FRIEND. Be quiet, by the devil’s skin and bones.
A. Or the black horse grazing here, the horse on which Valdemar61 rides by night at Lake Gurre,62 or a monster [Uhyre] that lives in the forests of the Middle Ages, or Diderich from Berne arriving here when he rode away on a black horse or
FRIEND. Or someone who, although totally mad, is still not half as crazy as you; what is this harangue supposed to mean. Just yesterday I saw you in the city and you were completely sane. Has solitude had such a powerful effect on you?[*]
A. What is it supposed to mean? It is supposed to mean that I want to retaliate against anyone who comes to me inopportunely, [V B 163 278] for you must have been born on an unlucky day and left the city at an unlucky hour and come here at an unlucky moment—what do you want out here?
FRIEND. First and foremost, I want to use the lucky circumstance of meeting you to ask you what this out here means more precisely; in plain Danish, where am I, what is the name of this place, what people live here, whether they are cannibals or are they refined, what do the people live on here, whether
A. Be quiet, by the devil’s skin and bones.
FRIEND. whether they raise potatoes or kohlrabi.
[*] In margin: just yesterday you were a rational being in the city; have you become stark raving mad in solitude?
—Pap. V B 163 n.d., 1844
Addition to Pap. V B 163:
Tone: fantastic sentimental-ironic, to be held at a peak so that Albertus, although still in solitude, is discerned to believe what he almost derisively tosses out in his friend’s presence.—Pap. V B 164 n.d., 1844
Addition to Pap. V B 163:
N.B. The dialogue form that I at first wanted to give the Preliminary to the story cannot be used; it hinders the development, and finally that friend becomes a superfluous character.—Pap. V B 165 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 17:15-20:
[V B 166 278] . . . . . then I dare extol my life, for in my nook I am well, hidden and superbly concealed. If I do not dare interpret the [V B 166 279] poet thus and extol my life, I will still extol the nook and extol life as it appears when I regard it from that nook. And seen from a nook, everything is indeed most beautiful, the music to which one listens—ah, when later one is seated in style, one may perhaps sit more comfortably—the beloved at whom one steals a glance—ah, as soon as one is in lawful possession, then, one detects no heartbeat.—Pap. V B 166:1 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 17:20:
. . . . . (true it is that when a person is hidden in his sequestered nook he is a totally different person than when there is a single person present).—Pap. V B 186:7 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 17:32-33:
. . . . . in that friendly melting together before the king of heaven yet curves its way behind the mountains and arouses the admiration of everything when with its last rays it does not burn but is great as a recollection. Friendly meadow, forest so fair, grass-cool fields!63—Pap. V B 166:2 n.d., 1844
Continuation of Pap. V B 166:2; see 17:34-19:15:
Thus I had in all likelihood already been sitting in my nook [V B 167 279] a long time, for that little insect had already traversed most of the way, and the deer was standing still and looking around, and consequently I had not even moved. The stillness grew, like the shadows; the silence increased every minute and more and more became a magic incantation. I scarcely had the heart to talk with myself softly; the only thing would have been to shout so that echo would have answered. What, indeed, is as intoxicating as stillness; just as someone drinking becomes more intoxicated with every glass he drinks, so the intoxication mounts with every moment the stillness reigns, and what is the richest profusion of the foaming goblet compared with the sea of stillness and infinity! Everything so peaceful, only the quiet meadow, the silent forest, the gentle breeze, and yet I was prepared to see the most fantastic things. Yes, I expected at any moment to see that black steed from Gurre, on whom the king rides at night, grazing here in the soft whispering of evening[*]—then suddenly a noise startles me, and a human [V B 167 280] form appears nearby; a glance is exchanged, and the battle was decided! It is perhaps a robber, since I was gripped by anxiety; alas, no! It was my best friend, my one and only—who came inopportunely. If a person has been alone for just a few hours and has been secure in his solitude, has reveled in feeling sentient and has forgotten that he belongs to the vocal animals, he easily becomes shy, does not know immediately how to begin worldly chatter where he left off, he is somewhat weakened and is not immediately able to hold his own with copartners in language—that is, human beings from life. Only the person who has to be a co-partner in language and in turn is not a co-partner, only he understands what divine eloquence silence indeed is. My friend Theobald apologized, because very likely recollections charmed me to this place or expectancy bound me to it, and in any case he felt that he had come most inopportunely. I gladly forgave** him, and immediately tried to divert his attention by posing a problem for discussion: that sometimes one could altogether innocently come into a situation where one almost felt guilty because one had disturbed others.
[*] Penciled in margin: I thank the gods that no one has surprised me, for then it would have been wasted and his repentance would not help.—Pap. V B 167 n.d., 1844
Addition to Pap. V B 167:
[V B 168 280] **and genuinely forgave him, for his offer to go his way again in order to leave me alone betrayed only little knowledge of the chaste association required by silence, which does not tolerate the slightest thing and makes everyone guilty, be he ever so innocent, yes, even the one who through ignorance and inexperience almost makes the situation ridiculous because he cannot comprehend that something is lost or something has happened. It is the same as with the silence of innocence and bashfulness; if it is violated it can become almost insanely comic to imagine a sober-minded yet deferential commonsensicality that wants to explain what bashfulness actually is. But verloren ist verloren [lost is lost], and what comforted me was that my friend explained how he actually had [V B 168 281] arrived on these paths (had lost his way etc.). It was great comfort to me, for it would indeed have been most disastrous† if I had encountered a solitary person who was seeking the very same solitary places—an associate in solitude. When I heard his story, I allowed myself a little lie about the reason for my being there and, aided by my knowledge of the locality, led him somewhat afield and thereby to the right road so that he would not very easily find my nook again. My forgiveness was well-intentioned, and I have every reason to forgive, since I myself at times have been just as innocently guilty of something similar. But here are tasks that are altogether incommensurable for repentance, even if one may very deeply feel painfully moved as the guilty one and would want very much to apologize and beg for forgiveness. And in this purely esthetic guilt there is something depressing as in the Greek tragedy. At times I have surprised a pair of lovers this way in the hiddenness of the forest. Who would be so envious of others that he did not wish to be a guardian angel on such an occasion, for only rarely is it the case that a little surprise is of benefit to the lovers by creating a little situation for them and tightening the erotic relation. Then I give myself the pleasure of appearing in the background if I suspect any such thing, for then I do indeed serve Eros, and the lovers really ought to thank me, even if it is impossible for them to dispel the illusion that I am a chicaner. It is conceivable that in precisely this manner a pair of lovers could owe someone a great deal, although they would naturally hate and loathe that person, and this is precisely the secret that would make them snuggle their heads closer together more erotically—but this secret naturally could never become apparent to them. —But if this is not the case with the lovers, how unhappy I feel when by taking them by surprise I do a disfavor I can never rectify. Then [V B 168 282] I could wish that I were like a bird that hovers voluptuously above the heads of the lovers, to be the bird whose cry is fateful for the lovers, the lark that soars jubilantly, the wren, seductive for
the lovers to watch, that darts among the bushes; [I could wish] that I were the blending that makes everything languorous, the distant clattering of a carriage suggesting that the others are now going away and leaving the lovers alone (as in D. G. the most solitary scene is not that way because Zerlina is alone but because she becomes alone on the stage; we hear the disappearing of the chorus, and its distant fading away begins Zerlina’s little part64—this is a purely musical situation that no other power can portray). [I could wish] to be like the disappearing of the mother, the last to bid the bride farewell, like the nature-solitude that tempts erotic love, like the murmuring that tightens the cord of erotic love; like the echo that shows that one is in a remote place, like the coolness of the evening that fans the lovers’ intimacy.—
I was out here in order to place something experienced in the frame of the contrast (the noisy evening party—and nature’s soft, quiet peace—not even night would have been such a sharp contrast, because this is already fantastic, and consequently of the same potency, while the fantastic here results from the clash).
In margin: † second to that is to become the object of an insane man’s fixed idea*
—Pap. V B 168 n.d., 1844
* or of a hysterical female’s
From draft; see 17:34-19:15:
[V B 171 1 284] An apology from the one who disturbs and causes surprise and interruption is of little benefit.* One is willing enough to forgive him; he is innocent and yet he becomes guilty. How jealous solitude is of itself, how strange human life, that one in this way can become guilty purely esthetically, feel all the pain of guilt and yet be unable to repent, and yet be innocent. I have often thought about this, that I myself should never be guilty of this toward others, and yet one can never be secure or know that one is secure. How ashamed one can be there with a gnawing bitterness in one’s soul when one happens to disturb others in this way. The task is altogether incommensurable for repentance; one would most willingly beg for forgiveness. The person from whom one begs it is willing, and yet he cannot actually stop being angry at one! Only rarely can surprise be of benefit, as if a pair of lovers who have sought the hiddenness of the forest do not have sufficient power to create a situation but need to have the erotic relation tightened a little. If I knew this in advance, then I would give myself the pleasure of appearing in the background, for then if I suspect any such thing I do indeed serve Eros and the lovers really ought to thank me, even if it is impossible for them to dispel the illusion that I am an intriguer. It is conceivable that in precisely this manner a pair of lovers could owe someone a great deal, although they would naturally hate and loathe that person, and this is precisely the secret that would make them snuggle their heads closer together and more erotically. —Yet this is seldom the case, and if it is not, how unhappy [V B 171 1 285] I can feel by surprising them in this way; for who would not prefer to be erotic love’s guardian angel? Then I could wish that I were like a bird that hovers voluptuously above the heads of the lovers, to be the bird whose cry is fateful for the lovers, the lark that soars jubilantly, the wren, seductive for the lovers to watch, that darts among the bushes;[*] [I could wish] to be like the disappearing of the mother when she is the last one in the bridal house, like the nature solitude that tempts erotic love, like the murmuring that tightens the cord of erotic love, like the echo that shows that one is in a remote place, like the coolness of the evening that fans the lovers’ intimacy, like the distant clattering of a carriage suggesting that the others are now going away and leaving the lovers alone. Never is one so solitary as when one hears the others going away. The most solitary of situations is Zerlina’s in Don Giovanni; she is not alone—no, she becomes alone; we hear the disappearing of the chorus, and the solitude becomes audible in the distant fading away of this sound and solitude comes into existence as a musical situation, something only music and no other power is capable of expressing in this way.
In margin: *as little as his proposal to leave the solitary one to himself again betrays familiarity with the chaste association that silence requires, since his commonsensicality (which is ignorance of the danger) only makes the situation ludicrous, just as when the silence of innocence and modesty are violated, commonsensicality (which is ignorance of the danger and has not understood the difficulty before it wants to replace it) in its sober-minded knowledge quite estimably explains what modesty actually is. No! Hin ist hin, verloren ist verloren [What is gone is gone, what is lost is lost].
[*] In margin: to be like the summer humming that assures one that all existence is only rapture and festivity without work and like God without toil.
and in relation to solitude the point is for every third person (for he is also a third person to the one who is alone) to understand the art of removing himself.—Pap. V B 171:1 n.d., 1844
From sketch; see 20:1-33, 26:9-14:
[V B 172 1 285] It was in the month of August about nine o’clock in the evening that the participants gathered for that banquet. The date I have forgotten, just as I generally never think of noting the date or am never able to retain it when an impression overwhelms me. But the mood I can recollect, and insofar as the weather and other such things influence mood, I recollect it so [V B 172 1 286] clearly that I inhale the same fragrance (for nothing is recollected as well as “the scent of flowers and old melodies”65) and become wholly contemporary with my self. The participants were seven in number: Johannes, nicknamed the Seducer; Victor Eremita; Constantin Constantius, and in addition three others, whose names I did not learn since I did not hear them called by name at all but only by an epithet: Recollection’s Unhappy Lover, the Fashion Designer, the Young Man.66 As far as I know, it was Constantin who was at the head of it and prepared the invitations to this banquet, the motto of which was: in vino veritas [in wine truth], because not one word was to be spoken except in vino, and not one truth except as it is in vino, so that wine would be a defense for truth and truth would be a defense for wine.—Pap. V B 172:1 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 20:24-25:
He looked like a Ganymede,67 but one forgot it again.—Pap. V B 187:1 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 22:14-18:
. . . . . at him, for I believed that he actually was mad. Yet it is impossible to get a total impression of him, for he has bewitched himself, by his own will has conjured himself into a form out of which there still breaks forth a reflection. He has wanted to express a contrast but has selected it too close at hand; it would have been easier to effect a Pierrot, for example.
In margin: charmed himself
—Pap. V B 187:4 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 23:2-6:
Everything must be new, and the moment they rose from the table the proper number of workmen would have been summoned, a demolition crew, in order not to leave a splinter behind—yes, even while they drank the last glass it would be all right to hear the workmen in the next room taking out their tools and making a noise and knocking about like the Commendatore.68—Pap. V B 187:5 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 23:12:
. . . . . for someone, as if there were any actuality and as if everything were not a product of the imagination, as if there were any enthusiasm to compare with the enthusiasm of demolition.—Pap. V B 187:6 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 24:19-22:
. . . . . and because I thank Grundtvig for prostituting ladies for all eternity by his folk-high-school jargon [Brage-Snak] and his Ale-Nordic69 impropriety.—Pap. V B 187:8 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 24:26-37:
This is why those light ethereal lunches or afternoon repasts out in the country are so charming and women absolutely belong there. The Englishman is no doubt right in having the women go away when they have eaten but not right in beginning with them. There ought to be a completeness to it that promptly manifests itself in the beginning. Banquets such as are given now with men and women are just as far from poetry and idea as a four-seater wagonette is from the ideal.—Pap. V B 187:9 n.d., 1844
Fr
om draft; see 25:31-38:
Here we encounter a difficulty, for I certainly can be prevailed upon to eat together with one single woman and have a variety of dishes but then eat only a little, and this impression I want to have from the beginning. At a banquet the impression I want to have is that hearty eating is the thing to do. Indeed, on the basis of all these reasons, which I admittedly have not set forth as reasons but which one can shape into reasons just as logic can shape all our talking into judgments and conclusions, on the basis of all these reasons, which the man of experience can easily shape into reasons against the matter, I believe that a banquet is a pium desiderium [pious wish], and in this respect I am so far from speaking with my friend Constantin about repetition that I believe it cannot be done the first time.
In margin: I insist upon table music
—Pap. V B 187:11 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 26: 15-16:
The place where they assembled was in Ordrup,70 where Constantin in advance had arranged for some changes to be made in the great salon and had had a small adjoining room prepared for an orchestra.—Pap. V B 172:3 n.d., 1844
From draft; see 27:21-28:28:
At precisely eleven o’clock the doors of a private room were opened and they entered the dining room. Never have I seen a hall more splendidly lighted—behind each table setting stood a waiter—as they entered, the table music from D. G.71 began. There was no one who was not impressed. Johannes the Seducer became inflamed as by a challenge. —But a shudder went visibly through V. Eremita’s soul; his body almost trembled and, beside himself, while the infirmity of his body or its languorous weakness seemed to struggle with the power of his voice, he cried out: You festive tones, you to whom my soul belongs, even more than Elvira to Don Giovanni! You seductive voice of delight and enjoyment and pleasure and the moment, which tore me like an Elvira72 out of the solitude of a quiet monastic life to make me eternally unhappy, eternally running after you, without being able to move you, even if I sacrificed honor and family and friends: “Everything is a gift of love.”73 Here Constantin interrupted him and reminded him that it was against the rules, and now everyone took his place.—Pap. V B 172:7 n.d., 1844
Stages on Life’s Way Page 60
