I'll never think of Rilke's poems about the poor and otherwise miserable the same way again: “To the twentieth-century reader of normal sensibility and social compassion all but the American ”yuppy” of the 1980s and the generations of plutocrats who bred him the gallery of “insulted and injured” (Dostoevsky) presented in Rilke’s cycle Voices would be an obvious and powerful, if understated, argument for social remedy and reform. Rilke, on the other hand, arch-reactionary in these matters, saw an esthetic rightness in poverty and inequality, decried interference with established misery for betterment’s sake, and subscribed to the medieval motto “God bless the squire and his relations, and keep us in our proper stations.” This callous Bourbon cast of mind, suspected by few of his friends and probably connected with his lifelong craving for aristocratic roots and ties, is discernible already in relatively early works like the Prague tales, Stories of Our Lord, and Of Poverty and of Death. Answering a journalistic questionnaire thirty years later, far from revising his relish of inequality, he kneaded his sentiments into a miniature social theory:
people would be mistaken to allocate any of my strivings to this category [of social concern]. An element of human sympathy, of fraternal feeling comes naturally to me, to be sure, and must be rooted in my being… But what totally distinguishes such a cheerful and natural attention from “social concern,” as people understand it, is a complete disinclination, even distaste, for changing anyone’s situation, or, as the saying goes, improve it. No one’s situation in the world is such that it could not be of peculiar benefit to his soul. If at some point I was able to cast the imaginary voices of the dwarf or the beggar into the mould of my heart, the metal of this casting was not derived from the wish that the dwarf’s or the beggar’s lot might be lightened; on the contrary, only exaltation of their incomparable fates enabled the poet, in his abrupt resolve to treat them, to be veracious and thorough, and he had to fear and decline nothing more than a corrected world in which the dwarves are elongated and the beggars enriched. The god of plenitude sees to it that these variants do not cease, and it would be the shallowest of interpretations were one to take the poet’s enjoyment of this suffering multiplicity for an esthetic alibi…”