The Sleepwalkers

by Hermann Broch

  He had really intended to go straight through to Badenweiler, and it was only when he saw the name of Saint-Goar station that he definitely decided to get off at Mannheim. Yes, and from Mannheim he would write to her; that would soothe her down—and Esch smiled tenderly as he thought of her desire to kill him; he might really give her the chance. In any case his visit to Badenweiler was a bit of a venture, a risk that might lose him everything, and it was only decent to hand over other people’s money first. The sentence “Human life isn’t to be lightly taken” occurred to him, and wove itself into the rhythm of the rolling wheels. He saw Mother Hentjen lifting a dainty revolver, and then he heard Harry saying again: “You’re not to do anything to him.” Then Lohberg too, and Ilona and Fräulein Erna and Balthasar Korn appeared in a row before him, and he was amazed to think he had not seen them for so long; perhaps they hadn’t been alive at all in the interval. They raised their arms in rhythmical measure to greet him, and it was as if an invisible and elegant showman were jerking them like marionettes on wires that suddenly revealed themselves. A third-class compartment is like a prison-cell, and up on the stage, high up on the left side where that tooth was missing, a grey screen from the side-wings suddenly came forward, a pasteboard screen behind which there was nothing save the dusty grey wall of the stage. But on the screen the word “Prison” appeared clearly, and although he knew that there was nothing behind it he knew all the same that there was Somebody in that prison, Somebody who did not exist and yet was the chief character in the play. But the stage, on which the pasteboard prison projected like a tooth, was cut off by an enormous back-drop on which a beautiful park was painted. Deer were grazing beneath mighty trees, and a girl dressed in shimmering spangles was plucking flowers. The gardener, in a wide-brimmed straw hat, his shining shears in his hand and a little dog beside him, was standing beside a dark lake whose fountain sent a crystal jet into the air like a glittering whip and spread coolness around. Far in the distance could be seen the lights and the ornamental outline of a magnificent castle with a black-white-and-red banner waving from the battlements. And that brought back all the uncertainty.

  Now that Esch was approaching Mannheim it came into his head that Erna had certainly been sleeping with Lohberg, that pure Joseph. There was really no question about it, it was to be taken for granted and was hardly worth thinking over, it was to be taken for granted as much as the nose on one’s face or the feet one walked on. Nothing and nobody could have shaken Esch’s conviction that this was so; what else could the couple have found to do together? And yet he was mistaken. For even though life does not offer much variety, and though very little is necessary to bring two people of opposite sexes to an understanding, there are many things that are less to be taken for granted than one would think. A man like Esch who is still entangled in the earthly life of day after day, or has risen only a very little way above it, can easily forget that there is a Kingdom of Heaven whose stability throws all that is earthly into uncertainty, so that it can suddenly become doubtful whether one does actually walk on one’s feet. In this case the fact was that Lohberg was restrained from crossing the boundary of idealistic and noble friendship partly by his shyness and partly by his unsleeping mistrust of the female sex, especially since sordid experience had taught him to dread the poison of sordid disease, and since he could not help remembering that Erna had been exposed to the attentions of a professed rake, living cheek by jowl with her. Lohberg was that kind of man. He merely went walking with Fräulein Erna Korn, drank coffee with her, and regarded his acquaintance with her as a time of probation and penance that would find its consummation only when a sign from on high was given him, the sign, so to speak, of true redeeming grace.

  Esch, of course, knew that the idiot was virtuous, but was incapable of conceiving the extent of his virtue, and even more incapable of realizing that he himself was still a cause of disquietude to Fräulein Erna, that he still disturbed her blood, if not her heart, and that it was probably on his account that she was in no hurry to give Lohberg the sign of redeeming grace, nay, even deliberately delayed it, regarding such delay as a proper preparation for the married state. These things Esch was incapable of divining, and still less that the pair of them found much pleasure in discovering grave defects in his character, and with their usual enthusiasm even believed that their common interest in his failings was a good foundation for a life-partnership.

  Innocent of these developments, Esch had reckoned on a ceremonious and joyous welcome. Instead of that, Fräulein Erna actually shrank when he appeared in the doorway. Oh, she said, quickly pulling herself together, it was indeed kind of Herr Esch to let his friends see him again, oh, it was really kind of Herr Esch to condescend to remember them after not having even taken the trouble to send them a line. And then she said: “Who pays the piper calls the tune,” with many other scathing remarks, so that Esch didn’t even get as far as the lobby. Korn, however, who had heard their voices, came out of the living-room in his shirt-sleeves, and since he was of coarser fibre than his sister and had never bestowed a thought on Esch for the past two months, and thus was not offended by his silence, but would rather have been blankly astonished had it ever occurred to Esch to write to him, Korn was quite overjoyed to see him, for not only did he remain attached to all that he had once known, he also saw in the newly arrived Esch a source of entertainment and a welcome provider of money for the use of the empty room. And Korn shook his guest’s hand with exclamations of delight, and was inviting him simply to walk into his old room again, which was waiting exclusively for him, when Fräulein Erna detained him and half turning to her brother said: she didn’t know if that arrangement would do. This roused Korn’s anger: “Why shouldn’t it do as it did before? If I say it does, it does.” Undoubtedly Esch, as a tactful man, should then have taken his leave with expressions of regret, but even if he had been tactful, which he was not, he was too intimate with the family to prevent curiosity from getting the upper hand of tact; what had been happening in his absence? And he simply stood rooted in astonishment. Meanwhile Fräulein Erna, who was also accustomed to plain speaking, satisfied his curiosity very quickly, for she hissed at her brother that a woman who was about to make a respectable marriage couldn’t be expected to take a strange man under her roof; as it was, she had enough disgrace to put up with in that house, and if her future husband wasn’t so magnanimous he would have made himself scarce already. Korn, in his vulgar way, retorted: “Papperlapap, shut your mouth. Esch is going to stay.” But Fräulein Erna’s hints drove all else out of Esch’s head, and he cried: “Well, what a surprise; my heartiest congratulations, Fräulein Erna, who’s the lucky man?” Fräulein Erna could do no less than accept his congratulations and intimate that she was on the point of coming to an agreement with Herr Lohberg. She took Esch’s arm and led him into the living-room. Yes, and her fiancé, too, would be with them in a moment or so. And as they stood talking of Lohberg Korn had the brilliant idea of hiding Esch in a dark corner so that the unsuspecting Lohberg might get a shock when Esch suddenly took part in the conversation like a ghost.

  When the bell rang in the lobby and Erna went to open the door, Esch obediently betook himself into a dark corner of the room. Korn, who remained sitting at the table, made imperious signs that he was to tuck himself still further in. For Korn was a man who set great store by technical perfection and was apt to grow angry if a hitch occurred in his arrangements. But it was not a fear of Korn’s anger that made Esch hold himself so still in his corner, no, he was not at all the man to be scared into a corner, nor was it a place of humiliation and punishment for him; of his own free will he flattened himself closer to the wall, heeding little whether his sleeve grazed the distemper or not, for in that shadowy retreat he became strangely and unexpectedly aware of a desire to increase the distance between himself and the others at the table. The few minutes that elapsed before Lohberg entered did not suffice for him to think it out clearly, but it came into his head that he was slippi
ng once more into that curious isolation which was somehow connected with Mannheim, and which forbade him to make common cause with the others, an insistent isolation that was, however, so pleasant to him that it could not be too solitary, and if he could only have got far enough into his corner, would have made him a redeemed and noble hermit withdrawn from the world, a spirit commanding the company at the table, who were bound to the flesh. It was a state that could not have lasted long, for such reflections are indulged in only when time does not allow of their being thought out to a conclusion, not to say acted upon, and Esch had already forgotten them by the time that Lohberg came in according to programme and was so thoroughly confounded that he was even glad to see the newcomer. Esch certainly did not quite belong to the company, no more than Ilona did, but when they were all sitting round the table they were as one family and cross-questioned each other about many things. And since these questions soon reached money matters, Esch proudly drew out his note-case and laid 1561 marks and 50 pfennigs on the table. Fräulein Erna stretched out her hand delightedly to gather in, as she thought, her investment plus the profits, but when Esch explained that she would get as much in the end, but meanwhile had to share that sum with Lohberg since half of her money was still invested, she cried that that was a loss instead of a profit. And even when he tried to make it clear to her, she would not listen to reason, but swore she was not to be taken in, she could count as well as anybody: if you please—she got out paper and pencil—219 marks, 25 pfennigs, she made it, there it was in black and white, and raging, she thrust the paper under Esch’s troubled nose. Lohberg kept his mouth shut, although as a business man he must have understood the situation well enough. Unwilling to get into trouble with his lady-love, the cowardly idiot. Esch said rudely: “I have my own sense of decency—apparently more than can be said of some people that are holding their tongues.” And he grabbed Erna’s arm, but not out of love; it was with most unloving anger and force that he banged her arm, paper and all, back on the table. Perhaps she had really understood the matter all along, or it might have been the firmness of Esch’s grip; in short Fräulein Erna fell silent. Korn, hitherto a detached spectator, merely remarked that Teltscher, the Jew, must be a rogue. Well, then, retorted Esch, he should tell that to the police, for every rogue should be reported instead of having innocent men locked up. And since Lohberg’s cowardly and disingenuous behaviour required punishment, he humiliated the fellow with the words: “As for innocent men, they’re forgotten. Has Herr Lohberg, for instance, ever paid a visit to poor Martin?” Erna, who was still cowed but filled with healthy resentment, replied that she knew of other people who forgot their friends, yes, even ruined them, and that it was Herr Esch’s business to bother about Martin. “That’s what I’ve come here for,” said Esch. “Aha,” said Fräulein Erna, “if it hadn’t been for that we should never have seen you again,” and hesitatingly, almost timidly, as if only because she was bound not to abandon a good quarrel, she added: “nor our money either.” Korn, however, who was a slow thinker, said: “You must have the Jew locked up.”

  That was, indeed, a remarkable solution of the problem, and although Esch had himself suggested it, he yearned to retort that it was merely a second-rate and partial solution compared with the much better, more radical, and as it were spiritual solution he now had an inkling of. What good would it do to lock up Teltscher for a month or two when Ilona would be exposed once more to knife-throwing? It struck him for the first time that Ilona wasn’t present, although she really ought to have been there; almost as if it were intended that she should not see him until his task was accomplished. Anyhow, task or no task—here he was, promising to pay up profits in full, even while he was thinking of the great sacrifice he was to make! If the balance was ever to be truly struck the wrestling matches simply would have to be a dead loss. And since that implied that the wrathful Erna’s money would be thrown away after all, he had a sense of guilt that was at bottom not at all unpleasant; but since it was no business of theirs he began to hector the others: so that was all the thanks he got, he was sorry he had ever troubled to bring the money, since that was how he was welcomed, but in any case he would write to Gernerth about the balance. He could do as he pleased, said Fräulein Erna spitefully. Then she would be good enough to write about it herself, for he had expressly disclaimed all responsibility. She certainly would not. Very well, then he would do it, for he was an honest man. “Indeed?” remarked Fräulein Erna. And so Esch demanded pen and paper and departed to his room without another look at those present.

  In his room he strode up and down as was his habit when agitated. Then he began to whistle, so that the others might not think he was annoyed, and perhaps also because he was feeling lonely. Soon he heard Erna and Lohberg coming into the lobby. They were very subdued; obviously Lohberg, coward that he was, was still trembling and rolling his pale eyes helplessly from side to side. As so often, Lohberg’s image called up Mother Hentjen’s. She, too, was helpless now, and had to submit to everything, poor woman. He listened to hear if Lohberg and Erna were abusing him. A fine predicament Mother Hentjen had landed him in with her silly jealousy; he needn’t have been here, he might have been in Badenweiler hours ago. But in the lobby all was quiet. Lohberg must have gone; and Esch sat down and wrote in his clerkly hand: “To Herr Alfred Gernerth, Theatre Manager, Alhambra Theatre, Cologne. Kindly remit my capital of 780.75 marks, in return for which I shall send you a final quittance. Respectfully yours.” With the letter in one hand and the inkpot and pen in the other he went straight across into Erna’s room.

  Erna, shuffling about in felt slippers, was just making down her bed, and Esch was amazed that she had managed to change her shoes so quickly. She was beginning to object to his intrusion when she remarked his equipment: “What are you doing with that rubbish?” He ordered her: “Sign here.” “I’ll sign no more for you.…” But meanwhile she had run her eye over the letter and went to the table with it: “All right,” with a shrug; it wouldn’t be of any use, the money was gone, thrown away, wasted, one would just have to put up with that; a man like Herr Esch, of course, didn’t give a straw. Her abuse of him once more roused his curious feeling of guilt towards her; oh, what about it, he would help her to get her money, and he seized her hand to show her where to sign. When she tried to snatch it from him he was again annoyed; he grasped her hand more firmly with most unloving force, and for the second time it happened that Fräulein Erna grew silent and defenceless. At first he did not notice this, but merely guided her hand for the signature, then, however, her oblique lizard-like glance as she looked up at him struck him as an invitation. And when he embraced her she laid her cheek close to his breast. The fact that she did so did not trouble him at all; he was little disposed to ask whether it was merely the echo of her old fancy for him, or whether she wanted to revenge herself for Lohberg’s lack of manliness, or—and that would have seemed most probable to Esch—whether she simply submitted because he happened to be there, because it was fated to happen, because they no longer had to wrangle over marriage. The situation had been cleared up: Erna had an admirer and he himself was going to America with Mother Hentjen; even his anger against Lohberg was allayed, and he almost felt a kind of tenderness for the idiot who was like Mother Hentjen in so many respects, and since Fräulein Erna must have taken over many of her wooer’s qualities, being so intimate with him, to embrace Erna was in a way, although in a far-off way, like embracing a piece of Mother Hentjen, and couldn’t be called unfaithfulness. Yet the recollection of their old quarrels was not yet quite banished, they still hesitated, there was a flash, as it were, of hostile chastity, and Esch was within an ace of returning to his own room, as of yore, without achieving anything. But of a sudden she said: “Hush!” and drew away from him: the main door outside had creaked, and Esch realized that Ilona had come in. They stood motionless. But when the footsteps outside died away and the door into the living-room, behind which Korn’s bedroom lay, was locked, they too were lock
ed in each other’s arms.

  As he crept later into his own bedroom he could not help thinking of Mother Hentjen, and that he had got off at Mannheim only to allay her jealous suspicions. That was all she got from her silly jealousy. Of course it had been only in joke, his threat to be unfaithful to her that very day. Yet it had turned out to be true, and it wasn’t his fault. Besides, it wasn’t really unfaithfulness; one could not so easily be unfaithful to a woman like that. All the same, it was a dirty thing to do. And why? Because he should have made a clean sweep of things and gone straight to the point; because in all decency he should have gone to Badenweiler instead of pandering to a woman’s silly jealousy. That was what he got for it. A fine predicament, but it couldn’t be helped now. Esch turned his face to the wall.

  He opened his eyes and recognized his old room; the bright morning sun was streaming through the curtains, and like a lance the fear transfixed him: wasn’t he late for the warehouse? but he remembered then that he was quit of the Central Rhine Shipping Company, that he was free and on holiday. Nobody had the power to waken him for judgment. He went on lying in bed, although it rather bored him, simply because he could lie as long as he chose. It was very likely, too, that Mother Hentjen would do him in, for she would never understand that he had been true to her after all; she would want to kill him, in any case, and that alone brought a comforting assurance of freedom. The man who is about to die is free, and he who is redeemed into freedom has taken death upon him. He could see the battlements of a castle on which a black flag drooped quietly, yet it might have been the Eiffel Tower, for who can distinguish the future from the past? In the park was a grave, the grave of a girl, the grave of a girl transfixed by a knife. In the face of death all things are permissible, free, gratis, so to speak, and strangely inconsequent. A man might make up to any woman in the street and ask her to sleep with him, and it would have the same pleasant inconsequence as sleeping with Erna, whom he would leave behind to-day or to-morrow when he journeyed into the darkness. He could hear her bustling about in the flat, the bony little creature, and he lay waiting for her to come in as she used to, for one must make hay while the sun shines. That the freedom to be unfaithful had first to be paid for by an act of unfaithfulness, and that all the same one desired to be killed for it, was certainly more than Mother Hentjen would ever understand; what did she know of such complicated balancing? Or how could she ever trace the falsifications that are so cunningly insinuated into the world, that only a skilled accountant could dare to die a redeemer’s death? For the slightest error if overlooked could make the whole structure of freedom totter. At that point he heard Fräulein Erna’s voice from the kitchen: “May I bring my lord his coffee now?” “No,” shouted Esch, “I’ll be there in a minute,” sprang out of his bed, had his clothes on in a twinkling, drank his coffee and was down at the tramway stop in no time, himself astounded at the speed with which he had moved. The tram bound towards the prison had not yet arrived, and it was only because he had to wait that Esch wondered whether it was merely the thought of his visit to Martin that had driven him out of bed so quickly, or whether it was Erna’s voice that was responsible. It wasn’t a pleasant voice, especially when she was scolding, as on the previous evening. But Esch wasn’t the man to be spurred by a sharp tongue. So it couldn’t have been her voice, or else he would have been driven out of the flat long ago, as on that occasion, for instance, when she had called him into the kitchen to look at the sleeping Ilona. As for Ilona, he had no need to set eyes on her again, neither here nor anywhere else. And it would be best to keep these things at a distance, to refuse to admit that he had probably fled from Erna and her evil lusts, from that inconsequent lust in which he was to be involved henceforward, but which could not face the daylight, since night alone was the time for freedom.