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 to the piano and Albert waddles across the carpet to her side.
Pauline plays Mozart.
Albert watches captivated as Pauline plays Mozart’s Piano Sonata in C minor, K.457. ‘Don’t stop, Mama. Go on, go on.’
‘I can’t spend the rest of my life playing the piano for him,’ Pauline says.
‘Maybe he’ll become a pianist,’ Fanny says.
The same evening, his father embarks upon readings from Schiller.
Albert nestles in his lap listening intently, entranced by the sound of his father’s voice. ‘“There is no such thing as chance; and what seems to us merest accident springs from the deepest source of destiny.” . . . “Only those who have the patience to do simple things perfectly will acquire the skill to do difficult things easily.” . . . “Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays.”’
From Heine: ‘“Wherever they burn books they will also, in the end, burn human beings.”’
And: ‘“Every period of time is a sphinx that throws itself into the abyss as soon as its riddle has been solved.”’
And: ‘“The Romans would never have found time to conquer the world if they had been obliged first to learn Latin.”’
Albert gives his father a smile of admiration.
Members of the Einstein and Koch families frequently beat a path to Rengerweg 14 from across Germany and northern Italy.
Rowdy children fill the garden at the back of Rengerweg 14, including Albert’s cousins Elsa, Paula and Hermine, the daughters of Fanny. Fanny’s married to Rudolf Einstein, a textile manufacturer from Hechingen. Rudolf is the son of Hermann Einstein’s uncle, Rafael. The families relish the complexity of these byzantine relationships. Young Albert memorises all their names.
Increasingly, he prefers to keep his own company. His body and his mind seem separated. A woman visitor suggests he’s isolated like no other boy. He opens his brown eyes wide. Observers notice they are dark and lustreless, like the eyes of a sightless child.
He stays on the sidelines observing pigeons or manoeuvring his toy sailing boat in a water bucket. He shies away from competitive sport or games of any sort; just mooches about alone, sometimes in a temper, or shuts himself away playing with a steam engine, a gift from his maternal uncle, Caesar Koch, in Brussels, a stationary model mimicking a factory, or a mobile engine such as those used in steam locomotives and boats. It has spring safety valves and whistles. The house is filled with the sound of chuffing, crank noises and the endless steam whistles.
Albert delights in irritating the family with the noise of the steam engine. ‘Choo-choo!’ he shouts. ‘Clackety-clack. Tuff tuff tuff, die Eisenbahn!’
He watches them from the corners of his eyes.
To Albert’s disappointment influenza means that he will have to spend his fifth birthday in bed.
‘Look what I’ve got for you,’ his father announces. ‘Here—’
He hands Albert a small package.
‘May I open it, Papa?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you going to tell me what it is?’
‘Discover for yourself.’
Albert opens the wrapping paper, then a small box, and takes out a compass.
‘Papa. This is wonderful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you.’
‘I hope you like it.’
‘I