Among these jars that are all so nicely round and picture frames that are so nicely
rectangular?
Musil - Man Without Qualities - v2
Of course I know you'll help me!
Ulrich shook his head.
-Then come! Clarisse said. -Let's go deeper into the woods, where we'll be alone. She had jumped up. The senselessly raging will that ema- nated from this small being was like clouds of unfamiliar insects buzzing and swarming among blackberry shoots exhaling their odors in the sun, inhuman but pleasant. -But you're all hot! Clarisse exclaimed. -You'll catch cold among the trees! She took a kerchieffrom her warm body and swiftly threw it over his head; then she climbed up him, disappearing likewise under the kerchief, and, before he could throw her off, kissed him like a high-spirited little girl. Clarisse stumbled, and fell to a sitting position. - I haven't forgiven you-Ulrich threatened grumblingly- that during the time you were in love with this muddlehead Meingast I simply didn't exist for youi-Oh? Clarisse answered. -Y ou don't un- derstand. Meingast is homosexual. So you didn't understand me at all!
-But what's this chatter about redeeming all about? Ulrich asked severely. -That only blossomed because ofhim, didn't it?
- O h , I'll explain that to you. Come! Clarisse assured him.
Ulrich started with what Walter had already told him.
-All right. But that's not the main point. The main point is the bear. -The bear?
-Yes; the pointed muzzle with the teeth that tear everything to
pieces. I arouse the bear in all of you! Clarisse showed with a gesture what she meant, and smiled innocently. - B u t , Clarisse! - O f course! Clarisse said. -Y ou deny me when I'm being honest! But even Walter believes that every person has an animal in him whom he resembles. From which he has to be redeemed. Nietzsche had his eagle, Walter and Moosbrugger have the bear.
- A n d I ? Ulrich asked, curious.
- I don't know yet.
- A n d you?
- I ' m a he-goat with eagle's wings.
So they wandered through the woods, eating berries now and then,
heat and hunger making them as dry as violin wood. Sometimes Clarisse broke off a small dry twig and handed it to Ulrich; he didn't know whether to throw it away or keep it in his hand; as with children, when they do such things, there was something else behind it, for which there was no articulated notion. Now Clarisse stopped in the wilderness, and the light in her eyes shone. She declared: -Moosbrugger has commit- ted a sexual murder, hasn't he? What's that? Desire separated in him from what's human! But isn't that the same in Walter too? And in you?
1614 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
Moosbrugger has had to pay for it. Isn't one obliged to help him? What do you say to that? From the foot of the trees came the smell of dark- ness, mushrooms, and decay, from above of sunlit fir twigs.
-W ill you do that for me? Clarisse asked.
Ulrich again said no, and asked Clarisse to come back to the house. She meandered along beside him and let her head droop. They had
gone quite far from the path. -W e're hungry, Clarisse said, and pulled out a piece of old bread she was carrying in her pocket. She gave Ulrich some of it too. It produced a remarkably pleasant-unpleasant feeling, which quieted hunger and tortured thirst. -The mills of time grind dryly---Clarisse poetized-you feel grain after grain falling.
And it occurred to Ulrich without thinking about it much that among these totally meaningless annoyances he felt better than he had in a long time.
Clarisse set about once more to win him over. She would do it herself. She had a plan. She only needed a little money. And he would have to speak to Moosbrugger in her stead, because she wasn't allowed in the clinic anymore.
Ulrich promised. This derring-do fantasy filled up the time. He guarded himself against all consequences. Clarisse laughed.
As they were on the way home, chance had it that they caught up with a man leading a tame bear. Ulrich joked about it, but Clarisse grew seri- ous and seemed to seek protection in the closeness of his body, and her face became deeply absorbed. As they passed the man and the bear, she suddenly called out: -I'll tame every bear! It sounded like an awkward joke. But she suddenly reached for the bear's muzzle, and Ulrich had difficulty pulling her back quickly enough from the startled, growling beast.
The next time, Ulrich met Clarisse at the painter's studio offriends of hers, where a circle of people had gathered and was making music. Cla- risse did not stand out in these surroundings; the role ofodd man out fell to Ulrich instead. He had come reluctantly and felt repugnance among these people, who, contorted, were listening ecstatically. The transitions from charming, gentle, and soft to gloomy, heroic, and tumultuous, which the music went through several times within the space of a quar- ter hour, musicians don't notice, because for them this progression is synonymous with music and therefore with something of the highest dis- tinctionl-but to Ulrich, who at the moment was not at all under the
From the Posthu11WUs Papers · 1 615
sway of the prejudice that music was something that had to be, this music seemed as badly motivated and unmediated in its progression as the carryings-on of a company of drunks that alternates periodically be- tween sentimentality and fistfights. He had no intention of imagining what the soul of a great musician might be like and passing judgment on it, but what was usually considered great music seemed to him much like a chest with a beautifully carved exterior and full of the contents of the soul, from which one has pulled out all the drawers, so that the contents lie all jumbled together inside. He usually could not understand music as an amalgam of soul and form, because he saw too clearly that the soul of music, aside from rarely encountered pure music, is nothing but the conventional soul of Jack and Jill whipped to a frenzy.
He was, notwithstanding, supporting his head in both hands like the others; he just did not know whether it was because he was thinking of Walter or closing his ears a little. In truth, he was neither keeping his ears entirely closed nor thinking of Walter. He merely wanted to be alone. He did not often reflect about other people; apparently because he also rarely thought about himself as "a person. " He usually acted on the opinion that what one thinks, feels, wants, imagines, and creates could, in certain circumstances, signify an enrichment of life; but what one is signifies under no circumstances more than a by-product of the process of this production. Musical people, on the other hand, are quite often of the opposite opinion. They do produce something, to which they apply the impersonal name of music, but what they produce con- sists for the most part, or at least for the part that is most important to them, of themselves, their sensations, emotions, and their shared experi- ence. There is more momentary being and less lasting duration in their music, which among all intellectual activities is closest to that of the actor. This intensification, which he was being forced to witness, aroused Ulrich's antipathy; he sat among these people like an owl among songbirds.
And of course Walter was his exact opposite. Walter thought passion- ately and a great deal about himself. He took everything he encountered seriously. Because he encountered it; as if that were a merit that can make one thing into another. He was at every moment a complete indi- vidual and a complete human being, and because he was, he became nothing. Everybody had found him captivating, brought him happiness, and invited him to remain with them, with the end result that he had become an archivist or curator, had run aground, no longer has the strength to change, curses everyone, is contentedly unhappy, and goes off punctually to his office. And while he is in his office something will perhaps happen between Clarisse and Ulrich that could arouse in the
1616 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
person he is, if he should find out about it, an agitation as if the entire ocean of world history were pouring into it; while Ulrich, on the other hand, was far less agitated. But Clarisse, immediately after she had come in-Walter was not there-had sat down beside Ulrich; with her back bent forward, her knees drawn up, in the darkness, for the lights had not yet been turned on, right after the first beats they heard she had spread her hand over his, as ifthey belonged together in the most intimate fash- ion. Ulrich had cautiously freed himself, and that was also a reason for supporting his head with both hands; but Clarisse, when she saw what he was up to, and saw him from the side sitting there just as moved as ev- eryone else, had gently leaned against him, and she had been sitting that way for half an hour now. He was not happy either.
He knew that what he committed over and over was nothing but the opposite error from Walter's. This error gave rise to a dissolution with- out a center; the person was subsumed in an aura; he ceased to be a thing, with all its limitations, as precious as they were accidental; at the highest degree of intensification he became so indifferent toward him- self that the human, as opposed to the suprahuman, had no more signifi- cance than the little piece of cork to which is attached a magnet that draws it back and forth through a network of forces. At the last it had been like that for him with Agathe. And now-no, it was a calumny to put these things next to each other-but even between himself and Cla- risse something was now "going on," was under way, he had blundered into a realm of effects in which he and Clarisse were being moved to- ward each other by forces, forces that showed no consideration for whether, on the whole, they felt an inclination for each other or not.
And while Clarisse was leaning on him, Ulrich was thinking about Walter. He saw him before him in a particular way, as he often secretly saw him. Walter was lying at the edge of some woods, wearing short pants and unbecoming black socks, and in these socks had neither the muscular nor the skinny legs of a man, but those of a girl, of a not very pretty girl, with smooth, unlovely legs. His hands crossed behind his head, he was looking at the landscape over which, one day, his immortal works would roll, and he radiated the feeling that talking to him would be an interruption. Ulrich really loved this image. In his youth, Walter had actually looked that way. And Ulrich thought: What has separated us is not the musio-for he could quite well imagine a music rising as im- personally and beyond things and each-time-once-only as a trail of smoke that loses itself in the sky-but the difference in the attitude of the individual to music; it is this image that I love because it is left over, a remainder, while he surely loves it for the opposite reason, because it swallows up within itself everything that he might have become, until
From the Posthumous Papers · I 6 I 7
finally it became precisely Walter. - A n d really-he thought-all that is nothing but a sign of the times. Today socialism is trying to declare the beloved private self to be a worthless illusion, which should be replaced by social causes and duties. But in this it had long since been preceded by the natural sciences, which dissolved precious private things into nothing but impersonal processes such as warmth, light, weight, and so forth. The object as a matter of importance to private individuals, as a stone that falls on their head or one they can buy in a gold setting, or a flower they smell, does not interest up-to-date people in the least; they treat it as a contingency or even as a "thing in itself," that is, as some- thing that is not there and yet is there, a quite foolish and ghostly person- ality of a thing. One might well predict that this will change, the way a man who deals daily with millions happens to take with great astonish- ment a single banknote in his hand; but then object and personality will have become something different. But meanwhile there exists a quite comical juxtaposition. Morally, for instance, one still looks at oneself somewhat as physics looked at bodies three hundred years ago; they "fall" because they have the "quality" of avoiding heights, or they become warm because they contain a fluid: moralists are still attributing such good or bad qualities and fluids to people. Psychologically, on the other hand, one has already gone so far as to dissolve the person into typical bundles of typical averages of behavior. Sociologically, he is treated no differently. But musically, he is again made whole.
Suddenly the light was turned on. The final notes of the music were still swinging back and forth like a branch someone has just jumped off; eyes sparkled; and the silence before everyone started talking set in. Cla- risse had promptly moved away from Ulrich, but now new groups formed, and she pulled him into a comer and had something to tell him.
-What is the extreme opposite of letting something prevail? she asked him. And since Ulrich did not respond, she herself gave the an- swer. - T o impose oneself! The tiny figure stood elastically before him, her hands behind her back. But she tried to keep her eyes fixed on Ul- rich's, for the words she now had to look for were so difficult that they made her small body stagger. -Inscribe yourself onto something! I say. I thought of that before while we were sitting next to each other. Im- pressions are nothing; they press you in! Or a heap of earthworms. But when do you understand a piece of music? When you yourself create it inwardly! And when do you understand a person? When you do as he does. You see-with her hand she described an acute angle lying hori- zontally, which involuntarily reminded Ulrich of a phallus-our entire life is expression! In art, in love, in politics, we seek the active, the pointed form; I've already told you that it's the bear's muzzle! No, I
1618 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
didn't mean that impressions don't mean anything: they're the half of it; it's marvelously in the word "redeem," the active "re" and the "deem"; she became quite excited by the effort of making herself comprehensi- ble to Ulrich.
But just then the music making started up again-it had been only a short intermission-and Ulrich turned away from Clarisse. He looked out at the evening through the large studio window. The eye first had to adjust to the darkness again. Then wandering blue clouds appeared in the sky. The tips of a tree reached up from below. Houses stood with their backs upward. - H o w should they stand otherwise? Ulrich thought with a smile, and yet there are minutes when everything ap- pears topsy-turvy. He thought of Agathe and was unspeakably de- pressed. This new, small creature, Clarisse, at his side, was rushing forward at an unnatural speed. That was not a natural process, he was quite clear about that. He considered her crazy. There could be no talk of love. But while behind his back the music seemed to him like a circus, it pleased him to imagine running alongside a circling horse jumping hurdles, with Clarisse standing on it erect and shouting "Aie-ya" and cracking her whip.
1930-1934
ON CLARISSE-WALTER
She comes upon Walter in the "studio"; bare, chilly space. He is half- dressed and has a dressing gown on. The brushes are chy, he is sitting over some sketches. He really should have been at the office already.
He is irritated that Meingast went off without saying good-bye, and Clarisse is secretly excited. Possibly here: He really wanted . . . as long as Meingast was in the house . . .
Already from the doorway Clarisse called out to him: Come, come! We're going to Dr. Friedenthal to ask him to entrust Moosbrugger's care to us.
Walter can't tum his head away from her and looks at her.
Don't ask! Clarisse commands.
Could Walter have any more doubts at this moment that her mind was
disturbed? The answer to this question will always be quite dependent on the circumstances. Clarisse looked impetuous and beautiful. The fire
From the Posthumous Papers · z6zg
in her eyes looked exactly like that of a healthy will. And so what her brother Siegmund had said of her, and had recently repeated when Wal- ter again asked him about it, took hold ofWalter: She is excessively ner- vous, you just have to grab her vigorously.
But for the moment it was Clarisse who was doing the vigorous grab- bing: She hopped around Walter incessantly, repeating: Come, come, come! Don't make me have to ask you!
The words seemed to fly around Walter's ears, they confused him. One might have said that he was laying back his ears and digging his feet into the ground the way a horse, a donkey, a calfdoes, with the obstinacy that is the weak creature's strength of will: but to him it represented itself in the form: Now you'll show her who's master!
"Just come along," Clarisse said, "then you'll see why! "
"No," exclaimed Walter. "You'll tell me right this instant what you're up to! "
"What I'm up to? I'm up to something weird. " She had meanwhile begun to gather up in the neighboring room what she needed to go out; now she pulled off her gardening gloves, held them in her hand for a moment, and with a sudden heave flung them among her husband's paint and brush jars. Something fell over, something rolled, something clattered. Clarisse observed the effect on Walter and burst out laughing. Walter got red in the face; he had no desire to hit her but was ashamed of this very lack Clarisse went on laughing and said: You've been crouching over these jars for a year and a day and haven't produced a thing. I'll show you how it's done. I've told you I'll bring out your genius. I'll make you restless, impatient, daring! " Suddenly she was quiet and said seriously: "It's weird, putting oneself on the same level as the in- sane, but it's resolving for genius! Do you believe that we'll ever amount to anything the way we've been going along?
Among these jars that are all so nicely round and picture frames that are so nicely rectangular? And with music after supper! Why, then, were all gods and goddesses antisocial? "
Antisocial? Walter asked in astonishment.
If you must be precise: uncriminally antisocial. Because they weren't thieves or murderers. But humility, voluntary poverty, and chastity are also the expression of an antisocial mentality. And how otherwise could they have taught mankind how the world is to be improved but have denied the world for themselves?
Now Walter was so constituted that in spite ofhis initial astonishment he was capable offinding this assertion correct. It reminded him of the question: "Can you imagine Jesus as director ofa mine? " A question that would obviously have to be answered simply and naturally "no," if one
1620 · THE MAN WITH0 UT QUALITIES
could not just as well say "official of the Bureau for Monuments" in place of"mine director," andifone didn't feel the accompanying flash of a ridiculously warm spark of ambition. Obviously there was not only a contradiction but a more profound incompatibility separating two world systems between nurturing the middle class and nurturing the divine, but Walter, despite his already long-determined inclination to the mid- dle class, wanted both, or wanted, what is even worse, to renounce nei- ther, and Clarisse possessed what he had once already felt as "calling upon God," the decisiveness of a resolve that shows no consideration for anything. And so it happened that after she had spoken, he felt exactly as she had said, as if he were jammed up to his knees into the life he had created for himself, like a wedge in a block of wood, while she flitted about in front of him as the restless, impatient, daring one who was ex- perimenting with him. As a man of many talents, he knew that genius lay not so much in talent as in willpower. To the person being overtaken by paralysis, which he intuitively understood himself to be, it seemed related to the fermenting, the must, indeed even to the mere foam. He enviously recognized in her the improbable, the zigzag dots of varia- tions around the mean, the creature that at the edge of the crowd half goes along ahead of it and is half lost within it, which lies in the notion of genius. Clarisse was the only person in whom he loved this, who still linked him to it, and because her association with genius was patho- logical, his fear for her was also a fear for himself. This was how the desire not to listen to her, indeed to show her "the man," as Siegmund, the brother and physician, had advised him to do, arose out of his assent to the words with which she was persuading him and explaining her in- tention, and out of her powerful charm in pleasing him, which she exer- cised in an apparently natural way and without any awareness of contradiction.
So after a short pause Walter said rather roughly: "But now be reason- able, Clarisse, stop that nonsense and come over here! " Clarisse had meanwhile taken off her clothes and was in the process of drawing a cold bath. In her short panties and with her thin arms, she looked like a boy. She felt the stale warmth ofWalter's body close behind her and immedi- ately understood what he was after. She turned around and put her hand on his chest. But Walter reached out to grab her. With one hand he held her arm, and sought with the other to grasp her by the crotch and pull her to him. Clarisse tore at the embrace, and when that didn't help shoved her free hand into Walter's face, into his nose and mouth. His face turned red and the blood trembled in his eyes while he struggled
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 62 1
with Clarisse, but he did not want to let her see that she was hurting him. And when he threatened to suffocate, he had to strike her hand from his face. Quick as lightning she went at it again, and this time her nails tore two bleeding furrows in his skin. Clarisse was free.
They stood this way opposite each other. Neither of them tried to speak. Clarisse was startled by her cruelty, but she was beside herself. Some inteiVention from above had tom her out of herself; she was to- tally turned to the outside, a bush full of thorns. She was in ecstasy. None of the thoughts that had preoccupied her for weeks was any longer in her mind; she had even forgotten what she had just been talking about and what it was she wanted. Her whole self was gone, with the exception of what she needed to defend hersel£ She felt incredibly strong. Just then Walter again snatched at her, this time with all his strength. He had become angry and feared nothing in the whole world so much as becom- ing rational again. Clarisse struck at him. She was instantly ready to scratch again, to bite, to knee him in the groin or shove her elbow in his mouth, and it was not even anger or dislike that determined this, let alone any rational consideration; rather, in some wild way, this struggle made her like him, even though she was ready to kill him. She wanted to bathe in his blood. She did so with her nails and with the short glances, which, shocked, followed his efforts and the small red gutters that opened up on his face and hands. Walter cursed. He swore at her. Vul- gar words, which had no relation to his usual self, came from his mouth. Their pure, undiluted masculinity smelled like brandy, and the need for common, insulting speech suddenly revealed itself to be just as primeval as the need for tenderness. Apparently what was coming out was noth- ing but a grudge against all the higher ambition that had tortured and humiliated him for decades and was finally raising its head against him once more in Clarisse. Of course he had no time to think about this. But he still felt distinctly that he was not merely on the point of breaking her will because Siegmund had advised him that way, but was also doing it on account of the breaking and snapping itself. In some fashion the ri- diculously beautiful motions of a flamingo went through his mind. "We'll see what's left after a bulldog gets hold of itl" was his thought about the flamingo mind, but what he muttered half aloud between his teeth was: "Stupid goose! "
And Clarisse, too, was inspired by the one idea: "He can't be allowed to have his way! " She felt her strength still growing. Her clothes tore, Walter seized the shreds, she seized hold of the neck in front of her. Half naked, slippery as a wriggling fish, she struggled in her husband's arms. Walter, whose strength was not sufficient simply to overpower her, flung her to and fro and painfully sought to block her attacks. She had lost her
1622 • THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
shoe and kicked at him with her bare foot. They fell. They both ap- peared to have forgotten the goal of their struggle and its sexual origin, and were fighting only to assert their will. In this utmost, convulsive gathering of their selves they really disappeared. Their perceptions and thoughts gradually took on a totally indefinable texture, as in a blinding light. They almost felt amazement at still being alive I that their selves were still there.
Clarisse especially was worked up to such a pitch that she felt insensi- tive to the pain inflicted on her, and when she came to herself again this intoxicated her in the conviction that the same spirits that had recently illuminated her were now standing by her in her mission and fighting on her side. So she was all the more horrified when she was forced to notice that with time she was growing fatigued. Walter was stronger and heavier than she; her muscles became numb and lax. There were pauses where his weight pressed her to the ground and she could not defend herself, and the succession of defensive maneuvers and ruthless attacks against sensitive face and body parts, during which she caught her breath, were succeeded more and more frequently by powerlessness and suffocating poundings of her heart. So that what Walter had antici- pated happened: nature conquered, Clarisse's body left her mind in the lurch and defended its will no longer. It seemed to her as if she were hearing within herselfthe cocks crowing on the Mount of Olives: incred- ibly, God was abandoning her world, something was about to happen that she could not divine. And at moments Walter was already ashamed ofhimself. Like a bolt oflightning, remorse struck him. It also seemed to him that Clarisse looked horribly distorted. But he had already risked so much that he no longer wanted to stop. To continue anesthetizing him- self, he used the excuse that the brutality he was exercising was his right as a husband. Suddenly Clarisse screamed. She made an effort to utter a long, shrill, monotone cry as she saw her will escaping, and in this final, desperate defense it was in her mind that with this cry and what re- mained of her will she could perhaps slip out of her body. But she no longer had much breath left; the cry did not last long and brought no one rushing in. She was left alone. Walter was alarmed at her cry but then angrily intensified his efforts. She felt nothing. She despised him. Fi- nally, she thought of an expedient: she counted as quickly and as loudly as she could: "One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five," over and over. Walter found it horrible, but it did not stop him.
And when they separated and straightened up, in a daze she said: "Just wait. I'll have my revenge! "
NEW IDEAS ABOUT THE CLARISSE-W ALTER-ULRICH COMPLEX
To make Clarisse human, use the problem of genius. Or instead of ge- nius, one can also say: the will to greatness, to goodness. A miserable Prometheus. Genius in that case about the same thing: a person who is an exception. The person who sees the errors, sees what is out ofjoint in the world, and has the will not to let the matter drop. In her case she doesn't have the strength.
This defines part of Walter's problem: what has to happen if the strength is lacking? -island, discussion.
The fact already that she always clung to older men!
The relation to her parents: here she learned to see the world as ex- ception to her. -[Part] I, or wherever her early history is recounted.
The whole development of her insanity would then fall-which makes Clarisse more human and motivates the conclusion-under the title: Struggle for Walter as struggle for genius.
In order not to have to speak of Ulrich: she gave him a name, from the beginning. The leader? The Buddha? The Great One? The Eternal One? The Mysterious One? The Redeemer? - Or several names? The Beloved? The Healthy One? The Great Friend?
Clarisse in Rome
Clarisse, however, could not bear to stay in Rome long. Even the square in front of the railway station, with its palm trees, its shops, and the prox- imity of big hotels, repelled her.
Nevertheless, she walked to the center of the city and checked into a small albergo. In the meantime her impression had changed. The eve- ning sky was orange almost to the zenith; the trees stood black and feath- ered before it. The air in the Ludovisi quarter, that unique, deliciously light mixture of sea and mountain air, refreshed her. She inhaled the acquaintance of a new strength. Prophecy of fascism. She began to no- tice the pretentious splendor of the elevated private gardens that rested
1624 · THE MAN WITH 0 U T QUALITIES
on walls five to eight yards high above the heads ofordinary pedestrians, and the giant gates and high windows, which in this neighborhood were a feature even of the apartment buildings. Behind a park wall a donkey brayed. -How the donkeys bray here! Clarisse thought. -Differently from home. They don't go "hee-haw," they go "ya"! It was a metallic, persisting trumpet call. She thought she could tell at first glance that there were no philistines in this city. Or there were, but a whirling en- ergy threatened them. As she approached the center, everything was full of energy, rush, and noise: cars raced unexpectedly around comers and crossed the plazas on unpredictable paths; bicyclists cheerfully and at risk of their lives teemed their way through between them; from the bursting trams clusters of young men who were hying to ride hung like grapes, clinging to each other in bold and impossible positions. Clarisse felt that this was a city after her own temperament, she was experiencing such a place for the first time. At night she could not sleep because a small bar had placed its tables in the narrow alley under her windows; people sang popular songs into the early morning and after every verse screamed a cheerfully dissonant refrain. This completely electrified Cla- risse. Although it was still relatively early in the year, it was already quite warm, and Clarisse got diarrhea from the heat; it was an enchanting state, as light as elder pith, fledged, and fatiguingly exciting.
Clarisse ordered all the impressions Rome made on her under the color red. When she thought back to her experiences in the sanatorium they had changed from a watery green, a color belonging to the present, the color of the German woods, into this red, which had been the red of the processions in her imagination; but it must be said that Clarisse did not clearly remember the experiences that had driven her to make this journey, but had the clear feeling ofrunning from a green state into one that was glowing red. Unfortunately, it was quite impossible for Clarisse to hit upon the idea that she was suffering from mad delusions. For green states even have their composers, who set them to music; these days sounds are painted, poems form sensory spaces, thoughts are danced: this is a vague kind of associating that has become popular be- cause thinking has lost its authority; it's about one eighth sensible and seven eighths nonsensical, and Clarisse could still regard herself as being very cautious and deliberate. So it was with calm, anticipatory attentive- ness that she found herself on the way from a green state into a red one.
On an excursion through Rome's palaces she encountered the marvel- ous, totally red portrait of Innocent X by Velazquez; the sight shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Now she saw clearly that this burn- ing color of life, red, was at the same time the color of Christianity, which, in Nietzsche's phrase, had given classical Eros poison to drink,
From the Posthumous Papers · 1625
the color of ascesis and inculpation of the senses. -O h my friends- Clarisse thought-you will not catch me! Her heart beat as if she had recognized a mortal danger at the last moment. She had discovered the ambivalent countenance of this city. It was the city of the Pope, and she remembered that Nietzsche had attempted to live here and had fled. She went to the house where he had lived. She took in nothing. The house was "spiritually closed. " She walked home smiling, outwitting this city at every step. It was a double city. Here the dark pessimism of Chris- tianity flared up to cardinal red, and here the blackness of insanity had flowed into Nietzsche's red blood. But what she thought was not so im- portant to Clarisse; the main thing was the smiling ambivalence in every- thing she saw. She went past palaces, excavations, and museums; she had still seen only the least part of them, and her impressions had not sunk to the measure of reality; she had assumed that the most marvelous treasures of the world were here set up side by side, but they were laid out like a bait; she had to remove this beauty from its hook very, very carefully. And everything that is beautiful in youth depends on the things around which people circle having one aspect that is known only to oneself.
In some way or other, the idea had seized Clarisse that she had to take up the mission at which Nietzsche had failed here in a different way, by beginning with the north. Evening had come. Once more she looked out the window of her small room: in the bar below, the first guests were already beginning to shout and sing, and if you leaned your body way out-above their heads, like a northern gargoyle-and craned your neck, you could see the round serrated shape of a gray church standing like a tiara before the still-darker gray of the night.
From what remained of her money she bought a ticket that took her back to one of the small towns through which she had passed on her way down. An unerring feeling told her at the railway station that it was not the right place. She went on by the next train. In this way Clarisse trav- eled for three days and four nights. On the fourth morning she was trav- eling along a seacoast and found a place that held her fast. With no money, she went into the hotels. This fact, that she had no money, was quite sudden and very peculiar; she made a rather long speech to the people in the hotels, in order to get them to serve her, and they listened politely but without understanding; then she hit upon the idea, because Walter was not to know where she was staying, of appealing to Ulrich. she sent him a long telegram in German.
1626 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
Clarisse-Island
That Clarisse appealed to Ulrich was not only due to her needing money and wanting to keep her whereabouts concealed from Walter. Involved as well was an "I mean you," a grasping with rays offeeling across moun- tains and far distances. Clarisse had come to the conviction that she was in love with Ulrich. That was not quite so simple as such a thing can be. She explained the horrible scene between the two of them that had upset her so, and everything that preceded it, by saying that at the time it had been too soon for Ulrich; it was only now that he was in the right spot in the system of her imaginings (but that is love, when a person finds himself in the right spot in the system of our imaginings), and the energy of the whole was streaming toward him in a way that was un- heard of. Wherever his name fell, the earth melted. When she uttered it her tongue was like a wisp of sun in a mild rain. Clarisse explored her new surroundings. They consisted of a small island pitched close to the mainland, bearing an old fort left half open, and a gigantic sandbank that pushed out from this island farther into the sea and that with its trees and bushes formed a large empty second island, belonging to Clarisse alone when she had herself rowed over there. It seemed people did not have much confidence in its stability, for although there was an old hut on it in which to store nets and other fishing gear, this hut, too, was abandoned and decayed, and there were no other signs of settlement or division of possessions. Wind, waves, white sand, sharp grasses, and all sorts ofsmall animals lived here freely together; the resonance ofwater, earth, and sky was as empty and loud as tin banging on tin.
The inhabited island behind it boasted high, fortified walls overgrown with green; cannons that did not intimidate but, wrapped in sailcloth, looked astonishingly like prehistoric animals; moats, near which were unbelievably large rats; and in the midst of the rats running around in broad daylight there was a small tavern shaped like a cube, with a four- sided pyramid for a roof, under shaggy trees. There Clarisse had taken a room for herself and Ulrich. The house was also the canteen for the fort, and all day long dark-blue soldiers with yellow stripes on their sleeves stood around nearby. One did not have the feeling ofpeople going about life but rather felt an oppression, which emptied the heart, as ifbefore a deportation or something similar. The young men too, strolling with ri- fles on their arms in front of the cannons wrapped in sails, reinforced this impression: who had put them there? Where, at what distance, was the brain of this madness that expressed itself in a joyless, pedantic au- tomatism preserved in catatonic rigidity?
From the Posthumous Papers · 1627
It was the right island for Ulrich and Clarisse, and Ulrich baptized it the "Island of Health," because every fit of madness seemed bright against its dark background. He had received Clarisse's telegram in the night when he came home and was crossing his garden. In the light of a lamp on the white wall of his house he had tom open the dispatch and read it, because he thought it came from Agathe. It was already the end of May. But the May night was like a belated March night; the stars looked down sharply, withdrawn to their heights, icily crisp out of the unilluminated, infinitely remote canopy of the sky. The telegram's sen- tences were long and confused, but held together by a rhythm of excite- ment. When Clarisse turned her back on the small military middle of her island, loneliness stretched before her like the desert of the anchor- ite. Connected with this idea of retiring from the world was an overloud, unchanging emotional tone full of covetous horror, something like the final purification and trial on the path ofthe "great one. " The adultery to which she had condemned herself would have to be consummated on this island as on a cross, for a cross on which she had to lay herself was what the empty sand over there across the waves, trodden by no one, seemed to her to be. Something ofall this came through in the telegram. Ulrich guessed that the great disorder had now really overtaken Clarisse, but that was precisely what suited him.
In their small inn they had a room that contained barely the most in- dispensable furniture, but a chandelier of Venetian glass hung from the center of the ceiling, and large mirrors in broad glass frames that were painted with flowers hung on the walls. In the mornings they went over to the Island of Health, which hovered in the air like a mirage, and from there they looked back on the inhabited island, which, with its cannons, embrasures, serrations, and little houses and trees, lay there like a round, perfect, exiled word that has lost the connection to its discourse.
Island I
Clarisse arrives while Agathe and Ulrich are still together. Stays 1-3 days in the hotel, during which time she seeks and finds her island. This is when she tells the Moosbrugger story. Invites Ulrich to the island (or Ulrich and Agathe) and Ulrich comes over. Spends half a day with her. Her hut, etc.
So it apparently goes not as far as intercourse but only to Clarisse's readiness. This is the way to utilize the material from the old coitus scene.
Ulrich shook his head.
-Then come! Clarisse said. -Let's go deeper into the woods, where we'll be alone. She had jumped up. The senselessly raging will that ema- nated from this small being was like clouds of unfamiliar insects buzzing and swarming among blackberry shoots exhaling their odors in the sun, inhuman but pleasant. -But you're all hot! Clarisse exclaimed. -You'll catch cold among the trees! She took a kerchieffrom her warm body and swiftly threw it over his head; then she climbed up him, disappearing likewise under the kerchief, and, before he could throw her off, kissed him like a high-spirited little girl. Clarisse stumbled, and fell to a sitting position. - I haven't forgiven you-Ulrich threatened grumblingly- that during the time you were in love with this muddlehead Meingast I simply didn't exist for youi-Oh? Clarisse answered. -Y ou don't un- derstand. Meingast is homosexual. So you didn't understand me at all!
-But what's this chatter about redeeming all about? Ulrich asked severely. -That only blossomed because ofhim, didn't it?
- O h , I'll explain that to you. Come! Clarisse assured him.
Ulrich started with what Walter had already told him.
-All right. But that's not the main point. The main point is the bear. -The bear?
-Yes; the pointed muzzle with the teeth that tear everything to
pieces. I arouse the bear in all of you! Clarisse showed with a gesture what she meant, and smiled innocently. - B u t , Clarisse! - O f course! Clarisse said. -Y ou deny me when I'm being honest! But even Walter believes that every person has an animal in him whom he resembles. From which he has to be redeemed. Nietzsche had his eagle, Walter and Moosbrugger have the bear.
- A n d I ? Ulrich asked, curious.
- I don't know yet.
- A n d you?
- I ' m a he-goat with eagle's wings.
So they wandered through the woods, eating berries now and then,
heat and hunger making them as dry as violin wood. Sometimes Clarisse broke off a small dry twig and handed it to Ulrich; he didn't know whether to throw it away or keep it in his hand; as with children, when they do such things, there was something else behind it, for which there was no articulated notion. Now Clarisse stopped in the wilderness, and the light in her eyes shone. She declared: -Moosbrugger has commit- ted a sexual murder, hasn't he? What's that? Desire separated in him from what's human! But isn't that the same in Walter too? And in you?
1614 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
Moosbrugger has had to pay for it. Isn't one obliged to help him? What do you say to that? From the foot of the trees came the smell of dark- ness, mushrooms, and decay, from above of sunlit fir twigs.
-W ill you do that for me? Clarisse asked.
Ulrich again said no, and asked Clarisse to come back to the house. She meandered along beside him and let her head droop. They had
gone quite far from the path. -W e're hungry, Clarisse said, and pulled out a piece of old bread she was carrying in her pocket. She gave Ulrich some of it too. It produced a remarkably pleasant-unpleasant feeling, which quieted hunger and tortured thirst. -The mills of time grind dryly---Clarisse poetized-you feel grain after grain falling.
And it occurred to Ulrich without thinking about it much that among these totally meaningless annoyances he felt better than he had in a long time.
Clarisse set about once more to win him over. She would do it herself. She had a plan. She only needed a little money. And he would have to speak to Moosbrugger in her stead, because she wasn't allowed in the clinic anymore.
Ulrich promised. This derring-do fantasy filled up the time. He guarded himself against all consequences. Clarisse laughed.
As they were on the way home, chance had it that they caught up with a man leading a tame bear. Ulrich joked about it, but Clarisse grew seri- ous and seemed to seek protection in the closeness of his body, and her face became deeply absorbed. As they passed the man and the bear, she suddenly called out: -I'll tame every bear! It sounded like an awkward joke. But she suddenly reached for the bear's muzzle, and Ulrich had difficulty pulling her back quickly enough from the startled, growling beast.
The next time, Ulrich met Clarisse at the painter's studio offriends of hers, where a circle of people had gathered and was making music. Cla- risse did not stand out in these surroundings; the role ofodd man out fell to Ulrich instead. He had come reluctantly and felt repugnance among these people, who, contorted, were listening ecstatically. The transitions from charming, gentle, and soft to gloomy, heroic, and tumultuous, which the music went through several times within the space of a quar- ter hour, musicians don't notice, because for them this progression is synonymous with music and therefore with something of the highest dis- tinctionl-but to Ulrich, who at the moment was not at all under the
From the Posthu11WUs Papers · 1 615
sway of the prejudice that music was something that had to be, this music seemed as badly motivated and unmediated in its progression as the carryings-on of a company of drunks that alternates periodically be- tween sentimentality and fistfights. He had no intention of imagining what the soul of a great musician might be like and passing judgment on it, but what was usually considered great music seemed to him much like a chest with a beautifully carved exterior and full of the contents of the soul, from which one has pulled out all the drawers, so that the contents lie all jumbled together inside. He usually could not understand music as an amalgam of soul and form, because he saw too clearly that the soul of music, aside from rarely encountered pure music, is nothing but the conventional soul of Jack and Jill whipped to a frenzy.
He was, notwithstanding, supporting his head in both hands like the others; he just did not know whether it was because he was thinking of Walter or closing his ears a little. In truth, he was neither keeping his ears entirely closed nor thinking of Walter. He merely wanted to be alone. He did not often reflect about other people; apparently because he also rarely thought about himself as "a person. " He usually acted on the opinion that what one thinks, feels, wants, imagines, and creates could, in certain circumstances, signify an enrichment of life; but what one is signifies under no circumstances more than a by-product of the process of this production. Musical people, on the other hand, are quite often of the opposite opinion. They do produce something, to which they apply the impersonal name of music, but what they produce con- sists for the most part, or at least for the part that is most important to them, of themselves, their sensations, emotions, and their shared experi- ence. There is more momentary being and less lasting duration in their music, which among all intellectual activities is closest to that of the actor. This intensification, which he was being forced to witness, aroused Ulrich's antipathy; he sat among these people like an owl among songbirds.
And of course Walter was his exact opposite. Walter thought passion- ately and a great deal about himself. He took everything he encountered seriously. Because he encountered it; as if that were a merit that can make one thing into another. He was at every moment a complete indi- vidual and a complete human being, and because he was, he became nothing. Everybody had found him captivating, brought him happiness, and invited him to remain with them, with the end result that he had become an archivist or curator, had run aground, no longer has the strength to change, curses everyone, is contentedly unhappy, and goes off punctually to his office. And while he is in his office something will perhaps happen between Clarisse and Ulrich that could arouse in the
1616 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
person he is, if he should find out about it, an agitation as if the entire ocean of world history were pouring into it; while Ulrich, on the other hand, was far less agitated. But Clarisse, immediately after she had come in-Walter was not there-had sat down beside Ulrich; with her back bent forward, her knees drawn up, in the darkness, for the lights had not yet been turned on, right after the first beats they heard she had spread her hand over his, as ifthey belonged together in the most intimate fash- ion. Ulrich had cautiously freed himself, and that was also a reason for supporting his head with both hands; but Clarisse, when she saw what he was up to, and saw him from the side sitting there just as moved as ev- eryone else, had gently leaned against him, and she had been sitting that way for half an hour now. He was not happy either.
He knew that what he committed over and over was nothing but the opposite error from Walter's. This error gave rise to a dissolution with- out a center; the person was subsumed in an aura; he ceased to be a thing, with all its limitations, as precious as they were accidental; at the highest degree of intensification he became so indifferent toward him- self that the human, as opposed to the suprahuman, had no more signifi- cance than the little piece of cork to which is attached a magnet that draws it back and forth through a network of forces. At the last it had been like that for him with Agathe. And now-no, it was a calumny to put these things next to each other-but even between himself and Cla- risse something was now "going on," was under way, he had blundered into a realm of effects in which he and Clarisse were being moved to- ward each other by forces, forces that showed no consideration for whether, on the whole, they felt an inclination for each other or not.
And while Clarisse was leaning on him, Ulrich was thinking about Walter. He saw him before him in a particular way, as he often secretly saw him. Walter was lying at the edge of some woods, wearing short pants and unbecoming black socks, and in these socks had neither the muscular nor the skinny legs of a man, but those of a girl, of a not very pretty girl, with smooth, unlovely legs. His hands crossed behind his head, he was looking at the landscape over which, one day, his immortal works would roll, and he radiated the feeling that talking to him would be an interruption. Ulrich really loved this image. In his youth, Walter had actually looked that way. And Ulrich thought: What has separated us is not the musio-for he could quite well imagine a music rising as im- personally and beyond things and each-time-once-only as a trail of smoke that loses itself in the sky-but the difference in the attitude of the individual to music; it is this image that I love because it is left over, a remainder, while he surely loves it for the opposite reason, because it swallows up within itself everything that he might have become, until
From the Posthumous Papers · I 6 I 7
finally it became precisely Walter. - A n d really-he thought-all that is nothing but a sign of the times. Today socialism is trying to declare the beloved private self to be a worthless illusion, which should be replaced by social causes and duties. But in this it had long since been preceded by the natural sciences, which dissolved precious private things into nothing but impersonal processes such as warmth, light, weight, and so forth. The object as a matter of importance to private individuals, as a stone that falls on their head or one they can buy in a gold setting, or a flower they smell, does not interest up-to-date people in the least; they treat it as a contingency or even as a "thing in itself," that is, as some- thing that is not there and yet is there, a quite foolish and ghostly person- ality of a thing. One might well predict that this will change, the way a man who deals daily with millions happens to take with great astonish- ment a single banknote in his hand; but then object and personality will have become something different. But meanwhile there exists a quite comical juxtaposition. Morally, for instance, one still looks at oneself somewhat as physics looked at bodies three hundred years ago; they "fall" because they have the "quality" of avoiding heights, or they become warm because they contain a fluid: moralists are still attributing such good or bad qualities and fluids to people. Psychologically, on the other hand, one has already gone so far as to dissolve the person into typical bundles of typical averages of behavior. Sociologically, he is treated no differently. But musically, he is again made whole.
Suddenly the light was turned on. The final notes of the music were still swinging back and forth like a branch someone has just jumped off; eyes sparkled; and the silence before everyone started talking set in. Cla- risse had promptly moved away from Ulrich, but now new groups formed, and she pulled him into a comer and had something to tell him.
-What is the extreme opposite of letting something prevail? she asked him. And since Ulrich did not respond, she herself gave the an- swer. - T o impose oneself! The tiny figure stood elastically before him, her hands behind her back. But she tried to keep her eyes fixed on Ul- rich's, for the words she now had to look for were so difficult that they made her small body stagger. -Inscribe yourself onto something! I say. I thought of that before while we were sitting next to each other. Im- pressions are nothing; they press you in! Or a heap of earthworms. But when do you understand a piece of music? When you yourself create it inwardly! And when do you understand a person? When you do as he does. You see-with her hand she described an acute angle lying hori- zontally, which involuntarily reminded Ulrich of a phallus-our entire life is expression! In art, in love, in politics, we seek the active, the pointed form; I've already told you that it's the bear's muzzle! No, I
1618 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
didn't mean that impressions don't mean anything: they're the half of it; it's marvelously in the word "redeem," the active "re" and the "deem"; she became quite excited by the effort of making herself comprehensi- ble to Ulrich.
But just then the music making started up again-it had been only a short intermission-and Ulrich turned away from Clarisse. He looked out at the evening through the large studio window. The eye first had to adjust to the darkness again. Then wandering blue clouds appeared in the sky. The tips of a tree reached up from below. Houses stood with their backs upward. - H o w should they stand otherwise? Ulrich thought with a smile, and yet there are minutes when everything ap- pears topsy-turvy. He thought of Agathe and was unspeakably de- pressed. This new, small creature, Clarisse, at his side, was rushing forward at an unnatural speed. That was not a natural process, he was quite clear about that. He considered her crazy. There could be no talk of love. But while behind his back the music seemed to him like a circus, it pleased him to imagine running alongside a circling horse jumping hurdles, with Clarisse standing on it erect and shouting "Aie-ya" and cracking her whip.
1930-1934
ON CLARISSE-WALTER
She comes upon Walter in the "studio"; bare, chilly space. He is half- dressed and has a dressing gown on. The brushes are chy, he is sitting over some sketches. He really should have been at the office already.
He is irritated that Meingast went off without saying good-bye, and Clarisse is secretly excited. Possibly here: He really wanted . . . as long as Meingast was in the house . . .
Already from the doorway Clarisse called out to him: Come, come! We're going to Dr. Friedenthal to ask him to entrust Moosbrugger's care to us.
Walter can't tum his head away from her and looks at her.
Don't ask! Clarisse commands.
Could Walter have any more doubts at this moment that her mind was
disturbed? The answer to this question will always be quite dependent on the circumstances. Clarisse looked impetuous and beautiful. The fire
From the Posthumous Papers · z6zg
in her eyes looked exactly like that of a healthy will. And so what her brother Siegmund had said of her, and had recently repeated when Wal- ter again asked him about it, took hold ofWalter: She is excessively ner- vous, you just have to grab her vigorously.
But for the moment it was Clarisse who was doing the vigorous grab- bing: She hopped around Walter incessantly, repeating: Come, come, come! Don't make me have to ask you!
The words seemed to fly around Walter's ears, they confused him. One might have said that he was laying back his ears and digging his feet into the ground the way a horse, a donkey, a calfdoes, with the obstinacy that is the weak creature's strength of will: but to him it represented itself in the form: Now you'll show her who's master!
"Just come along," Clarisse said, "then you'll see why! "
"No," exclaimed Walter. "You'll tell me right this instant what you're up to! "
"What I'm up to? I'm up to something weird. " She had meanwhile begun to gather up in the neighboring room what she needed to go out; now she pulled off her gardening gloves, held them in her hand for a moment, and with a sudden heave flung them among her husband's paint and brush jars. Something fell over, something rolled, something clattered. Clarisse observed the effect on Walter and burst out laughing. Walter got red in the face; he had no desire to hit her but was ashamed of this very lack Clarisse went on laughing and said: You've been crouching over these jars for a year and a day and haven't produced a thing. I'll show you how it's done. I've told you I'll bring out your genius. I'll make you restless, impatient, daring! " Suddenly she was quiet and said seriously: "It's weird, putting oneself on the same level as the in- sane, but it's resolving for genius! Do you believe that we'll ever amount to anything the way we've been going along?
Among these jars that are all so nicely round and picture frames that are so nicely rectangular? And with music after supper! Why, then, were all gods and goddesses antisocial? "
Antisocial? Walter asked in astonishment.
If you must be precise: uncriminally antisocial. Because they weren't thieves or murderers. But humility, voluntary poverty, and chastity are also the expression of an antisocial mentality. And how otherwise could they have taught mankind how the world is to be improved but have denied the world for themselves?
Now Walter was so constituted that in spite ofhis initial astonishment he was capable offinding this assertion correct. It reminded him of the question: "Can you imagine Jesus as director ofa mine? " A question that would obviously have to be answered simply and naturally "no," if one
1620 · THE MAN WITH0 UT QUALITIES
could not just as well say "official of the Bureau for Monuments" in place of"mine director," andifone didn't feel the accompanying flash of a ridiculously warm spark of ambition. Obviously there was not only a contradiction but a more profound incompatibility separating two world systems between nurturing the middle class and nurturing the divine, but Walter, despite his already long-determined inclination to the mid- dle class, wanted both, or wanted, what is even worse, to renounce nei- ther, and Clarisse possessed what he had once already felt as "calling upon God," the decisiveness of a resolve that shows no consideration for anything. And so it happened that after she had spoken, he felt exactly as she had said, as if he were jammed up to his knees into the life he had created for himself, like a wedge in a block of wood, while she flitted about in front of him as the restless, impatient, daring one who was ex- perimenting with him. As a man of many talents, he knew that genius lay not so much in talent as in willpower. To the person being overtaken by paralysis, which he intuitively understood himself to be, it seemed related to the fermenting, the must, indeed even to the mere foam. He enviously recognized in her the improbable, the zigzag dots of varia- tions around the mean, the creature that at the edge of the crowd half goes along ahead of it and is half lost within it, which lies in the notion of genius. Clarisse was the only person in whom he loved this, who still linked him to it, and because her association with genius was patho- logical, his fear for her was also a fear for himself. This was how the desire not to listen to her, indeed to show her "the man," as Siegmund, the brother and physician, had advised him to do, arose out of his assent to the words with which she was persuading him and explaining her in- tention, and out of her powerful charm in pleasing him, which she exer- cised in an apparently natural way and without any awareness of contradiction.
So after a short pause Walter said rather roughly: "But now be reason- able, Clarisse, stop that nonsense and come over here! " Clarisse had meanwhile taken off her clothes and was in the process of drawing a cold bath. In her short panties and with her thin arms, she looked like a boy. She felt the stale warmth ofWalter's body close behind her and immedi- ately understood what he was after. She turned around and put her hand on his chest. But Walter reached out to grab her. With one hand he held her arm, and sought with the other to grasp her by the crotch and pull her to him. Clarisse tore at the embrace, and when that didn't help shoved her free hand into Walter's face, into his nose and mouth. His face turned red and the blood trembled in his eyes while he struggled
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 62 1
with Clarisse, but he did not want to let her see that she was hurting him. And when he threatened to suffocate, he had to strike her hand from his face. Quick as lightning she went at it again, and this time her nails tore two bleeding furrows in his skin. Clarisse was free.
They stood this way opposite each other. Neither of them tried to speak. Clarisse was startled by her cruelty, but she was beside herself. Some inteiVention from above had tom her out of herself; she was to- tally turned to the outside, a bush full of thorns. She was in ecstasy. None of the thoughts that had preoccupied her for weeks was any longer in her mind; she had even forgotten what she had just been talking about and what it was she wanted. Her whole self was gone, with the exception of what she needed to defend hersel£ She felt incredibly strong. Just then Walter again snatched at her, this time with all his strength. He had become angry and feared nothing in the whole world so much as becom- ing rational again. Clarisse struck at him. She was instantly ready to scratch again, to bite, to knee him in the groin or shove her elbow in his mouth, and it was not even anger or dislike that determined this, let alone any rational consideration; rather, in some wild way, this struggle made her like him, even though she was ready to kill him. She wanted to bathe in his blood. She did so with her nails and with the short glances, which, shocked, followed his efforts and the small red gutters that opened up on his face and hands. Walter cursed. He swore at her. Vul- gar words, which had no relation to his usual self, came from his mouth. Their pure, undiluted masculinity smelled like brandy, and the need for common, insulting speech suddenly revealed itself to be just as primeval as the need for tenderness. Apparently what was coming out was noth- ing but a grudge against all the higher ambition that had tortured and humiliated him for decades and was finally raising its head against him once more in Clarisse. Of course he had no time to think about this. But he still felt distinctly that he was not merely on the point of breaking her will because Siegmund had advised him that way, but was also doing it on account of the breaking and snapping itself. In some fashion the ri- diculously beautiful motions of a flamingo went through his mind. "We'll see what's left after a bulldog gets hold of itl" was his thought about the flamingo mind, but what he muttered half aloud between his teeth was: "Stupid goose! "
And Clarisse, too, was inspired by the one idea: "He can't be allowed to have his way! " She felt her strength still growing. Her clothes tore, Walter seized the shreds, she seized hold of the neck in front of her. Half naked, slippery as a wriggling fish, she struggled in her husband's arms. Walter, whose strength was not sufficient simply to overpower her, flung her to and fro and painfully sought to block her attacks. She had lost her
1622 • THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
shoe and kicked at him with her bare foot. They fell. They both ap- peared to have forgotten the goal of their struggle and its sexual origin, and were fighting only to assert their will. In this utmost, convulsive gathering of their selves they really disappeared. Their perceptions and thoughts gradually took on a totally indefinable texture, as in a blinding light. They almost felt amazement at still being alive I that their selves were still there.
Clarisse especially was worked up to such a pitch that she felt insensi- tive to the pain inflicted on her, and when she came to herself again this intoxicated her in the conviction that the same spirits that had recently illuminated her were now standing by her in her mission and fighting on her side. So she was all the more horrified when she was forced to notice that with time she was growing fatigued. Walter was stronger and heavier than she; her muscles became numb and lax. There were pauses where his weight pressed her to the ground and she could not defend herself, and the succession of defensive maneuvers and ruthless attacks against sensitive face and body parts, during which she caught her breath, were succeeded more and more frequently by powerlessness and suffocating poundings of her heart. So that what Walter had antici- pated happened: nature conquered, Clarisse's body left her mind in the lurch and defended its will no longer. It seemed to her as if she were hearing within herselfthe cocks crowing on the Mount of Olives: incred- ibly, God was abandoning her world, something was about to happen that she could not divine. And at moments Walter was already ashamed ofhimself. Like a bolt oflightning, remorse struck him. It also seemed to him that Clarisse looked horribly distorted. But he had already risked so much that he no longer wanted to stop. To continue anesthetizing him- self, he used the excuse that the brutality he was exercising was his right as a husband. Suddenly Clarisse screamed. She made an effort to utter a long, shrill, monotone cry as she saw her will escaping, and in this final, desperate defense it was in her mind that with this cry and what re- mained of her will she could perhaps slip out of her body. But she no longer had much breath left; the cry did not last long and brought no one rushing in. She was left alone. Walter was alarmed at her cry but then angrily intensified his efforts. She felt nothing. She despised him. Fi- nally, she thought of an expedient: she counted as quickly and as loudly as she could: "One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five," over and over. Walter found it horrible, but it did not stop him.
And when they separated and straightened up, in a daze she said: "Just wait. I'll have my revenge! "
NEW IDEAS ABOUT THE CLARISSE-W ALTER-ULRICH COMPLEX
To make Clarisse human, use the problem of genius. Or instead of ge- nius, one can also say: the will to greatness, to goodness. A miserable Prometheus. Genius in that case about the same thing: a person who is an exception. The person who sees the errors, sees what is out ofjoint in the world, and has the will not to let the matter drop. In her case she doesn't have the strength.
This defines part of Walter's problem: what has to happen if the strength is lacking? -island, discussion.
The fact already that she always clung to older men!
The relation to her parents: here she learned to see the world as ex- ception to her. -[Part] I, or wherever her early history is recounted.
The whole development of her insanity would then fall-which makes Clarisse more human and motivates the conclusion-under the title: Struggle for Walter as struggle for genius.
In order not to have to speak of Ulrich: she gave him a name, from the beginning. The leader? The Buddha? The Great One? The Eternal One? The Mysterious One? The Redeemer? - Or several names? The Beloved? The Healthy One? The Great Friend?
Clarisse in Rome
Clarisse, however, could not bear to stay in Rome long. Even the square in front of the railway station, with its palm trees, its shops, and the prox- imity of big hotels, repelled her.
Nevertheless, she walked to the center of the city and checked into a small albergo. In the meantime her impression had changed. The eve- ning sky was orange almost to the zenith; the trees stood black and feath- ered before it. The air in the Ludovisi quarter, that unique, deliciously light mixture of sea and mountain air, refreshed her. She inhaled the acquaintance of a new strength. Prophecy of fascism. She began to no- tice the pretentious splendor of the elevated private gardens that rested
1624 · THE MAN WITH 0 U T QUALITIES
on walls five to eight yards high above the heads ofordinary pedestrians, and the giant gates and high windows, which in this neighborhood were a feature even of the apartment buildings. Behind a park wall a donkey brayed. -How the donkeys bray here! Clarisse thought. -Differently from home. They don't go "hee-haw," they go "ya"! It was a metallic, persisting trumpet call. She thought she could tell at first glance that there were no philistines in this city. Or there were, but a whirling en- ergy threatened them. As she approached the center, everything was full of energy, rush, and noise: cars raced unexpectedly around comers and crossed the plazas on unpredictable paths; bicyclists cheerfully and at risk of their lives teemed their way through between them; from the bursting trams clusters of young men who were hying to ride hung like grapes, clinging to each other in bold and impossible positions. Clarisse felt that this was a city after her own temperament, she was experiencing such a place for the first time. At night she could not sleep because a small bar had placed its tables in the narrow alley under her windows; people sang popular songs into the early morning and after every verse screamed a cheerfully dissonant refrain. This completely electrified Cla- risse. Although it was still relatively early in the year, it was already quite warm, and Clarisse got diarrhea from the heat; it was an enchanting state, as light as elder pith, fledged, and fatiguingly exciting.
Clarisse ordered all the impressions Rome made on her under the color red. When she thought back to her experiences in the sanatorium they had changed from a watery green, a color belonging to the present, the color of the German woods, into this red, which had been the red of the processions in her imagination; but it must be said that Clarisse did not clearly remember the experiences that had driven her to make this journey, but had the clear feeling ofrunning from a green state into one that was glowing red. Unfortunately, it was quite impossible for Clarisse to hit upon the idea that she was suffering from mad delusions. For green states even have their composers, who set them to music; these days sounds are painted, poems form sensory spaces, thoughts are danced: this is a vague kind of associating that has become popular be- cause thinking has lost its authority; it's about one eighth sensible and seven eighths nonsensical, and Clarisse could still regard herself as being very cautious and deliberate. So it was with calm, anticipatory attentive- ness that she found herself on the way from a green state into a red one.
On an excursion through Rome's palaces she encountered the marvel- ous, totally red portrait of Innocent X by Velazquez; the sight shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Now she saw clearly that this burn- ing color of life, red, was at the same time the color of Christianity, which, in Nietzsche's phrase, had given classical Eros poison to drink,
From the Posthumous Papers · 1625
the color of ascesis and inculpation of the senses. -O h my friends- Clarisse thought-you will not catch me! Her heart beat as if she had recognized a mortal danger at the last moment. She had discovered the ambivalent countenance of this city. It was the city of the Pope, and she remembered that Nietzsche had attempted to live here and had fled. She went to the house where he had lived. She took in nothing. The house was "spiritually closed. " She walked home smiling, outwitting this city at every step. It was a double city. Here the dark pessimism of Chris- tianity flared up to cardinal red, and here the blackness of insanity had flowed into Nietzsche's red blood. But what she thought was not so im- portant to Clarisse; the main thing was the smiling ambivalence in every- thing she saw. She went past palaces, excavations, and museums; she had still seen only the least part of them, and her impressions had not sunk to the measure of reality; she had assumed that the most marvelous treasures of the world were here set up side by side, but they were laid out like a bait; she had to remove this beauty from its hook very, very carefully. And everything that is beautiful in youth depends on the things around which people circle having one aspect that is known only to oneself.
In some way or other, the idea had seized Clarisse that she had to take up the mission at which Nietzsche had failed here in a different way, by beginning with the north. Evening had come. Once more she looked out the window of her small room: in the bar below, the first guests were already beginning to shout and sing, and if you leaned your body way out-above their heads, like a northern gargoyle-and craned your neck, you could see the round serrated shape of a gray church standing like a tiara before the still-darker gray of the night.
From what remained of her money she bought a ticket that took her back to one of the small towns through which she had passed on her way down. An unerring feeling told her at the railway station that it was not the right place. She went on by the next train. In this way Clarisse trav- eled for three days and four nights. On the fourth morning she was trav- eling along a seacoast and found a place that held her fast. With no money, she went into the hotels. This fact, that she had no money, was quite sudden and very peculiar; she made a rather long speech to the people in the hotels, in order to get them to serve her, and they listened politely but without understanding; then she hit upon the idea, because Walter was not to know where she was staying, of appealing to Ulrich. she sent him a long telegram in German.
1626 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
Clarisse-Island
That Clarisse appealed to Ulrich was not only due to her needing money and wanting to keep her whereabouts concealed from Walter. Involved as well was an "I mean you," a grasping with rays offeeling across moun- tains and far distances. Clarisse had come to the conviction that she was in love with Ulrich. That was not quite so simple as such a thing can be. She explained the horrible scene between the two of them that had upset her so, and everything that preceded it, by saying that at the time it had been too soon for Ulrich; it was only now that he was in the right spot in the system of her imaginings (but that is love, when a person finds himself in the right spot in the system of our imaginings), and the energy of the whole was streaming toward him in a way that was un- heard of. Wherever his name fell, the earth melted. When she uttered it her tongue was like a wisp of sun in a mild rain. Clarisse explored her new surroundings. They consisted of a small island pitched close to the mainland, bearing an old fort left half open, and a gigantic sandbank that pushed out from this island farther into the sea and that with its trees and bushes formed a large empty second island, belonging to Clarisse alone when she had herself rowed over there. It seemed people did not have much confidence in its stability, for although there was an old hut on it in which to store nets and other fishing gear, this hut, too, was abandoned and decayed, and there were no other signs of settlement or division of possessions. Wind, waves, white sand, sharp grasses, and all sorts ofsmall animals lived here freely together; the resonance ofwater, earth, and sky was as empty and loud as tin banging on tin.
The inhabited island behind it boasted high, fortified walls overgrown with green; cannons that did not intimidate but, wrapped in sailcloth, looked astonishingly like prehistoric animals; moats, near which were unbelievably large rats; and in the midst of the rats running around in broad daylight there was a small tavern shaped like a cube, with a four- sided pyramid for a roof, under shaggy trees. There Clarisse had taken a room for herself and Ulrich. The house was also the canteen for the fort, and all day long dark-blue soldiers with yellow stripes on their sleeves stood around nearby. One did not have the feeling ofpeople going about life but rather felt an oppression, which emptied the heart, as ifbefore a deportation or something similar. The young men too, strolling with ri- fles on their arms in front of the cannons wrapped in sails, reinforced this impression: who had put them there? Where, at what distance, was the brain of this madness that expressed itself in a joyless, pedantic au- tomatism preserved in catatonic rigidity?
From the Posthumous Papers · 1627
It was the right island for Ulrich and Clarisse, and Ulrich baptized it the "Island of Health," because every fit of madness seemed bright against its dark background. He had received Clarisse's telegram in the night when he came home and was crossing his garden. In the light of a lamp on the white wall of his house he had tom open the dispatch and read it, because he thought it came from Agathe. It was already the end of May. But the May night was like a belated March night; the stars looked down sharply, withdrawn to their heights, icily crisp out of the unilluminated, infinitely remote canopy of the sky. The telegram's sen- tences were long and confused, but held together by a rhythm of excite- ment. When Clarisse turned her back on the small military middle of her island, loneliness stretched before her like the desert of the anchor- ite. Connected with this idea of retiring from the world was an overloud, unchanging emotional tone full of covetous horror, something like the final purification and trial on the path ofthe "great one. " The adultery to which she had condemned herself would have to be consummated on this island as on a cross, for a cross on which she had to lay herself was what the empty sand over there across the waves, trodden by no one, seemed to her to be. Something ofall this came through in the telegram. Ulrich guessed that the great disorder had now really overtaken Clarisse, but that was precisely what suited him.
In their small inn they had a room that contained barely the most in- dispensable furniture, but a chandelier of Venetian glass hung from the center of the ceiling, and large mirrors in broad glass frames that were painted with flowers hung on the walls. In the mornings they went over to the Island of Health, which hovered in the air like a mirage, and from there they looked back on the inhabited island, which, with its cannons, embrasures, serrations, and little houses and trees, lay there like a round, perfect, exiled word that has lost the connection to its discourse.
Island I
Clarisse arrives while Agathe and Ulrich are still together. Stays 1-3 days in the hotel, during which time she seeks and finds her island. This is when she tells the Moosbrugger story. Invites Ulrich to the island (or Ulrich and Agathe) and Ulrich comes over. Spends half a day with her. Her hut, etc.
So it apparently goes not as far as intercourse but only to Clarisse's readiness. This is the way to utilize the material from the old coitus scene.
