great length; and empty a glass to love and to woman. Beautiful she
is and lovely, if she be considered æsthetically. That is undeniable.
But, as has often been said, and as I shall say also: one ought not to
remain standing here, but should go on.[36] Consider her, then,
ethically and you will hardly have begun to do so before the humor
of it will become apparent. Even Plato and Aristotle assume that
woman is an imperfect form, an irrational quantity, that is, one
which might some time, in a better world, be transformed into a
man. In this life one must take her as she is. And what this is becomes
apparent very soon; for she will not be content with the æsthetic
sphere, but goes on, she wants to become emancipated, and she has the
courage to say so. Let her wish be fulfilled and the amusement will be
simply incomparable.
When Constantin had finished speaking he forthwith ruled Victor
Eremita to begin. He spoke as follows:
(Victor Eremita's Speech)
As will be remembered, Plato offers thanks to the gods for four
things. In the fourth place he is grateful for having been permitted
to be a contemporary of Socrates. For the three other boons mentioned
by him,[37] an earlier Greek philosopher[38] had already thanked
the gods, and so I conclude that they are worthy our gratitude. But
alas!--even if I wanted to express my gratitude like these Greeks I
would not be able to do so for what was denied me. Let me then
collect my soul in gratitude for the one good which was conferred
on me also--that I was made a man and not a woman.
To be a woman is something so curious, so heterogeneous and
composite that no predicate will fully express these qualities;
and if I should use many predicates they would contradict one
another in such fashion that only a woman would be able to tolerate
the result and, what is worse, feel happy about it. The fact that
she really signifies less than man--that is not her misfortune,
and still less so if she got to know it, for it might be borne
with fortitude. No, her misfortune consists in her life's having
become devoid of fixed meaning through a romantic conception of
things, by virtue of which, now she signifies all, and now, nothing at
all; without ever finding out what she really does signify--and
even that is not her misfortune but, rather, the fact that, being
a woman, she never will be able to find out. As for myself, if I
were a woman, I should prefer to be one in the Orient and as a
slave; for to be a slave, neither more nor less, is at any rate
something, in comparison with being, now heyday, now nothing.
Even if a woman's life did not contain such contrasts, the distinction
she enjoys, and which is rightly assumed to be hers as a woman--a
distinction she does not share with man--would by itself point to
the meaninglessness of her life. The distinction I refer to is
that of gallantry. To be gallant to woman is becoming in men. Now
gallantry consists very simply in conceiving in fantastic categories
that person to whom one is gallant. To be gallant to a man is,
therefore, an insult, for he begs to be excused from the application
of fantastic categories to him. For the fair sex, however, gallantry
signifies a tribute, a distinction, which is essentially its
privilege. Ah me, if only a single cavalier were gallant to them
the case would not be so serious. But far from it! At bottom every
man is gallant, he is unconsciously so. This signifies, therefore,
that it is life itself which has bestowed this perquisite on the
fair sex. Woman on her part unconsciously accepts it. Here we have
the same trouble again; for if only a single woman did so, another
explanation would be necessary. This is life's characteristic irony.
Now if gallantry contained the truth it ought to be reciprocal,
i.e., gallantry would be the accepted quotation for the stated
difference between beauty on the one hand, and power, astuteness,
and strength, on the other. But this is not the case, gallantry
is essentially woman's due; and the fact that she unconsciously
accepts it may be explained through the solicitude of nature
for the weak and those treated in a step-motherly fashion by her,
who feel more than recompensed by an illusion. But precisely this
illusion is her misfortune. It is not seldom the case that nature
comes to the assistance of an afflicted creature by consoling him
with the notion that he is the most beautiful. If that is so, why,
then we may say that nature made good the deficiency since now
the creature is endowed with even more than could be reasonably
demanded. But to be beautiful only in one's imagination, and not
to be overcome, indeed, by sadness, but to be fooled into an
illusion--why, that is still worse mockery. Now, as to being
afflicted, woman certainly is far from having been treated in a
step-motherly fashion by nature; still she is so in another sense
inasmuch as she never can free herself from the illusion with which
life has consoled her.
Gathering together one's impressions of a woman's existence,
in order to point out its essential features, one is struck by
the fact that every woman's life gives one an entirely fantastic
impression. In a far more decisive sense than man she may be said
to have turning points in her career; for her turning points
turn everything upside down. In one of Tieck's[39] Romantic dramas
there occurs a person who, having once been king of Mesopotamia,
now is a green-grocer in Copenhagen. Exactly as fantastic is
every feminine existence. If the girl's name is Juliana, her life
is as follows: erstwhile empress in the wide domains of love,
and titular queen of all the exaggerations of tomfoolery; now,
Mrs. Peterson, corner Bath Street.
When a child, a girl is less highly esteemed than a boy. When a
little older, one does not know exactly what to make of her. At
last she enters that decisive period in which she holds absolute
sway. Worshipfully man approaches her as a suitor. Worshipfully,
for so does every suitor, it is not the scheme of a crafty deceiver.
Even the executioner, when laying down his _fasces_ to go a-wooing,
even he bends his knee, although he is willing to offer himself up,
within a short time, to domestic executions which he finds so natural
that he is far from seeking any excuse for them in the fact that
public executions have grown so few. The cultured person behaves in
the very same manner. He kneels, he worships, he conceives his
lady-love in the most fantastic categories; and then he very quickly
forgets his kneeling position--in fact, he knew, full well the while
he knelt that it was fantastic to do so.
If I were a woman I would prefer to be sold by my father to the
highest bidder, as is the custom in the Orient; for there is at
least some sense in such a deal. What misfortune to have been born
a woman! Yet her misfortune really consists in her not being able
to comprehend it, being a woman. If she does complain, she complains
rather about her Oriental, than her Occidental, status. But if I
were a woman I would first of all refuse to be wooed, and resign
myself to belong to the weaker sex, if such is the case, and
be careful--which is most important if one is proud--of not going
beyond the truth. However, that is of but little concern to her.
Juliana is in the seventh heaven, and Mrs. Peterson submits to
her fate.
Let me, then, thank the gods that I was born a man and not a woman.
And still, how much do I forego! For is not all poetry, from the
drinking song to the tragedy, a deification of woman? All the worse
for her and for him who admires her; for if he does not look out
he will, all of a sudden, have to pull a long face. The beautiful,
the excellent, all of man's achievement, owes its origin to woman,
for she inspires him. Woman is, indeed, the inspiring element in life.
How many a love-lorn shepherd has played on this theme, and how many
a shepherdess has listened to it! Verily, my soul is without envy
and feels only gratitude to the gods; for I would rather be a man,
though in humble station, but really so, than be a woman and an
indeterminate quantity, rendered happy by a delusion--I would rather
be a concrete thing, with a small but definite meaning, than an
abstraction which is to mean all.
As I have said, it is through woman that ideality is born into
the world and--what were man without her! There is many a man who
has become a genius through a woman, many a one a hero, many a one
a poet, many a one even a saint; but he did not become a genius
through the woman he married, for through her he only became a
privy councillor; he did not become a hero through the woman he
married, for through her he only became a general; he did not
become a poet through the woman he married, for through her he
only became a father; he did not become a saint through the woman
he married, for he did not marry, and would have married but
one--the one whom he did not marry; just as the others became
a genius, became a hero, became a poet through the help of the
woman they did not marry. If woman's ideality were in itself
inspiring, why, then the inspiring woman would be the one to
whom a man is united for life. But life tells a different story.
It is only by a negative relation to her that man is rendered
productive in his ideal endeavors. In this sense she is inspiring;
but to say that she is inspiring, without qualifying one's statement,
is to be guilty of a paralogism[40] which one must be a woman to
overlook. Or has any one ever heard of any man having become a
poet through his wife? So long as man does not possess her she
inspires him. It is this truth which gives rise to the illusions
entertained in poetry and by women. The fact that he does not possess
her signifies, either, that he is still fighting for her--thus
has woman inspired many a one and rendered him a knight; but has
any one ever heard of any man having been rendered a knight valiant
through his wife? Or, the fact that he does not possess her signifies
that he cannot obtain her by any manner of means--thus has woman
inspired many a one and roused his ideality; that is, if there is
anything in him worth while. But a wife, who has things ever so
much worth while for her husband, will hardly arouse any ideal
strivings in him. Or, again, the fact that he does not possess
her signifies that he is pursuing an ideal. Perchance he loves
many, but loving many is also a kind of unrequited love; and yet
the ideality of his soul is to be seen in this striving and yearning,
and not in the small bits of lovableness which make up the sum
total of the contributions of all those he loves.
The highest ideality a woman can arouse in a man consists, in fact,
in the awakening within him of the consciousness of immortality.
The point of this proof lies in what one might call the necessity
of a reply. Just as one may remark about some play that it cannot
end without this or that person getting in his say, likewise
(says ideality) our existence cannot be all over with death: I
demand a reply! This proof is frequently furnished, in a positive
fashion, in the public advertiser. I hold that to be entirely proper,
for if proof is to be made in the public advertiser it must be made
in a positive fashion. Thus: Mrs. Petersen, we learn, has lived a
number of years, until in the night of the 24th it pleased Providence,
etc. . This produces in Mr. Petersen an attack of reminiscences from
his courting days or, to express it quite plainly, nothing but seeing
her again will ever console him. For this blissful meeting he
prepares himself, in the meanwhile, by taking unto himself another
wife; for, to be sure, this marriage is by no means as poetic as the
first--still it is a good imitation. This is the proof positive. Mr.
Petersen is not satisfied with demanding a reply, no, he wants a
meeting again in the hereafter.
As is well known, a base metal will often show the gleam of precious
metal. This is the brief silver-gleam. With respect to the base
metal this is a tragic moment, for it must once for all resign itself
to being a base metal. Not so with Mr. Petersen. The possession of
ideality is by rights inherent in every person--and now, if I laugh
at Mr. Petersen it is not because he, being in reality of base metal,
had but a single silver-gleam; but, rather, because just this
silver-gleam betrays his having become a base metal. Thus does the
philistine look most ridiculous when, arrayed in ideality, he affords
fitting occasion to say, with Holberg: "What! does that cow wear a
fine dress, too?[41]"
The case is this: whenever a woman arouses ideality in man, and
thereby the consciousness of immortality, she always does so
negatively. He who really became a genius, a hero, a poet, a saint
through woman, he has by that very fact seized on the essence of
immortality. Now if the inspiring element were positively present
in woman, why, then a man's wife, and only his wife, ought to
awaken in him the consciousness of immortality. But the reverse
holds true. That is, if she is really to awaken ideality in
her husband she must die. Mr. Petersen, to be sure, is not affected,
for all that. But if woman, by her death, does awaken man's ideality,
then is she indeed the cause of all the great things poetry
attributes to her; but note well: that which she did in a positive
fashion for him in no wise roused his ideality. In fact, her
significance in this regard becomes the more doubtful the longer
she lives, because she will at length really begin to wish to
signify something positive. However, the more positive the proof
the less it proves; for then Mr. Petersen's longing will be for
some past common experiences whose content was, to all intents
and purposes, exhausted when they were had. Most positive of all
the proof becomes if the object of his longing concerns their
marital spooning--that time when they visited the Deer Park
together! In the same way one might suddenly feel a longing for
the old pair of slippers one used to be so comfortable in; but
that proof is not exactly a proof for the immortality of the soul.
On the other hand, the more negative the proof, the better it is;
for the negative is higher than the positive, inasmuch as it
concerns our immortality, and is thus the only positive value.
Woman's main significance lies in her negative contribution,
whereas her positive contributions are as nothing in comparison
but, on the contrary, pernicious. It is this truth which life keeps
from her, consoling her with an illusion which surpasses all that
might arise in any man's brain, and with parental care ordering
life in such fashion that both language and everything else confirm
her in her illusion. For even if she be conceived as the very opposite
of inspiring, and rather as the well-spring of all corruption;
whether now we imagine that with her, sin came into the world, or
that it is her infidelity which ruined all--our conception of her
is always gallant. That is, when hearing such opinions one might
readily assume that woman were really able to become infinitely
more culpable than man, which would, indeed, amount to an immense
acknowledgment of her powers. Alas, alas! the case is entirely
different. There is a secret reading of this text which woman
cannot comprehend; for, the very next moment, all life owns to the
same conception as the state, which makes man responsible for his
wife. One condemns her as man never is condemned (for only a real
sentence is passed on him, and there the matter ends), not with
her receiving a milder sentence; for in that case not all of her
life would be an illusion, but with the case against her being
dismissed and the public, i.e., life, having to defray the costs.
One moment, woman is supposed to be possessed of all possible
wiles, the next moment, one laughs at him whom she deceived, which
surely is a contradiction. Even such a case as that of Potiphar's
wife does not preclude the possibility of her having really been
seduced. Thus has woman an enormous possibility, such as no man
has--an enormous possibility; but her reality is in proportion.
And most terrible of all is the magic of illusion in which she
feels herself happy.
Let Plato then thank the gods for having been born a contemporary
of Socrates: I envy him; let him offer thanks for being a Greek:
I envy him; but when he is grateful for having been born a man
and not a woman I join him with all my heart. If I had been born
a woman and could under stand what now I can understand--it were
terrible! But if I had been born a woman and therefore could not
understand it--that were still more terrible!
But if the case is as I stated it, then it follows that one had
better refrain from any positive relation with woman. Wherever she
is concerned one has to reckon with that inevitable hiatus which
renders her happy as she does not detect the illusion, but which
would be a man's undoing if he detected it.
I thank the gods, then, that I was born a man and not a woman;
and I thank them, furthermore, that no woman by some life-long
attachment holds me in duty bound to be constantly reflecting
that it ought not to have been.
Indeed, what a passing strange device is marriage! And what makes
it all the stranger is the suggestion that it is to be a step
taken without thought. And yet no step is more decisive, for nothing
in life is as inexorable and masterful as the marriage tie. And now
so important a step as marriage ought, so we are told, to be taken
without reflection! Yet marriage is not something simple but something
immensely complex and indeterminate. Just as the meat of the turtle
smacks of all kinds of meat, so likewise does marriage have a taste
of all manner of things; and just as the turtle is a sluggish animal,
likewise is marriage a sluggish thing. Falling in love is, at least,
a simple thing, but marriage--! Is it something heathen or something
Christian, something spiritual or something profane, or something
civil, or something of all things? Is it an expression of an
inexplicable love, the elective affinity of souls in delicate accord
with one another; or is it a duty, or a partnership, or a mere
convenience, or the custom of certain countries--or is it a duty,
or a partnership, or a mere convenience, or the custom of certain
countries--or is it a little of all these? Is one to order the
music for it from the town musician or the organist, or is one to
have a little from both? Is it the minister or the police sergeant
who is to make the speech and enroll the names in the book of
life--or in the town register? Does marriage blow a tune on a
comb, or does it listen to the whisperings "like to those of the
fairies from the grottoes of a summer night"?[42]
And now every Darby imagines he performed such a potpourri, such
incomparably complex music, in getting married--and imagines that
he is still performing it while living a married life! My dear
fellow-banqueters, ought we not, in default of a wedding present
and congratulations, give each of the conjugal partners a demerit
for repeated inattentiveness? It is taxing enough to express a
single idea in one's life; but to think something so complicated
as marriage and, consequently, bring it under one head; to think
something so complicated and yet to do justice to each and every
element in it, and have everything present at the same time--verily,
he is a great man who can accomplish all this! And still every
Benedict accomplishes it--so he does, no doubt; for does he not
say that he does it unconsciously? But if this is to be done
unconsciously it must be through some higher form of unconsciousness
permeating all one's reflective powers. But not a word is said
about this! And to ask any married man about it means just wasting
one's time.
He who has once committed a piece of folly will constantly be
pursued by its consequences. In the case of marriage the folly
consists in one's having gotten into a mess, and the punishment,
in recognizing, when it is too late, what one has done. So you will
find that the married man, now, becomes chesty, with a bit of
pathos, thinking he has done something remarkable in having entered
wedlock; now, puts his tail between his legs in dejection; then
again, praises marriage in sheer self-defense. But as to a thought-unit
which might serve to hold together the _disjecta membra_[43]
of the most heterogeneous conceptions of life contained in marriage--for
that we shall wait in vain.
Therefore, to be a mere Benedict is humbug, and to be a seducer is
humbug, and to wish to experiment with woman for the sake of "the
joke" is also humbug. In fact, the two last mentioned methods will
be seen to involve concessions to woman on the part of man quite
as large as those found in marriage. The seducer wishes to rise
in his own estimation by deceiving her; but this very fact that
he deceives and wishes to deceive--that he cares to deceive, is
also a demonstration of his dependence on woman. And the same
holds true of him who wishes to experiment with her.
If I were to imagine any possible relation with woman it would
be one so saturated with reflection that it would, for that very
reason, no longer be any relation with her at all. To be an excellent
husband and yet on the sly seduce every girl; to seem a seducer and
yet harbor within one all the ardor of romanticism--there would be
something to that, for the concession in the first instance were
then annihilated in the second. Certain it is that man finds his
true ideality only in such a reduplication. All merely unconscious
existence must be obliterated, and its obliteration ever cunningly
guarded by some sham expression. Such a reduplication is incomprehensible
to woman, for it removes from her the possibility of expressing man's
true nature in one term. If it were, possible for woman to exist in
such a reduplication, no erotic relation with her were thinkable. But,
her nature being such as we all know it to be, any disturbance of the
erotic relation is brought about by man's true nature which ever
consists precisely in the annihilation of that in which she has
her being.
Am I then preaching the monastic life and rightly called Eremita? By
no means. You may as well eliminate the cloister, for after all it
is only a direct expression of spirituality and as such but a vain
endeavor to express it in direct terms. It makes small difference
whether you use gold, or silver, or paper money; but he who does not
spend a farthing but is counterfeit, he will comprehend me. He
to whom every direct expression is but a fraud, he and he only,
is safeguarded better than if he lived in a cloister-cell--he
will be a hermit even if he travelled in an omnibus day and night.
Scarcely had Victor finished when the Dressmaker jumped to his feet
and threw over a bottle of wine standing before him; then he spoke
as follows:
(The Dressmaker's Speech)
Well spoken, dear fellow-banqueters, well spoken! The longer I hear
you speak the more I grow convinced that you are fellow-conspirators--I
greet you as such, I understand you as such; for fellow-conspirators
one can make out from afar. And yet, what know you? What does your
bit of theory to which you wish to give the appearance of experience,
your bit of experience which you make over into a theory--what does
it amount to? For every now and then you believe her a moment
and--are caught in a moment! No, I know woman--from her weak side,
that is to say, I know her. I shrink from no means to make sure about
what I have learned; for I am a madman, and a madman one must be to
understand her, and if one has not been one before, one will become
a madman, once one understands her. The robber has his hiding place
by the noisy high-road, and the ant-lion his funnel in the loose
sand, and the pirate his haunts by the roaring sea: likewise have
I may fashion-shop in the very midst of the teeming streets, seductive,
irresistible to woman as is the Venusberg to men. There, in a
fashion-shop, one learns to know woman, in a practical way and
without any theoretical ado.
Now, if fashion meant nothing than that woman in the heat of her
desire threw off all her clothing--why, then it would stand for
something. But this is not the case, fashion is not plain sensuality,
not tolerated debauchery, but an illicit trade in indecency authorized
as proper. And, just as in heathen Prussia the marriageable girl
wore a bell whose ringing served as a signal to the men, likewise
is a woman's existence in fashion a continual bell-ringing, not
for debauchees but for lickerish voluptuaries. People hold Fortune
to be a woman--ah, yes it is, to be sure, fickle; still, it is fickle
in something, as it may also give much; and insofar it is not a
woman. No; but fashion is a woman, for fashion is fickleness in
nonsense, and is consistent only in its becoming ever more crazy.
One hour in my shop is worth more than days and years without, if
it really be one's desire to learn to know woman; in my shop, for
it is the only one in the capital, there is no thought of competition.
Who, forsooth, would dare to enter into competition with one who
has entirely devoted himself, and is still devoting himself, as
high-priest in this idol worship? No, there is not a distinguished
assemblage which does not mention my name first and last; and
there is not a middle-class gathering where my name, whenever
mentioned, does not inspire sacred awe, like that of the king;
and there is no dress so idiotic but is accompanied by whispers
of admiration when its owner proceeds down the hall--provided
it bears my name; and there is not the lady of gentle birth who
dares pass my shop by, nor the girl of humble origin but passes
it sighing and thinking: if only I could afford it! Well, neither
was she deceived. I deceive no one; I furnish the finest goods
and the most costly, and at the lowest price, indeed, I sell
below cost. The fact is, I do not wish to make a profit. On the
contrary, every year I sacrifice large sums. And yet do I mean
to win, I mean to, I shall spend my last farthing in order to
corrupt, in order to bribe, the tools of fashion so that I may
win the game. To me it is a delight beyond compare to unroll
the most precious stuffs, to cut them out, to clip pieces from
genuine Brussels-lace, in order to make a fool's costume--I sell
to the lowest prices, genuine goods and in style.
You believe, perhaps, that woman wants to be dressed fashionably
only at certain times? No such thing, she wants to be so all the
time and that is her only thought. For a woman does have a mind,
only it is employed about as well as is the Prodigal Son's substance;
and woman does possess the power of reflection in an incredibly high
degree, for there is nothing so holy but she will in no time
discover it to be reconcilable with her finery--and the chiefest
expression of finery is fashion. What wonder if she does discover
it to be reconcilable; for is not fashion holy to her? And there
is nothing so insignificant but she certainly will know how to
make it count in her finery--and the most fatuous expression of
finery is fashion. And there is nothing, nothing in all her attire,
not the least ribbon, of whose relation to fashion she has not a
definite conception and concerning which she is not immediately
aware whether the lady who just passed by noticed it; because,
for whose benefit does she dress, if not for other ladies!
Even in my shop where she comes to be fitted out _à la mode_,
even there she is in fashion. Just as there is a special bathing
costume and a special riding habit, likewise there is a particular
kind of dress which it is the fashion to wear to the dressmaker's
shop. That costume is not _insouciant_ in the same sense as is
the negligée a lady is pleased to be surprised in, earlier in the
forenoon, where the point is her belonging to the fair sex and
the coquetry lies in her letting herself be surprised. The dressmaker
costume, on the other hand, is calculated to be nonchalant and a
bit careless without her being embarrassed thereby; because a
dressmaker stands in a different relation to her from a cavalier.
The coquetry here consists in thus showing herself to a man who,
by reason of his station, does not presume to ask for the lady's
womanly recognition, but must be content with the perquisites
which fall abundantly to his share, without her ever thinking
of it; or without it even so much as entering her mind to play
the lady before a dressmaker. The point is, therefore, that her
being of the opposite sex is, in a certain sense, left out of
consideration, and her coquetry invalidated, by the superciliousness
of the noble lady who would smile if any one alluded to any
relation existing between her and her dressmaker. When visited
in her negligée she conceals herself, thus displaying her charms
by this very concealment. In my shop she exposes her charms with
the utmost nonchalance, for he is only a dressmaker--and she is
a woman. Now, her shawl slips down and bares some part of her
body, and if I did not know what that means, and what she expects,
my reputation would be gone to the winds. Now, she draws herself
up, _a priori_ fashion, now she gesticulates _a posteriori_;
now, she sways to and fro in her hips; now, she looks at herself
in the mirror and sees my admiring phiz behind her in the glass;
now, she minces her words; now, she trips along with short steps;
now, she hovers; now, she draws her foot after her in a slovenly
fashion; now, she lets herself sink softly into an arm-chair,
whilst I with humble demeanor offer her a flask of smelling salts
and with my adoration assuage her agitation; now, she strikes
after me playfully; now, she drops her handkerchief and, without
as much as a single motion, lets her relaxed arm remain in its
pendent position, whilst I bend down low to pick it up and return
it to her, receiving a little patronizing nod as a reward. These
are the ways of a lady of fashion when in my shop. Whether Diogenes[44]
made any impression on the woman who was praying in a somewhat
unbecoming posture, when he asked her whether she did not believe
the gods could see her from behind--that I do not know; but
this I do know, that if I should say to her ladyship kneeling
down in church: "The folds of your gown do not fall according
to fashion," she would be more alarmed than if she had given
offense to the gods. Woe to the outcast, the male Cinderella,
who has not comprehended this! _Pro dii immortales_,[45] what,
pray, is a woman who is not in fashion; _per deos obsecro_,[46]
and what when she is in fashion!
Whether all this is true? Well, make trial of it: let the swain,
when his beloved one sinks rapturously on his breast, whispering
unintelligibly: "thine forever," and hides her head on his bosom--let
him but say to, her: "My sweet Kitty, your coiffure is not at
all in fashion."--Possibly, men don't give thought to this; but he
who knows it, and has the reputation of knowing it, he is the most
dangerous man in the kingdom. What blissful hours the lover passes
with his sweetheart before marriage I do not know; but of the
blissful hours she spends in my shop he hasn't the slightest
inkling, either. Without my special license and sanction a marriage
is null and void, anyway--or else an entirely plebeian affair. Let
it be the very moment when they are to meet before the altar, let
her step forward with the very best conscience in the world that
everything was bought in my shop and tried on there--and now, if
I were to rush up and exclaim: "But mercy! gracious lady, your
myrtle wreath is all awry"--why, the whole ceremony might be
postponed, for aught I know. But men do not suspect these things,
one must be a dressmaker to know.
So immense is the power of reflection needed to fathom a woman's
thought that only a man who dedicates himself wholly to the task
will succeed, and even then only if gifted to start with. Happy
therefore the man who does not associate with any woman, for she
is not his, anyway, even if she be no other man's; for she is
possessed by that phantom born of the unnatural intercourse of
woman's reflection with itself, fashion. Do you see, for this
reason should woman always swear by fashion--then were there
some force in her oath; for after all, fashion is the thing she
is always thinking of, the only thing she can think together with,
and into, everything. For instance, the glad message has gone
forth from my shop to all fashionable ladies that fashion decrees
the use of a particular kind of head-dress to be worn in church,
and that this head-dress, again, must be somewhat different for
High Mass and for the afternoon service. Now when the bells are
ringing the carriage stops in front of my door. Her ladyship
descends (for also this has been decreed, that no one can adjust
that head-dress save I, the fashion-dealer), I rush out, making
low bows, and lead her into my cabinet. And whilst she languishingly
reposes I put everything in order. Now she is ready and has looked
at herself in the mirror; quick as any messenger of the gods I
hasten in advance, open the door of my cabinet with a bow, then
hasten to the door of my shop and lay my arm on my breast, like
some oriental slave; but, encouraged by a gracious courtesy, I
even dare to throw her an adoring and admiring kiss--now she
is seated in her carriage--oh dear! she left her hymn book behind.
I hasten out again and hand it to her through the carriage window,
I permit myself once more to remind her to hold her head a trifle
more to the right, and herself to arrange things, should her
head-dress become a bit disordered when descending. She drives
away and is edified.
You believe, perhaps, that it is only great ladies who worship
fashion, but far from it! Look at my sempstresses for whose dress
I spare no expense, so that the dogmas of fashion may be proclaimed
most emphatically from my shop. They form a chorus of half-witted
creatures, and I myself lead them on as high-priest, as a shining
example, squandering all, solely in order to make all womankind
ridiculous. For when a seducer makes the boast that every woman's
virtue has its price, I do not believe him; but I do believe that
every woman at an early time will be crazed by the maddening and
defiling introspection taught her by fashion, which will corrupt
her more thoroughly than being seduced. I have made trial more
than once. If not able to corrupt her myself I set on her a few
of fashion's slaves of her own station; for just as one may train
rats to bite rats, likewise is the crazed woman's sting like that
of the tarantula. And most especially dangerous is it when some
man lends his help.
Whether I serve the Devil or God I do not know; but I am right, I
shall be right, I will be, so long as I possess a single farthing,
I will be until the blood spurts out of my fingers. The physiologist
pictures the shape of woman to show the dreadful effects of wearing
a corset, and beside it he draws a picture of her normal figure.
That is all entirely correct, but only one of the drawings has the
validity of truth: they all wear corsets. Describe, therefore,
the miserable, stunted perversity of the fashion-mad woman,
describe the insidious introspection devouring her, and then
describe the womanly modesty which least of all knows about
itself--do so and you have judged woman, have in very truth
passed terrible sentence on her. If ever I discover such a girl
who is contented and demure and not yet corrupted by indecent
intercourse with women--she shall fall nevertheless. I shall
catch her in my toils, already she stands at the sacrificial
altar, that is to say, in my shop. With the most scornful glance
a haughty nonchalance can assume I measure her appearance, she
perishes with fright; a peal of laughter from the adjoining room
where sit my trained accomplices annihilates her. And afterwards,
when I have gotten her rigged up _à la mode_ and she looks crazier
than a lunatic, as crazy as one who would not be accepted even
in a lunatic asylum, then she leaves me in a state of bliss--no
man, not even a god, were able to inspire fear in her; for is
she not dressed in fashion?
Do you comprehend me now, do you comprehend why I call you
fellow-conspirators, even though in a distant way? Do you now
comprehend my conception of woman? Everything in life is a matter
of fashion, the fear of God is a matter of fashion, and so are
love, and crinolines, and a ring through the nose. To the utmost
of my ability will I therefore come to the support of the exalted
genius who wishes to laugh at the most ridiculous of all animals.
If woman has reduced everything to a matter of fashion, then will
I, with the help of fashion, prostitute her, as she deserves to
be; I have no peace, I the dressmaker, my soul rages when I think
of my task--she will yet be made to wear a ring through her nose.
Seek therefore no sweetheart, abandon love as you would the most
dangerous neighborhood; for the one whom you love would also be
made to go with a ring through her nose.
Thereupon John, called the Seducer, spoke as follows:
(The Speech of John the Seducer)
My dear boon companions, is Satan plaguing you? For, indeed, you
speak like so many hired mourners, your eyes are red with tears
and not with wine. You almost move me to tears also, for an
unhappy lover does have a miserable time of it in life. _Hinc illae
lacrimae._[47] I, however, am a happy lover, and my only wish
is to remain so. Very possibly, that is one of the concessions
to woman which Victor is so afraid of. Why not? Let it be a
concession! Loosening the lead foil of this bottle of champagne
also is a concession; letting its foaming contents flow into my
glass also is a concession; and so is raising it to my lips--now
I drain it--_concedo._[48] Now, however, it is empty, hence I
need no more concessions. Just the same with girls. If some
unhappy lover has bought his kiss too dearly, this proves to
me only that he does not know, either how to take what is coming
to him or how to do it. I never pay too much for this sort of
thing--that is a matter for the girls to decide. What this signifies?
To me it signifies the most beautiful, the most delicious, and
well-nigh the most persuasive, _argumentum ad hominem_; but since
every woman, at least once in her life, possesses this argumentative
freshness I do not see any reason why I should not let myself be
persuaded. Our young friend wishes to make this experience in
his thought. Why not buy a cream puff and be content with looking
at it? I mean to enjoy. No mere talk for me! Just as an old song
has it about a kiss: _es ist kaum zu sehn, es ist nur für Lippen,
die genau sich verstehn_[49]--understand each other so exactly
that any reflection about the matter is but an impertinence and
a folly. He who is twenty and does not grasp the existence of the
categorical imperative "enjoy thyself"--he is a fool; and he who
does not seize the opportunity is and remains a Christianfelder.[50]
However, you all are unhappy lovers, and that is why you are not
satisfied with woman as she is. The gods forbid! As she is she
pleases me, just as she is. Even Constantin's category of "the joke"
seems to contain a secret desire. I, on the other hand, I am gallant.
And why not? Gallantry costs nothing and gives one all and is the
condition for all erotic pleasure. Gallantly is the Masonic language
of the senses and of voluptuousness, between man and woman. It is a
natural language, as love's language in general is. It consists not
of sounds but of desires disguised and of ever changing wishes. That
an unhappy lover may be ungallant enough to wish to convert his
deficit into a draught payable in immortality--that I understand
well enough. That is to say, I for my part do not understand it;
for to me a woman has sufficient intrinsic value. I assure every
woman of this, it is the truth; and at the same time it is certain
that I am the only one who is not deceived by this truth. As to
whether a despoiled woman is worth less than man--about that I
find no information in my price list. I do not pick flowers already
broken, I leave them to the married men to use for Shrove-tide
decoration. Whether e. g. Edward wishes to consider the matter
again, and again fall in love with Cordelia,[51] or simply repeat
the affair in his reflection--that is his own business. Why
should I concern myself with other peoples' affairs! I explained
to her at an earlier time what I thought of her; and, in truth,
she convinced me, convinced me to my absolute satisfaction, that
my gallantry was well applied.
_Concedo. Concessi._[52] If I should meet with another Cordelia,
why then I shall enact a comedy "Ring number 2.[53]" But you
are unhappy lovers and have conspired together, and are worse
deceived than the girls, notwithstanding that you are richly
endowed by nature. But decision--the decision of desire, is the
most essential thing in life. Our young friend will always remain
an onlooker. Victor is an unpractical enthusiast. Constantin has
acquired his good sense at too great a cost; and the fashion
dealer is a madman. Stuff and nonsense! With all four of you busy
about one girl, nothing would come of it.
Let one have enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough to join
in the clinking of glasses at the festive board of enjoyment, sense
enough to break off--to break off absolutely, as does Death, madness
enough to wish to enjoy all over again--if you have all that you
will be the favorite of gods and girls.
But of what avail to speak here? I do not intend to make proselytes.
Neither is this the place for that. To be sure I love wine, to be
sure I love the abundance of a banquet--all that is good; but let
a girl be my company, and then I shall be eloquent. Let then
Constantin have my thanks for the banquet, and the wine, and the
excellent appointments--the speeches, however, were but indifferent.
But in order that things shall have a better ending I shall
now pronounce a eulogy on woman.
Just as he who is to speak in praise of the divinity must be
inspired by the divinity to speak worthily, and must therefore
be taught by the divinity as to what he shall say, likewise he
who would speak of women. For woman, even less than the divinity,
is a mere figment of man's brain, a day-dream, or a notion that
occurs to one and which one may argue about pro et contra. Nay,
one learns from woman alone what to say of her. And the more
teachers one has had, the better. The first time one is a disciple,
the next time one is already over the chief difficulties, just
as one learns in formal and learned disputations how to use
the last opponent's compliments against a new opponent. Nevertheless
nothing is lost. For as little as a kiss is a mere sample of good
things, and as little as an embrace is an exertion, just as little
is this experience exhaustive. In fact it is essentially different
from the mathematical proof of a theorem, which remains ever the
same, even though other letters be substituted. This method is
one befitting mathematics and ghosts, but not love and women,
because each is a new proof, corroborating the truth of the
theorem in a different manner. It is my joy that, far from being
less perfect than man, the female sex is, on the contrary, the
more perfect. I shall, however, clothe my speech in a myth; and I
shall exult, on woman's account whom you have so unjustly maligned,
if my speech pronounce judgment on your souls, if the enjoyment
of her beckon you only to flee you, as did the fruits from Tantalus;
because you have fled, and thereby insulted, woman. Only thus,
forsooth, may she be insulted, even though she scorn it, and though
punishment instantly falls on him who had the audacity. I, however,
insult no one. That is but the notion of married men, and a slander;
whereas, in reality, I respect her more highly than does the man
she is married to.
Originally there was but one sex, so the Greeks relate, and that
was man's. Splendidly endowed he was, so he did honor to the
gods--so splendidly endowed that the same happened to them as
sometimes happens to a poet who has expended all his energy on
a poetic invention: they grew jealous of man. Ay, what is worse,
they feared that he would not willingly bow under their yoke;
they feared, though with small reason, that he might cause their
very heaven to totter. Thus they had raised up a power they
scarcely held themselves able to curb. Then there was anxiety
and alarm in the council of the gods. Much had they lavished in
their generosity on the creation of man; but all must be risked
now, for reason of bitter necessity; for all was at stake--so
the gods believed--and recalled he could not be, as a poet may
recall his invention. And by force he could not be subdued, or
else the gods themselves could have done so; but precisely of
that they despaired. He would have to be caught and subdued, then,
by a power weaker than his own and yet stronger--one strong
enough to compel him. What a marvelous power this would have to
be! However, necessity teaches even the gods to surpass themselves
in inventiveness. They sought and they found. That power was woman,
the marvel of creation, even in the eyes of the gods a greater
marvel than man--a discovery which the gods in their naïveté could
not help but applaud themselves for. What more can be said in her
praise than that she was able to accomplish what even the gods
did not believe themselves able to do; and what more can be said in
her praise than that she did accomplish it! But how marvelous
a creation must be hers to have accomplished it.
It was a ruse of the gods. Cunningly the enchantress was fashioned,
for no sooner had she bewitched man than she changed and caught him
in all the circumstantialities of existence. It was that the gods
had desired. But what, pray, can be more delicious, or more entrancing
and bewitching, than what the gods themselves contrived, when battling
for their supremacy, as the only means of luring man? And most
assuredly it is so, for woman is the only, and the most seductive,
power in heaven and on earth. When compared with her in this sense
man will indeed be found to be exceedingly imperfect.
And the stratagem of the gods was crowned with success; but not
always. There have existed at all times some men--a few--who
have detected the deception. They perceive well enough woman's
loveliness--more keenly, indeed than the others--but they also
suspect the real state of affairs. I call them erotic natures and
count myself among them. Men call them seducers, woman has no name
for them--such persons are to her unnameable. These erotic natures
are the truly fortunate ones. They live more luxuriously than do
the very gods, for they regale themselves with food more delectable
than ambrosia, and they drink what is more delicious than nectar;
they eat the most seductive invention of the gods' most ingenious
thought, they are ever eating dainties set for a bait--ah, incomparable
delight, ah, blissful fare--they are ever eating but the dainties
set for a bait; and they are never caught. All other men greedily
seize and devour it, like bumpkins eating their cabbage, and are
caught. Only the erotic nature fully appreciates the dainties set
out for bait--he prizes them infinitely. Woman divines this, and
for that reason there is a secret understanding between him and her.
But he knows also that she is a bait, and that secret he keeps
to himself.
That nothing more marvelous, nothing more delicious, nothing more
seductive, than woman can be devised, for that vouch the gods and
their pressing need which heightened their powers of invention;
for that vouches also the fact that they risked all, and in shaping
her moved heaven and earth.
I now forsake the myth. The conception "man" corresponds to his
"idea." I can therefore, if necessary, think of an individual man
as existing. The idea of woman, on the other hand, is so general
that no one single woman is able to express it completely. She is
not contemporaneous with man (and hence of less noble origin), but
a later creation, though more perfect than he. Whether now the gods
took some part from him whilst he slept, from fear of waking him by
taking too much; or whether they bisected him and made woman out
of the one half--at any rate it was man who was partitioned. Hence
she is the equal of man only after this partition. She is a
delusion and a snarer, but is so only afterwards, and for him who
is deluded. She is finiteness incarnate; but in her first stage
she is finiteness raised to the highest degree in the deceptive
infinitude of all divine and human illusions. Now, the deception
does not exist--one instant longer, and one is deceived.
She is finiteness, and as such she is a collective: one woman
represents all women. Only the erotic nature comprehends this and
therefore knows how to love many without ever being deceived, sipping
the while all the delights the cunning gods were able to prepare.
For this reason, as I said, woman cannot be fully expressed by one
formula, but is, rather, an infinitude of finalities. He who wishes
to think her "idea" will have the same experience as he who gazes
on a sea of nebulous shapes which ever form anew, or as he who is
dazed by looking over the waves whose foamy crests ever mock one's
vision; for her "idea" is but the workshop of possibilities. And to
the erotic nature these possibilities are the everlasting reason
for his worship.
So the gods created her delicate and ethereal as if out of
the mists of the summer night, yet goodly like ripe fruit;
light like a bird, though the repository of what attracts all
the world--light because the play of the forces is harmoniously
balanced in the invisible center of a negative relation;[54]
slender in growth, with definite lines, yet her body sinuous
with beautiful curves; perfect, yet ever appearing as if completed
but now; cool, delicious, and refreshing like new-fallen snow,
yet blushing in coy transparency; happy like some pleasantry
which makes one forget all one's sorrow; soothing as being the
end of desire, and satisfying in herself being the stimulus of
desire. And the gods had calculated that man, when first beholding
her, would be amazed, as one who sees himself, though familiar with
that sight--would stand in amaze as one who sees himself in the
splendor of perfection--would stand in amaze as one who beholds
what he did never dream he would, yet beholds what, it would seem,
ought to have occurred to him before--sees what is essential to
life and yet gazes on it as being the very mystery of existence.
It is precisely tins contradiction in his admiration which nurses
desire to life, while this same admiration urges him ever nearer,
so that he cannot desist from gazing, cannot desist from believing
himself familiar with the sight, without really daring to approach,
even though he cannot desist from desiring.
When the gods had thus planned her form they were seized with
fear lest they might not have the wherewithal to give it existence;
but what they feared even more was herself. For they dared not
let her know how beautiful she was, apprehensive of having some
one in the secret who might spoil their ruse. Then was the crowning
touch given to their wondrous creation: they made her faultless;
but they concealed all this from her in the nescience of her
innocence, and concealed it doubly from her in the impenetrable
mystery of her modesty. Now she was perfect, and victory certain.
Inviting she had been before, but now doubly so through her shyness,
and beseeching through her shrinking, and irresistible through
herself offering resistance. The gods were jubilant. And no
allurement has ever been devised in the world so great as is woman,
and no allurement is as compelling as is innocence, and no temptation
is as ensnaring as is modesty, and no deception is as matchless as
is woman. She knows of nothing, still her modesty is instinctive
divination. She is distinct from man, and the separating wall of
modesty parting them is more decisive than Aladdin's sword separating
him from Gulnare;[55] and yet, when like Pyramis he puts his head
to this dividing wall of modesty, the erotic nature will perceive
all pleasures of desire divined within as from afar.
Thus does woman tempt. Men are wont to set forth the most precious
things they possess as a delectation for the gods, nothing less
will do. Thus is woman a show-bread, the gods knew of naught
comparable to her. She exists, she is present, she is with us,
close by; and yet she is removed from us to an infinite distance
when concealed in her modesty--until she herself betrays her
hiding place, she knows not how: it is not she herself, it is
life which informs on her. Roguish she is like a child who in
playing peeps forth from his hiding place, yet her roguishness
is inexplicable, for she does not know of it herself, she is
ever mysterious--mysterious when she casts down her eyes, mysterious
when she sends forth the messengers of her glance which no thought,
let alone any word, is able to follow. And yet is the eye the
"interpreter" of the soul! What, then, is the explanation of this
mystery if the interpreter too is unintelligible? Calm she is like
the hushed stillness of eventide, when not a leaf stirs; calm
like a consciousness as yet unaware of aught. Her heart-beats
are as regular as if life were not present; and yet the erotic
nature, listening with his stethoscopically practiced ear, detects
the dithyrambic pulsing of desire sounding along unbeknown.
Careless she is like the blowing of the wind, content like the
profound ocean, and yet full of longing like a thing biding
its explanation. My friends! My mind is softened, indescribably
softened. I comprehend that also my life expresses an idea, even
if you do not comprehend me. I too have discovered the secret
of existence; I too serve a divine idea--and, assuredly, I do
not serve it for nothing. If woman is a ruse of the gods, this
means that she is to be seduced; and if woman is not an "idea,"
the true inference is that the erotic nature wishes to love as
many of them as possible.
What luxury it is to relish the ruse without being duped, only
the erotic nature comprehends. And how blissful it is to be
seduced, woman alone knows. I know that from woman, even though
I never yet allowed any one of them time to explain it to me,
but re-asserted my independence, serving the idea by a break
as sudden as that caused by death; for a bride and a break are
to one another like female and male.[56] Only woman is aware
of this, and she is aware of it together with her seducer. No
married man will ever grasp this. Nor does she ever speak with
him about it. She resigns herself to her fate, she knows that
it must be so and that she can be seduced only once. For this
reason she never really bears malice against the man who seduced
her. That is to say, if he really did seduce her and thus expressed
the idea. Broken marriage vows and that kind of thing is, of
course, nonsense and no seduction. Indeed, it is by no means so
great a misfortune for a woman to be seduced. In fact, it is
a piece of good fortune for her. An excellently seduced girl
may make an excellent wife. If I myself were not fit to be a
seducer--however deeply I feel my inferior qualifications in
this respect--if I chose to be a married man, I should always
choose a girl already seduced, so that I would not have to begin
my marriage by seducing my wife. Marriage, to be sure, also
expresses an idea; but in relation to the idea of marriage that
quality is altogether immaterial which is the absolutely essential
condition for my idea. Therefore, a marriage ought never to be
planned to begin as though it were the beginning of a story of
seduction. So much is sure: there is a seducer for every woman.
Happy is she whose good fortune it is to meet just him.
Through marriage, on the other hand, the gods win their victory.
In it the once seduced maiden walks through life by the side of
her husband, looking back at times, full of longing, resigned
to her fate, until she reaches the goal of life. She dies; but
not in the same sense as man dies. She is volatilized and resolved
into that mysterious primal element of which the gods formed her--she
disappears like a dream, like an impermanent shape whose hour
is past. For what is woman but a dream, and the highest reality
withal! Thus does the erotic nature comprehend her, leading her,
and being led by her in the moment of seduction, beyond time--where
she has her true existence, being an illusion. Through her husband,
on the other hand, she becomes a creature of this world, and he
through her.
Marvelous nature! If I did not admire thee, a woman would teach
me; for truly she is the _venerabile_ of life. Splendidly didst
thou fashion her, but more splendidly still in that thou never
didst fashion one woman like another. In man, the essential is the
essential, and insofar always alike; but in woman the adventitious
is the essential, and is thus an inexhaustible source of differences.
Brief is her splendor; but quickly the pain is forgotten, too, when
the same splendor is proffered me anew. It is true, I too am aware
of the unbeautiful which may appear in her thereafter; but she is
not thus with her seducer.
They rose from the table. It needed but a hint from Constantin,
for the participants understood each other with military precision
whenever there was a question of face or turn about. With his
invisible baton of command, elastic like a divining rod in his hand,
Constantin once more touched them in order to call forth in them a
fleeting reminiscence of the banquet and the spirit of enjoyment
which had prevailed before but was now, in some measure, submerged
through the intellectual effort of the speeches--in order that the
note of glad festivity which had disappeared might, by way of
resonance, return once more among the guests in a brief moment of
recollection. He saluted with his full glass as a signal of parting,
emptying it, and then flinging it against the door in the rear wall.
The others followed his example, consummating this symbolic
action with all the solemnity of adepts. Justice was thus done
the pleasure of stopping short--that royal pleasure which, though
briefer, yet is more liberating than any other pleasure. With a
libation this pleasure ought to be entered upon, with the libation
of flinging one's glass into destruction and oblivion, and tearing
one's self passionately away from every memory, as if it were a
danger to one's life: this libation is to the gods of the nether
world. One breaks off, and strength is needed to do that, greater
strength than to sever a knot by a sword-blow; for the difficulty
of the knot tends to arouse one's passion, but the passion required
for breaking off must be of one's own making. In a superficial
sense the result is, of course, the same; but from an artistic
point of view there is a world of difference between something
ceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being broken off by
one's own free will--whether it is a mere occurrence or a passionate
decision; whether it is all over, like a school song, because
there is no more to it, or whether it is terminated by the Cæsarian
operation of one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every
one has experienced, or the secret which escapes most.
Constantin's flinging his beaker against the door was intended
merely as a symbolic rite; nevertheless, his so doing was, in
a way, a decisive act; for when the last glass was shattered the
door opened, and just as he who presumptuously knocked at Death's
door and, on its opening, beheld the powers of annihilation, so
the banqueters beheld the corps of destruction ready to demolish
everything--a memento which in an instant put them to flight
from that place, while at the very same moment the entire surroundings
had been reduced to the semblance of ruin.
A carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's invitation
they seated themselves in it and drove away in good spirits;
for that tableau of destruction which they left behind had given
their souls fresh elasticity. After having covered a distance of
several miles a halt was made. Here Constantin took his leave as
host, informing them that five carriages were at their disposal--each
one was free to suit his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted,
whether alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a
rocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a single
shot, remains collected for an instant, in order then to spread out
to all the winds.
While the horses were being hitched to the carriages the nocturnal
banqueters strolled a little way down the road. The fresh air of
the morning purified their hot blood with its coolness, and they
gave themselves up to it entirely. Their forms, and the groups in
which they ranged themselves, made a fantastic impression on me.
For when the morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every
creature which in the night found rest and strength to rise up
jubilating with the sun--in this there is only a pleasing, mutual
understanding; but a nightly company, viewed by the morning light
and in smiling surroundings, makes a downright uncanny impression.
It makes one think of spooks which have been surprised by daylight,
of subterranean spirits which are unable to regain the crevice
through which they may vanish, because it is visible only in the
dark; of unhappy creatures in whom the difference between day and
night has become obliterated through the monotony of their sufferings.
A foot path led them through a small patch of field toward a garden
surrounded by a hedge, from behind whose concealment a modest
summer-cottage peeped forth. At the end of the garden, toward the
field, there was an arbor formed by trees. Becoming aware of people
being in the arbor, they all grew curious, and with the spying
glances of men bent on observation, the besiegers closed in about
that pleasant place of concealment, hiding themselves, and as eager
as emissaries of the police about to take some one by surprise.
Like emissaries of the police--well, to be sure, their appearance
made the misunderstanding possible that it was they whom the minions
of the law might be looking for. Each one had occupied a point of
vantage for peeping in, when Victor drew back a step and said to
his neighbor, "Why, dear me, if that is not Judge William and his
wife!"
They were surprised--not the two whom the foliage concealed
and who were all too deeply concerned with their domestic enjoyment
to be observers. They felt themselves too secure to believe
themselves an object of any one's observation excepting the
morning sun's which took pleasure in looking in to them, whilst
a gentle zephyr moved the boughs above them, and the repose-fulness
of the countryside, as well as all things around them girded the
little arbor about with peace. The happy married couple was not
surprised and noticed nothing. That they were a married couple was
clear enough; one could perceive that at a glance--alas! if one is
something of an observer one's self. Even if nothing in the wide
world, nothing, whether overtly or covertly, if nothing, I say,
threatens to interfere with the happiness of lovers, yet they
are not thus secure when sitting together. They are in a state
of bliss; and yet it is as if there were some power bent on
separating them, so firmly they clasp one another; and yet it
is as if there were some enemy present against whom they must
defend themselves; and yet it is as if they could never become
sufficiently reassured. Not thus married people, and not thus
that married couple in the arbor. How long they had been married,
however, that was not to be determined with certainty. To be
sure, the wife's activity at the tea-table revealed a sureness
of hand born of practice, but at the same time such almost childlike
interest in her occupation as if she were a newly married woman
and in that middle condition when she is not, as yet, sure whether
marriage is fun or earnest, whether being a housewife is a calling,
or a game, or a pastime. Perhaps she had been married for some
longer time but did not generally preside at the tea-table, or
perhaps did so only out here in the country, or did it perhaps
only that morning which, possibly, had a special significance
for them. Who could tell? All calculation is frustrated to a
certain degree by the fact that every personality exhibits some
originality which keeps time from leaving its marks. When the
sun shines in all his summer glory one thinks straightway that
there must be some festal occasion at hand--that it cannot be
so for every-day use, or that it is the first time, or at least
one of the first times; for surely, one thinks, it cannot be
repeated for any length of time. Thus would think he who saw
it but once, or saw it for the first time; and I saw the wife
of the justice for the first time. He who sees the object in
question every day may think differently; provided he sees the
same thing. But let the judge decide about that!
As I remarked, our amiable housewife was occupied. She poured
boiling water into the cups, probably to warm them, emptied them
again, set a cup on a platter, poured the tea and served it with
sugar and cream--now all was ready; was it fun or earnest? In
case a person did not relish tea at other times--he should have
sat in the judge's place; for just then that drink seemed most
inviting to me, only the inviting air of the lovely woman herself
seemed to me more inviting.
It appeared that she had not had time to speak until then. Now
she broke the silence and said, while serving him his tea: "Quick,
now, dear, and drink while it is hot, the morning air is quite
cool, anyway; and surely the least I can do for you is to be a
little careful of you. The least?" the judge answered laconically.
"Yes, or the most, or the only thing." The judge looked at her
inquiringly, and whilst he was helping himself she continued: "You
interrupted me yesterday when I wished to broach the subject, but
I have thought about it again; many times I have thought about
it, and now particularly, you know yourself in reference to
whom: it is certainly true that if you hadn't married, you would
have been far more successful in your career." With his cup still
on the platter the judge sipped a first mouthful with visible
enjoyment, thoroughly refreshed; or was it perchance the joy
over his lovely wife; I for my part believe it was the latter.
She, however, seemed only to be glad that it tasted so good to
him. Then he put down his cup on the table at his side, took out
a cigar, and said: "May I light it at your chafing-dish"? "Certainly,"
she said, and handed him a live coal on a tea-spoon. He lit his
cigar and put his arm about her waist whilst she leaned against
his shoulder. He turned his head the other way to blow out the
smoke, and then he let his eyes rest on her with a devotion such
as only a glance can reveal; yet he smiled, but this glad smile
had in it a dash of sad irony. Finally he said: "Do you really
believe so, my girl? What do you mean?" she answered. He was
silent again, his smile gained the upper hand, but his voice
remained quite serious, nevertheless. "Then I pardon you your
previous folly, seeing that you yourself have forgotten it so
quickly; thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh[57]--what
great career should I have had?" His wife seemed embarrassed
for a moment by this return, but collected her wits quickly and
now explained her meaning with womanly eloquence. The judge
looked down before him, without interrupting her; but as she
continued he began to drum on the table with the fingers of his
right hand, at the same time humming a tune. The words of the
song were audible for a moment, just as the pattern of a texture
now becomes visible, now disappears again; and then again they
were heard no longer as he hummed the tune of the song: "The
goodman he went to the forest, to cut the wands so white." After
this melodramatic performance, consisting in the justice's wife
explaining herself whilst he hummed his tune, the dialogue set
in again. "I am thinking," he remarked, "I am thinking you are
ignorant of the fact that the Danish Law permits a man to castigate
his wife[58]--a pity only that the law does not indicate on
which occasions it is permitted." His wife smiled at his threat
and continued: "Now why can I never get you to be serious when
I touch on this matter? You do not understand me: believe me, I
mean it sincerely, it seems to me a very beautiful thought. Of
course, if you weren't my husband I would not dare to entertain
it; but now I have done so, for your sake and for my sake; and
now be nice and serious, for my sake, and answer me frankly."
"No, you can't get me to be serious, and a serious answer you
won't get; I must either laugh at you, or make you forget it, as
before, or beat you; or else you must stop talking about it, or I
shall have to make you keep silent about it some other way. You
see, it is a joke, and that is why there are so many ways out."
He arose, pressed a kiss on her brow, laid her arm in his, and
then disappeared in a leafy walk which led from the arbor.
The arbor was empty; there was nothing else to do, so the hostile
corps of occupation withdrew without making any gains. Still, the
others were content with uttering some malicious remarks. The
company returned but missed Victor. He had rounded the corner
and, in walking along the garden, had come up to the country
home. The doors of a garden-room facing the lawn were open, and
likewise a window. Very probably he had seen something which
attracted his attention. He leapt into the window, and leapt
out again just as the party were approaching, for they had been
looking for him. Triumphantly he held up some papers in his hand
and exclaimed: "One of the judge's manuscripts![59] Seeing
that I edited his other works it is no more than my duty that
I should edit this one too." He put it into his pocket; or,
rather, he was about to do so; for as he was bending his arm
and already had his hand with the manuscript half-way down in
his pocket I managed to steal it from him.
But who, then, am I? Let no one ask! If it hasn't occurred to you
before to ask about it I am over the difficulty; for now the worst
is behind me. For that matter, I am not worth asking about, for
I am the least of all things, people would put me in utter confusion
by asking about me. I am pure existence, and therefore smaller,
almost, than nothing. I am "pure existence" which is present
everywhere but still is never noticed; for I am ever vanishing.
I am like the line above which stands the summa summarum--who
cares about the line? By my own strength I can accomplish nothing,
for even the idea to steal the manuscript from Victor was not my
own idea; for this very idea which, as a thief would say, induced
me to "borrow" the manuscript, was borrowed from him. And now,
when editing this manuscript, I am, again, nothing at all; for
it rightly belongs to the judge. And as editor, I am in my nothingness
only a kind of nemesis on Victor, who imagined that he had the
prescriptive right to do so.
[Footnote 1: _Cf._ Luke XIV, 19-20.]
[Footnote 2: Words used in the banns.]
[Footnote 3: Which in Latin means both "from the temple" and "at once."]
[Footnote 4: The omission of the negative particle in the original is
no doubt unintentional.]
[Footnote 5: Pious wish.]
[Footnote 6: Kings 20, 1; Isaiah 38, 1.]
[Footnote 7: An allusion to the plight of Aristophanes in Plato's
_Symposion._]
[Footnote 8: Haggai 1, 6 (inexact).]
[Footnote 9: May it be fortunate and favorable.]
[Footnote 10: _Symposion_, ch. 9.]
[Footnote 11: This ironic sally refers, not to Descartes' principle
of skepsis, but to the numerous Danish followers of Hegel and his
"method"; _cf._ Fear and Trembling.]
[Footnote 12: _Symposion_, ch. 24.]
[Footnote 13: _Ibid._, ch. 15-16.]
[Footnote 14: _Cf._ Matthew 13, 31 etc.]
[Footnote 15: A quotation from Musæus, _Volksmärchen der Deutschen_,
III, 219.]
[Footnote 16: The reference is to a situation in Richard Cumberland's
(1732-1811) play of "The Jew," known to Copenhagen playgoers in an
adaptation.]
[Footnote 17: I relate what I have been told.]
[Footnote 18: A character in the Danish playwright Overskou's vaudeville
of "Capriciosa" (Comedies III, 184).]
[Footnote 19: The glutton in Oehlenschlœger's vaudeville of
"Sovedrikken."]
[Footnote 20: Supplied by the translator to complete the sense.]
[Footnote 21: Dejection. _Cf._ the maxim: _omne animal post coïtun
triste._]
[Footnote 22: This statement is to be found, rather, in Aristotle's
Ethics II, 6.]
[Footnote 23: There is a pun here in the original.]
[Footnote 24: In Holberg's comedy of "Erasmus Montanus," III, 6.]
[Footnote 25: _Cf._ "The Banquet."]
[Footnote 26: "Eccles, 3, 7."]
[Footnote 27: "Comical power."]
[Footnote 28: "In uncertain battle."]
[Footnote 29: According to the development of these terms in Kierkegaard's
previous works, the "absolute" belongs to the ethic, the "relative"
to the æsthetic sphere.]
[Footnote 30: Heroine of Mozart's "Don Juan."]
[Footnote 31: Quotation from Wessel's famous comedy of "Love without
Stockings," III, 3.]
[Footnote 32: Viz besides the eggs she duly furnishes; Holberg, "The
Busy-body," II, 1.]
[Footnote 33: This figure is said by Diogenes Lærtios II, 37 to have
been used by Socrates himself about his relation to Xanthippe.]
[Footnote 34: The following sentences are not as clear in meaning as
is otherwise the case in Kierkegaard.]
[Footnote 35: Poetics, chap. 15.]
[Footnote 36: _Cf._ "The Banquet"]
[Footnote 37: They are, that he had been created a man and not an
animal, a man and not a woman, a Greek and not a Barbarian (Lactantius,
Instit. III, 19, 17).]
[Footnote 38: Thales of Miletos (Diogenes Lærtios I, 33).]
[Footnote 39: German poet of the Romantic School (1773-1853).]
[Footnote 40: Reasoning against the rules of logic.]
[Footnote 41: "The Lying-in Room," II, 2.]
[Footnote 42: A quotation from Oehlenschläager's "Aladdin."]
[Footnote 43: Scattered members.]
[Footnote 44: See Diogenes Lærtios, VI, 37.]
[Footnote 45: By the immortal gods.]
[Footnote 46: I adjure you by the gods.]
[Footnote 47: Therefore those tears.]
[Footnote 48: I concede.]
[Footnote 49: It can hardly be seen, it is but for lips which
understand each other exactly.]
[Footnote 50: Christiansfeld, a town in South Jutland, was the
seat of a colony of Herrhutian Pietists.]
[Footnote 51: The reference is to the "Diary of the Seducer"
(in "Either-Or," part I). Edward is the scorned lover of Cordelia
who is seduced by John.]
[Footnote 52: I concede. I have conceded.]
[Footnote 53: Reference to a comedy by Farquhar, which enjoyed a
moderate popularity in Copenhagen.]
[Footnote 54: i.e., evidently, she docs not exist because of herself;
hence she is in a "negative" relation to herself. The center of this
relation is "what attracts all the world."]
[Footnote 55: In Oehlenschläger's "Aladdin."]
[Footnote 56: In the Danish, a pun on the homonyms _en brud_ and _et
brud._]
[Footnote 57: Job 2, 10.]
[Footnote 58: According to the Jutland Laws (A. D. 1241) a man is
permitted to punish his wife, when she has misbehaved, with stick and
with rod, but not with weapon. In the Danish Law (1683) this right is
restricted to children and servants. S. V.]
[Footnote 59: Containing the second part of "Stages on Life's Road,"
entitled "Reflections on Marriage in Refutation of Objections."]