I've already told you about that: I fled a
thousand
miles away from the woman I loved, and once I felt safe from any possibility of really embracing her, I howled for her like a dog at the moon!
Musil - Man Without Qualities - v2
But the great majority ofour people will say, on the contrary, that cutting your ear offis not a German way of express- ing deep feelings; a German way is that unmistakable vacuousness of the elevated gaze one experiences on a mountaintop.
For them the essence of human sublimity lies in solitude, pretty little flowers, and murmuring little brooks; and yet even in that bovine exaltation, with its undigested delight in nature, there lurks the misunderstood last echo of a mysterious other life.
So when all is said and done, there must be something of the sort, or it must have existed at some time!
"
"Then you shouldn't make fun of it," Agathe objected, grim with curiosity and radiant with impatience.
"I only make fun of it because I love it," Ulrich said curtly.
BIB
12
HOL Y DISCOURSE: ERRA TIC PROGRESS
In the following days there were always many books on the table, some ofwhich he had brought from home, others that he had bought since, and he would either talk extemporaneously or cite a passage, one ofmany he had marked with little slips ofpaper, to prove a point or quote the exact wording. The books before him were mostly lives of the mystics, their writings, or scholarly works about them, and he usually deflected the conversation from them by saying: "Now let's take a good hard look and see what's really going on here. " This was a cautious attitude he was not prepared to give up easily, and so he said to her once:
"If you could read right through all these accounts that men and women of past centuries have left us, describing their state of divine rapture, you would find much truth and reality in among the printed words, and yet the statements made of these words would go wholly against the grain ofyour present-day mind. " And he went on: "They speak of an overflowing radiance. Of an infinite expanse, a boundless opulence of light. Of an overarching oneness of all things and all the soul's energies. Of an awesome and indescribable uplifting of the heart. Of insights coming so swiftly that it's all simultaneous and like drops of fire falling into the world. And then again they speak of a forgetting and no longer understanding, even of everything falling utterly away. They speak of an immense serenity far removed from all passion. Of growing mute. A vanishing of thoughts and inten- tions. A blindness in which they see clearly, a clarity in which they are dead and supernaturally alive. They call it a shedding of their being, and yet they claim to be more fully alive than ever. Aren't these the same sensations, however veiled by the difficulty of expressing them, still experienced today when the heart-'greedy and gorged,' as they say! -stumbles by chance into those utopian regions situated somewhere and nowhere between infinite tenderness and infinite loneliness? "
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 819
As he paused briefly to think, Agathe's voice joined in: "It's what you once called two layers that overlie each other within us. "
"I did? When? "
"When you walked aimlessly into town and felt as though you were dissolving into it, although at the same time you didn't like the place. I told you that this happens to me often. "
"Oh yes! You even said 'Hagauer! '" Ulrich exclaimed. "And we laughed-now I remember. But we didn't really mean it. Anyway, it's not the only time I talked to you about the kind ofvision that gives and the kind that receives, about the male and female principles, the hermaphroditism of the primal imagination and so o n -I can say a lot about these things. As if my mouth were as far away from me as the moon, which is also always on hand for confidential chats in the night! But what these believers have to say about their souls' adven- tures," he went on, mingling the bitterness of his words with objec- tivity and even admiration, "is sometimes written with the force and the ruthless analytic conviction ofa Stendhal. But only"-he limited this-"as long as they stick to the phenomena and their judgment doesn't enter in, which is corrupted by their flattering conviction that they've been singled out by God to have direct experience of Him. For from that moment on, of course, they no longer speak of their perceptions, which are so hard to describe and have no nouns or verbs, but begin to speak in sentences with subject and object, be- cause they believe in their soul and in God as in the two doorposts between which the miraculous will blossom. And so they arrive at these statements about the soul being drawn out of the body and ab- sorbed into the Lord, or say that the Lord penetrates them like a lover. They are caught, engulfed, dazzled, swept away, raped by God, or else their soul opens to Him, enters into Him, tastes of Him, em- braces Him with love and hears Him speak. The earthly model for this is unmistakable, and these descriptions no longer resemble tre- mendous discoveries but rather a series of fairly predictable images with which an erotic poet decks out his subject, about which only one opinion is permissible. For a person like me, anyway, brought up to maintain reserve, these accounts stretch me on the rack, for the elect, even as they assure me that God has spoken to them, or that they have understood the speech of trees and animals, neglect to tell me what it was that was imparted to them; or if they do, it comes out
820 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
as purely personal details, or a rehash of the Clerical News. It's an everlasting pity that no trained scientists have visions! " he ended his lengthy reply.
"Do you think they could? '' Agathe was testing him.
Ulrich hesitated for an instant. Then he answered like a believer: "I don't know; maybe it could happen to me! " When he heard him- selfsaying these words he smiled, as ifto mitigate them.
Agathe smiled too; she now seemed to have the answer she had been hankering after, and her face reflected the small moment of letdown that follows the sudden cessation of a tension. Perhaps she now raised an objection only because she wanted to spur her brother on.
"You know," she said, "that I was raised in a very strict convent school. So I have the most scandalous urge to caricature anyone I hear talking about pious ideals. Our teachers wore a habit whose two colors formed a cross, as a sort of enforced reminder of one of the sublimest thoughts we were supposed to have before us all day long; but we never once thought it; we just called the good sisters the cross-spiders, because of the way they looked and their silky way of talking. That's why, while you were reading aloud, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "
"Do you know what that proves? '' Ulrich exclaimed. "Just that the power for gopd which is somehow present in us eats its way instantly through the walls if it gets locked into solid form, and immediately uses that as a bolt hole to evil! It reminds me of the time I was in the army and upheld throne and altar with my brother officers; never in my life have I heard such loose talk about both as I did in our circle! All emotions refuse to be chained, and some refuse absolutely. I'm convinced your good nuns believed what they preached to you, but faith mustn't ever be more than an hour old! That's the point! "
Although in his haste Ulrich had not expressed himself to his satis- faction, Agathe understood that the faith of those nuns who had taken away the pleasure of faith for her was merely a "bottled" vari- ety, preserved in glass jars, so to speak, in its natural condition and not deprived of any of its qualities of faith but still not fresh; indeed, in some imponderable way it had changed into a different condition from its original one, which now hovered momentarily before this truant and rebellious pupil of holiness as a kind of intimation.
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This, with everything else they had been saying about morality, was one of the gripping doubts her brother had implanted in her mind, and also part of that inner reawakening she had been feeling ever since, without rightly knowing what it was. For the attitude of indifference she made such a point of displaying outwardly and en- couraging inwardly had not always ruled her life. Something had once happened that had caused her need for self-punishment to spring directly out of a deep depression, which made her appear to herself as unworthy because she believed she had not been granted the ability to keep faith with lofty emotions, and she had despised herself for her heart's sloth ever since.
This episode lay between her life as a young girl in her father's house and her incomprehensible marriage to Hagauer, and was so narrowly circumscribed that even Ulrich, for all his sympathy, had forgotten to ask about it. What had happened is soon told: At the age of eighteen Agathe had married a man only slightly older than her- self, and on a trip that began with their wedding and ended in his death, he was snatched away from her within a few weeks, before they had even had time to think about choosing a place to live, by a fatal disease he had caught on their travels. The doctors called it ty- phus, and Agathe repeated the word after them, finding in it a sem- blance of order, for that was the side of the event polished smooth for the uses of the world; but on the unpolished side, it was different: until then Agathe had lived with her father, whom everyone re- spected, so that she reluctantly regarded herself as to blame for not loving him; and the uncertain waiting at school to become herself, through the mistrust it awakened in her mind, had not helped to sta- bilize her relationship to the world either. Later, on the other hand, when with suddenly aroused vivacity she had united with her child- hood playmate to overcome in a matter of months all the obstacles put in the way of such a youthful marriage (even though their fami- lies had no objections to each other), she had all at once no longer been isolated and had thereby become herself. This could well be called love; but there are lovers who stare at love as into the sun and merely become blinded by it, and there are lovers who seem to dis- cover life for the first time with astonishment when it is illuminated by love. Agathe was one of the latter kind; she had not even had time to find out whether it was her husband she loved or something else,
822 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
when something struck that was called, in the language of the unil- luminated world, an infectious disease. With primal suddenness hor- ror irrupted upon them from the alien regions of life-a struggle, a flickering, an extinction; a visitation upon two human beings clinging to each other and the disappearance of an innocent world in vomit- ing, excrement, and fear.
Agathe had never faced up to this event that had annihilated her feelings. Bewildered with despair, she had lain on her knees at the dying man's bedside and persuaded herself that she could conjure up the power that had enabled her as a child to overcome her own ill- ness. When his decline continued nevertheless, and his conscious- ness was already gone, she kept staring into the vacant face, in that hotel room far from home, unable to understand; she had held the dying body in her arms without considering the danger and without considering the realities being attended to by an indignant nurse. She had done nothing but murmur for hours into his fading ear: "You can't, you can't, you can't! " But when it was all over she had stood up in amazement, and without thinking or believing anything in particu- lar, acting simply from a solitary nature's stubbornness and capacity to dream, she had from that moment on inwardly treated this empty astonishment at what had happened as though it were not final. We see the onset of something similar in everyone who cannot bring himself to believe bad news, or finds a way to soften the irrevocable, but Agathe's attitude was unique in the force and extent of this reac- tion, which marked the sudden outburst of her disdain for the world. Since then she had conscientiously assimilated anything new as something less actual than extremely uncertain, an attitude greatly facilitated by the mistrust with which she had always confronted real- ity; the past, on the other hand, was petrified by the blow she had suffered, and eroded by time much more slowly than usually hap- pens with memories. But it had none of the swirl of dreams, the one- sidedness or the skewed sense of proportion that brings the doctor on the scene. On the contrary, Agathe went on living in perfect lucid- ity, quietly virtuous and merely a little bored, slightly inclined to that reluctance about life that was really like the fever she had suffered so willingly as a child. In her memory, which in any case never let its impressions dissolve into generalizations, every hour of what had been and still was fearful remained vivid, like a corpse under a white
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 823
sheet; despite all the anguish of remembering so exactly, it made her happy, for it had the effect of a secret, belated indication that all was not yet over, and it preserved in her, despite the decay of her emo- tional life, a vague but high-minded tension. In truth, all it meant was that she had again lost the sense of meaning in her life and had con- sciously put herself in a state of mind that did not suit her years; for only old people live by dwelling on the experiences and achieve- ments of a time that is gone and remain untouched by the present. But at the age Agathe was then, fortunately, while resolves are made for eternity a single year feels like half an eternity, and so it was only to be expected that after a time a repressed nature and a fettered imagination would violently free themselves. The details of how it happened are of no consequence in themselves; a man whose ad- vances would in other circumstances never have succeeded in dis- turbing her equilibrium succeeded, and became her lover, but this attempt at reliving something ended, after a brief period of manic hope, in passionate disenchantment. Agathe now felt herself cast out by both her real life and her unreal life, and unworthy of her own high hopes. She was one ofthose intense people who can keep them- selves motionless and in reserve for a long time, until at some point they suddenly fall prey to total confusion; and so, in her disappoint- ment, she soon took another rash step, which was, in short, to punish herself in a way opposite to the way she had sinned, condemning her- self to share her life with a man who inspired in her a mild aversion. And this man whom she had picked out as a penance was Gottlieb Hagauer.
"It was certainly both unfair to him and inconsiderate," Agathe ad- mitted to herself-and it must be admitted that this was the first time she had ever faced up to it, because fairness and consideration are not virtues in high favor with the young. Still, her self-punish- ment in this marriage was not inconsiderable either, and Agathe now gave it some more thought. She had strayed far from their conversa- tion, and Ulrich, too, was leafing through his books for something and seemed to have forgotten the conversation. "In earlier centu- ries," she thought, "a person in my state of mind would have entered a convent," and the fact that she had got married instead was not without an innocently comical side, which had previously escaped her. This comedy, which she had then been too young to notice, was
824 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
simply that of the present day, which satisfies its need for a refuge from the world at worst in some tourist accommodation but usually in an Alpine hotel, and even strives to furnish its prisons tastefully. It expresses the profound European need not to overdo anything. No European any longer scourges himself, smears himself with ashes, cuts out his tongue, really takes part in things or totally withdraws from society, swoons with passion, breaks people on the wheel or im- pales them, but everyone sometimes feels the need to do so, so that it's hard to say which is more to be avoided: wanting to do it or not doing it. Why should an ascetic, ofall people, starve himself? It only gives him disturbing fantasies. A sensible asceticism consists of an aversion to eating while being constantly well nourished. Such an as- ceticism promises longevity and offers the mind a freedom that is unattainable so long as it remains enslaved to the body in passionate rebellion. Such bitterly humorous reflections, which she had learned from her brother, were now doing Agathe a world of good, for they dissected the "tragic"-a rigid beliefthat in her inexperience she had long assumed to be a duty-into irony and a passion that had neither name nor aim, and for that reason alone were not bracketed with what she had experienced previously.
It was in this way above all that she had begun to realize, ever since being with her brother, that something was happening to the great split she had suffered between irresponsible living and a spectral fan- tasy life; there was a movement of release and of recombining what had been released. Now, for instance, in this silence between herself and her brother, which was deepened by the presence of books and memories, she thought ofthe description Ulrich had given her ofhis wandering aimlessly into town, and ofhow the town had entered him as he entered it. It reminded her very exactly ofthe few weeks ofher happiness. And it had also been right for her to laugh, wildly and for no reason, when he told her about it, because it struck her that there was something of this turning of the world inside out, this delicious and funny inversion he was speaking of, even in Hagauer's thick lips when they pursed for a kiss. It made her shudder, of course, but there is a shudder, she thought, even in the bright light of noon, and it made her feel that somehow there was still hope for her. Some mere nothing, some break that had always lain between past and present, had recently vanished. She glanced around covertly. The
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 825
room she was in had formed part of the space in which her fate had taken shape: it was the first time since her arrival that this had occurred to her. For it was here that she had met with her childhood friend when her father was out, and they made the great decision to love each other; here, too, she had sometimes received her "un- worthy" suitor, standing at the window hiding tears of rage or des- peration, and here, finally, Hagauer's courting had run its course, with her father's blessing. After having been for so long merely the unnoticed other side ofevents, the furniture and walls, the peculiarly confined light, now became in this moment of recognition strangely tangible, and the quixotic things that had occurred here assumed a physical and completelyunambiguous pastness, as ifthey were ashes or burned charcoal. What remained, and became almost unbearably powerful, was that funny, shadowy sense of things done with-that strange tickling one feels when confronted with old traces, dried to dust, of one's self-which, the moment one feels it, one can neither grasp nor banish.
Agathe made sure that Ulrich was not paying attention, and care- fully opened the top ofher dress, where she kept next to her skin the locket with the tiny picture that she had never taken off through the years. She went to the window and pretended to look out. Cau- tiously, she snapped open the sharp edge of the tiny golden scallop and gazed furtively at her dead love. He had full lips and soft, thick hair, and the cocky expression ofthe twenty-one-year-old flashed out at her from a face still half in its eggshell. For a long time she did not know what she thought, but then suddenly the thought came: "My God, a twenty-one-year-old! "
What do such youngsters talk about with each other? What mean- ing do they give to their concerns? How funny and arrogant they often are! How the intensity of their ideas misleads them about the worth of those ideas! Curious, Agathe unwrapped from the tissue paper of memory some sayings that she-thank goodness for her cleverness-had preserved in it. My God, that was almost worth say- ing, she thought, but she could not really be sure of even that unless she also recalled the garden in which it had been spoken, with the strange flowers whose names she did not know, the butterflies that settled on them like weary drunkards, and the light that flowed over their faces as if heaven and earth were dissolved in it. By that mea-
826 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
sure she was today an old, experienced woman, even though not that many years had passed. With some confusion she noted the incon- gruity that she, at twenty-seven, still loved the boy of twenty-one: he had grown much too young for her! She asked herself: "What feel- ings would I have to have if, at my age, this boyish man were really to be the most important thing in the world to me? " They would cer- tainly have been odd feelings, but she was not even able to imagine them clearly. It all dissolved into nothing.
Agathe recognized in a great upsurge offeeling that the one proud passion of her life had been a mistake, and the heart of this error consisted of a fie:ry mist she could neither touch nor grasp, no matter whether one were to say that faith could not live more than an hour, or something else. It was always this that her brother had been talk- ing about since they had been together, and it was always herself he was speaking of, even though he hedged it about in his intellectual fashion and his diplomacy was much too slow for her impatience. They kept coming back to the same conversation, and Agathe herself blazed with desire that his flame should not diminish.
When she now spoke to Ulrich he had not even noticed how long the interruption had lasted. But whoever has not already picked up the clues to what was going on between this brother and sister should lay this account aside, for it depicts an adventure of which he will never be able to approve: a journey to the edge ofthe possible, which led past-and perhaps not always past-the dangers of the impossi- ble and unnatural, even of the repugnant: a "borderline case," as Ul- rich later called it, of limited and special validity, reminiscent of the freedom with which mathematics sometimes resorts to the absurd in order to arrive at the truth. He and Agathe happened upon a path that had much in common with the business of those possessed by God, but they walked it without piety, without believing in God or the soul, nor even in the beyond or in reincarnation. They had come upon it as people ofthis world, and pursued it as such-this was what was remarkable about it. Though at the moment Agathe spoke again Ulrich was still absorbed in his books and the problems they set him, he had not for an instant forgotten their conversation, which had bro- ken off at the moment of her resistance to the devoutness of her teachers and his own insistence on "precise visions," and he immedi- ately answered:
Into the Millennium (The CriminaLs) · 827
"There's no need to be a saint to experience something of the kind! You could be sitting on a fallen tree or a bench in the moun- tains, watching a herd of grazing cows, and experience something amounting to being transported into another life! You lose yourself and at the same time suddenly find yourself-you talked about it yourself! "
"But what actually happens? " Agathe asked.
"To know that, you first have to decide what is normal, sister human," Ulrich joked, trying to brake the much too rapid rush of the idea. "What's normal is that a herd of cattle means nothing to us but grazing beef. Or else a subject for a painting, with background. Or it hardly registers at all. Herds ofcattle beside mountain paths are part of the mountain paths, and we would only notice what we experience when we see them if a big electric clock or an apartment house were to stand there in their place. For the rest, we wonder whether to get up or stay put; we're bothered by the flies swarming around the cat- tle; we wonder whether there's a bull in the herd; we wonder where the path goes from here-there are any number of minor delibera- tions, worries, calculations, and observations that make up the paper, as it were, that has the picture of the cows on it. We have no aware- ness of the paper, only of the cows! "
"And suddenly the paper tears! " Agathe broke in.
"Right. That is, some tissue of habit in us tears. There's no longer something edible grazing out there, or something paintable; nothing blocks your way. You can't even form the word 'grazing,' because a host of purposeful, practical connotations go along with it, which you have suddenly lost. What is left on the pictorial plane might best be called an ocean swell of sensations that rises and falls, breathes and shimmers, as though it 61led your whole field ofview without a hori- zon. Of course, there are still countless individual perceptions con- tained within it: colors, horns, movements, smells, and all the details of reality; but none of them are acknowledged any longer, even if they should still be recognized. Let me put it this way: the details no longer have their egoism, which they use to capture our attention, but they're all linked with each other in a familiar, literally 'inward' way. And of course the 'pictorial plane' is no longer there either; but everything somehow flows over into you, all boundaries gone. "
Again Agathe picked up the description eagerly. "So instead of the
828 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
egoism of the details, you only need to say the egoism of human be- ings," she exclaimed, "and you've got what is so hard to put into words. 'Love thy neighbor! ' doesn't mean love him on the basis of what you both are; it characterizes a dream state! "
"All moral propositions," Ulrich agreed, "characterize a sort of dream state that has already flown the coop of rules in which we tether it. "
"Then there's really no such thing as good and evil, but only faith-or doubt! " cried Agathe, to whom a self-supporting primal condition offaith now seemed so close, as did its disappearance from the morality her brother had spoken ofwhen he said that faith could not live past the hour.
''Yes, the moment one slips away from a life ofinessentials, every- thing enters into a new relationship with everything else," Ulrich agreed. "I would almost go so far as to say into a nonrelationship. For it's an entirely unknown one, ofwhich we have no experience, and all other relationships are blotted out. But despite its obscurity, this one is so distinct that its existence is undeniable. It's strong, but impalpa- bly strong. One might put it this way: ordinarily, we look at some- thing, and our gaze is like a fine wire or a taut thread with two supports-one being the eye and the other what it sees, and there's some such great support structure for every second that passes; but at this particular second, on the contrary, it is rather as though some- thing painfully sweet were pulling our eye beams apart.
"One possesses nothing in the world, one holds on to nothing, one is not held by anything," Agathe said. "It's all like a tall tree on which not a leaf is stirring. And in that condition one could not do anything mean. "
"They say that nothing can happen in that condition which is not in harmony with it," Ulrich added. "A desire to 'belong to' it is the only basis, the loving vocation, and the sole form of all acting and thinking that have their place in it. It is something infinitely serene and all-encompassing, and everything that happens in it adds to its quietly growing significance; or it doesn't add to it, in which case it's a bad thing, but nothing bad can happen, because ifit did the stillness and clarity would be torn and the marvelous condition would end. " Ulrich gave his sister a probing look she was not meant to notice; he
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 829
had a nagging feeling that it was about time to stop. But Agathe's face was impassive; she was thinking of things long past.
"It makes me wonder at myself," she answered, "but there really was a brief period when I was untouched by envy, malice, vanity, greed, and things like that. It seems incredible now, but it seems to me that they had all suddenly disappeared, not only out of my heart but out of the world! In that state it isn't only oneself who can't be- have badly; the others can't either. A good person makes everything that touches him good, no matter what others may do to him; the instant it enters his sphere it becomes transformed. "
"No," Ulrich cut in, "not quite. On the contrary, put that way, this would be one of the oldest misconceptions. A good person doesn't make the world good in any way; he has no effect on it whatsoever; all he does is separate himself from it. "
"But he stays right in the midst ofit, doesn't he? ''
"He stays right in its midst, but he feels as if the space were being drawn out of things, or something or other imaginary were happen- ing; it's hard to say. "
"All the same, I have the idea that a 'highhearted' person-the word just occurred to me! -never comes in contact with anything base. It may be nonsense, but it does happen. "
"It may happen," Ulrich replied, "but the opposite happens too! Or do you suppose that the soldiers who crucified Jesus didn't feel they were doing something base? And they were God's instrument! Incidentally, the mystics themselves testify to the existence of bad feelings-they complain about falling from the state of grace and then enduring unspeakable misery, knowing fear, pain, shame, and perhaps even hatred. Only when the quiet burning begins again do remorse, anger, fear, and misery turn into bliss. It's so hard to know what to make of all this! "
"When were you that much in love? '' Agathe asked abruptly.
"Me? Oh . . .
I've already told you about that: I fled a thousand miles away from the woman I loved, and once I felt safe from any possibility of really embracing her, I howled for her like a dog at the moon! "
Now Agathe confided to him the story of her love. She was ex- cited. Her last question had snapped from her like an overly tight-
830 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
ened violin string, and the rest followed in the same vein. She was trembling inwardly as she revealed what had been concealed for many years.
But her brother was not particularly moved. "Memories usually age along with people," he pointed out, "and with time the most pas- sionate experiences take on a comic perspective, as though one were seeing them at the end of ninety-nine doors opened in succession. Still, sometimes certain memories that were tied to strong emotions don't age, but keep a tight grip on whole layers of one's being. That was your case. There are such points in almost everyone, which dis- tort the psychic balance a little. One's behavior flows over them like a river over an invisible boulder-in your case this was very strong, so that it almost amounted to a dam. But you've freed yourself after all; you're moving again! "
He said this with the calm of an almost professional opinion; how easily he was diverted! Agathe was unhappy. Stubbornly she said: "Of course I'm in motion, but that's not what I'm talking about! I want to know where I almost got to back then. " She was irritated too, without meaning to be, but simply because her excitement had to express itself somehow. She went on talking, nevertheless, in her original direction and was quite dizzy between the tenderness of her words and the irritation behind them. She was talking about that pe- culiar condition of heightened receptivity and sensitivity that brings about a rising and falling tide of impressions and creates the feeling of being connected with all things as in the gentle mirror of a sheet of water, giving and receiving without will: that miraculous feeling of the lifting of all bounds, the boundlessness of the outer and inner that love and mysticism have in common. Agathe did not, of course, put it in such terms, which already contain an explanation; she was merely making passionate fragments of her memories into a se- quence. But even Ulrich, although he had often thought about it, could not offer any explanation of these experiences; indeed, he did not even know whether he should attempt to deal with such an expe- rience in its own way or according to the usual procedures of ratio- nality; both came naturally to him, but not to the obvious passion of his sister. And so what he said in reply was merely a mediation, a kind oftesting ofthe possibilities. He pointed out how in the exalted state they were speaking of, thought and the moral sense went hand in
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 831
hand, so that each thought was felt as happiness, event, and gift, and neither lost itself in the storerooms of the brain nor formed attach- ments to feelings of appropriation and power, of retention and ob- smvation; thus in the head no less than in the heart the delight of self-possession is replaced by a boundless self-giving and bonding.
"Once in a lifetime," Agathe replied with passionate decisiveness, "everything one does is done for someone else. One sees the sun shining for him. He is everywhere, oneself nowhere. But there is no egoism adeux, because the same thing must be happening with the other person. In the end, they hardly exist for each other anymore, and what's left is a world for nothing but couples, a world consisting of appreciation, devotion, friendship, and selflessness! "
In the darkness of the room her face glowed with eagerness like a rose standing in the shade.
"Let's be a little more sober again," Ulrich gently proposed. "There can be too much fakery in these matters. " There was nothirlg wrong with that either, she thought. Perhaps it was the irritation, still not quite gone, that somewhat dampened her delight over the reality he was invoking. But this vague trembling of the borderline was a not unpleasant feeling.
Ulrich began by speaking of the mischief of interpreting the kind of experiences they were talking about not as if what was going on in them was merely a peculiar change in thinking, but as if superhuman thinking was taking the place of the ordinary kind. Whether one called it divine illumination or, in the modem fashion, merely intui- tion, he considered it the main hindrance to real understanding. In his opinion, nothing was to be gained by yielding to notions that would not stand up under careful investigation. That would only be like Icarus's wax wings, which melted with the altitude, he ex- claimed. Ifone wished to fly other than in dreams, one must master it on metal wings.
He paused for a moment, then went on, pointing to his books: "Here you have testimony, Christian, Judaic, Indian, Chinese, some separated by more than a thousand years. Yet one recognizes in all of them the same uniform structure of inner movement, divergent from the ordinary. Almost the only way they differ from each other comes from the various didactic superstructures of theology and cos- mic wisdom under whose protective roofthey have taken shelter. We
832 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
therefore may assume the existence of a certain alternative and un- common condition of great importance, which man is capable of achieving and which has deeper origins than religions.
"On the other hand," he added, qualifying what he had said, "the churches, that is, civilized communities of religious people, have al- ways treated this condition with the kind of mistrust a bureaucrat feels for the spirit of private enterprise. They've never accepted this riotous experience without reservations; on the contrary, they've di- rected great and apparently justified efforts toward replacing it with a properly regulated and intelligible morality. So the history of this alternative condition resembles a progressive denial and dilution, something like the draining of a swamp.
"And when confessional authority over the spirit and its vocabu- lary became outmoded, our condition understandably came to be re- garded as nothing more than a chimera. Why should bourgeois culture, in replacing the old religious culture, be more religious than its predecessor? Bourgeois culture has reduced this other condition to the status of a dog fetching intuitions. There are hordes of people today who find fault with rationality and would like us to believe that in their wisest moments they were doing their thinking with the help of some special, suprarational faculty. That's the final public vestige of it all, itself totally rationalistic. What's left of the drained swamp is rubbish! And so, except for its uses in poetry, this old condition is excusable only in uneducated people in the first weeks of a love af- fair, as a temporary aberration, like green leaves that every so often sprout posthumously from the wood of beds and lecterns; but if it threatens to revert to its original luxuriant growth, it is unmercifully dug up and rooted out! "
Ulrich had been talking for about as long as it takes a surgeon to wash his arms and hands so as not to carry any germs into the field of operation, and also with all the patience, concentration, and even- handedness it paradoxically takes to cope with the excitement at- tendant on the task ahead. But after he had completely disinfected himself he almost yearned for a little fever or infection-after all, he did not love sobriety for its own sake. Agathe was sitting on the li- brary ladder, and even when her brother fell silent she gave no sign of participation. She gazed out into the endless oceanic gray of the
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 833
sky and listened to the silence just as she had been listening to the words. So Ulrich took up the thread again, with a slight obstinacy that he barely managed to mask by his lighthearted tone.
"Let's get back to our bench on the mountain, with that herd of cows," he suggested. "Imagine some high bureaucrat sitting there in his brand-new leather shorts with 'Gruss Gott' embroidered on his green suspenders. He represents 'real life' on vacation. Of course, this temporarily alters his consciousness of his existence. When he looks at the herd ofcows he neither counts them, classifies them, nor estimates the weight on the hoof of the animals grazing before him; he forgives his enemies and thinks indulgently of his family. For him the herd has been transformed from a practical object into a moral one, as it were. He may also, ofcourse, be estimating and counting a little and not forgiving a whole lot, but then at least it is bathed in woodland murmurs, purling brooks, and sunshine. In a word, what otherwise forms the content of his life seems 'far away' and 'not all that important. ' "
"It's a holiday mood," Agathe agreed mechanically.
"Exactly! I f he regards his nonvacation life as 'not all that impor- tant,' it means only as long as his vacation lasts. So that is the truth today: a man has two modes of existence, of consciousness, and of thought, and saves himself from being frightened to death by ghosts-which this prospect would of necessity induce-by regard- ing one condition as a vacation from the other, an interruption, a rest, or anything else he thinks he can recognize. Mysticism, on the other hand, would be connected with the intention of going on vaca- tion permanently. Our high official is bound to regard such an idea as disgraceful and instantly feel-as in fact he always does toward the end of his vacation-that real life lies in his tidy office. And do we feel any differently? Whether something needs to be straightened out or not will always eventually decide whether one takes it com- pletely seriously, and here these experiences have not had much luck, for over thousands of years they have never got beyond their primordial disorder and incompleteness. And for this we have the ready label of Mania-religious mania, erotomania, take your choice. You can be assured that in our day even most religious people are so infected with the scientific way of thinking that they don't trust
834 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
themselves to look into what is burning in their inmost hearts but are always ready to speak of this ardor in medical terms as a mania, even though officially they take a different line! "
Agathe gave her brother a look in which something crackled like fire in the rain. "So now you've managed to maneuver us out of it! " she accused him, when he didn't go on.
"You're right," he admitted. "But what's peculiar is that though we've covered it all up like a suspect well, some remaining drop of this unholy holy water bums a hole in all our ideals. None of our ideals is quite right, none of them makes us happy: they all point to something that's not there-we've said enough about that today. Our civilization is a temple ofwhat would be called unsecured mania, but
it is also its asylum, and we don't know if we are suffering from an . ,I
excess or a defic1ency.
"Perhaps you've never dared surrender yourself to it all the way,"
Agathe said wistfully, and climbed down from her ladder; for they were supposed to be busy sorting their father's papers and had let themselves be distracted from what had gradually become a pressing task, first by the books and then by their conversation. Now they went back to checking the dispositions and notes referring to the di- vision of their inheritance, for the day of reckoning with Hagauer was imminent. But before they had seriously settled down to this, Agathe straightened up from her papers and asked him once more: "Just how much do you yourself believe everything you've been telling
? " me.
Ulrich answered without looking up. "Suppose that while your heart had turned away from the world, there was a dangerous bull among the herd. Try to believe absolutely that the deadly disease you were telling me about would have taken another course if you had not allowed your feelings to slacken for a single instant. " Then he raised his head and pointed to the papers he had been sorting: "And law, justice, fair play? Do you really think they're entirely superfluous? "
"So just how much do you believe? " Agathe reiterated.
"Yes and no," Ulrich said.
"That means no," Agathe concluded.
Here chance intervened in their talk. As Ulrich, who neither felt
inclined to resume the discussion nor was calm enough to get on with
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 835
the business at hand, rounded up the scattered papers, something fell to the floor. It was a loose bundle of all kinds of things that had inad- vertently been pulled out with the will from a corner of the desk drawer where it might have lain for decades without its owner know- ing. Ulrich looked at it distractedly as he picked it up and recognized his father's handwriting on several pages; but it was not the script of his old age but that ofhis prime. Ulrich took a closer look and saw that in addition to written pages there were playing cards, snapshots, and all sorts of odds and ends, and quickly realized what he had found. It was the desk's "poison drawer. " Here were painstakingly recorded jokes, mostly dirty; nude photographs; postcards, to be sent sealed, of buxom dairy maids whose panties could be opened behind; packs of cards that looked quite normal but showed some awful things when held up to the light; mannequins that voided all sorts of stuff when pressed on the belly; and more of the same. The old gentleman had undoubtedly long since forgotten the things lying in that drawer, or he would certainly have destroyed them in good time. They obviously dated from those mid-life years when quite a few aging bachelors and widowers warm themselves with such obscenities, but Ulrich blushed at this exposure of his father's unguarded fantasies, now released from the flesh by death. Their relevance to the discussion just broken off was instantly clear to him. Nevertheless, his first impulse was to destroy this evidence before Agathe could see it. But she had already noticed that something unusual had fallen into his hands, so he changed his mind and asked her to come over.
He was going to wait and hear what she would say. Suddenly the realization possessed him again that she was, after all, a woman who must have had her experiences, a point he had totally lost sight of while they were deep in conversation. But her face gave no sign of what she was thinking; she looked at her father's illicit relics seriously and calmly, at times smiling openly, though not animatedly. So Ul- rich, despite his resolve, began.
"Those are the dregs of mysticism! " he said wryly. "The strict moral admonitions of the will in the same drawer as this swill! "
He had stood up and was pacing back and forth in the room. And once he had begun to talk, his sister's silence spurred him on.
"You asked me what I believe," he began. "I believe that all our moral injunctions are concessions to a society of savages.
836 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
"I believe none of them are right.
"There's a different meaning glimmering behind them. An alche- mist's fire.
"I believe that nothing is ever done with.
"I believe that nothing is in balance but that everything is trying to raise itself on the fulcrum of everything else.
"That's what i believe. It was born with me, or I with it. "
He had stood still after each of these sentences, for he spoke softly and had somehow or other to give emphasis to his credo. Now his eye was caught by the classical busts atop the bookshelves; he saw a plas- ter Minerva, a Socrates; he remembered that Goethe had kept an over-lifesize plaster head of Juno in his study. This predilection seemed alarmingly distant to him; what had once been an idea in full bloom had since withered into a dead classicism. Turned into the rearguard dogmatism of rights and duties of his father's contempo- raries. All in vain.
"The morality that has been handed down to us," he s3. id, "is like being sent out on a swaying high wire over an abyss, with no other advice than: 'Hold yourself as stiff as you can! '
"I seem, without having had a say in the matter, to have been born with another kind of morality.
"You asked me what I believe. I believe there are valid reasons you can use to prove to me a thousand times that something is good or beautiful, and it will leave me indifferent; the only mark I shall go by is whether its presence makes me ·rue or sink.
''Whether it rouses me to life or not.
''Whether it's only my tongue and my brain that speak of it, or the radiant shiver in my fingertips.
"But I can't prove anything, either.
"And I'm even convinced that a person who yields to this is lost. He stumbles into twilight. Into fog and nonsense. Into unarticulated boredom.
"Ifyou take the unequivocal out ofour life, what's left is a sheep- fold without a wolf.
"I believe that bottomless vulgarity can even be the good angel that protects us.
"And so, I don't believe!
"And above all, I don't believe in the domestication of evil by
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 837
good as the characteristic of our hodgepodge civilization. I find that repugnant.
"So I believe and don't believe!
"But maybe I believe that the time is coming when people will on the one hand be very intelligent, and on the other hand be mystics. Maybe our morality is already splitting into these two components. I might also say into mathematics and mysticism. Into practical im- provements and unknown adventure! "
He had not been so openly excited about anything in years. The "maybe"s in his speech did not trouble him; they seemed only natural.
Agathe had meanwhile knelt down before the stove; she had the bundle of pictures and papers on the floor beside her. She looked at everything once more, piece by piece, before pushing it into the fire. She was not entirely unsusceptible to the vulgar sensuality of the ob- scenities she was looking at. She felt her body being aroused by them. This seemed to her to have as little to do with her self as the feeling of being on a deserted heath and somewhere a rabbit scutters past. She did not know whether she would be ashamed to tell her brother this, but she was profoundly fatigued and did not want to talk anymore. Nor did she listen to what he was saying; her heart had by now been too shaken by these ups and downs, and could no longer keep up. Others had always known better than she what was right; she thought about this, but she did so, perhaps because she was ashamed, with a secret defiance. To walk a forbidden or secret path: in that she felt superior to Ulrich. She heard him time and again cau- tiously taking back everything he had let himself be carried away into saying, and his words beat like big drops of joy and sadness against her ear.
13
ULRICH RETURNS AND LEARNS FROM THE GENERAL WHA T HE HAS MISSED
Forty-eight hours later Ulrich was standing in his abandoned house. It was early in the morning. The house was meticulously tidy, dusted and polished; his books and papers lay on the tables precisely as he had left them at his hasty departure, carefully preserved by hisser- vant, open or bristling with markers that had become incomprehen- sible, this or that paper still with a pencil stuck between the pages. But everything had cooled off and hardened like the contents of a melting pot under which one has forgotten to stoke the fire. Painfully disillusioned, Ulrichstaredblanklyatthesetracesofavanishedhour, matrix of the intense excitement and ideas that had filled it. He felt repelled beyond words at this encounter with his own debris. "It spreads through the doors and the rest of the house all the way down to those idiotic antlers in the hall. What a life I've been leading this last year! " He shut his eyes where he stood, so as not to have to see it. "What a good thing she'll soon be following me," he thought. "We'll change everything! " Then he was tempted after all to visualize the last hours he had spent here; it seemed to him that he had been away for a very long time, and he wanted to compare.
Clarisse: that was nothing. But before and after: the strange tur- moil in which he had hurried home, and then that nocturnal melting of the world! "Like iron softening under some great pressure," he mused. "It begins to flow, and yet it is still iron. A man forces his way into the world," he thought, "but it suddenly closes in around him, and everything looks different. No more connections. No road on which he came and which he must pursue. Something shimmering enveloping him on the spot where a moment ago he had seen a goal, or actually the sober void that lies before every goal. " Ulrich kept his eyes closed. Slowly, as a shadow, his feeling returned. It happened as if it were returning to the spot where he had stood then and was again standing now, this feeling that was more out there in the room
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 839
than in his consciousness-it was really neither a feeling nor a thought, but some uncanny process. If one were as overstimulated and lonely as he had been then, one could indeed believe that the essence of the world was turning itself inside out; and suddenly it dawned on him-how was it possible that it was happening only now? -and lay there like a peaceful backward glance, that even then his feelings had announced the encounter with his sister, because from that moment on his spirit had been guided by strange forces, until . . . but before he could think "yesterday," Ulrich turned away, awakened as abruptly and palpably from his memories as if he had bumped against some solid edge. There was something here he was not yet ready to think about.
He went over to his desk and without taking off his coat looked through the mail lying there. He was disappointed not to find a tele- gram from his sister, although he had no reason to expect one. A huge pile of condolence mail lay intermingled with scientific com- munications and booksellers' catalogs. Two letters had come from Bonadea; both so thick that he did not bother to open them. There was also an urgent request from Count Leinsdorfthat he come to see him, and two fluting notes from Diotima, also inviting him to put in an appearance immediately upon his return; perused more closely, one of them, the later one, revealed unofficial overtones of a very warm, wistful, almost tender cast. Ulrich turned to the telephone messages that had come during his absence: General Stumm von Bordwehr, Section ChiefTuzzi, Count Leinsdorf's private secretary (twice), several calls from a lady who would not leave her name, probably Bonadea; Bank Director Leo Fischel; and, for the rest, business calls.
"Then you shouldn't make fun of it," Agathe objected, grim with curiosity and radiant with impatience.
"I only make fun of it because I love it," Ulrich said curtly.
BIB
12
HOL Y DISCOURSE: ERRA TIC PROGRESS
In the following days there were always many books on the table, some ofwhich he had brought from home, others that he had bought since, and he would either talk extemporaneously or cite a passage, one ofmany he had marked with little slips ofpaper, to prove a point or quote the exact wording. The books before him were mostly lives of the mystics, their writings, or scholarly works about them, and he usually deflected the conversation from them by saying: "Now let's take a good hard look and see what's really going on here. " This was a cautious attitude he was not prepared to give up easily, and so he said to her once:
"If you could read right through all these accounts that men and women of past centuries have left us, describing their state of divine rapture, you would find much truth and reality in among the printed words, and yet the statements made of these words would go wholly against the grain ofyour present-day mind. " And he went on: "They speak of an overflowing radiance. Of an infinite expanse, a boundless opulence of light. Of an overarching oneness of all things and all the soul's energies. Of an awesome and indescribable uplifting of the heart. Of insights coming so swiftly that it's all simultaneous and like drops of fire falling into the world. And then again they speak of a forgetting and no longer understanding, even of everything falling utterly away. They speak of an immense serenity far removed from all passion. Of growing mute. A vanishing of thoughts and inten- tions. A blindness in which they see clearly, a clarity in which they are dead and supernaturally alive. They call it a shedding of their being, and yet they claim to be more fully alive than ever. Aren't these the same sensations, however veiled by the difficulty of expressing them, still experienced today when the heart-'greedy and gorged,' as they say! -stumbles by chance into those utopian regions situated somewhere and nowhere between infinite tenderness and infinite loneliness? "
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 819
As he paused briefly to think, Agathe's voice joined in: "It's what you once called two layers that overlie each other within us. "
"I did? When? "
"When you walked aimlessly into town and felt as though you were dissolving into it, although at the same time you didn't like the place. I told you that this happens to me often. "
"Oh yes! You even said 'Hagauer! '" Ulrich exclaimed. "And we laughed-now I remember. But we didn't really mean it. Anyway, it's not the only time I talked to you about the kind ofvision that gives and the kind that receives, about the male and female principles, the hermaphroditism of the primal imagination and so o n -I can say a lot about these things. As if my mouth were as far away from me as the moon, which is also always on hand for confidential chats in the night! But what these believers have to say about their souls' adven- tures," he went on, mingling the bitterness of his words with objec- tivity and even admiration, "is sometimes written with the force and the ruthless analytic conviction ofa Stendhal. But only"-he limited this-"as long as they stick to the phenomena and their judgment doesn't enter in, which is corrupted by their flattering conviction that they've been singled out by God to have direct experience of Him. For from that moment on, of course, they no longer speak of their perceptions, which are so hard to describe and have no nouns or verbs, but begin to speak in sentences with subject and object, be- cause they believe in their soul and in God as in the two doorposts between which the miraculous will blossom. And so they arrive at these statements about the soul being drawn out of the body and ab- sorbed into the Lord, or say that the Lord penetrates them like a lover. They are caught, engulfed, dazzled, swept away, raped by God, or else their soul opens to Him, enters into Him, tastes of Him, em- braces Him with love and hears Him speak. The earthly model for this is unmistakable, and these descriptions no longer resemble tre- mendous discoveries but rather a series of fairly predictable images with which an erotic poet decks out his subject, about which only one opinion is permissible. For a person like me, anyway, brought up to maintain reserve, these accounts stretch me on the rack, for the elect, even as they assure me that God has spoken to them, or that they have understood the speech of trees and animals, neglect to tell me what it was that was imparted to them; or if they do, it comes out
820 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
as purely personal details, or a rehash of the Clerical News. It's an everlasting pity that no trained scientists have visions! " he ended his lengthy reply.
"Do you think they could? '' Agathe was testing him.
Ulrich hesitated for an instant. Then he answered like a believer: "I don't know; maybe it could happen to me! " When he heard him- selfsaying these words he smiled, as ifto mitigate them.
Agathe smiled too; she now seemed to have the answer she had been hankering after, and her face reflected the small moment of letdown that follows the sudden cessation of a tension. Perhaps she now raised an objection only because she wanted to spur her brother on.
"You know," she said, "that I was raised in a very strict convent school. So I have the most scandalous urge to caricature anyone I hear talking about pious ideals. Our teachers wore a habit whose two colors formed a cross, as a sort of enforced reminder of one of the sublimest thoughts we were supposed to have before us all day long; but we never once thought it; we just called the good sisters the cross-spiders, because of the way they looked and their silky way of talking. That's why, while you were reading aloud, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "
"Do you know what that proves? '' Ulrich exclaimed. "Just that the power for gopd which is somehow present in us eats its way instantly through the walls if it gets locked into solid form, and immediately uses that as a bolt hole to evil! It reminds me of the time I was in the army and upheld throne and altar with my brother officers; never in my life have I heard such loose talk about both as I did in our circle! All emotions refuse to be chained, and some refuse absolutely. I'm convinced your good nuns believed what they preached to you, but faith mustn't ever be more than an hour old! That's the point! "
Although in his haste Ulrich had not expressed himself to his satis- faction, Agathe understood that the faith of those nuns who had taken away the pleasure of faith for her was merely a "bottled" vari- ety, preserved in glass jars, so to speak, in its natural condition and not deprived of any of its qualities of faith but still not fresh; indeed, in some imponderable way it had changed into a different condition from its original one, which now hovered momentarily before this truant and rebellious pupil of holiness as a kind of intimation.
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 82 1
This, with everything else they had been saying about morality, was one of the gripping doubts her brother had implanted in her mind, and also part of that inner reawakening she had been feeling ever since, without rightly knowing what it was. For the attitude of indifference she made such a point of displaying outwardly and en- couraging inwardly had not always ruled her life. Something had once happened that had caused her need for self-punishment to spring directly out of a deep depression, which made her appear to herself as unworthy because she believed she had not been granted the ability to keep faith with lofty emotions, and she had despised herself for her heart's sloth ever since.
This episode lay between her life as a young girl in her father's house and her incomprehensible marriage to Hagauer, and was so narrowly circumscribed that even Ulrich, for all his sympathy, had forgotten to ask about it. What had happened is soon told: At the age of eighteen Agathe had married a man only slightly older than her- self, and on a trip that began with their wedding and ended in his death, he was snatched away from her within a few weeks, before they had even had time to think about choosing a place to live, by a fatal disease he had caught on their travels. The doctors called it ty- phus, and Agathe repeated the word after them, finding in it a sem- blance of order, for that was the side of the event polished smooth for the uses of the world; but on the unpolished side, it was different: until then Agathe had lived with her father, whom everyone re- spected, so that she reluctantly regarded herself as to blame for not loving him; and the uncertain waiting at school to become herself, through the mistrust it awakened in her mind, had not helped to sta- bilize her relationship to the world either. Later, on the other hand, when with suddenly aroused vivacity she had united with her child- hood playmate to overcome in a matter of months all the obstacles put in the way of such a youthful marriage (even though their fami- lies had no objections to each other), she had all at once no longer been isolated and had thereby become herself. This could well be called love; but there are lovers who stare at love as into the sun and merely become blinded by it, and there are lovers who seem to dis- cover life for the first time with astonishment when it is illuminated by love. Agathe was one of the latter kind; she had not even had time to find out whether it was her husband she loved or something else,
822 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
when something struck that was called, in the language of the unil- luminated world, an infectious disease. With primal suddenness hor- ror irrupted upon them from the alien regions of life-a struggle, a flickering, an extinction; a visitation upon two human beings clinging to each other and the disappearance of an innocent world in vomit- ing, excrement, and fear.
Agathe had never faced up to this event that had annihilated her feelings. Bewildered with despair, she had lain on her knees at the dying man's bedside and persuaded herself that she could conjure up the power that had enabled her as a child to overcome her own ill- ness. When his decline continued nevertheless, and his conscious- ness was already gone, she kept staring into the vacant face, in that hotel room far from home, unable to understand; she had held the dying body in her arms without considering the danger and without considering the realities being attended to by an indignant nurse. She had done nothing but murmur for hours into his fading ear: "You can't, you can't, you can't! " But when it was all over she had stood up in amazement, and without thinking or believing anything in particu- lar, acting simply from a solitary nature's stubbornness and capacity to dream, she had from that moment on inwardly treated this empty astonishment at what had happened as though it were not final. We see the onset of something similar in everyone who cannot bring himself to believe bad news, or finds a way to soften the irrevocable, but Agathe's attitude was unique in the force and extent of this reac- tion, which marked the sudden outburst of her disdain for the world. Since then she had conscientiously assimilated anything new as something less actual than extremely uncertain, an attitude greatly facilitated by the mistrust with which she had always confronted real- ity; the past, on the other hand, was petrified by the blow she had suffered, and eroded by time much more slowly than usually hap- pens with memories. But it had none of the swirl of dreams, the one- sidedness or the skewed sense of proportion that brings the doctor on the scene. On the contrary, Agathe went on living in perfect lucid- ity, quietly virtuous and merely a little bored, slightly inclined to that reluctance about life that was really like the fever she had suffered so willingly as a child. In her memory, which in any case never let its impressions dissolve into generalizations, every hour of what had been and still was fearful remained vivid, like a corpse under a white
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 823
sheet; despite all the anguish of remembering so exactly, it made her happy, for it had the effect of a secret, belated indication that all was not yet over, and it preserved in her, despite the decay of her emo- tional life, a vague but high-minded tension. In truth, all it meant was that she had again lost the sense of meaning in her life and had con- sciously put herself in a state of mind that did not suit her years; for only old people live by dwelling on the experiences and achieve- ments of a time that is gone and remain untouched by the present. But at the age Agathe was then, fortunately, while resolves are made for eternity a single year feels like half an eternity, and so it was only to be expected that after a time a repressed nature and a fettered imagination would violently free themselves. The details of how it happened are of no consequence in themselves; a man whose ad- vances would in other circumstances never have succeeded in dis- turbing her equilibrium succeeded, and became her lover, but this attempt at reliving something ended, after a brief period of manic hope, in passionate disenchantment. Agathe now felt herself cast out by both her real life and her unreal life, and unworthy of her own high hopes. She was one ofthose intense people who can keep them- selves motionless and in reserve for a long time, until at some point they suddenly fall prey to total confusion; and so, in her disappoint- ment, she soon took another rash step, which was, in short, to punish herself in a way opposite to the way she had sinned, condemning her- self to share her life with a man who inspired in her a mild aversion. And this man whom she had picked out as a penance was Gottlieb Hagauer.
"It was certainly both unfair to him and inconsiderate," Agathe ad- mitted to herself-and it must be admitted that this was the first time she had ever faced up to it, because fairness and consideration are not virtues in high favor with the young. Still, her self-punish- ment in this marriage was not inconsiderable either, and Agathe now gave it some more thought. She had strayed far from their conversa- tion, and Ulrich, too, was leafing through his books for something and seemed to have forgotten the conversation. "In earlier centu- ries," she thought, "a person in my state of mind would have entered a convent," and the fact that she had got married instead was not without an innocently comical side, which had previously escaped her. This comedy, which she had then been too young to notice, was
824 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
simply that of the present day, which satisfies its need for a refuge from the world at worst in some tourist accommodation but usually in an Alpine hotel, and even strives to furnish its prisons tastefully. It expresses the profound European need not to overdo anything. No European any longer scourges himself, smears himself with ashes, cuts out his tongue, really takes part in things or totally withdraws from society, swoons with passion, breaks people on the wheel or im- pales them, but everyone sometimes feels the need to do so, so that it's hard to say which is more to be avoided: wanting to do it or not doing it. Why should an ascetic, ofall people, starve himself? It only gives him disturbing fantasies. A sensible asceticism consists of an aversion to eating while being constantly well nourished. Such an as- ceticism promises longevity and offers the mind a freedom that is unattainable so long as it remains enslaved to the body in passionate rebellion. Such bitterly humorous reflections, which she had learned from her brother, were now doing Agathe a world of good, for they dissected the "tragic"-a rigid beliefthat in her inexperience she had long assumed to be a duty-into irony and a passion that had neither name nor aim, and for that reason alone were not bracketed with what she had experienced previously.
It was in this way above all that she had begun to realize, ever since being with her brother, that something was happening to the great split she had suffered between irresponsible living and a spectral fan- tasy life; there was a movement of release and of recombining what had been released. Now, for instance, in this silence between herself and her brother, which was deepened by the presence of books and memories, she thought ofthe description Ulrich had given her ofhis wandering aimlessly into town, and ofhow the town had entered him as he entered it. It reminded her very exactly ofthe few weeks ofher happiness. And it had also been right for her to laugh, wildly and for no reason, when he told her about it, because it struck her that there was something of this turning of the world inside out, this delicious and funny inversion he was speaking of, even in Hagauer's thick lips when they pursed for a kiss. It made her shudder, of course, but there is a shudder, she thought, even in the bright light of noon, and it made her feel that somehow there was still hope for her. Some mere nothing, some break that had always lain between past and present, had recently vanished. She glanced around covertly. The
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 825
room she was in had formed part of the space in which her fate had taken shape: it was the first time since her arrival that this had occurred to her. For it was here that she had met with her childhood friend when her father was out, and they made the great decision to love each other; here, too, she had sometimes received her "un- worthy" suitor, standing at the window hiding tears of rage or des- peration, and here, finally, Hagauer's courting had run its course, with her father's blessing. After having been for so long merely the unnoticed other side ofevents, the furniture and walls, the peculiarly confined light, now became in this moment of recognition strangely tangible, and the quixotic things that had occurred here assumed a physical and completelyunambiguous pastness, as ifthey were ashes or burned charcoal. What remained, and became almost unbearably powerful, was that funny, shadowy sense of things done with-that strange tickling one feels when confronted with old traces, dried to dust, of one's self-which, the moment one feels it, one can neither grasp nor banish.
Agathe made sure that Ulrich was not paying attention, and care- fully opened the top ofher dress, where she kept next to her skin the locket with the tiny picture that she had never taken off through the years. She went to the window and pretended to look out. Cau- tiously, she snapped open the sharp edge of the tiny golden scallop and gazed furtively at her dead love. He had full lips and soft, thick hair, and the cocky expression ofthe twenty-one-year-old flashed out at her from a face still half in its eggshell. For a long time she did not know what she thought, but then suddenly the thought came: "My God, a twenty-one-year-old! "
What do such youngsters talk about with each other? What mean- ing do they give to their concerns? How funny and arrogant they often are! How the intensity of their ideas misleads them about the worth of those ideas! Curious, Agathe unwrapped from the tissue paper of memory some sayings that she-thank goodness for her cleverness-had preserved in it. My God, that was almost worth say- ing, she thought, but she could not really be sure of even that unless she also recalled the garden in which it had been spoken, with the strange flowers whose names she did not know, the butterflies that settled on them like weary drunkards, and the light that flowed over their faces as if heaven and earth were dissolved in it. By that mea-
826 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
sure she was today an old, experienced woman, even though not that many years had passed. With some confusion she noted the incon- gruity that she, at twenty-seven, still loved the boy of twenty-one: he had grown much too young for her! She asked herself: "What feel- ings would I have to have if, at my age, this boyish man were really to be the most important thing in the world to me? " They would cer- tainly have been odd feelings, but she was not even able to imagine them clearly. It all dissolved into nothing.
Agathe recognized in a great upsurge offeeling that the one proud passion of her life had been a mistake, and the heart of this error consisted of a fie:ry mist she could neither touch nor grasp, no matter whether one were to say that faith could not live more than an hour, or something else. It was always this that her brother had been talk- ing about since they had been together, and it was always herself he was speaking of, even though he hedged it about in his intellectual fashion and his diplomacy was much too slow for her impatience. They kept coming back to the same conversation, and Agathe herself blazed with desire that his flame should not diminish.
When she now spoke to Ulrich he had not even noticed how long the interruption had lasted. But whoever has not already picked up the clues to what was going on between this brother and sister should lay this account aside, for it depicts an adventure of which he will never be able to approve: a journey to the edge ofthe possible, which led past-and perhaps not always past-the dangers of the impossi- ble and unnatural, even of the repugnant: a "borderline case," as Ul- rich later called it, of limited and special validity, reminiscent of the freedom with which mathematics sometimes resorts to the absurd in order to arrive at the truth. He and Agathe happened upon a path that had much in common with the business of those possessed by God, but they walked it without piety, without believing in God or the soul, nor even in the beyond or in reincarnation. They had come upon it as people ofthis world, and pursued it as such-this was what was remarkable about it. Though at the moment Agathe spoke again Ulrich was still absorbed in his books and the problems they set him, he had not for an instant forgotten their conversation, which had bro- ken off at the moment of her resistance to the devoutness of her teachers and his own insistence on "precise visions," and he immedi- ately answered:
Into the Millennium (The CriminaLs) · 827
"There's no need to be a saint to experience something of the kind! You could be sitting on a fallen tree or a bench in the moun- tains, watching a herd of grazing cows, and experience something amounting to being transported into another life! You lose yourself and at the same time suddenly find yourself-you talked about it yourself! "
"But what actually happens? " Agathe asked.
"To know that, you first have to decide what is normal, sister human," Ulrich joked, trying to brake the much too rapid rush of the idea. "What's normal is that a herd of cattle means nothing to us but grazing beef. Or else a subject for a painting, with background. Or it hardly registers at all. Herds ofcattle beside mountain paths are part of the mountain paths, and we would only notice what we experience when we see them if a big electric clock or an apartment house were to stand there in their place. For the rest, we wonder whether to get up or stay put; we're bothered by the flies swarming around the cat- tle; we wonder whether there's a bull in the herd; we wonder where the path goes from here-there are any number of minor delibera- tions, worries, calculations, and observations that make up the paper, as it were, that has the picture of the cows on it. We have no aware- ness of the paper, only of the cows! "
"And suddenly the paper tears! " Agathe broke in.
"Right. That is, some tissue of habit in us tears. There's no longer something edible grazing out there, or something paintable; nothing blocks your way. You can't even form the word 'grazing,' because a host of purposeful, practical connotations go along with it, which you have suddenly lost. What is left on the pictorial plane might best be called an ocean swell of sensations that rises and falls, breathes and shimmers, as though it 61led your whole field ofview without a hori- zon. Of course, there are still countless individual perceptions con- tained within it: colors, horns, movements, smells, and all the details of reality; but none of them are acknowledged any longer, even if they should still be recognized. Let me put it this way: the details no longer have their egoism, which they use to capture our attention, but they're all linked with each other in a familiar, literally 'inward' way. And of course the 'pictorial plane' is no longer there either; but everything somehow flows over into you, all boundaries gone. "
Again Agathe picked up the description eagerly. "So instead of the
828 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
egoism of the details, you only need to say the egoism of human be- ings," she exclaimed, "and you've got what is so hard to put into words. 'Love thy neighbor! ' doesn't mean love him on the basis of what you both are; it characterizes a dream state! "
"All moral propositions," Ulrich agreed, "characterize a sort of dream state that has already flown the coop of rules in which we tether it. "
"Then there's really no such thing as good and evil, but only faith-or doubt! " cried Agathe, to whom a self-supporting primal condition offaith now seemed so close, as did its disappearance from the morality her brother had spoken ofwhen he said that faith could not live past the hour.
''Yes, the moment one slips away from a life ofinessentials, every- thing enters into a new relationship with everything else," Ulrich agreed. "I would almost go so far as to say into a nonrelationship. For it's an entirely unknown one, ofwhich we have no experience, and all other relationships are blotted out. But despite its obscurity, this one is so distinct that its existence is undeniable. It's strong, but impalpa- bly strong. One might put it this way: ordinarily, we look at some- thing, and our gaze is like a fine wire or a taut thread with two supports-one being the eye and the other what it sees, and there's some such great support structure for every second that passes; but at this particular second, on the contrary, it is rather as though some- thing painfully sweet were pulling our eye beams apart.
"One possesses nothing in the world, one holds on to nothing, one is not held by anything," Agathe said. "It's all like a tall tree on which not a leaf is stirring. And in that condition one could not do anything mean. "
"They say that nothing can happen in that condition which is not in harmony with it," Ulrich added. "A desire to 'belong to' it is the only basis, the loving vocation, and the sole form of all acting and thinking that have their place in it. It is something infinitely serene and all-encompassing, and everything that happens in it adds to its quietly growing significance; or it doesn't add to it, in which case it's a bad thing, but nothing bad can happen, because ifit did the stillness and clarity would be torn and the marvelous condition would end. " Ulrich gave his sister a probing look she was not meant to notice; he
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 829
had a nagging feeling that it was about time to stop. But Agathe's face was impassive; she was thinking of things long past.
"It makes me wonder at myself," she answered, "but there really was a brief period when I was untouched by envy, malice, vanity, greed, and things like that. It seems incredible now, but it seems to me that they had all suddenly disappeared, not only out of my heart but out of the world! In that state it isn't only oneself who can't be- have badly; the others can't either. A good person makes everything that touches him good, no matter what others may do to him; the instant it enters his sphere it becomes transformed. "
"No," Ulrich cut in, "not quite. On the contrary, put that way, this would be one of the oldest misconceptions. A good person doesn't make the world good in any way; he has no effect on it whatsoever; all he does is separate himself from it. "
"But he stays right in the midst ofit, doesn't he? ''
"He stays right in its midst, but he feels as if the space were being drawn out of things, or something or other imaginary were happen- ing; it's hard to say. "
"All the same, I have the idea that a 'highhearted' person-the word just occurred to me! -never comes in contact with anything base. It may be nonsense, but it does happen. "
"It may happen," Ulrich replied, "but the opposite happens too! Or do you suppose that the soldiers who crucified Jesus didn't feel they were doing something base? And they were God's instrument! Incidentally, the mystics themselves testify to the existence of bad feelings-they complain about falling from the state of grace and then enduring unspeakable misery, knowing fear, pain, shame, and perhaps even hatred. Only when the quiet burning begins again do remorse, anger, fear, and misery turn into bliss. It's so hard to know what to make of all this! "
"When were you that much in love? '' Agathe asked abruptly.
"Me? Oh . . .
I've already told you about that: I fled a thousand miles away from the woman I loved, and once I felt safe from any possibility of really embracing her, I howled for her like a dog at the moon! "
Now Agathe confided to him the story of her love. She was ex- cited. Her last question had snapped from her like an overly tight-
830 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
ened violin string, and the rest followed in the same vein. She was trembling inwardly as she revealed what had been concealed for many years.
But her brother was not particularly moved. "Memories usually age along with people," he pointed out, "and with time the most pas- sionate experiences take on a comic perspective, as though one were seeing them at the end of ninety-nine doors opened in succession. Still, sometimes certain memories that were tied to strong emotions don't age, but keep a tight grip on whole layers of one's being. That was your case. There are such points in almost everyone, which dis- tort the psychic balance a little. One's behavior flows over them like a river over an invisible boulder-in your case this was very strong, so that it almost amounted to a dam. But you've freed yourself after all; you're moving again! "
He said this with the calm of an almost professional opinion; how easily he was diverted! Agathe was unhappy. Stubbornly she said: "Of course I'm in motion, but that's not what I'm talking about! I want to know where I almost got to back then. " She was irritated too, without meaning to be, but simply because her excitement had to express itself somehow. She went on talking, nevertheless, in her original direction and was quite dizzy between the tenderness of her words and the irritation behind them. She was talking about that pe- culiar condition of heightened receptivity and sensitivity that brings about a rising and falling tide of impressions and creates the feeling of being connected with all things as in the gentle mirror of a sheet of water, giving and receiving without will: that miraculous feeling of the lifting of all bounds, the boundlessness of the outer and inner that love and mysticism have in common. Agathe did not, of course, put it in such terms, which already contain an explanation; she was merely making passionate fragments of her memories into a se- quence. But even Ulrich, although he had often thought about it, could not offer any explanation of these experiences; indeed, he did not even know whether he should attempt to deal with such an expe- rience in its own way or according to the usual procedures of ratio- nality; both came naturally to him, but not to the obvious passion of his sister. And so what he said in reply was merely a mediation, a kind oftesting ofthe possibilities. He pointed out how in the exalted state they were speaking of, thought and the moral sense went hand in
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 831
hand, so that each thought was felt as happiness, event, and gift, and neither lost itself in the storerooms of the brain nor formed attach- ments to feelings of appropriation and power, of retention and ob- smvation; thus in the head no less than in the heart the delight of self-possession is replaced by a boundless self-giving and bonding.
"Once in a lifetime," Agathe replied with passionate decisiveness, "everything one does is done for someone else. One sees the sun shining for him. He is everywhere, oneself nowhere. But there is no egoism adeux, because the same thing must be happening with the other person. In the end, they hardly exist for each other anymore, and what's left is a world for nothing but couples, a world consisting of appreciation, devotion, friendship, and selflessness! "
In the darkness of the room her face glowed with eagerness like a rose standing in the shade.
"Let's be a little more sober again," Ulrich gently proposed. "There can be too much fakery in these matters. " There was nothirlg wrong with that either, she thought. Perhaps it was the irritation, still not quite gone, that somewhat dampened her delight over the reality he was invoking. But this vague trembling of the borderline was a not unpleasant feeling.
Ulrich began by speaking of the mischief of interpreting the kind of experiences they were talking about not as if what was going on in them was merely a peculiar change in thinking, but as if superhuman thinking was taking the place of the ordinary kind. Whether one called it divine illumination or, in the modem fashion, merely intui- tion, he considered it the main hindrance to real understanding. In his opinion, nothing was to be gained by yielding to notions that would not stand up under careful investigation. That would only be like Icarus's wax wings, which melted with the altitude, he ex- claimed. Ifone wished to fly other than in dreams, one must master it on metal wings.
He paused for a moment, then went on, pointing to his books: "Here you have testimony, Christian, Judaic, Indian, Chinese, some separated by more than a thousand years. Yet one recognizes in all of them the same uniform structure of inner movement, divergent from the ordinary. Almost the only way they differ from each other comes from the various didactic superstructures of theology and cos- mic wisdom under whose protective roofthey have taken shelter. We
832 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
therefore may assume the existence of a certain alternative and un- common condition of great importance, which man is capable of achieving and which has deeper origins than religions.
"On the other hand," he added, qualifying what he had said, "the churches, that is, civilized communities of religious people, have al- ways treated this condition with the kind of mistrust a bureaucrat feels for the spirit of private enterprise. They've never accepted this riotous experience without reservations; on the contrary, they've di- rected great and apparently justified efforts toward replacing it with a properly regulated and intelligible morality. So the history of this alternative condition resembles a progressive denial and dilution, something like the draining of a swamp.
"And when confessional authority over the spirit and its vocabu- lary became outmoded, our condition understandably came to be re- garded as nothing more than a chimera. Why should bourgeois culture, in replacing the old religious culture, be more religious than its predecessor? Bourgeois culture has reduced this other condition to the status of a dog fetching intuitions. There are hordes of people today who find fault with rationality and would like us to believe that in their wisest moments they were doing their thinking with the help of some special, suprarational faculty. That's the final public vestige of it all, itself totally rationalistic. What's left of the drained swamp is rubbish! And so, except for its uses in poetry, this old condition is excusable only in uneducated people in the first weeks of a love af- fair, as a temporary aberration, like green leaves that every so often sprout posthumously from the wood of beds and lecterns; but if it threatens to revert to its original luxuriant growth, it is unmercifully dug up and rooted out! "
Ulrich had been talking for about as long as it takes a surgeon to wash his arms and hands so as not to carry any germs into the field of operation, and also with all the patience, concentration, and even- handedness it paradoxically takes to cope with the excitement at- tendant on the task ahead. But after he had completely disinfected himself he almost yearned for a little fever or infection-after all, he did not love sobriety for its own sake. Agathe was sitting on the li- brary ladder, and even when her brother fell silent she gave no sign of participation. She gazed out into the endless oceanic gray of the
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 833
sky and listened to the silence just as she had been listening to the words. So Ulrich took up the thread again, with a slight obstinacy that he barely managed to mask by his lighthearted tone.
"Let's get back to our bench on the mountain, with that herd of cows," he suggested. "Imagine some high bureaucrat sitting there in his brand-new leather shorts with 'Gruss Gott' embroidered on his green suspenders. He represents 'real life' on vacation. Of course, this temporarily alters his consciousness of his existence. When he looks at the herd ofcows he neither counts them, classifies them, nor estimates the weight on the hoof of the animals grazing before him; he forgives his enemies and thinks indulgently of his family. For him the herd has been transformed from a practical object into a moral one, as it were. He may also, ofcourse, be estimating and counting a little and not forgiving a whole lot, but then at least it is bathed in woodland murmurs, purling brooks, and sunshine. In a word, what otherwise forms the content of his life seems 'far away' and 'not all that important. ' "
"It's a holiday mood," Agathe agreed mechanically.
"Exactly! I f he regards his nonvacation life as 'not all that impor- tant,' it means only as long as his vacation lasts. So that is the truth today: a man has two modes of existence, of consciousness, and of thought, and saves himself from being frightened to death by ghosts-which this prospect would of necessity induce-by regard- ing one condition as a vacation from the other, an interruption, a rest, or anything else he thinks he can recognize. Mysticism, on the other hand, would be connected with the intention of going on vaca- tion permanently. Our high official is bound to regard such an idea as disgraceful and instantly feel-as in fact he always does toward the end of his vacation-that real life lies in his tidy office. And do we feel any differently? Whether something needs to be straightened out or not will always eventually decide whether one takes it com- pletely seriously, and here these experiences have not had much luck, for over thousands of years they have never got beyond their primordial disorder and incompleteness. And for this we have the ready label of Mania-religious mania, erotomania, take your choice. You can be assured that in our day even most religious people are so infected with the scientific way of thinking that they don't trust
834 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
themselves to look into what is burning in their inmost hearts but are always ready to speak of this ardor in medical terms as a mania, even though officially they take a different line! "
Agathe gave her brother a look in which something crackled like fire in the rain. "So now you've managed to maneuver us out of it! " she accused him, when he didn't go on.
"You're right," he admitted. "But what's peculiar is that though we've covered it all up like a suspect well, some remaining drop of this unholy holy water bums a hole in all our ideals. None of our ideals is quite right, none of them makes us happy: they all point to something that's not there-we've said enough about that today. Our civilization is a temple ofwhat would be called unsecured mania, but
it is also its asylum, and we don't know if we are suffering from an . ,I
excess or a defic1ency.
"Perhaps you've never dared surrender yourself to it all the way,"
Agathe said wistfully, and climbed down from her ladder; for they were supposed to be busy sorting their father's papers and had let themselves be distracted from what had gradually become a pressing task, first by the books and then by their conversation. Now they went back to checking the dispositions and notes referring to the di- vision of their inheritance, for the day of reckoning with Hagauer was imminent. But before they had seriously settled down to this, Agathe straightened up from her papers and asked him once more: "Just how much do you yourself believe everything you've been telling
? " me.
Ulrich answered without looking up. "Suppose that while your heart had turned away from the world, there was a dangerous bull among the herd. Try to believe absolutely that the deadly disease you were telling me about would have taken another course if you had not allowed your feelings to slacken for a single instant. " Then he raised his head and pointed to the papers he had been sorting: "And law, justice, fair play? Do you really think they're entirely superfluous? "
"So just how much do you believe? " Agathe reiterated.
"Yes and no," Ulrich said.
"That means no," Agathe concluded.
Here chance intervened in their talk. As Ulrich, who neither felt
inclined to resume the discussion nor was calm enough to get on with
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 835
the business at hand, rounded up the scattered papers, something fell to the floor. It was a loose bundle of all kinds of things that had inad- vertently been pulled out with the will from a corner of the desk drawer where it might have lain for decades without its owner know- ing. Ulrich looked at it distractedly as he picked it up and recognized his father's handwriting on several pages; but it was not the script of his old age but that ofhis prime. Ulrich took a closer look and saw that in addition to written pages there were playing cards, snapshots, and all sorts of odds and ends, and quickly realized what he had found. It was the desk's "poison drawer. " Here were painstakingly recorded jokes, mostly dirty; nude photographs; postcards, to be sent sealed, of buxom dairy maids whose panties could be opened behind; packs of cards that looked quite normal but showed some awful things when held up to the light; mannequins that voided all sorts of stuff when pressed on the belly; and more of the same. The old gentleman had undoubtedly long since forgotten the things lying in that drawer, or he would certainly have destroyed them in good time. They obviously dated from those mid-life years when quite a few aging bachelors and widowers warm themselves with such obscenities, but Ulrich blushed at this exposure of his father's unguarded fantasies, now released from the flesh by death. Their relevance to the discussion just broken off was instantly clear to him. Nevertheless, his first impulse was to destroy this evidence before Agathe could see it. But she had already noticed that something unusual had fallen into his hands, so he changed his mind and asked her to come over.
He was going to wait and hear what she would say. Suddenly the realization possessed him again that she was, after all, a woman who must have had her experiences, a point he had totally lost sight of while they were deep in conversation. But her face gave no sign of what she was thinking; she looked at her father's illicit relics seriously and calmly, at times smiling openly, though not animatedly. So Ul- rich, despite his resolve, began.
"Those are the dregs of mysticism! " he said wryly. "The strict moral admonitions of the will in the same drawer as this swill! "
He had stood up and was pacing back and forth in the room. And once he had begun to talk, his sister's silence spurred him on.
"You asked me what I believe," he began. "I believe that all our moral injunctions are concessions to a society of savages.
836 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
"I believe none of them are right.
"There's a different meaning glimmering behind them. An alche- mist's fire.
"I believe that nothing is ever done with.
"I believe that nothing is in balance but that everything is trying to raise itself on the fulcrum of everything else.
"That's what i believe. It was born with me, or I with it. "
He had stood still after each of these sentences, for he spoke softly and had somehow or other to give emphasis to his credo. Now his eye was caught by the classical busts atop the bookshelves; he saw a plas- ter Minerva, a Socrates; he remembered that Goethe had kept an over-lifesize plaster head of Juno in his study. This predilection seemed alarmingly distant to him; what had once been an idea in full bloom had since withered into a dead classicism. Turned into the rearguard dogmatism of rights and duties of his father's contempo- raries. All in vain.
"The morality that has been handed down to us," he s3. id, "is like being sent out on a swaying high wire over an abyss, with no other advice than: 'Hold yourself as stiff as you can! '
"I seem, without having had a say in the matter, to have been born with another kind of morality.
"You asked me what I believe. I believe there are valid reasons you can use to prove to me a thousand times that something is good or beautiful, and it will leave me indifferent; the only mark I shall go by is whether its presence makes me ·rue or sink.
''Whether it rouses me to life or not.
''Whether it's only my tongue and my brain that speak of it, or the radiant shiver in my fingertips.
"But I can't prove anything, either.
"And I'm even convinced that a person who yields to this is lost. He stumbles into twilight. Into fog and nonsense. Into unarticulated boredom.
"Ifyou take the unequivocal out ofour life, what's left is a sheep- fold without a wolf.
"I believe that bottomless vulgarity can even be the good angel that protects us.
"And so, I don't believe!
"And above all, I don't believe in the domestication of evil by
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 837
good as the characteristic of our hodgepodge civilization. I find that repugnant.
"So I believe and don't believe!
"But maybe I believe that the time is coming when people will on the one hand be very intelligent, and on the other hand be mystics. Maybe our morality is already splitting into these two components. I might also say into mathematics and mysticism. Into practical im- provements and unknown adventure! "
He had not been so openly excited about anything in years. The "maybe"s in his speech did not trouble him; they seemed only natural.
Agathe had meanwhile knelt down before the stove; she had the bundle of pictures and papers on the floor beside her. She looked at everything once more, piece by piece, before pushing it into the fire. She was not entirely unsusceptible to the vulgar sensuality of the ob- scenities she was looking at. She felt her body being aroused by them. This seemed to her to have as little to do with her self as the feeling of being on a deserted heath and somewhere a rabbit scutters past. She did not know whether she would be ashamed to tell her brother this, but she was profoundly fatigued and did not want to talk anymore. Nor did she listen to what he was saying; her heart had by now been too shaken by these ups and downs, and could no longer keep up. Others had always known better than she what was right; she thought about this, but she did so, perhaps because she was ashamed, with a secret defiance. To walk a forbidden or secret path: in that she felt superior to Ulrich. She heard him time and again cau- tiously taking back everything he had let himself be carried away into saying, and his words beat like big drops of joy and sadness against her ear.
13
ULRICH RETURNS AND LEARNS FROM THE GENERAL WHA T HE HAS MISSED
Forty-eight hours later Ulrich was standing in his abandoned house. It was early in the morning. The house was meticulously tidy, dusted and polished; his books and papers lay on the tables precisely as he had left them at his hasty departure, carefully preserved by hisser- vant, open or bristling with markers that had become incomprehen- sible, this or that paper still with a pencil stuck between the pages. But everything had cooled off and hardened like the contents of a melting pot under which one has forgotten to stoke the fire. Painfully disillusioned, Ulrichstaredblanklyatthesetracesofavanishedhour, matrix of the intense excitement and ideas that had filled it. He felt repelled beyond words at this encounter with his own debris. "It spreads through the doors and the rest of the house all the way down to those idiotic antlers in the hall. What a life I've been leading this last year! " He shut his eyes where he stood, so as not to have to see it. "What a good thing she'll soon be following me," he thought. "We'll change everything! " Then he was tempted after all to visualize the last hours he had spent here; it seemed to him that he had been away for a very long time, and he wanted to compare.
Clarisse: that was nothing. But before and after: the strange tur- moil in which he had hurried home, and then that nocturnal melting of the world! "Like iron softening under some great pressure," he mused. "It begins to flow, and yet it is still iron. A man forces his way into the world," he thought, "but it suddenly closes in around him, and everything looks different. No more connections. No road on which he came and which he must pursue. Something shimmering enveloping him on the spot where a moment ago he had seen a goal, or actually the sober void that lies before every goal. " Ulrich kept his eyes closed. Slowly, as a shadow, his feeling returned. It happened as if it were returning to the spot where he had stood then and was again standing now, this feeling that was more out there in the room
Into the Millennium (The Criminals) · 839
than in his consciousness-it was really neither a feeling nor a thought, but some uncanny process. If one were as overstimulated and lonely as he had been then, one could indeed believe that the essence of the world was turning itself inside out; and suddenly it dawned on him-how was it possible that it was happening only now? -and lay there like a peaceful backward glance, that even then his feelings had announced the encounter with his sister, because from that moment on his spirit had been guided by strange forces, until . . . but before he could think "yesterday," Ulrich turned away, awakened as abruptly and palpably from his memories as if he had bumped against some solid edge. There was something here he was not yet ready to think about.
He went over to his desk and without taking off his coat looked through the mail lying there. He was disappointed not to find a tele- gram from his sister, although he had no reason to expect one. A huge pile of condolence mail lay intermingled with scientific com- munications and booksellers' catalogs. Two letters had come from Bonadea; both so thick that he did not bother to open them. There was also an urgent request from Count Leinsdorfthat he come to see him, and two fluting notes from Diotima, also inviting him to put in an appearance immediately upon his return; perused more closely, one of them, the later one, revealed unofficial overtones of a very warm, wistful, almost tender cast. Ulrich turned to the telephone messages that had come during his absence: General Stumm von Bordwehr, Section ChiefTuzzi, Count Leinsdorf's private secretary (twice), several calls from a lady who would not leave her name, probably Bonadea; Bank Director Leo Fischel; and, for the rest, business calls.
