, the matter was hardly any trouble. If the president wanted to sleep — always fully dressed and buttoned up to the chin — he would sit in the presidential chair, ring the bell, and when he woke up ring it again. He only made use of this remarkably simple treatment (which the German medical professional journals didn’t record) until the start of the season. Then, once the lectures had begun again, there was no need of it. He didn’t, however, forget Zwetschke. He appointed him his doctor, and as Zwetschke had excellent connections despite his youth — he was still only just twenty-six — he was appointed doctor in charge of the nervous and mental department of the local hospital, and six months later was awarded the title of privy councillor.
“So that was my German adventure. The bill, please. Dinner, Bull’s Blood, four coffees, twenty-five Mirjáms. Goodness me. I’ve been talking all this time. I’ve only just realized. Look, dawn’s breaking in the January mist on the streets of Pest and smiling in at the window of the Torpedo. Dawn, rosy-fingered with dirty nails. Well, let’s go and get some sleep. Or are you staying? In that case I’ll have another coffee and tell you how it ended. My only entertainment these days is the sound of my own voice.