The Man Without Qualities, Volume 2

by Robert Musil

  “Does that mean you’re opposed to divorce too?” Agathe cried, giving free rein to her irritation with him. “Of course, you’re bound to be against it. But it really does put you rather behind the times!”

  “At least I can’t regard it as matter-of-factly as you do.” Lindner defended himself pensively, took off his glasses, polished them, put them on again, and contemplated Agathe. “It seemed to me you have too little willpower,” he stated.

  “Willpower? My will, for what it’s worth, is to get a divorce!” Agathe cried, knowing it was not a very sensible answer.

  “Please don’t misunderstand me,” Lindner gently corrected her. “I am of course willing to believe that you have good reasons. It’s only that I see things in a different light. The free and easy morals prevailing nowadays amount, in effect, to nothing more than a sign that the individual is chained hand and foot to his own ego and incapable of living and acting from any wider perspective. Our esteemed poets,” he added jealously, with an attempt at humor about Agathe’s perfervid pilgrimage to the poet’s grave, an attempt that only turned sour on his lips, “who play up to the sentiments of young ladies, and are therefore overestimated by them, have a far easier role to play than I, when I tell you that marriage is an institution of responsibility and the mastery of the human being over its passions! Before anyone dissociates himself from the external safeguards that mankind has wisely set up against its own undependability, he should recognize that isolation from and disobedience to the greater whole do far more harm than the physical disappointments we so fear!”

  “That sounds like a military code for archangels,” Agathe said, “but I’m not inclined to agree with you. Let me walk with you partway. You must explain how it is possible to think as you do. Which way are you going now?”

  “I must get home,” Lindner answered.

  ‘Would your wife mind very much if I walked home with you? When we get back down to town we can take a taxi. I have plenty of time.”

  “My son will be coming home from school,” Lindner said with defensive dignity. “Mealtimes are on a strict schedule with us, which is why I must be home on time. My wife died suddenly, some years ago,” he added, correcting Agathe’s mistaken assumption, and with a glance at his watch he said with nervous impatience: “I must hurry!”

  “Then you must explain it to me some other time. It is important to me!” Agathe insisted with feeling. “If you won’t come to see us, I shall look you up.”

  Lindner caught his breath, but nothing came of it. Finally, he said: “But as a lady you can’t come calling on a man!”

  “Oh, yes I can!” Agathe assured him. “I shall simply arrive one day, you’ll see. Though I can’t say when. There is no harm in it!”

  With this, she said goodbye and took a path diverging from his.

  “You have no willpower!” she said under her breath, trying to imitate Lindner, but the word “willpower” tasted fresh and cool in her mouth. It had overtones of pride, toughness, and confidence; her heart beat higher; the man had done her good.

  32

  THE GENERAL MEANWHILE TAKES ULRICH AND

  CLARISSE TO THE MADHOUSE

  While Ulrich was alone at home, the War Ministry telephoned to ask whether His Excellency the Chief of the Department for Military, Educational, and Cultural Affairs could see him privately in half an hour, and thirty-five minutes later General Stumm von Bordwehr’s official carriage came dashing up the little drive.

  “A fine kettle of fish!” the General cried out to his friend, who instantly noticed that this time the orderly with the intellectual bread was absent. The General was in full dress, decorations and all. “A fine mess you’ve got me into!” he reiterated. “There’s a plenary session at your cousin’s this evening. I haven’t even had a chance to see my chief about it. And now suddenly the bombshell bursts—we have to be at the madhouse within an hour!”

  “But why?” Ulrich asked, not unnaturally. “Usually that sort of thing is arranged ahead of time!”

  “Don’t ask so many questions!” the General implored him. “Just go and telephone your little friend or cousin or whatever she is, and tell her we’re coming to call for her!”

  Ulrich telephoned the grocery store where Clarisse was in the habit of doing her local shopping, and while he was waiting for her to come to the phone he heard about the misfortune the General was bemoaning. To make the arrangements for Clarisse to visit Moosbrugger, as a favor to Ulrich, Stumm had turned to the Chief of the Medical Corps, who then got in touch with his celebrated colleague the head of the University Clinic, where Moosbrugger was awaiting a top-level opinion on his psychiatric status. However, through a misunderstanding by both these gentlemen, the appointment for the date and time of Clarisse’s visit had been made on the spot, as Stumm had been told with many apologies at the last minute, along with the error that he himself had been named as one of the visiting party that the famous psychiatrist was expecting with great pleasure.

  “I feel quite ill!” he declared. This was a time-honored formula for his needing a schnapps. After he had tossed it off, he relaxed a little. “What’s a madhouse to me! It’s only because of you that I have to go!” he lamented. “Whatever will I say to that idiot professor when he asks me why I came along?”

  At this moment a jubilant war whoop sounded at the other end of the line.

  “Fine!” the General said fretfully. “But I also must absolutely talk to you about tonight. And I still have to report to my chief about it too. And he leaves the office at four!” He glanced at his watch and out of sheer hopelessness did not budge from his chair.

  “Well, I’m ready,” Ulrich said.

  ‘Tour lovely sister isn’t coming?” Stumm asked in surprise.

  “My sister is out.”

  “Too bad.” The General sighed. ‘Tour sister is the most remarkable woman I have ever met.”

  “I thought that was Diotima,” Ulrich said.

  “She’s another,” Stumm replied. “Diotima is admirable too. But since she’s been going in for sex education I feel like a schoolboy. I’m happy to look up to her—God knows, a soldiers trade is a simple and crude kind of manual labor, as I always say, but precisely in the realm of sex it goes against one’s honor as an officer to let oneself be treated as a novice!”

  By now they were in the carriage and being driven off at a brisk trot.

  “Is your young lady pretty, at least?” Stumm inquired suspiciously.

  “She’s quite an original, as you’ll see,” Ulrich replied.

  “Now, as regards tonight”—the General sighed—”something is brewing. I expect something to happen.”

  “That’s what you say every time you come to see me,” Ulrich protested, smiling.

  “Maybe, but it’s true just the same. And tonight you’ll be present at the encounter between your cousin and Frau Professor Drangsal. I hope you haven’t forgotten everything I’ve told you about that. The Drangsal pest—that’s what your cousin and I call her between ourselves—has been pestering your cousin for such a long time that she’s got what she wanted: she’s been haranguing everyone, and tonight will be the showdown between them. We were only waiting for Arnheim, so that he can form an opinion too.”

  “Oh?” Ulrich had not seen Arnheim for a long time, and had not known that he was back.

  “Of course. Just for a few days,” Stumm said. “So we had to set it up—” He broke off suddenly, bounding up from the swaying upholstery toward the driver’s box with an agility no one would have expected of him. “Idiot!” he barked into the ear of the orderly disguised as a civilian coachman who was driving the ministerial horses, and he rocked helplessly back and forth with the carriage as he clung to the back of the man he was insulting, shouting: “You’re taking the long way round!” The soldier in civvies held his back stiff as a board, numb to the General’s extra-military use of his body to save himself from falling, turned his head exactly ninety degrees, so that he could not see either his
general or his horses, and smartly reported to a vertical that ended in the air that the shortest route was blocked off by street repairs, but he would soon be back on it. “There you are—so I was right!” Stumm cried as he fell back, glossing over his futile outburst of impatience, partly for the orderly’s benefit and partly for Ulrich’s. “So now the fellow has to take a detour, when I’m supposed to report to my chief this very afternoon, and he wants to go home at four o’clock, by which time he should have briefed the Minister himself!…His Excellency the Minister has sent word to the Tuzzis to expect him in person tonight,” he added in a low voice, just for Ulrich’s ear.

  “You don’t say!” Ulrich showed himself properly impressed by this news.

  “I’ve been telling you for a long time there’s something in the air.”

  Now Ulrich wanted to know what was in the air. “Come out with it, then,” he demanded. “What does the Minister want?”

  “He doesn’t know himself,” Stumm answered genially. “His Excellency has a feeling that the time has come. Old Leinsdorf also has a feeling that the time has come. The Chief of the General Staff likewise has a feeling that the time has come. When a lot of people have such a feeling, there may be something in it.”

  “But the time for what?” Ulrich persisted.

  “Well, we don’t need to know that yet,” the General instructed him. “These are simply reliable indications! By the way,” he asked abstractedly, or perhaps thoughtfully, “how many of us will there be today?”

  “How would I know?” Ulrich asked in surprise.

  “All I meant,” Stumm explained, “is how many of us are going to the madhouse? Excuse me! Funny, isn’t it, that land of misunderstanding? There are days when there’s too much coming at one from all sides. So: how many are coming?”

  “I don’t know who else will be coming—somewhere between three and six people.”

  “What I meant,” the General said earnestly, “was that if there are more than three of us, we’ll have to get another cab—you understand, because I’m in uniform.”

  “Oh, of course,” Ulrich reassured him.

  “I can’t very well drive in a sardine can.”

  “Of course not. But tell me, what’s this about reliable indications?”

  “But will we be able to get a cab out there?” Stumm worried. “It’s so far out you can hear the animals snoring.”

  ‘We’ll pick one up on the way,” Ulrich said firmly. “Now will you please tell me how you have reliable indications that it’s time for something to happen?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Stumm replied. “When I say about something that that’s the way it is and it can’t be otherwise, what I’m really saying is that I can’t explain it! At most one might add that this Drangsal is one of those pacifists, probably because Feuermaul, who’s her protégé, writes poems about ‘Man is good.’ Lots of people believe that sort of thing now.”

  Ulrich was not convinced. “Didn’t you tell me the opposite just a little while ago? That they’re now all in favor of taking action, taking a strong line, and all that?”

  “True too,” the General granted. “And influential circles are backing Drangsal; she has a great knack for that sort of thing. They expect the patriotic campaign to come up with a humanitarian action.”

  “Really?” Ulrich said.

  “You know, you really don’t seem to care about anything anymore! The rest of us are worried. Let me remind you, for instance, that the fratricidal Austro-German war of 1866 only happened because all the Germans in the Frankfurt Parliament declared themselves to be brothers. Not, of course, that I’m suggesting that the War Minister or the Chief of the General Staff might be worrying along those lines; that would be nonsense. But one thing does lead to another. That’s how it is! See what I mean?”

  It was not clear, but it made sense. And the General went on to make a very wise observation:

  “Look, you’re always wanting things to be clear and logical,” he remonstrated with his seatmate. “And I do admire you for it, but you must for once try to think in historical terms. How can those directly involved in what’s happening know beforehand whether it will turn out to be a great event? All they can do is pretend to themselves that it is! If I may indulge in a paradox, I’d say that the history of the world is written before it happens; it always starts off as a kind of gossip. So that people who have die energy to act are faced with a very serious problem.”

  “You have a point,” Ulrich said appreciatively. “But now tell me all about it.”

  Although the General wanted to expand on it, there was so much on his mind in these moments, when the horse’s hooves had begun to hit softer ground, that he was suddenly seized by other anxieties.

  “Here I am, decked out like a Christmas tree in case the Minister calls for me,” he cried, underlining it by pointing to his light-blue tunic and the medals hanging from it. “Don’t you think it could lead to awkward incidents if I appear like this, in full dress, in front of loonies? What do I do, for instance, if one of them decides to insult the Emperor’s uniform? I can hardly draw my sword, but it would be really dangerous for me not to say anything, either!”

  Ulrich calmed him down by pointing out that he would be likely to wear a doctor’s white coat over his uniform. But before Stumm had time to declare himself fully satisfied with this solution they met Clarisse, impatiently coming to meet them in a smart summer dress, escorted by Siegmund. She told Ulrich that Walter and Meingast had refused to join them. And after they had managed to find a second carriage, the General was pleased to say to Clarisse: “As you were coming down the road toward us, my dear young lady, you looked positively like an angel!”

  But by the time he left the carriage at the hospital gate, Stumm von Bordwehr appeared rather flushed and ill at ease.

  33

  THE LUNATICS GREET CLARISSE

  Clarisse was twisting her gloves in her hands, looking up at the windows, and fidgeting constantly while Ulrich paid for the cab. Stumm von Bordwehr protested Ulrich’s doing this, and the cabbie sat on his box with a flattered smile as the two gentlemen kept each other back. Siegmund brushed specks off his coat with his fingertips, as usual, or stared into space.

  In a low voice, the General said to Ulrich: “There’s something odd about your lady friend. She lectured me the whole way about what will is. I didn’t understand a word!”

  “That’s the way she is,” Ulrich said.

  “Pretty, though,” the General whispered. “Like a fourteen-year-old ballerina. But why does she say that we came here in order to follow our ‘hallucination’? The world is ‘too free of hallucinations,’ she says. D’you know anything about that? It was so distressing, I simply couldn’t think of a word to say.”

  The General was obviously holding up the departure of the cab only because he wanted to ask these questions, but before Ulrich could answer he was relieved of the responsibility by an emissary who welcomed the visitors in the name of the director of the clinic, and apologizing to the General for having to keep them waiting because of some urgent business, he led the company upstairs to a waiting room. Clarisse took in every inch of the staircase and the corridors with her eyes, and even in the little waiting room, with its chairs upholstered in threadbare green velvet so reminiscent of an old-fashioned first-class waiting room in a railway station, her gaze roved about slowly almost the whole time. There the four of them sat, after the emissary had left, and found nothing to say until Ulrich, to break the silence, teased Clarisse by asking her whether the thought of meeting Moosbrugger face-to-face wasn’t making her blood run cold.

  “Bah!” Clarisse said. “He’s only known ersatz women; it had to come to this.”

  The General had come up with a face-saving idea, something having belatedly occurred to him: “The will is now very up-to-date,” he said. “We’re very much concerned with this problem in our patriotic action too!”

  Clarisse gave him a smile and stretched her arms to e
ase the tension in them. “Having to wait like this, one can feel what’s coming in one’s arms and legs, as if one were looking through a telescope,” she replied.

  Stumm von Bordwehr gave it some thought, careful not to put a foot wrong again. “That’s true!” he said. “It may have something to do with the current cult of exercise and bodybuilding. We’re concerned with that also.”

  At this point the Medical Director swept in with his cavalcade of assistants and nurses and a gracious word for everyone, especially Stumm; mumbled about something pressing, which would, regrettably, prevent him from taking them around himself, as he had intended; and introduced Dr. Friedenthal, who would take good care of them in his stead.

  Dr. Friedenthal was a tall, slender man with a somewhat effeminate body and a thick mop of hair, who smiled at them, as he was introduced, like an acrobat climbing a ladder for a death-defying performance. When the director had gone, the white lab coats were brought in. “We don’t want to get the patients excited,” Dr. Friedenthal explained.

  As Clarisse slipped into hers she experienced a strange surge of power. She stood there like a little doctor. She felt very much a man, and very white.

  The General looked around for a mirror. It was hard to find a lab coat to fit his idiosyncratic proportion of girth to height; when they finally managed to get him into something that covered him completely, he looked like a child in an adult’s nightshirt. “Don’t you think I should take my spurs off?” he asked Dr. Friedenthal.

  “Army doctors wear spurs too,” Ulrich pointed out.

  Stumm made one last feeble and laborious effort to see what he looked like from behind, where the medical coverall was caught up in heavy folds above his spurs. Then they set out. Dr. Friedenthal enjoined them to keep calm no matter what they might see.

  “So far so good!” Stumm whispered to his friend. “But I’m not really interested in any of this. Could use the time much better to talk with you about tonight’s meeting. Now look, you said you wanted me to tell you frankly what’s going on. It’s quite simple: the whole world is arming. The Russians have a brand-new field artillery. Are you listening? The French are using their two-year conscription law to build up an enormous army. The Italians…”