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HERE IS MY FATHER, HERMANN;AND MY MOTHER, PAULINE
‘The head, the head,’ the twenty-one-year-old Pauline Einstein cries. ‘It’s monstrous.’
‘It’s a beautiful head,’ says Hermann Einstein squinting through his pince-nez balanced precariously on his nose above his walrus moustache. ‘Our son, Abraham, has a beautiful head.’
‘It’s deformed.’
‘Abraham is not deformed, Pauline.’
‘The skull, look at it, Hermann.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It is not fine. It’s at a twisted angle to the rest of him.’
The couple fall silent. Only the sounds from the city break the silence.
Ulm is a noisy Swabian city in southwest Germany on the River Danube famed for the 531-foot spire of its minster, der Fingerzeig Gottes, the Finger of God, the tallest in the world. Mozart played its organ in 1763.
Horses, coal carts and small whistling steam engines fill its narrow winding cobbled streets lined with half-timbered houses. The stench of warm horse dung is overpowering.
The Einstein residence on Bahnhofstrasse is a stone’s throw from the train station. Der Blitzzug, the lightning Paris–Istanbul express, has begun making scheduled stops at Ulm.
Hermann Einstein toys with his moustache. Then he glances at his hair in the mirror, gently patting it in place.
‘I have been thinking about the child’s name. Our family belongs to the Jewish community. I want a name that means noble and intelligent.’
‘Which is what?’
‘Albert. Albert Einstein.’
On 15 March 1879, the day after Albert’s birth, a hackney cab takes mother, father and tiny son through the fog to the office of Ulm’s registrar of births. Hermann, in the fine tailored black suit with a narrow necktie tied in a bow that befits a former partner in the featherbed manufacturers Israel & Levi, stands proudly before the registrar with Pauline, who carries baby Albert. Pauline’s exuberant finery consists of a ribboned bonnet, a boned bodice, and matching skirt in folds, drapes and pleats.
The parents appear a prosperous couple. The featherbed company may have failed two years ago, but now Hermann has decided to go into business with his younger brother, Jakob.
Jakob has a college degree in engineering and realises that electrification is the coming thing. Hermann’s commercial savvy will be of value. More to the point though, Pauline’s father is a wealthy grain dealer and well connected in Württemberg. With any luck Hermann will be able to get substantial funds from his in-laws to establish Elektrotechnische Fabrik J. Einstein & Cie, manufacturing electrical equipment and based in Munich.
The registrar of births reads aloud: ‘No 224. Ulm, March 15, 1879. Today, the merchant Hermann Einstein, residing in Ulm, Bahnhofstrasse 135, of the Israelitic faith, personally known, appeared before the undersigned registrar, and stated that a male child, who has received the name Albert, was born in Ulm, in his residence, to his wife Pauline Koch, of the Israelitic faith, on March 14 of the year 1879, at 11.30 a.m. Read, confirmed, and signed: Hermann Einstein. The Registrar, Hartmann.’
Now it’s official.
The registrar gives the child a look of practised admiration. Pauline at once covers the enormity of the head. She feels guilty and angry for having produced such a strange creature.
Back home the doctor calls later that afternoon.
Pauline whispers. ‘The head, the head. Albert is unnatural.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,’ the doctor says. ‘The large cranium could simply be a reflection of a larger-than-average-headed mother or father. It isn’t an indication of a learning disorder or disability. Mind you, a large head can be linked to problems within the skull. We will measure Albert’s head and make sure the circumference has been increasing since birth. I can reassure you of one thing. I see no complications. Albert will be possessed of normal intelligence.’
‘Normal intelligence?’
‘Yes. Normal intelligence.’
Pauline watches Albert grow and, other than to Hermann, keeps her misgivings about him to herself and prays to Almighty God that she hasn’t given birth to eine Laune der Natur: a freak of nature.
AGED TWO, OR THEREABOUTS
‘A new toy for me, a new toy for me,’ Albert exclaims when he first sees his little sister Maria, familiarly known as Maja, on 18 November 1881. ‘Where are the wheels?’
Once settled in Munich, first in a rented house, Müllerstrasse 3, later at Rengerweg 14 with a spacious garden, the Einsteins enjoy a bourgeois existence.
‘Albert is slow to talk like other children,’ Pauline says to Fanny, her visiting older sister. ‘Why does he say everything twice?’
Pauline embroiders a tablecloth with the words Sich regen bringt Segen – Hard work brings its own reward.
‘A new toy for me,’ Albert says again slowly. ‘Where are the wheels?’
‘See what I mean, Fanny?’
‘Maybe he’s just curious.’
‘Curious. Curious. I don’t want a child who’s curious. I want a child who’s normal.’
‘It’ll be a shame if he only hears you being so critical. He’ll retreat inside himself. You won’t know who he is.’
‘I know who he is. If he goes on like this he’ll never amount to anything.’
‘Does anyone else think the same as you?’
‘Of course. Even the housekeeper says that Albert is a schwachkopf [dimwit]. The child mutters to himself.’
Albert stares at his mother then at his aunt and smiles. He moves his lips. Grunts. Salivates. Forms an incomprehensible phrase.
‘What is it you’re trying to say, Albert?’ his mother asks.
Saliva dribbles from Albert’s lips. He stamps his left foot.
‘Don’t dribble!’ his mother snaps. ‘Look, Fanny. He’s quite unlike other children. The housekeeper’s right.’
He clambers to his feet. He thinks before taking each step, holding out his pudgy arms to steady himself. ‘The earth is shaking beneath my feet. Ein Erdbeben. An earthquake. Wunderschön!’
‘Play the piano,’ Fanny says to Pauline. ‘You told me in your letter he likes it when you play the piano.’
Pauline goes
