Stages on Life’s Way

by Søren Kierkegaard

  In parting, then, hail to you, you lovely forest; hail to you, you unappreciated hour of the afternoon who have no false pretensions, who, unlike the morning hours, unlike the evening, unlike the night, do not want to be of some consequence but without any claims are humbly satisfied to be yourself, to be content with your rustic smile! Just as the work of recollection is always blessed, it has also the blessing that it itself becomes a new recollection that in turn captivates, for anyone who has once understood what recollection is has been captured for all eternity and is captured in it; and anyone who possesses one recollection is richer than if he possessed the whole world; and not only the one about to give birth but above all the one who is recollecting is in blessed circumstances.

  50It was on one of the last days in July, about ten o’clock in the [VI 25] evening, that the participants gathered for that banquet. The date and the year I have forgotten; such matters, after all, are of interest only to memory, not to recollection. The only subject matter for recollection is mood and whatever is classified under mood. And just as noble wine is improved by crossing the line51 because the particles of water vaporize, so recollection also is improved by losing the water particles of memory; yet recollection no more becomes a figment of the imagination thereby than does the noble wine.

  52The participants were five in number:53 Johannes, called the Seducer, Victor Eremita, Constantin Constantius, and two more whose names I have not exactly forgotten, which would not have been important, but whose names I did not learn. It seemed as if these two had no proprium [proper name], for they were always named only by an epithet. The one was called: the Young Man. He presumably was in his early twenties, of slender and delicate build, and of rather dark complexion. He had a thoughtful expression, but even more pleasing was his charming, engaging demeanor, which betokened a purity of soul that completely harmonized with the almost femininely luxuriant softness and transparency of his whole figure. 54But in turn one forgot this external beauty with the next impression or kept it only in mente [in mind] while contemplating a young man who, cultivated—or, to use an even more delicate expression, fostered—by intellect alone, nourished by the content of his own soul, had had nothing to do with the world, had been neither awakened and inflamed nor [VI 26] disquieted and disturbed. Like a sleepwalker, he carried the law for his behavior within himself, and his loving sympathetic demeanor involved no one but reflected only the fundamental mood of his soul.

  The other one they called the Fashion Designer, which was his occupation in civil life. It was impossible to get a genuine impression of this man. He was dressed in the very latest fashion, was curled and perfumed and smelled of eau de Cologne. One moment his behavior was not without aplomb, but the next moment his walk assumed a certain dancelike festiveness, a certain floating motion, to which his corpulence nevertheless set limits at some point. Even when he was talking most maliciously, his voice always had an element of boutique-pleasantness and polite sweetness, which certainly must have been extremely nauseating to him personally and only satisfied his defiance. When I think about him now, I certainly understand him better than when I saw him step out of the carriage and could not help but laugh.55 But a contradiction still remains. He has charmed or bewitched himself, by the wizardry of his will has conjured himself into an almost silly character, but has not quite satisfied himself with it, which is why now and then reflection peeks out.

  When I now think of this, it seems almost absurd to me that five such people planned a banquet. Most likely nothing would have come of it had not Constantin Constantius been along. The subject had been broached one day in a coffee shop56 where they sometimes met in a side room, but it had been completely dropped when the question arose of who should organize it. The Young Man was declared unsuited for it; the Fashion Designer did not have the time. Victor Eremita, of course, did not excuse himself by saying that he had taken a wife or bought a yoke of oxen and had to examine them,57 but even if he would make an exception and come, he would decline the courtesy of being the organizer and “hereby spoke now.”58 Johannes considered this to be a good word in the proper place,59 for in his opinion there was only one who was able to arrange a banquet, and that was the tablecloth that spreads itself and sets everything out if one merely says: Spread yourself.60 It was not always proper to enjoy a young maiden in haste; a banquet he could not wait for and ordinarily was bored with it far in advance. If, however, this was going to be carried out, he insisted on one condition—that it be arranged so that it was auf einmal einzunehmen [to be partaken of all at once]. Everyone agreed on that. 61The whole [VI 27] setting was to be a new creation, and then everything was to be demolished—indeed, it would be all right if even before they rose from the table they were to notice preparations for the demolition. Nothing was to remain, not even as much, said the Fashion Designer, as remains from a dress when it is remade into a hat; nothing, said Johannes, for there is nothing more disagreeable than a sentimental play and nothing more nauseating than to be aware that somewhere there is a setting that immediately and impertinently insists on being an actuality.62

  Just as the conversation had become lively, Victor Eremita arose suddenly, stood out on the floor, beckoned with his hand like one who commands, stretched out his arm as if raising a goblet, and as he lifted a glass he said: With this glass, whose fragrance already beguiles my senses, whose cool heat already inflames my blood, I salute you, dear drinking companions, and bid you welcome [Velkommen]; with the same cup I wish you Velbekomme,63 convinced that each of you is sufficiently satisfied just by the talk of the banquet, for our Lord satisfies the stomach before the eye,64 but fantasy does just the opposite. Thereupon he thrust his hand in his pocket, took out a cigar case, took out a cigar, and began to smoke. When Const. Constantius protested his absolute power in thus transforming the projected banquet into an illusory fragment of life, Victor declared that he simply did not think it could be done at all, and in any case it was a mistake for it to be the subject of discussion in advance. Anything that is to be good must be that immediately, for “immediately” is the most divine of all categories and deserves to be honored just as the phrase ex templo65 is honored in the Latin language because it is the departure point of the divine in life, for anything that does not happen immediately is of the evil. Yet he had no desire to argue about it; if the others wanted to talk and act differently, he would not say a word; if they wanted him to elaborate, he must be allowed to perorate, for he did not consider it propitious to initiate a discussion.

  This, then, was done, and when the others requested him to do it immediately, he spoke thus. A banquet in and by itself is a difficult matter, for even if it is planned with all possible taste and with skill, it nevertheless still needs something else—namely, good luck. By that I do not mean what a worried [VI 28] hostess most likely would think of but something else that no one can be absolutely sure about: a happy interplay of mood and of the small details of the banquet, that delicate ethereal strumming, that heartfelt music, which cannot be ordered in advance from some professional musician. This is why it is risky to begin, for if something goes wrong, perhaps even at the very beginning, then the mood of a banquet can take off in such a wrong direction that it will take a long time to overtake it. Habit and carelessness alone are father and godparents of most banquets, and the reason the absence of ideas goes undetected is that there is a lack of criticism. In the first place, there should never be any women at a banquet. Speaking in parenthesi, I use the word “women” because I have never been fond of the word “ladies,” 66and now that Grundtvig has Grundtvigianly used this word in his Grundtvigian folk-high-school jargon [Brage-Snak]67—but this has no bearing on the subject. Only in the manner of the Greeks can women be used as a chorus of dancers. Since a banquet is essentially a matter of eating and drinking, a woman ought not to be present, for she cannot do justice to the meal, and if she can do so, it is most unbecoming. 68As soon as a woman is present, the eating and drinking ought to be reduced to somet
hing of insignificance. At most the eating and drinking must be like minor feminine busywork—something to keep the hands occupied. Especially out in the country, a light meal such as this, which may even be eaten at a different time than the regular meals, can be very charming, and if so it is always due to the other sex. To dismiss the opposite sex when the real drinking starts, as the Englishman does, is neither one thing nor the other, for every plan ought to be complete, and the very way I sit down at the table and pick up my knife and fork has a relation to the totality. A political banquet, for example, is an ugly ambiguity. The elements of the banquet are allowed to be reduced to something of insignificance, and in turn the speeches are not allowed to have the importance of being given inter pocula [between the glasses]. Up to this point we no doubt agree, and our number, if anything would come of our banquet, is also properly chosen by that beautiful rule: no more than the Muses, no fewer than the Graces.69 Now, I insist on the richest overabundance of everything imaginable. Even if everything is not right there, the possibility of it must be immediately at hand, hover temptingly over the table even more seductively than the sight of it. To banquet on matches [VI 29] or, like the Dutch, on a sugar lump of which everybody takes a lick, no, thanks. But my demand is difficult to satisfy, because the meal itself must be calculated to awaken and incite that unmentionable craving that every worthy member brings with him. I insist that the earth’s fruitfulness be at our service, as if everything sprouted the very instant desire craves it. I insist on a more lavish abundance of wine than Mephistopheles had just by boring a hole in the table.70 I insist on more voluptuous lighting than the trolls’ when they lift the mountain up onto pillars and dance in an ocean of fire. I insist on what arouses the senses most of all, I insist on that delicious refreshment of scents more glorious than those found in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. I insist on a coolness that voluptuously inflames desire and cools the satisfied desire. I insist on the ceaseless exhilaration of a fountain. If Maecenas could not sleep without hearing the splashing of a fountain,71 then I cannot dine without it. Do not misunderstand me; I can eat dried fish without it, but I cannot eat at a banquet without it; I can drink water without it, but I cannot drink wine at a banquet without it. I insist on a staff of servants, select and handsome, as if I were sitting at the table of the gods. 72I insist on dinner music, intense and subdued, and I insist that it be my accompaniment at all times. And with regard to you, my friends, I make incredible demands. You see, on the basis of all these demands, which are just as many reasons against it, I think that a banquet is a pium desiderium [pious wish], and in this respect I am so far from wanting to talk about a repetition that I assume that it cannot be done even once.

  The only one who had not actually taken part in that conversation, or in the defeat of the banquet, was Constantin Constantius. But for him it would never have been anything except talk. He had arrived at another conclusion and believed that if one took the others by surprise the idea could very well be carried out. Some time went by, and both the banquet and the discussion about it were forgotten, until suddenly one day the participants received an invitation from Constantin to a banquet the same evening. The motto for the banquet was specified by Constantin: in vino veritas, because certainly there must be speeches, not just conversation, but there must be no [VI 30] speeches except in vino, and no truth must be heard except that which is in vino, when wine is a defense for truth and truth is a defense for wine.

  73The place chosen was in a wooded area a few miles from Copenhagen.74 The salon in which they were to dine had been redecorated and altered recently beyond all recognition; a small room separated from the salon by a corridor was prepared for an orchestra. Shutters and curtains were placed before all the windows, and behind these the windows stood open. Constantin’s wish was that, as a preliminary, they arrive by carriage in the evening. Even though one knows that one is driving to a banquet and consequently indulges momentarily in imagining the sumptuousness of it, yet the impact of the natural environment is so powerful that it must prevail. The only fear Constantin had was that this would not happen, for just as there is no force so proficient as the imagination in embellishing everything, so, too, there is no other force able to play havoc with everything when things go wrong for one in the moment of encounter with actuality. Driving on a summer evening does not, however, turn the imagination toward the sumptuous but does the very opposite. Even if one does not see and hear it, the imagination nevertheless involuntarily creates an image of the evening’s cozy, comfortable longing; thus one sees girls and farmhands on their way home from their field work, hears the hurried clattering of the harvest wagon, interprets even the bellowing far off in the meadow as a longing. In this way the summer evening lures forth the idyllic, refreshes even a craving mind with its tranquillity, prompts even the fleeting fantasy to remain with autochthonic homesickness on the earth as the place of one’s origin, teaches the insatiable mind to be satisfied with little, makes one content, for in the evening hours time stands still and eternity lingers.

  So they arrived in the evening, the invited guests, for Constantin had come out somewhat earlier. Victor E., who was staying out in the country nearby, came on horseback; the others came by carriage, and just as their carriage drove in, a wagonette swung through the gate—a lively crew of four workmen, who were entertained and thereupon kept in readiness for the crucial moment as a dismantling crew, just as firemen for the opposite reason are present in the theater to extinguish a fire at once.

  As long as one is a child one has enough imagination, even if the waiting in a dark room lasts an hour, to be able to keep one’s soul at a high level, at the peak of anticipation; when we are adults, imagination tends to make us bored with the Christmas tree before we get to see it.

  75The double doors were opened; the effect of the brilliant [VI 31] lighting, the coolness that flowed toward them, the spicy fascination of the scent, and the tasteful table setting overwhelmed the entering guests for a moment, and when at the same time the orchestra began playing the dance music from Don Giovanni,76 the forms of those entering were transfigured, and as if in deference to an invisible spirit encompassing them, they stood still a moment, like someone whom admiration has awakened and who has risen in order to admire.

  Who has experienced the happy moment, who has comprehended its sensuous pleasure, and has not sensed the anxiety that something might suddenly happen, the most trifling thing that nevertheless is powerful enough to upset everything! Who has held the lamp in his hand and yet has not felt the dizziness of sensuous pleasure because all one needs to do is to wish! Who has held in his hand something that beckons and has not learned to keep the wrist flexible to let it go at once!

  Thus they stood there together. Only Victor stood somewhat apart, deep in thought. A shudder went through his soul, he almost trembled; then he regained his composure and greeted the omen with these words: You secret, festive, seductive strains that tore me out of the cloistered solitude of a quiet youth and deceived me with a loss, as if it were a recollection, terrifying, as if Elvira had not even been seduced but had only craved to be!77 Immortal Mozart, you to whom I owe everything—but no, I still do not owe you everything.78 But when I am an old man, if ever, or when I am ten years older, if ever, or when I am old, if ever, or when I die, and this I know I must, then I shall say: Immortal Mozart, you to whom I owe everything, then the admiration that is my soul’s first and only admiration I shall let burst forth in all its might and let it slay me, as it has frequently wanted to do. Then I shall have put my house in order, then I shall have taken cognizance of my beloved, then I shall have confessed my love, then I shall have experienced thoroughly that I owe you everything, then I shall no longer belong to you or to the world, but only to the earnest thought of death!79 —Now the orchestra began playing that invitation in which desire exults most intensely and leaps heaven-storming over Elvira’s sad song of gratitude. Johannes, lightly apostrophizing, repeated: [VI 32] Viva la liberta [Long
live liberty]80—et veritas [and truth], said the Young Man. But above all, in vino, interrupted Constantin, as he himself took his place at the table and requested the others to do likewise.

  How easy to give a banquet, and yet Constantin has maintained that he would never again risk it! How easy it is to admire, and yet Victor has maintained that he will never give expression to his admiration, because a defeat is more terrible than becoming an invalid in war! How easy it is to covet when one has a divining rod [Ønskeqvist, wishing twig], and yet at times it is more terrible than to perish from want.81