Of the youth and
youthfulness
of the Volk?
Musil - Man Without Qualities - v2
But nevertheless the conductor had to report that he had not found the Greek, Walter, and Ulrich.
After that, with a completely clear sensory impression, she rec-
From the Posthumous Papers · 1575
ognized herself in the mirror now as a white she-devil, now as a blood- red madonna.
When she got off the train in Munich the next morning, she went to an elegant hotel, took a room, smoked the whole day, drank brandy and black coffee, and wrote letters and telegrams. Some circumstance or other had led her to assume that the Greek had traveled to Venice, and she issued instructions to him, the hotels, consular offices, and govern- ment bureaus. She displayed enormous industriousness. -Hurry up! she said to the page boys, who galloped around for her the whole day. It was a mood like at a fire when the fire trucks rattle up and the sirens wail, or like a mobilization, where horses trot and endless processions of resolute, helmet-enclosed faces march through the streets as if dream- ing, the air filled with thrown flowers and heavy with gray tension.
That evening she herself went on to Venice.
In Venice, she registered at a pension frequented by Germans, where she had stayed on her honeymoon; people there dimly recalled the young woman. The same life as in Munich began, with abuse of alcohol and alkaloids, but now she no longer sent off any telegrams or messen- gers. From the moment she had got to Venice, perhaps because the offi- cial emissaries were not already waiting for her at the station with their reports, she had been convinced that the Greek had slipped through her net and fled to his homeland. The task now was to stem the flood and prepare a final assault, without haste and with the strictest measures to- ward oneself.
It was clear that she would sail to Greece, but first the frenzied desire for the man, a desire that had pushed her almost too far, had to be re- strained. Besides coffee and brandy, Clarisse took no meals; she stripped naked and barricaded herself in her room, into which she did not allow even the hotel personnel. Hunger and something else, which she was not able to make out, put her in a state of feverlike confusion that lasted for days, in which impatient sexual arousal gradually faded to a vibrating mood in which all sorts of delusions of the senses were min- gled. The abuse of strong substances had undermined her body; she felt it beginning to collapse under her. Constant diarrhea; a cavity appeared in a tooth and bothered her night and day; a small ugly wart began to form on her hand. But all this drove her to exert her mind more and more passionately, like the moment just before the end of a race, when one has to lift one's legs at every step by willpower. She had got hold of brush and paint pots, and from the arm of a chair, the edge of the bed,
1576 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
and an ironing board that she had found outside her door she built her- self a scaffolding that she pushed along the wall, and began to paint the walls of her room with large designs. What she crisscrossed on the bare walls was the story of her life; so great was this process of inner purifica- tion that Clarisse was convinced that in a hundred years humanity would make a pilgrimage to these sketches and inscriptions in order to see the tremendous works of art with which the greatest of souls had covered her cell.
Perhaps they really were great works for someone who would have had to be in a position to disentangle the wealth of associations that had become tangled up in them. Clarisse created them with enormous ten- sion. She felt herself great and hovering. She was beyond the articulated expression of life that creates words and forms, which are a compromise arranged for everyone, and had again arrived at that magic first encoun- ter with herself, the madness of her first astonishment at those gifts of the gods, word and image. What she created was distorted, was piled up in confusion and yet impoverished, was unrestrained and yet obeyed a rigid compulsion; externally. Internally, it was for the first time the ex- pression of her entire being: without purpose, without reflection, almost without will, becoming literally a second thing, enduring, greater, the transubstantiation of the human being into a piece of eternity: finally, the fulfillment of Clarisse's longing. While she painted she sang: "I am descended from luminous gods. "
I Noted outside the novel: Does greatness never lie in content? In a way of ordering things? I
When they broke into her room, uncomprehending eyes stared at these walls like the eyes of hostile animals. Clarisse had bought a boat ticket and laid out a blanket and a towel twisted into a turban as her imperial attire, which she was going to take on board with her. Then it occurred to her that a person who finds himself on sacred paths is not allowed to have any money with him without falling victim to a ridicu- lous incongruity, so she gave away her money and jewelry to laughing gondoliers. As she was about to give a speech in the Piazza of St. Mark's to the people assembled for her departure, a man spoke to her and gently brought her back to her pension. But since this man was unwise enough to recommend her to the protection of her hosts, everyone now poured into her room; the padrona screamed about the damage, gave orders to seize Clarisse's property, swore in vulgar language when none
From the Posthumous Papers · 1577
was to be found, and the staff tittered. A horrendous cruelty stared at Clarisse from every side, that primal hatred of inert matter, one part of which pushes another from the spot unless attraction and understanding mold them together into one. Silently Clarisse took her turban and cloak in order to leave this land and go on board. But at the canal steps the always friendly brown-black chambermaid came after her and begged her to wait, because a gentleman wanted to have the honor of showing her something before she left. Clarisse stopped in silence; she was tired and really no longer had the strength to travel. When the gondola with the man and two strange men appeared she stared gravely into the girl's friendly eyes, which were now almost floating in a moist shimmer, and thought the grievous word: Iscariot. She had no time to reflect on this shattering experience. In the gondola she calmly and seriously kept her eyes on the strange man and had the distinct impression that he was shrinking from her. This satisfied her. They came to the Colleone monu- ment, and now the strange man spoke to her for the first time. "Why don't we go in here," he said, indicating a building beside the church that stood there. "There's something particularly nice to look at. " Cla- risse suspected the trap being set for her by the official of public secu- rity. But this suspicion had no value for her, no causal valency, so to speak. I'm tired and ill, she said to herself. He wants to lure me into the hospital. It's unreasonable of me to go along. But my madness is merely that I fall out of their general order and my causality isn't theirs: only disturbance in a subordinate function, which they overestimate. Their behavior is the crassest lack of ethics I In their causal associations what I do and how I do it is sick; because they don't see the other.
When they entered the building she divided the rest of her jewelry and her towel among the matrons, who accepted them, seized her, and strapped her to a bed. Clarisse began to cry, and the matrons said "poveretta/"
After confinement
This time, it was Wotan who went to get her and brought her back; he took her to Dr. Fried's clinic. When she was brought in, the doctor on duty merely looked at her and had her taken to the ward for the dis- tracted.
The very first scream of a madman forced on her the idea of the mi- gration of souls; the ideas of reincarnation, of the attainable Nirvana, were not far away.
1578 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
"Mother! Mother! " That was the cry of a girl who was covered with horrible wounds. Clarisse longed for her mother on account ofthe many sins with which her mother had sent her out into the world. Her parents were now sitting around the table at breakfast; there were flowers in the room; Clarisse was covered with all their sins, they felt good; her migra- tion of souls began.
Clarisse's first walk led to the bath, since she had been excited by being brought in. It was a square room with a tile floor and a large pool filled with water and without a raised edge; from the doorway steps led into it. Two wasted bodies fastened longing glances on her and screamed for redemption. They were her best friends, Walter and Ulrich, in sinful form.
During the night the Pope lay beside her. In the shape of a woman. -Church is black night-Clarisse said to herself-now it longs for the woman. There was a dim light, the patients were sleeping, when the Pope fumbled at her blanket and wanted to slip into bed with her. He was longing for his woman; Clarisse had no objection. - T h e black night longs for redemption, she whispered, as she yielded to the Pope's fin- gers. The sins of Christendom were extirpated. King Ludwig of Bavaria was lying opposite her, etc. It was a night of crucifixion. Clarisse looked toward her dissolution; she felt free of all guilt, her soul floated weight- less and bright as these visions crept to her bed like poems and vanished again without her being able to seize their shapes and hold them fast. The next morning, Nietzsche's soul in the shape of the chief doctor was for her the most glorious sight. Beautiful, kindly, full of profound seri- ousness, his bushy beard grayed, his eyes seeing as from another world, he nodded to her. She knew it had been he who during the night had
bidden her extirpate the sins of Christendom; hot ambition, like the am- bition of a schoolgirl, soared in Clarisse.
During the next two weeks she experienced Faust, Part II. Three characters represented Antiquity, the Middle Ages, and Modernity. Cla- risse trampled them with her feet. That happened in the water chamber. For three days. Cackling screams filled the enclosed room. Through the vapors and tropical fogs of the bath naked women crept like crocodiles and gigantic crabs. Slippery faces screamed into her eyes. Scissor arms grasped at her. Legs twined around her neck. Clarisse screamed and fluttered above the bodies, striking her toenails into the damp, slippery flesh, was pulled down, suffocated beneath bellies and knees, bit into breasts, scratched flabby cheeks bloody, worked herselfto the top again, plunged into the water and out, and finally plunged her face into the shaggy wet lap of a large woman and "on the shell ofthe Triton goddess" roared out a song until hoarseness stifled her voice.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1579
One should not think that insanity has no sense; it merely has the tur- bid, fuzzy, duplicating lens of the air above this bath, and at times it was quite clear to Clarisse that she was living among the laws of a different but by no means lawless world. Perhaps the idea explicitly governing all these minds was nothing other than the striving to escape the place of interdiction and compulsion, an unarticulated dream of the body rebel- ling against its poisoned head. While Clarisse was trampling with her feet the less agile in the slippery knot of people, there was in her head a "sinless Nirvana" like the broad white air outside a window, the longing for a painless and unconflicted state of rest, and like a buzzing insect she bumped with her head against the wall that sick bodies erected around her, fluttering aimlessly, driven from one moment's inspiration to the next, while the conviction hovered like a golden halo behind her head, a halo she could not see and could not even imagine but which was never- theless there, that a profound ethical problem had been laid upon her, that she was the Messiah and the Obernumsch joined in the same per- son, and would enter her rest after she had redeemed the others, and she could redeem them only by forcing them down. For three days and three nights she obeyed the irresistible will of the community of the mad, let herself be pushed and pulled and scratched till the blood came, threw herself symbolically on the cross on the tiles of the floor, uttered hoarse, disconnected, incomprehensible words and answered similar words with actions, as if she not only understood them but wanted to stake her life on the communication. They did not ask, they had no need of meaning that dumps words into sentences and sentences into the cel- lar of the mind; they recognized one another among themselves, and like animals differentiated themselves from the attendants or from anyone who was different, and their ideas produced a chaotic common thread, as during the revolt of a crowd where no one knows or understands any- one else, no one thinks any longer except in fragmented beginnings and endings, but powerful tensions and blows of the oblivious common body unite everyone with one another. After three days and nights, Clarisse was exhausted; her voice was only a bare whisper, her "iiber-strength" had conquered, and she became calm.
She was put to bed and for a few days lay in a state of profound fa- tigue, interrupted by attacks of tortured, shapeless restlessness. A "disci- ple," a rosy blond woman of twenty-one, who had regarded her from the first day as a liberator, finally gave her her first redemption. This woman came to her bed and said something or other; for Clarisse it meant: I am taking over the mission. Clarisse later found out that the rosy blonde had, in her stead, exorcised the devil through song in the water chamber day and night. But Clarisse stayed in the big hall, took care of the sick,
1580 • THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
and "lay in wait for their sins. " The communication between her and her confessing charges consisted of sentences like dolls, implausible, wooden little sentences, and God alone knows what they originally meant by them; but ifchildren playing with dolls would have to use con- crete words in order to be able to mean the same thing and understand each other, then the magic sleight ofhand that pretends a shapeless stick of wood is a living being would never succeed, a trick that excites the soul more than the most passionate lovers are later able to do. Finally, one day, an ordinary woman, who had earlier pounded on Clarisse's back with her fists, spoke to Clarisse, saying this: "Gather your disciples in the coming night and celebrate your Last Supper. What kind offood does the great lord desire? Speak, that it shall be prepared for you. But we intend to leave, and will no longer appear before your eyes! " At the same time another woman, who suffered from catatonia, passionately kissed Clarisse's hands, and her eyes were transfigured by approaching death like a star that in the night outshines all others. Clarisse felt: "It is really not a miracle that I believed I had to fulfill a mission," but in spite ofthis already more focused feeling, she was uncertain about what it was she had to do. Fortunately, this was the day on which she was trans- ferred to the ward for calm patients.
On Clarisse
1. "Impoverished life"-This is a concept that makes an impression on her, like decadence. Her version of the fin de steele mood. Drawn from her experience with Walter.
2. Along with Walter she adores Wagner, but with rising opposition; whenever he has played Wagner his hands are covered by a cold damp- ness, so this petit-bourgeois heroism comes out at his fingers, this heroic petit-bourgeois posturing. She imagines an Italian music that is driven beyond itself by the cruel cheerfulness of the blue Italian sky (omen! ), "the destiny over her": "Her happiness is brief, sudden, unannounced, without pardon. " (Omen, but Ulrich at first sees only what is usual for the times. ) "The tanned one," "cynical" (omen! ). She criticizes how empty Walter's face becomes in so many ways when he is making music.
3· Love is to be understood as fate, innocent and therefore cruel- that's how it hovers before her. She means by this: that's how she would like to be so filled by her own destiny that she would not think at all of the man who had unleashed it. Walter's love is for her only a "finer para- sitism, a nesting oneself in an alien soul"; she would like to shake it off.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1581
4· "Being able to forbid oneself something harmful is a sign of vital- ity"-she will not allow Walter into her bed. "The harmful lures the ex- hausted person. "
5· Later: "Illness itself can be a stimulus to life, but one has to be healthy enough for this stimulus. "
6. Decadence is for instance the agitated perspective that Wagnerian art compels, "which forces one to change one's position in regard to it at every moment. " That is directed squarely at Ulrich, who sees in this changing of positions the energy of the future.
7· But then she disconcerts him with things that he believes too: "What characterizes all literary decadence? That life no longer dwells in the whole. The word becomes sovereign and jumps out of the sentence, the sentence reaches out and obscures the sense of the page, the page takes on life at the expense of the whole-the whole is no longer a whole. That's the sign ofevery decadent style: . . . Anarchy of the atoms, dispersion of the will . . . Life pushed back into the smallest structures . . . the remainder poor in vitality" (Voluntarism. A direct power against what is soft, boyish in Ulrich. )
8. Prophetic:". . . that in cultures in decline, that everywhere where the power ofdecision falls into the hands ofthe masses, what is genuine becomes superfluous, disadvantageous, ignored. Only the actor still evokes great enthusiasm. This means that the golden age for the actor is dawning. " Talma: What is supposed to affect one as true can be not true.
g. Against Walter: "The healthy organism does not fight off illness with reasons-one does not contradict a disease-but with inhibition, mistrust, peevishness, disgust, . . . as ifthere were a great danger slinking around in it. "
1 0 . Against Ulrich: "Innocence among oppositions . . . this is almost a definition of modernity. Biologically, modem man represents a contra- diction of values, he sits between two stools, in the same breath he says yes and no . . . All of us have, against our knowledge, against our will, values, statements, formulas, and moralities of opposing lineages within us-physiologically regarded, we are false . . . a diagnostic ofthe modem soul-where would it begin? With a decisive incision into this contradic- toriness ofinstinct . . . "
11. "Everything that is good makes me fruitful. I have no other grati- tude . . . "
1582 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES Clarisse
Nietzsche asks: Is there a pessimism of strength? An intellectual pref- erence for the hardness, the horrible, evil, problematic aspects of exis- tence? (from fullness of existence) Ulrich and Clarisse come together in this intellectual preference. It separates Clarisse from Walter. So that here the problem ofadultery starts right offwith the intellect. "Depth of the antimoral propensity. "
The desire for the terrible as the worthy foe is one of the forebodings that seize her as she reads Nietzsche. Predisposition to her falling sick.
Nietzsche regards dialectic, the contentedness of the theoretically ori- ented person, as signs of decline, science as a delicate self-defense against truth, an evasion. Here Ulrich distances himself from Nietzsche, for he is enthusiastic about this theoretical person. Indeed, otherwise one would arrive at an imbecilic idolatry of life; but Ulrich runs aground with the ultimate ataraxia [stoical indifference-TRANs. ] of the theoreti- cally oriented person.
This could already be initiated in [Part] I and determine the situation in which he encounters Agathe.
What fascinates him so about Nietzsche, and fascinates Clarisse as well, is Nietzsche's intervention on behalf of the artistic person. He writes for artists who have the ancillary disposition of analytic and retro- spective capacities, an exceptional kind of artist-therefore really for Ul- rich. That Nietzsche says he really does not want to appeal to this kind of artist (but apparently to ones who are less divided) is something Ulrich passes over; that is something which youth reserves to itself as an achievement that it will reveal.
Is madness perhaps not necessarily the symptom of the degeneration, the decay, of a superannuated civilization? Are there perhaps . . . neu- roses of health?
Of the youth and youthfulness of the Volk? What does the synthesis of god and he-goat in the satyr show? From what experi- ence of the self, in response to what impulse, was the Greek led to imag- ine the Dionysian enthusiast and primal man as a satyr? And concerning the origin of the chorus in tragedy: were there perhaps in those centu- ries in which the Greek body blossomed, and the Greek soul overflowed with life, endemic transports? Visions and hallucinations that imparted themselves to entire communities, whole gatherings of cults? What if the Greeks, precisely in the abundance of their youth, had the will to the tragic and were pessimists? What if it was precisely madness, to employ a term of Plato's, that brought the greatest blessings to Hellas? And if, on the other hand and inversely, what if it was precisely in the periods of
From the Posthumous Papers · 1583
their dissolution and weakness that the Greeks became increasingly op- timistic, more superficial, more theatrical, also, according to the logic and logicizing of the world, more ardent-that is to say, at once more cheerful and more scientific?
In the Preface addressed to Richard Wagner,O art-and not moral- ity-is already posited as the real metaphysical activity of mankind; in the book itself, the pertinent sentence that the existence of the world is justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon recurs several times.
. . . betrays a spirit that will at some point, at whatever risk, set itself against the moral explication of existence.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 1
Life is motion. Therefore never-ending. After death, life again dis- solves into motion.
Since the motion is never-ending, nothing remains unrevenged. To break out of this chain, the mind must dissolve into harmony before it dies and enters cosmic space. That is the idea of Nirvana, which there- fore, accordingly, also issues "unrevenged" from the feeling of guilt; the longing for harmony is the desire to emerge from this condition.
Do you believe in the migration of souls, hell, purgatory? she ex- claims. Perhaps some individuals have attained Nirvana in their earthly life, but then they were the final links in a long chain of people---"in their person the ring closed" (Wagner's magic world again comes to life). But everyone else runs around laden with guilt and shame, tor- tured, reviled, from the first day of their lives onward, sacrifices to a crime committed before their birth.
But there is justice. What we call injustice is only the path to eternal justice.
The earth cannot perish before Nirvana has been attained.
She also explains it mathematically: births and deaths balance each other (everyone who is born dies, a tremendous discovery! ), therefore the souls of modern people are the souls of ancient people. There are no free souls!
Even Darwinism agrees with this: in human beings, animal instincts are in many people reincarnated animal faces. They are still burdened with the animal soul.
"Musil is referring to Nietzsche"s Birth ofTragedy. -TRANs.
1584 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
liquidation . . .
Ideas become clearer and more banal. Clearing, boring sky. Only a deep sadness remains.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 2
King Ludwig was lying facing her already in Venice.
This is associated with the idea: Between Wagner and Nietzsche stood the snake. This snake is Ludwig, the "feminine king," who loves the artist and in doing so robs him of his only dignity. Evidently the re- flex of her resistance against her sexual role as a woman for Walter; the same thing disappointed her in Ulrich, and in the Greek it struck her so strongly that he was free of it. Therefore a single line of action. Even in Munich, Walter and Ulrich appeared to her in their "sinful shapes. "
Nietzsche, the great friend, turned away horrified from this ignominy, and from that time on had to follow his solitary path alone. Here she identifies herselfwith Nietzsche.
What was done to him and to her is "a sin against the holy spirit. " It must be "reconciled by a human sacrifice. " Nietzsche's d e a t h - a second Christ.
Yet neither Christ nor Nietzsche could redeem mankind from evil: "People remain people. "
"Destiny hovers over us, a second reality," is how she expressed her impotence simultaneously with the thought that in spite of her prede- cessors she had to suffer.
In between, the thought crosses her mind: "Between Nietzsche and Wagner stood Jewry! "
The thought later goes on: There are two realities!
"One" is called: "The way I see it''-
The "Other": "The way I don't see it. "
They are the same ideas as before, but they no longer have the com-
ponents of manic redemption.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1585 The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 3
In the clinic in Munich she sees a fat blond woman with a masculine voice, a Polish woman. Immediately the thought "OveJWoman" springs to her mind. She thinks it over. This person before her is a primitive example. She thinks of Semiramis, Catherine the Great, Elizabeth of Austria. She is helpless because she has no books.
Such women have superhuman strength.
Her thoughts veer off: even before Nietzsche there were Overmen, she discovers: Napoleon, Jesus Christ. Suddenly she thinks: Christ was ignorant. Like her. That's why in our reckoning of time, our epoch, he is one of the most mysterious figures. For she is locked up.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 4
Sometimes she slips into confused cursing. Men today are horrible idiots, cowards, weaklings, with no backbone, without courage, bravery, or stamina.
They are either brutal or soft. They have lost the skill of using the whip with delicacy. Their dress is unaesthetic. Their manner ofthinking cowardly, stupid. Their eyes blue or black (Ulrich and Walter).
If from time to time one comes across a man of chivalric appearance, with steely muscles-he is certainly abnormal, therefore no man either. Suddenly she realizes: The woman puts on the secret trousers. That's why. She becomes only half natural. She no longer understands how to be a mother. She longs for motherhood. Divine pregnancy is a reminder of Nietzsche. Longingly she imagines the degenerate women on whose
physical beauty the "sucking pulls. " She would like to feel it.
Later these two words occur again, in another context in which no one
understands them. Helplessness of the expression.
Menwomen and womenmen.
Delire adeux: It's a question of two people, one ofwhom is insane and the other predisposed to insanity. The former usually has some talent,
1586 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
the latter not a great deal of intelligence. Through constant contact, by being constantly bombarded with confused and inchoate ideas, the pre- disposed person ends up acting like his companion, and gradually the same madness shows up in him. A dependent relationship establishes itself between the two unfortunates; one is the echo of the other:
The impact of confused and inchoate ideas-is not only a danger for the inferior person. Cf. enjoyment of Expressionism and poetry in gen- eral.
Being together with Clarisse in Italy often makes Ulrich feel like a hot-air balloon that can be released at any moment. He lives through the essence of Expressionism. He, who is so precise, writes such poems. At that time poetry had not got to that point.
Happiness is madness, the not-communicable!
LATE 1920S
Ulrich wanted to see Meingast once more; this eagle, who had floated down from Zarathustra's mountains into the domestic life of Walter and Clarisse, made him curious. Following a sudden inspiration, he invited Schmeisser to go with him; he hoped to summon up in his adversary reasons to soften the latter's opposition to him through the impression made by his friends. He said nothing to Agathe about the expedition; he knew she would not come along.
Meingast had now been whiling away a considerable amount of time with his admirers and adherents Walter and Clarisse, part of whose home consisted of a separate, empty room whose windows looked out on the narrow side of the house. Somewhere the couple had dug up an iron bedstead; a kitchen stool and a tin pail served as bath, and aside from these objects the only other thing in the room, which had no curtains, was an empty dish cupboard, in which there were some books, and a small table of unpainted soft wood. Meingast sat at this table and wrote. That was enough to lend the room, even when he was not in it and Cla- risse or Walter glanced in in passing. that ineffable quality of an old cast- offglove that has been worn on a noble and energetic hand. But now, as Meingast was sitting in the room writing. he knew (moreover) that Cla- risse was standing beneath his window. Working in such a situation was splendid. Meingast's will formed words on the paper, abandoned them, flowed over the windowsill, and arrived at Clarisse, who, wrapped in the "invisible cloak of an electric northern light," was staring obsessively and
From the Posthumous Papers · 1587
absently before her. Meingast did not love Clarisse, but this ambitious pupil whom he paralyzed gave him pleasure. Meingast's pen was driven across the paper by a mysterious power; the nostrils of his sharp, narrow nose quivered like a stallion's, and his beautiful dark eyes glowed. What he had begun under these conditions was one of the most important sec- tions of his new book; but one ought not call this book a book: it was a call, a command, a mobilization order for New People. When Meingast heard a strange male voice beside Clarisse, he interrupted himself and went down.
Ulrich had seen Clarisse right away as he and Schmeisser turned in at the garden gate. She was standing by the fence beside the vegetable gar- den, with her back to the house, quite stiffly and gazing into the dis- tance, blind to the new arrivals. It did not seem that she was aware of her (frozen) position; her attitude seemed more the involuntary copy of sig- nificant ideas with which she was inwardly preoccupied. And so it was. She was thinking: -This time Meingast is transforming himself in our house. He had come to them without saying a word about it, but Clarisse knew that his life contained several of the most remarkable transforma- tions, and was certain that the work he had begun here had something to do with this. The memory of an Indian god, who before every purifica- tion settles down somewhere, mingled in Clarisse's mind with the mem- ory that insects choose a specific spot to change into a chrysalis and the memory of the fragrance of espaliered peaches ripening against the sunny wall of a house; the logical result was that Clarisse was standing in the burning sunshine beneath the window of the shadowy cave into which the prophet had withdrawn. The day before, he had explained to her and Walter that Knecht0 signified, according to its original meaning, youth, boy, page, a man capable of bearing arms, hero; and Clarisse said: - I am his Knecht! She didn't need any words, she merely stood fast, motionless, her face blinded, against the arrows of the sun.
When Ulrich called out to her she turned slowly toward the unex- pected voice, and he immediately discovered that she was disappointed at his coming. There was no longer any mention of her telling him her childhood stories; she had completely forgotten that. Her eyes, which before he went on his trip had always snatched love for him from the very sight of him, observed him now with that insultingly purposeless indifference that is like an extinguished mountain range after one has seen it in the sunlight. Indeed, this is a petty and also quite common experience, this extinction of light in the eyes when they no longer want
•The English cognate is "knight," but Knecht now means fannhand,laborer. -TRANs.
1588 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
anything from what they are looking at; but it is like a small hole in the veil oflife through which nothingness gazes I but it has something ofthe absolute coldness that is concealed beneath the wann blankets oflife, in the absence of the sympathy of empty space.
As Meingast was on his way down, Walter joined him, and it was de- cided, without making many inquiries of the guests, that they would all walk together to the hill with the pine trees that lay halfway between the house and the edge of the woods. When they reached it, Meingast was charmed. The treetops hovered on their coral-colored trunks as dark- green islands in the burning blue ocean of the sky: hard, insistent colors created room and respect for themselves alongside each other; ideas that are as impossible in words as islands on coral trunks, which one does not trust oneself to think without a cowardly smile, were visible and real. Meingast pointed upward with his finger and spoke with Nietzsche: - A yes, a no; a straight line: formula of my happiness! Clarisse, who had thrown herself down on her back, understood him instantly and an- swered, with her eyes in the blueness, holding the words firmly between her teeth like a character in the last act where there is a lot of disjointed talking anyway: -Light-showers ofthe south! Cheerful cruelty! Destiny hovering over one! What need was there to paste sentences together when nature was like an echoing stage; she knew that Meingast would understand her! Walter understood her too. But as always he also under- stood something more. He saw the feminine softness ofhis wife lying in the feminine softness of the landscape; for all around, meadows sloped to the valley in soft billows, and aside from the group of pines, a small quany was the only heroic thing in the midst of a good-natured cor- poreality that moved him to tears because Clarisse saw nothing of it and knew nothing about herself but had of course chosen just the one place where the landscape was in weighty contradiction to itself. Walter was jealous of Meingast, but he was not jealous in the ordinary way; he was as proud as Clarisse was of their new old friend, who had, after all, re- turned laden with fame as, in a way, her own messenger whom she had sent out into the world. Ulrich noticed that in this brief time Meingast had acquired enormous influence over Clarisse, and that jealousy of
Meingast tortured Walter far more than had his previous jealousy of him, Ulrich, for Walter felt Meingast's superiority, while he had never felt Ulrich's, except physically. At any rate, these three people seemed to be deeply entangled in their affairs; they had already been talking to each other for days, and their guests were as little able to catch up with them as with people who have gone into a jungle. Then too, Meingast did not seem to attach any importance to orienting the newcomers, for
From the PosthuTTWUS Papers · 1589
without any consideration he went on talking at the point where the dis- cussion might have been broken off hours or days ago.
-Music-he declared-music is a supraspiritual phenomenon. Not the bandmaster's or nickelodeon music, ofcourse, which rules the thea- ter; and also not the music of the erotics, upon which a lightning-bright explication followed as to who such an erotic person was, in a great zig- zag from the beginnings of art to the present; but absolute music. Abso- lute music is suddenly, like a rainbow, from one end to the other, in the world; it is radiantly vaulted, without advance notice; a world on whir- ring wings, a world of ice, which hovers like a hailstorm in the other world.
Clarisse and Walter listened attentively, flattered. Clarisse, moreover, made note of the chain of ideas "music-ice-hailstorm" in order to use it in the next domestic musical sbuggle with Walter.
Meingast meanwhile, having worked himself up to a high pitch, ex- plained himself by way of examples from the old Italian still-healthy music. He whistled it for them. He had stepped a little to the side and was standing in the meadow like a totem pole, the describing hand long- limbed, his words an interminable monologue. This really had nothing to do anymore with mere art or an exchange ofaesthetic views: Meingast whistled metaphysical examples, absolute shapes, and phenomena of sound that occur only in music and nowhere else in the world. He whis- tled hovering curves or ineffable images of grief, anger, love, and cheer- fulness; challenged the couple to test the extent to which this resembled what in life is understood under the name of music, and expected of Clarisse and Walter that they, pursuing their own feelings, would arrive at the end of a bridge that breaks off in the middle, from which point they would first glimpse the absolute melodic figure as it drifted away in its total ineffability.
Which was also, as it appeared, what happened, diffusing a fixed shud- der ofhappiness over the three ofthem. -Once it's been pointed out, you yourself feel-said Meingast-that music cannot arise out of us alone. It is the image of itself, and just for that reason not merely an image of your feelings. So it's not an image at all. Not anything that would receive its existence through the existence ofsomething else. It is itselfsimply existence, being, scorning every motivation. And then, with a motion of his hand, Meingast pushed music far behind him, where it became the fragment of something greater, -for-he said-art does not idealize, but realizes. One must, to come to the essential point, break entirely with the view that art lifts up, beautifies, or the like, something within us. It is precisely the other way around. Take greed, greatness,
1590 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
cheerfulness, or whatever you like: it is only the hollow earthly charac- terization of processes that are far more powerful than their ridiculous trailing thread, which our understanding seizes in order to pull them down to us. In truth, all our feelings are inexpressible. We press them out in drops and think that these drops are our feelings. But they are clouds rushing away! All our experiences are more than we experience of them. I could now simply apply the example of music to this; all our experiences would then be of the essence of music, were it not sur- rounded by a still greater circle. F o r -
But here an interruption ensued, for Schmeisser, whose lips had long mated dryly together, could no longer restrain the birth of an objection. He said loudly: - I f you derive the birth of morality from the spirit of music, you're forgetting that all the emotions you might care to talk about receive their meaning from middle-class habits and middle-class assumptions!
Meingast turned amicably to the young man. -When, ten years ago, I came to Zurich for the first time-he said slowly-something ofthat sort would have been considered revolutionary. At that time you would have had great success with your inteijection. I may tell you that it was there that I received my first spiritual training, in the left wing of your party, which had members from all the countries of the world. But today it is clear to us that the creative accomplishment of Social Democracy-he emphasized the component "Democracy"-has so far remained zero, and will never get beyond whitewashing the cultural content of liberal- ism as neorevolutionary!
Schmeisser had no intention of responding to this. It was sufficient that he threw back his hair with a shake of his neck muscles and smiled with sternly closed lips. One could perhaps also say: Oh, don't let me bother you! He was thinking that a few lines in The Shoemaker, a few juicily pointed sarcastic comments, would be appropriate anytime as warning yet again against bourgeois like these, who never stuck it out for long in the movement. But Ulrich interrupted: -Don't run him through with a quotation from Marx; Herr Meingast would answer with Goethe, and we'd never get home today! But still Schmeisser let himself be car- ried away, because he had to say something. Since he lacked the will to do battle his answer was too modest. He simply said: - T h e new culture that socialism has brought into the world is the feeling of solidarity. . . . The response was not immediate; Meingast seemed to be leaving him- self time. He replied slowly: -That's correct. But it's precious little. Now Schmeisser lost his patience: -So-called academic learning-he exclaimed-has long since lost its right to be taken seriously as an intel- lectual center! Poking around among antiquities, pasting together trea-
From the Posthu11WUs Papers · 1591
tises about the poems of some fifth-rate writer, cramming Roman un- Law; that only breeds empty arrogance. The workers' movement, with its definable goals, has long been developing the real intellectual work- ers, the fighters in the class struggle with their clear aims, who are going to do away with the barbarism of exploitation, and they are the ones who will create the foundations for a culture of the future!
Now it was Meingast's turn to get angry; for years he had not felt as warmly about the culture of the present as he did now, faced with this battler for the future. But with a good-natured motion, Meingast cut off his counterattack. -W e are really not at all as far apart as you think, he answered Schmeisser. - 1 don't think much of academic learning either, and I, too, believe that a new feeling of community, a turning away from the individualism of the most recent age, signifies the most important development under way today. B u t - And again Meingast stood in the meadow like a totem pole, stretching out the hand that descriptively ac- companied his words, and could continue precisely where he had been interrupted: But that had happened before his new doctrine of the will. By "will" one was not, of course, to understand something like the inten- tion of seeking out a specific business because its drawing paper is cheaper, or composing a poem meant to be arrhythmic because up to then all other poems had been rhythmic. Nor was trampling on a supe- rior in order to get ahead a sign ofwill. On the contrary, that's merely the scum ofwill, caused by the many obstacles that today stand in the way of will, and is, therefore, broken will.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1575
ognized herself in the mirror now as a white she-devil, now as a blood- red madonna.
When she got off the train in Munich the next morning, she went to an elegant hotel, took a room, smoked the whole day, drank brandy and black coffee, and wrote letters and telegrams. Some circumstance or other had led her to assume that the Greek had traveled to Venice, and she issued instructions to him, the hotels, consular offices, and govern- ment bureaus. She displayed enormous industriousness. -Hurry up! she said to the page boys, who galloped around for her the whole day. It was a mood like at a fire when the fire trucks rattle up and the sirens wail, or like a mobilization, where horses trot and endless processions of resolute, helmet-enclosed faces march through the streets as if dream- ing, the air filled with thrown flowers and heavy with gray tension.
That evening she herself went on to Venice.
In Venice, she registered at a pension frequented by Germans, where she had stayed on her honeymoon; people there dimly recalled the young woman. The same life as in Munich began, with abuse of alcohol and alkaloids, but now she no longer sent off any telegrams or messen- gers. From the moment she had got to Venice, perhaps because the offi- cial emissaries were not already waiting for her at the station with their reports, she had been convinced that the Greek had slipped through her net and fled to his homeland. The task now was to stem the flood and prepare a final assault, without haste and with the strictest measures to- ward oneself.
It was clear that she would sail to Greece, but first the frenzied desire for the man, a desire that had pushed her almost too far, had to be re- strained. Besides coffee and brandy, Clarisse took no meals; she stripped naked and barricaded herself in her room, into which she did not allow even the hotel personnel. Hunger and something else, which she was not able to make out, put her in a state of feverlike confusion that lasted for days, in which impatient sexual arousal gradually faded to a vibrating mood in which all sorts of delusions of the senses were min- gled. The abuse of strong substances had undermined her body; she felt it beginning to collapse under her. Constant diarrhea; a cavity appeared in a tooth and bothered her night and day; a small ugly wart began to form on her hand. But all this drove her to exert her mind more and more passionately, like the moment just before the end of a race, when one has to lift one's legs at every step by willpower. She had got hold of brush and paint pots, and from the arm of a chair, the edge of the bed,
1576 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
and an ironing board that she had found outside her door she built her- self a scaffolding that she pushed along the wall, and began to paint the walls of her room with large designs. What she crisscrossed on the bare walls was the story of her life; so great was this process of inner purifica- tion that Clarisse was convinced that in a hundred years humanity would make a pilgrimage to these sketches and inscriptions in order to see the tremendous works of art with which the greatest of souls had covered her cell.
Perhaps they really were great works for someone who would have had to be in a position to disentangle the wealth of associations that had become tangled up in them. Clarisse created them with enormous ten- sion. She felt herself great and hovering. She was beyond the articulated expression of life that creates words and forms, which are a compromise arranged for everyone, and had again arrived at that magic first encoun- ter with herself, the madness of her first astonishment at those gifts of the gods, word and image. What she created was distorted, was piled up in confusion and yet impoverished, was unrestrained and yet obeyed a rigid compulsion; externally. Internally, it was for the first time the ex- pression of her entire being: without purpose, without reflection, almost without will, becoming literally a second thing, enduring, greater, the transubstantiation of the human being into a piece of eternity: finally, the fulfillment of Clarisse's longing. While she painted she sang: "I am descended from luminous gods. "
I Noted outside the novel: Does greatness never lie in content? In a way of ordering things? I
When they broke into her room, uncomprehending eyes stared at these walls like the eyes of hostile animals. Clarisse had bought a boat ticket and laid out a blanket and a towel twisted into a turban as her imperial attire, which she was going to take on board with her. Then it occurred to her that a person who finds himself on sacred paths is not allowed to have any money with him without falling victim to a ridicu- lous incongruity, so she gave away her money and jewelry to laughing gondoliers. As she was about to give a speech in the Piazza of St. Mark's to the people assembled for her departure, a man spoke to her and gently brought her back to her pension. But since this man was unwise enough to recommend her to the protection of her hosts, everyone now poured into her room; the padrona screamed about the damage, gave orders to seize Clarisse's property, swore in vulgar language when none
From the Posthumous Papers · 1577
was to be found, and the staff tittered. A horrendous cruelty stared at Clarisse from every side, that primal hatred of inert matter, one part of which pushes another from the spot unless attraction and understanding mold them together into one. Silently Clarisse took her turban and cloak in order to leave this land and go on board. But at the canal steps the always friendly brown-black chambermaid came after her and begged her to wait, because a gentleman wanted to have the honor of showing her something before she left. Clarisse stopped in silence; she was tired and really no longer had the strength to travel. When the gondola with the man and two strange men appeared she stared gravely into the girl's friendly eyes, which were now almost floating in a moist shimmer, and thought the grievous word: Iscariot. She had no time to reflect on this shattering experience. In the gondola she calmly and seriously kept her eyes on the strange man and had the distinct impression that he was shrinking from her. This satisfied her. They came to the Colleone monu- ment, and now the strange man spoke to her for the first time. "Why don't we go in here," he said, indicating a building beside the church that stood there. "There's something particularly nice to look at. " Cla- risse suspected the trap being set for her by the official of public secu- rity. But this suspicion had no value for her, no causal valency, so to speak. I'm tired and ill, she said to herself. He wants to lure me into the hospital. It's unreasonable of me to go along. But my madness is merely that I fall out of their general order and my causality isn't theirs: only disturbance in a subordinate function, which they overestimate. Their behavior is the crassest lack of ethics I In their causal associations what I do and how I do it is sick; because they don't see the other.
When they entered the building she divided the rest of her jewelry and her towel among the matrons, who accepted them, seized her, and strapped her to a bed. Clarisse began to cry, and the matrons said "poveretta/"
After confinement
This time, it was Wotan who went to get her and brought her back; he took her to Dr. Fried's clinic. When she was brought in, the doctor on duty merely looked at her and had her taken to the ward for the dis- tracted.
The very first scream of a madman forced on her the idea of the mi- gration of souls; the ideas of reincarnation, of the attainable Nirvana, were not far away.
1578 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
"Mother! Mother! " That was the cry of a girl who was covered with horrible wounds. Clarisse longed for her mother on account ofthe many sins with which her mother had sent her out into the world. Her parents were now sitting around the table at breakfast; there were flowers in the room; Clarisse was covered with all their sins, they felt good; her migra- tion of souls began.
Clarisse's first walk led to the bath, since she had been excited by being brought in. It was a square room with a tile floor and a large pool filled with water and without a raised edge; from the doorway steps led into it. Two wasted bodies fastened longing glances on her and screamed for redemption. They were her best friends, Walter and Ulrich, in sinful form.
During the night the Pope lay beside her. In the shape of a woman. -Church is black night-Clarisse said to herself-now it longs for the woman. There was a dim light, the patients were sleeping, when the Pope fumbled at her blanket and wanted to slip into bed with her. He was longing for his woman; Clarisse had no objection. - T h e black night longs for redemption, she whispered, as she yielded to the Pope's fin- gers. The sins of Christendom were extirpated. King Ludwig of Bavaria was lying opposite her, etc. It was a night of crucifixion. Clarisse looked toward her dissolution; she felt free of all guilt, her soul floated weight- less and bright as these visions crept to her bed like poems and vanished again without her being able to seize their shapes and hold them fast. The next morning, Nietzsche's soul in the shape of the chief doctor was for her the most glorious sight. Beautiful, kindly, full of profound seri- ousness, his bushy beard grayed, his eyes seeing as from another world, he nodded to her. She knew it had been he who during the night had
bidden her extirpate the sins of Christendom; hot ambition, like the am- bition of a schoolgirl, soared in Clarisse.
During the next two weeks she experienced Faust, Part II. Three characters represented Antiquity, the Middle Ages, and Modernity. Cla- risse trampled them with her feet. That happened in the water chamber. For three days. Cackling screams filled the enclosed room. Through the vapors and tropical fogs of the bath naked women crept like crocodiles and gigantic crabs. Slippery faces screamed into her eyes. Scissor arms grasped at her. Legs twined around her neck. Clarisse screamed and fluttered above the bodies, striking her toenails into the damp, slippery flesh, was pulled down, suffocated beneath bellies and knees, bit into breasts, scratched flabby cheeks bloody, worked herselfto the top again, plunged into the water and out, and finally plunged her face into the shaggy wet lap of a large woman and "on the shell ofthe Triton goddess" roared out a song until hoarseness stifled her voice.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1579
One should not think that insanity has no sense; it merely has the tur- bid, fuzzy, duplicating lens of the air above this bath, and at times it was quite clear to Clarisse that she was living among the laws of a different but by no means lawless world. Perhaps the idea explicitly governing all these minds was nothing other than the striving to escape the place of interdiction and compulsion, an unarticulated dream of the body rebel- ling against its poisoned head. While Clarisse was trampling with her feet the less agile in the slippery knot of people, there was in her head a "sinless Nirvana" like the broad white air outside a window, the longing for a painless and unconflicted state of rest, and like a buzzing insect she bumped with her head against the wall that sick bodies erected around her, fluttering aimlessly, driven from one moment's inspiration to the next, while the conviction hovered like a golden halo behind her head, a halo she could not see and could not even imagine but which was never- theless there, that a profound ethical problem had been laid upon her, that she was the Messiah and the Obernumsch joined in the same per- son, and would enter her rest after she had redeemed the others, and she could redeem them only by forcing them down. For three days and three nights she obeyed the irresistible will of the community of the mad, let herself be pushed and pulled and scratched till the blood came, threw herself symbolically on the cross on the tiles of the floor, uttered hoarse, disconnected, incomprehensible words and answered similar words with actions, as if she not only understood them but wanted to stake her life on the communication. They did not ask, they had no need of meaning that dumps words into sentences and sentences into the cel- lar of the mind; they recognized one another among themselves, and like animals differentiated themselves from the attendants or from anyone who was different, and their ideas produced a chaotic common thread, as during the revolt of a crowd where no one knows or understands any- one else, no one thinks any longer except in fragmented beginnings and endings, but powerful tensions and blows of the oblivious common body unite everyone with one another. After three days and nights, Clarisse was exhausted; her voice was only a bare whisper, her "iiber-strength" had conquered, and she became calm.
She was put to bed and for a few days lay in a state of profound fa- tigue, interrupted by attacks of tortured, shapeless restlessness. A "disci- ple," a rosy blond woman of twenty-one, who had regarded her from the first day as a liberator, finally gave her her first redemption. This woman came to her bed and said something or other; for Clarisse it meant: I am taking over the mission. Clarisse later found out that the rosy blonde had, in her stead, exorcised the devil through song in the water chamber day and night. But Clarisse stayed in the big hall, took care of the sick,
1580 • THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
and "lay in wait for their sins. " The communication between her and her confessing charges consisted of sentences like dolls, implausible, wooden little sentences, and God alone knows what they originally meant by them; but ifchildren playing with dolls would have to use con- crete words in order to be able to mean the same thing and understand each other, then the magic sleight ofhand that pretends a shapeless stick of wood is a living being would never succeed, a trick that excites the soul more than the most passionate lovers are later able to do. Finally, one day, an ordinary woman, who had earlier pounded on Clarisse's back with her fists, spoke to Clarisse, saying this: "Gather your disciples in the coming night and celebrate your Last Supper. What kind offood does the great lord desire? Speak, that it shall be prepared for you. But we intend to leave, and will no longer appear before your eyes! " At the same time another woman, who suffered from catatonia, passionately kissed Clarisse's hands, and her eyes were transfigured by approaching death like a star that in the night outshines all others. Clarisse felt: "It is really not a miracle that I believed I had to fulfill a mission," but in spite ofthis already more focused feeling, she was uncertain about what it was she had to do. Fortunately, this was the day on which she was trans- ferred to the ward for calm patients.
On Clarisse
1. "Impoverished life"-This is a concept that makes an impression on her, like decadence. Her version of the fin de steele mood. Drawn from her experience with Walter.
2. Along with Walter she adores Wagner, but with rising opposition; whenever he has played Wagner his hands are covered by a cold damp- ness, so this petit-bourgeois heroism comes out at his fingers, this heroic petit-bourgeois posturing. She imagines an Italian music that is driven beyond itself by the cruel cheerfulness of the blue Italian sky (omen! ), "the destiny over her": "Her happiness is brief, sudden, unannounced, without pardon. " (Omen, but Ulrich at first sees only what is usual for the times. ) "The tanned one," "cynical" (omen! ). She criticizes how empty Walter's face becomes in so many ways when he is making music.
3· Love is to be understood as fate, innocent and therefore cruel- that's how it hovers before her. She means by this: that's how she would like to be so filled by her own destiny that she would not think at all of the man who had unleashed it. Walter's love is for her only a "finer para- sitism, a nesting oneself in an alien soul"; she would like to shake it off.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1581
4· "Being able to forbid oneself something harmful is a sign of vital- ity"-she will not allow Walter into her bed. "The harmful lures the ex- hausted person. "
5· Later: "Illness itself can be a stimulus to life, but one has to be healthy enough for this stimulus. "
6. Decadence is for instance the agitated perspective that Wagnerian art compels, "which forces one to change one's position in regard to it at every moment. " That is directed squarely at Ulrich, who sees in this changing of positions the energy of the future.
7· But then she disconcerts him with things that he believes too: "What characterizes all literary decadence? That life no longer dwells in the whole. The word becomes sovereign and jumps out of the sentence, the sentence reaches out and obscures the sense of the page, the page takes on life at the expense of the whole-the whole is no longer a whole. That's the sign ofevery decadent style: . . . Anarchy of the atoms, dispersion of the will . . . Life pushed back into the smallest structures . . . the remainder poor in vitality" (Voluntarism. A direct power against what is soft, boyish in Ulrich. )
8. Prophetic:". . . that in cultures in decline, that everywhere where the power ofdecision falls into the hands ofthe masses, what is genuine becomes superfluous, disadvantageous, ignored. Only the actor still evokes great enthusiasm. This means that the golden age for the actor is dawning. " Talma: What is supposed to affect one as true can be not true.
g. Against Walter: "The healthy organism does not fight off illness with reasons-one does not contradict a disease-but with inhibition, mistrust, peevishness, disgust, . . . as ifthere were a great danger slinking around in it. "
1 0 . Against Ulrich: "Innocence among oppositions . . . this is almost a definition of modernity. Biologically, modem man represents a contra- diction of values, he sits between two stools, in the same breath he says yes and no . . . All of us have, against our knowledge, against our will, values, statements, formulas, and moralities of opposing lineages within us-physiologically regarded, we are false . . . a diagnostic ofthe modem soul-where would it begin? With a decisive incision into this contradic- toriness ofinstinct . . . "
11. "Everything that is good makes me fruitful. I have no other grati- tude . . . "
1582 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES Clarisse
Nietzsche asks: Is there a pessimism of strength? An intellectual pref- erence for the hardness, the horrible, evil, problematic aspects of exis- tence? (from fullness of existence) Ulrich and Clarisse come together in this intellectual preference. It separates Clarisse from Walter. So that here the problem ofadultery starts right offwith the intellect. "Depth of the antimoral propensity. "
The desire for the terrible as the worthy foe is one of the forebodings that seize her as she reads Nietzsche. Predisposition to her falling sick.
Nietzsche regards dialectic, the contentedness of the theoretically ori- ented person, as signs of decline, science as a delicate self-defense against truth, an evasion. Here Ulrich distances himself from Nietzsche, for he is enthusiastic about this theoretical person. Indeed, otherwise one would arrive at an imbecilic idolatry of life; but Ulrich runs aground with the ultimate ataraxia [stoical indifference-TRANs. ] of the theoreti- cally oriented person.
This could already be initiated in [Part] I and determine the situation in which he encounters Agathe.
What fascinates him so about Nietzsche, and fascinates Clarisse as well, is Nietzsche's intervention on behalf of the artistic person. He writes for artists who have the ancillary disposition of analytic and retro- spective capacities, an exceptional kind of artist-therefore really for Ul- rich. That Nietzsche says he really does not want to appeal to this kind of artist (but apparently to ones who are less divided) is something Ulrich passes over; that is something which youth reserves to itself as an achievement that it will reveal.
Is madness perhaps not necessarily the symptom of the degeneration, the decay, of a superannuated civilization? Are there perhaps . . . neu- roses of health?
Of the youth and youthfulness of the Volk? What does the synthesis of god and he-goat in the satyr show? From what experi- ence of the self, in response to what impulse, was the Greek led to imag- ine the Dionysian enthusiast and primal man as a satyr? And concerning the origin of the chorus in tragedy: were there perhaps in those centu- ries in which the Greek body blossomed, and the Greek soul overflowed with life, endemic transports? Visions and hallucinations that imparted themselves to entire communities, whole gatherings of cults? What if the Greeks, precisely in the abundance of their youth, had the will to the tragic and were pessimists? What if it was precisely madness, to employ a term of Plato's, that brought the greatest blessings to Hellas? And if, on the other hand and inversely, what if it was precisely in the periods of
From the Posthumous Papers · 1583
their dissolution and weakness that the Greeks became increasingly op- timistic, more superficial, more theatrical, also, according to the logic and logicizing of the world, more ardent-that is to say, at once more cheerful and more scientific?
In the Preface addressed to Richard Wagner,O art-and not moral- ity-is already posited as the real metaphysical activity of mankind; in the book itself, the pertinent sentence that the existence of the world is justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon recurs several times.
. . . betrays a spirit that will at some point, at whatever risk, set itself against the moral explication of existence.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 1
Life is motion. Therefore never-ending. After death, life again dis- solves into motion.
Since the motion is never-ending, nothing remains unrevenged. To break out of this chain, the mind must dissolve into harmony before it dies and enters cosmic space. That is the idea of Nirvana, which there- fore, accordingly, also issues "unrevenged" from the feeling of guilt; the longing for harmony is the desire to emerge from this condition.
Do you believe in the migration of souls, hell, purgatory? she ex- claims. Perhaps some individuals have attained Nirvana in their earthly life, but then they were the final links in a long chain of people---"in their person the ring closed" (Wagner's magic world again comes to life). But everyone else runs around laden with guilt and shame, tor- tured, reviled, from the first day of their lives onward, sacrifices to a crime committed before their birth.
But there is justice. What we call injustice is only the path to eternal justice.
The earth cannot perish before Nirvana has been attained.
She also explains it mathematically: births and deaths balance each other (everyone who is born dies, a tremendous discovery! ), therefore the souls of modern people are the souls of ancient people. There are no free souls!
Even Darwinism agrees with this: in human beings, animal instincts are in many people reincarnated animal faces. They are still burdened with the animal soul.
"Musil is referring to Nietzsche"s Birth ofTragedy. -TRANs.
1584 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
liquidation . . .
Ideas become clearer and more banal. Clearing, boring sky. Only a deep sadness remains.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 2
King Ludwig was lying facing her already in Venice.
This is associated with the idea: Between Wagner and Nietzsche stood the snake. This snake is Ludwig, the "feminine king," who loves the artist and in doing so robs him of his only dignity. Evidently the re- flex of her resistance against her sexual role as a woman for Walter; the same thing disappointed her in Ulrich, and in the Greek it struck her so strongly that he was free of it. Therefore a single line of action. Even in Munich, Walter and Ulrich appeared to her in their "sinful shapes. "
Nietzsche, the great friend, turned away horrified from this ignominy, and from that time on had to follow his solitary path alone. Here she identifies herselfwith Nietzsche.
What was done to him and to her is "a sin against the holy spirit. " It must be "reconciled by a human sacrifice. " Nietzsche's d e a t h - a second Christ.
Yet neither Christ nor Nietzsche could redeem mankind from evil: "People remain people. "
"Destiny hovers over us, a second reality," is how she expressed her impotence simultaneously with the thought that in spite of her prede- cessors she had to suffer.
In between, the thought crosses her mind: "Between Nietzsche and Wagner stood Jewry! "
The thought later goes on: There are two realities!
"One" is called: "The way I see it''-
The "Other": "The way I don't see it. "
They are the same ideas as before, but they no longer have the com-
ponents of manic redemption.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1585 The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 3
In the clinic in Munich she sees a fat blond woman with a masculine voice, a Polish woman. Immediately the thought "OveJWoman" springs to her mind. She thinks it over. This person before her is a primitive example. She thinks of Semiramis, Catherine the Great, Elizabeth of Austria. She is helpless because she has no books.
Such women have superhuman strength.
Her thoughts veer off: even before Nietzsche there were Overmen, she discovers: Napoleon, Jesus Christ. Suddenly she thinks: Christ was ignorant. Like her. That's why in our reckoning of time, our epoch, he is one of the most mysterious figures. For she is locked up.
The world ofideas in Clarisse's insanity 4
Sometimes she slips into confused cursing. Men today are horrible idiots, cowards, weaklings, with no backbone, without courage, bravery, or stamina.
They are either brutal or soft. They have lost the skill of using the whip with delicacy. Their dress is unaesthetic. Their manner ofthinking cowardly, stupid. Their eyes blue or black (Ulrich and Walter).
If from time to time one comes across a man of chivalric appearance, with steely muscles-he is certainly abnormal, therefore no man either. Suddenly she realizes: The woman puts on the secret trousers. That's why. She becomes only half natural. She no longer understands how to be a mother. She longs for motherhood. Divine pregnancy is a reminder of Nietzsche. Longingly she imagines the degenerate women on whose
physical beauty the "sucking pulls. " She would like to feel it.
Later these two words occur again, in another context in which no one
understands them. Helplessness of the expression.
Menwomen and womenmen.
Delire adeux: It's a question of two people, one ofwhom is insane and the other predisposed to insanity. The former usually has some talent,
1586 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
the latter not a great deal of intelligence. Through constant contact, by being constantly bombarded with confused and inchoate ideas, the pre- disposed person ends up acting like his companion, and gradually the same madness shows up in him. A dependent relationship establishes itself between the two unfortunates; one is the echo of the other:
The impact of confused and inchoate ideas-is not only a danger for the inferior person. Cf. enjoyment of Expressionism and poetry in gen- eral.
Being together with Clarisse in Italy often makes Ulrich feel like a hot-air balloon that can be released at any moment. He lives through the essence of Expressionism. He, who is so precise, writes such poems. At that time poetry had not got to that point.
Happiness is madness, the not-communicable!
LATE 1920S
Ulrich wanted to see Meingast once more; this eagle, who had floated down from Zarathustra's mountains into the domestic life of Walter and Clarisse, made him curious. Following a sudden inspiration, he invited Schmeisser to go with him; he hoped to summon up in his adversary reasons to soften the latter's opposition to him through the impression made by his friends. He said nothing to Agathe about the expedition; he knew she would not come along.
Meingast had now been whiling away a considerable amount of time with his admirers and adherents Walter and Clarisse, part of whose home consisted of a separate, empty room whose windows looked out on the narrow side of the house. Somewhere the couple had dug up an iron bedstead; a kitchen stool and a tin pail served as bath, and aside from these objects the only other thing in the room, which had no curtains, was an empty dish cupboard, in which there were some books, and a small table of unpainted soft wood. Meingast sat at this table and wrote. That was enough to lend the room, even when he was not in it and Cla- risse or Walter glanced in in passing. that ineffable quality of an old cast- offglove that has been worn on a noble and energetic hand. But now, as Meingast was sitting in the room writing. he knew (moreover) that Cla- risse was standing beneath his window. Working in such a situation was splendid. Meingast's will formed words on the paper, abandoned them, flowed over the windowsill, and arrived at Clarisse, who, wrapped in the "invisible cloak of an electric northern light," was staring obsessively and
From the Posthumous Papers · 1587
absently before her. Meingast did not love Clarisse, but this ambitious pupil whom he paralyzed gave him pleasure. Meingast's pen was driven across the paper by a mysterious power; the nostrils of his sharp, narrow nose quivered like a stallion's, and his beautiful dark eyes glowed. What he had begun under these conditions was one of the most important sec- tions of his new book; but one ought not call this book a book: it was a call, a command, a mobilization order for New People. When Meingast heard a strange male voice beside Clarisse, he interrupted himself and went down.
Ulrich had seen Clarisse right away as he and Schmeisser turned in at the garden gate. She was standing by the fence beside the vegetable gar- den, with her back to the house, quite stiffly and gazing into the dis- tance, blind to the new arrivals. It did not seem that she was aware of her (frozen) position; her attitude seemed more the involuntary copy of sig- nificant ideas with which she was inwardly preoccupied. And so it was. She was thinking: -This time Meingast is transforming himself in our house. He had come to them without saying a word about it, but Clarisse knew that his life contained several of the most remarkable transforma- tions, and was certain that the work he had begun here had something to do with this. The memory of an Indian god, who before every purifica- tion settles down somewhere, mingled in Clarisse's mind with the mem- ory that insects choose a specific spot to change into a chrysalis and the memory of the fragrance of espaliered peaches ripening against the sunny wall of a house; the logical result was that Clarisse was standing in the burning sunshine beneath the window of the shadowy cave into which the prophet had withdrawn. The day before, he had explained to her and Walter that Knecht0 signified, according to its original meaning, youth, boy, page, a man capable of bearing arms, hero; and Clarisse said: - I am his Knecht! She didn't need any words, she merely stood fast, motionless, her face blinded, against the arrows of the sun.
When Ulrich called out to her she turned slowly toward the unex- pected voice, and he immediately discovered that she was disappointed at his coming. There was no longer any mention of her telling him her childhood stories; she had completely forgotten that. Her eyes, which before he went on his trip had always snatched love for him from the very sight of him, observed him now with that insultingly purposeless indifference that is like an extinguished mountain range after one has seen it in the sunlight. Indeed, this is a petty and also quite common experience, this extinction of light in the eyes when they no longer want
•The English cognate is "knight," but Knecht now means fannhand,laborer. -TRANs.
1588 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
anything from what they are looking at; but it is like a small hole in the veil oflife through which nothingness gazes I but it has something ofthe absolute coldness that is concealed beneath the wann blankets oflife, in the absence of the sympathy of empty space.
As Meingast was on his way down, Walter joined him, and it was de- cided, without making many inquiries of the guests, that they would all walk together to the hill with the pine trees that lay halfway between the house and the edge of the woods. When they reached it, Meingast was charmed. The treetops hovered on their coral-colored trunks as dark- green islands in the burning blue ocean of the sky: hard, insistent colors created room and respect for themselves alongside each other; ideas that are as impossible in words as islands on coral trunks, which one does not trust oneself to think without a cowardly smile, were visible and real. Meingast pointed upward with his finger and spoke with Nietzsche: - A yes, a no; a straight line: formula of my happiness! Clarisse, who had thrown herself down on her back, understood him instantly and an- swered, with her eyes in the blueness, holding the words firmly between her teeth like a character in the last act where there is a lot of disjointed talking anyway: -Light-showers ofthe south! Cheerful cruelty! Destiny hovering over one! What need was there to paste sentences together when nature was like an echoing stage; she knew that Meingast would understand her! Walter understood her too. But as always he also under- stood something more. He saw the feminine softness ofhis wife lying in the feminine softness of the landscape; for all around, meadows sloped to the valley in soft billows, and aside from the group of pines, a small quany was the only heroic thing in the midst of a good-natured cor- poreality that moved him to tears because Clarisse saw nothing of it and knew nothing about herself but had of course chosen just the one place where the landscape was in weighty contradiction to itself. Walter was jealous of Meingast, but he was not jealous in the ordinary way; he was as proud as Clarisse was of their new old friend, who had, after all, re- turned laden with fame as, in a way, her own messenger whom she had sent out into the world. Ulrich noticed that in this brief time Meingast had acquired enormous influence over Clarisse, and that jealousy of
Meingast tortured Walter far more than had his previous jealousy of him, Ulrich, for Walter felt Meingast's superiority, while he had never felt Ulrich's, except physically. At any rate, these three people seemed to be deeply entangled in their affairs; they had already been talking to each other for days, and their guests were as little able to catch up with them as with people who have gone into a jungle. Then too, Meingast did not seem to attach any importance to orienting the newcomers, for
From the PosthuTTWUS Papers · 1589
without any consideration he went on talking at the point where the dis- cussion might have been broken off hours or days ago.
-Music-he declared-music is a supraspiritual phenomenon. Not the bandmaster's or nickelodeon music, ofcourse, which rules the thea- ter; and also not the music of the erotics, upon which a lightning-bright explication followed as to who such an erotic person was, in a great zig- zag from the beginnings of art to the present; but absolute music. Abso- lute music is suddenly, like a rainbow, from one end to the other, in the world; it is radiantly vaulted, without advance notice; a world on whir- ring wings, a world of ice, which hovers like a hailstorm in the other world.
Clarisse and Walter listened attentively, flattered. Clarisse, moreover, made note of the chain of ideas "music-ice-hailstorm" in order to use it in the next domestic musical sbuggle with Walter.
Meingast meanwhile, having worked himself up to a high pitch, ex- plained himself by way of examples from the old Italian still-healthy music. He whistled it for them. He had stepped a little to the side and was standing in the meadow like a totem pole, the describing hand long- limbed, his words an interminable monologue. This really had nothing to do anymore with mere art or an exchange ofaesthetic views: Meingast whistled metaphysical examples, absolute shapes, and phenomena of sound that occur only in music and nowhere else in the world. He whis- tled hovering curves or ineffable images of grief, anger, love, and cheer- fulness; challenged the couple to test the extent to which this resembled what in life is understood under the name of music, and expected of Clarisse and Walter that they, pursuing their own feelings, would arrive at the end of a bridge that breaks off in the middle, from which point they would first glimpse the absolute melodic figure as it drifted away in its total ineffability.
Which was also, as it appeared, what happened, diffusing a fixed shud- der ofhappiness over the three ofthem. -Once it's been pointed out, you yourself feel-said Meingast-that music cannot arise out of us alone. It is the image of itself, and just for that reason not merely an image of your feelings. So it's not an image at all. Not anything that would receive its existence through the existence ofsomething else. It is itselfsimply existence, being, scorning every motivation. And then, with a motion of his hand, Meingast pushed music far behind him, where it became the fragment of something greater, -for-he said-art does not idealize, but realizes. One must, to come to the essential point, break entirely with the view that art lifts up, beautifies, or the like, something within us. It is precisely the other way around. Take greed, greatness,
1590 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
cheerfulness, or whatever you like: it is only the hollow earthly charac- terization of processes that are far more powerful than their ridiculous trailing thread, which our understanding seizes in order to pull them down to us. In truth, all our feelings are inexpressible. We press them out in drops and think that these drops are our feelings. But they are clouds rushing away! All our experiences are more than we experience of them. I could now simply apply the example of music to this; all our experiences would then be of the essence of music, were it not sur- rounded by a still greater circle. F o r -
But here an interruption ensued, for Schmeisser, whose lips had long mated dryly together, could no longer restrain the birth of an objection. He said loudly: - I f you derive the birth of morality from the spirit of music, you're forgetting that all the emotions you might care to talk about receive their meaning from middle-class habits and middle-class assumptions!
Meingast turned amicably to the young man. -When, ten years ago, I came to Zurich for the first time-he said slowly-something ofthat sort would have been considered revolutionary. At that time you would have had great success with your inteijection. I may tell you that it was there that I received my first spiritual training, in the left wing of your party, which had members from all the countries of the world. But today it is clear to us that the creative accomplishment of Social Democracy-he emphasized the component "Democracy"-has so far remained zero, and will never get beyond whitewashing the cultural content of liberal- ism as neorevolutionary!
Schmeisser had no intention of responding to this. It was sufficient that he threw back his hair with a shake of his neck muscles and smiled with sternly closed lips. One could perhaps also say: Oh, don't let me bother you! He was thinking that a few lines in The Shoemaker, a few juicily pointed sarcastic comments, would be appropriate anytime as warning yet again against bourgeois like these, who never stuck it out for long in the movement. But Ulrich interrupted: -Don't run him through with a quotation from Marx; Herr Meingast would answer with Goethe, and we'd never get home today! But still Schmeisser let himself be car- ried away, because he had to say something. Since he lacked the will to do battle his answer was too modest. He simply said: - T h e new culture that socialism has brought into the world is the feeling of solidarity. . . . The response was not immediate; Meingast seemed to be leaving him- self time. He replied slowly: -That's correct. But it's precious little. Now Schmeisser lost his patience: -So-called academic learning-he exclaimed-has long since lost its right to be taken seriously as an intel- lectual center! Poking around among antiquities, pasting together trea-
From the Posthu11WUs Papers · 1591
tises about the poems of some fifth-rate writer, cramming Roman un- Law; that only breeds empty arrogance. The workers' movement, with its definable goals, has long been developing the real intellectual work- ers, the fighters in the class struggle with their clear aims, who are going to do away with the barbarism of exploitation, and they are the ones who will create the foundations for a culture of the future!
Now it was Meingast's turn to get angry; for years he had not felt as warmly about the culture of the present as he did now, faced with this battler for the future. But with a good-natured motion, Meingast cut off his counterattack. -W e are really not at all as far apart as you think, he answered Schmeisser. - 1 don't think much of academic learning either, and I, too, believe that a new feeling of community, a turning away from the individualism of the most recent age, signifies the most important development under way today. B u t - And again Meingast stood in the meadow like a totem pole, stretching out the hand that descriptively ac- companied his words, and could continue precisely where he had been interrupted: But that had happened before his new doctrine of the will. By "will" one was not, of course, to understand something like the inten- tion of seeking out a specific business because its drawing paper is cheaper, or composing a poem meant to be arrhythmic because up to then all other poems had been rhythmic. Nor was trampling on a supe- rior in order to get ahead a sign ofwill. On the contrary, that's merely the scum ofwill, caused by the many obstacles that today stand in the way of will, and is, therefore, broken will.
