Random stories from Volkheim’s past.
July, 1883. Schloss Reichenau.
The halls of Schloss Reichenau, once the summer palace from which all the Teutonic States would have been governed and commanded, was haunted by silence. Not since the days of his father’s youth had these halls been productive. In the great state room of this palace sat a man, old and decrepit, dressed in military uniform and adorned with orders and decorations now dulled by age. He was a queerly proportioned soul, his head enlarged by hydrocephalus and his frame too small for his head; blindness took his left eye, gout has taken his ability to walk, and he struggled at times to speak. Karl Rudolf, once penultimate King of Ausberg and last claimant of the title Emperor of the Teutons, was a wreck of a man. It had been forty-three years since he was compelled to abdicate the throne and thirty-five since his nephew, Maximilian II, lost it entirely. Not that it truly affected much, as neither was it illegal for the princes to keep their property titles etc, but the Ausberg Dynasty was fortunate enough to have a small fortune. Yet, the Krüppelprinz, as he was known by his critiques and allies alike, was not blessed with such fortune. The only money he received was a pension of 1,000 Florins from the Ausberger Republic, which he begrudgingly accepted.
It is thus we return to the former King at his table. Karl Rudolf sat, eating his apricot pudding, as the day began. He has received a telegram two weeks prior from a man called Guillaume Canning - a foreigner who had hitherto never travelled to the Teutonic States - inviting the former Monarch to record his voice on a new device called the Phonograph. Karl Rudolf had, as most Ausbergers often did, mistaken this invitation to see the phonograph as an invitation to see the telephone. It took three days for his attendants to finally get him to realise what exactly it was he was going to be seeing. Not that he cared about it, he was far more interested in his apricot pudding. “Benzinger, come here!” the former King wailed, “I want more apricot pudding!” Karl Rudolf looked at his plate, empty. When his attendant, Benzinger, didn’t come quick enough he begun to throw cutlery and candlesticks at him. Although his frail arms did not throw them as far or as well as in his youth. “Your Imperial Majesty, pray sit and calm yourself, it is not befitting of your person.” Benzinger soothing claimed as he brought another plate of apricot pudding to Karl Rudolf.
Once more, Karl Rudolf devoured his apricot pudding. It was once said of Karl Rudolf that if given the choice between his wife (although by 1883 he had been twice married) and apricot pudding, he would undoubtedly take the pudding. Then Benzinger came back. “Verflucht, was wollt ihr?” Fury covered the face of the Former King. “Your Imperial Majesty, Herr Canning has arrived, should I show him in?” Inquired the servant.
He dazed off for a moment, before waking himself up with a jolt. “What?!” He announced with confusion. Benzinger let out a sigh and repeated his question. “Oh, if you must,” Karl Rudolf said disinterested in the entire affair.
Then the clacking of shoes echoed throughout the state room, clad in gold and portraits of past Ausberg Rulers. It was a lonely feeling as Benzinger left to retrieve Canning. Karl Rudolf reflected as he waited on his long life, eighty three years he had lived, yet he was not satisfied. Even then, he sat in the shadow of his father Maximilian I and his grandfather Ferdinand V. Both men had lead mostly stable governments, his grandfather had redrawn the states in 1805. Yet he, the Crippled Prince as he was cynically known, had lead the country to near distater before accepting a constitution and ultimately abdicating after an argument of his ministers. He often wondered if things would be better if he had not abdicated. Even as he was deep in his thoughts the portrait of his most looming ancestors hung behind him, Queen Maria Amalia, his great-grandmother. He gazed with paranoid and bloodshot eyes at her. Karl Rudolf was adamant that the portrait was judging him. All of these thoughts were dashed as the door at the far left of the hall opened, Benzinger followed by Canning who was carrying his phonograph and some other equipment.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Benzinger bowed as the frail Karl Rudolf grappled his walking cane and forced himself from his chair, walking to the gentlemen, “Herr Guilamme Canning.” Benzinger bowed again and left. Karl Rudolf looked at the phonograph with great curiosity. “What is this?” He inquired stating at Canning who was overly excited. “It is a Phonograph, your Imperial Majesty,” he began “a device which is able to capture the very human voice.”
“When the handle is turned,” he elaborates as he points to said handle, “a groove is cut into the cylinder which records the voice.” The old man looks at it, then at Canning “and the horn?” Canning again answers with a cheer “the device is also able to play what was recorded!” Karl Rudolf resumed his seat with a groan, with some sense of dismissiveness he questions Canning “Herr Canning, you bring this device to me, yet why?” Undoubtedly it was an interesting machine, the old man did not see why it would concern him. At that same moment, Canning was setting up the Phonograph, turning it to face the former King. Its black horn piercing at him. “Your Imperial Majesty, we at the Schwarzholz Phonographic Company would be honoured if you did a recording on our phonograph.” Bemused Karl Rudolf again inquired “why myself?” Canning was taken somewhat off guard by this second reasking of the question. “Well, sir, we believe by having a figure as esteemed as you record your voice would be a monumentous occasion.”
By this point his voice was weary, talking so much took energy from him, and he was growing ever tired. Regardless, Karl Rudolf was an egotistical man who would not pass the chance to glorify himself. He nodded and repositioned himself before the Phonograph, hunched over the table like some decrepit creature. The Emperor took out his reading glasses and ordered for paper and a writing apparetus before writing something to recite. He cleared his throat as Canning places the stylus to the cylinder, then Karl Rudolf spoke:
“Der Phonograph ist eine wunderbare Erfindung der modernen Wissenschaft. Er ermöglicht es den längst Verstorbenen, aus dem Jenseits zu sprechen. Ich danke [der] Schwarzholz [Phonograph]-Gesellschaft für die Gelegenheit, zu denjenigen zu gehören, die mit diesem Gerät sprechen können.”
The Phonograph is a marvellous invention of modern sciences. It allows those long passed to speak from beyond the grave. I thank [the] Schwarzholz [Phonograph] Company for this opportunity to be among those to speak to this device.
With that, Canning took the stylus off. The first known recording of Volkheimic had been made. Little did Karl Rudolf know how important this would become later down the line, not only was it the only recording of a Volkheimer born in the 18th century but the first recording of the language ever. There would not be another recording for 20 years…
1 Like