Someone confronted me in public who seemed hostile; then someone else sent me a well-meaning letter wherein he assured me of his respect and keen judgment. Thus I know who wishes me ill and who wishes me well. I live in the belief that for the most part unwelcome things elicit beautiful ones.
(1920)
TRAM RIDE
WHEN WALKING I’m a foot soldier, a mercenary, but when I board a tram I’m someone who knows how to live, a man of culture, a city dweller, and feel elegant, there’s something official, capital about me.
Hey, how quick it goes, it almost flies. I greet most politely someone walking along the street. Those who ride have every reason to be friendly. People are constantly getting off and on.
The city looks new to me when seen from the tram. How everything moves about here: light-footed girls, civil servants, students, craftsmen, salesmen. Posters are plastered to walls; market women lay out melons, tomatoes, potatoes, turnips, cabbages to sell.
Over a bridge it goes; through streets it rattles. Once I saw in a tram car a woman whose finely shod feet were like a pair of little doves; it was late evening, she was coming from the theater.
Winter sun is shining. A number of people keep their hands in their pockets. Wait till it turns colder. It’s too early for precautionary measures.
A woman in furs climbs in looking like Sacher-Masoch’s Venus, which I once read, with no small delight, in a little chamber where I wrote poems to the stars and women, which seemed to me a splendid occupation.
We’ve arrived at the train station; this is where I transfer. Number 8 carries me on. Once someone advised me to become a tram conductor, then every day I would be able to help women in the politest way. I smiled; my essay does as well.
From high in his residence, God smiles down with heavenly blueness and warm, loving light upon us earthly creatures, sets a good example for us with his unalterable tranquillity, is always kind.
I’ve strayed far by digressing from the tram to such sublimity, but I find it quite natural, now I’m at my destination and jump down, and with that this essay is finished; this isn’t the first one, and probably not the last either.
(1921)
Translated with Annette Wiesner
THE KITTEN (II)
WHAT A beautiful rainbow, the world so ethereal, everything glistening, but I want to speak about something else. Today I thought about nothing but a kitten. Isn’t that totally irrelevant? This I grant, but often trivialities are like sunshine. I had already seen the kitten yesterday, and now I’ll sketch it. In color it is striped like a little tiger. It can yawn magnificently, just like a person who’s bored. How it leapt about; now it was in the kitchen, now in the dining room, now the parlor. Lounge chairs and plush sofas it adores. Everyone bestowed upon it their rather diligent attention. One person asked if it had already forgotten or still missed its previous home. What compassion! Among other things it clung to a curtain tassel, swinging back and forth like an acrobat who performs for money. Its little eyes are big and black, its paws harmless. It can’t really scratch yet, but in time it will learn. It was supposed to spend the night near an open oven, but it preferred a chair. It examines each and every crate and box, made numerous discoveries. In ripping down towels and knocking over vases it was, albeit young and inexperienced, already a master. It must have been born with this talent. Already it can lick up milk; in addition, it’s skilled in curling up into a ball and spinning around like a top. A tomcat was introduced to it, which was a little too much to bear. It rose up high, its hair on end, arched its back, and for a minute remained frightened and pensive. Someone was playing the piano. Swoosh, it disappeared under the dresser and didn’t come out until the concert was over. Apparently it doesn’t care much for music. It prefers to play by itself, not with notes but instead with little spools or wood shavings. Acting the little silly is what it likes above all, is what it most delights in. A girl wanted to play the pastor and baptize it, but only in fun, of course. Who would say something like this seriously? This sketch is a bit purringly droll, but I hope nonetheless a usable contribution.
(1921)
LATEST NEWS
I DRESS somewhat better now, wear a tip-top hat, conduct myself accordingly, pay my bills punctually, and live in a house with a woman and her two daughters, former girlfriends of two PhDs in philosophy. After a while, both gentlemen forsook the two ladies, casting around for other possibilities. Ah, how fiendish are unkindness and infidelity!
But what’s the latest news? Recently a lecture was held on Dostoyevsky, also one about the value of psychiatry to the human community. A preacher spoke about and against sectarianism. In the theater Maria Stuart was performed; on this occasion I saw Frau Else Heims again.
Incidentally, I feel very much at home here in Bern. True, I’m no longer as independent; during the day I work in an office, or rather in a kind of vault, leafing through all kinds of old files, letters, reports, regulations, decrees, compiling directories and striving to be businesslike, which I find quite pleasant, though it takes a bit of an effort.
The nice thing is I have a clear conscience. Indeed, to my knowledge I’ve never lacked one. I regret to say that a short while ago a healthy magnificent tooth fell out, which fortunately however is no great misfortune. Of course now I have to walk around with a gap in my mouth, but still I do this gladly, especially in the evenings at the close of a workday and on Saturday afternoons.
This is the time when, fresh and youthful, I walk into the open, richly fragrant air and am without a care, I’m my old self again, am happy and make all kinds of friendly casual acquaintances, belong to the world just as it belongs to me, and the world is open wide and so is my heart, though no longer all that young.
What are youth and age when confronted with the exalting sense of the unendingness of natural history, which dissolves all such petty differences?
(1921)
NEWS NUMBER TWO
WITHOUT question I’m filled with self-confidence. Perhaps sometimes I might even be a bit conceited. I may only live on the outskirts, but at least my room has a parquet floor. Well, I’m sure Hesse leads a more genteel life. Often I walk past his former residence.
Recently I broke my mirror. An old woman told me that meant bad luck. But I’m by no means superstitious. Wouldn’t that be somewhat unseemly?
By the way, I also have a balcony, which I’ve yet to appreciate. I feel above such contributions to life’s amenities.
It’s true I’m indolent. To prepare one of my little sketch things I need two weeks. I drop ideas, occasionally pick them up, and by so doing ennoble them.
Some time ago I received a bouquet of carnations whose scent was meant to console me. Since when do I need this?
Many think me a lamb, then suddenly something quite different. Whenever I eat whipping cream, I can be rather sweet.
In the afternoons and evenings I’m occasionally happy. That’s when I take a walk along some path, if possible a new one each time, and try to distract myself.
Yet I’m already satisfied that I can still hold the world dear, exchange a few words with someone, buy something, or think about what my future might be.
How happy it makes me, for instance, when someone strikes up a relationship with me. For the entire week I look forward to its unraveling. The least of pleasures occasionally can be of tremendous value.
Speaking of walks in this part of the country, one time I was in a delightfully situated little town, yet another one set on the river Aare—how sunny it was there!
The other day in the nearby hills I came to a stately building adorned with pictures; I recognized it as an inn I once visited when I was young, which I hope I still am, in a certain sense, to this day.
A woman took interest in me. She wrote me a letter several pages long, which I answered with a single page. Since then she hasn’t written a word; now I am awaiting further declarations. Am I a bit bored by all this?
(1921)
NEWS THREE
I SAW ALL kinds of people sitting in a burlesque theater, some of whom had over-imbibed, so the owner paid them quite a bit of attention.
Two delicate maidens were smoking cigarettes. Someone felt inclined to proclaim himself the stupidest person alive. The contention was extreme; obviously he hadn’t taken into account the possibility he might be mistaken.
A young man wore a grotesque hat, but what did that matter when competing with the headbands and hairstyles of some women? The waitress had a pleasant smile for everyone. Vigorously the register rattled.
Now an artiste stepped out who sang exquisitely and on top of that looked beautiful. After this came two who read all kinds of things from a newspaper, followed by a nincompoop in powdered face, top hat, and shabby gloves, who declaimed “If I Were Married.”
Then a soldier appeared who laughed at himself. A handkerchief dangled from his pants pocket. Everyone listened and laughed. Their cheerfulness proved contagious. One visitor played with the hands of his beloved, once he even embraced her.
Now and then the director announced a new number. I thought of a poor woman who had glanced at me that evening. Where was she now? Was someone speaking kindly to her?
Now someone appeared very quietly and sang in a familiar way a strange song. His recital made the room expand more and more. All nature and humanity, the sun, the stars, touched the souls of everyone.
He looked rather common, but from his mouth spring blossomed, and life itself, as recounted in books we gladly read again and again, made itself felt. For several minutes the hall was solemn; yes, that left a deep impression.
Now on to something different: Recently I hiked to
THUN
I walked and walked, it was a calm, continuous working of the legs. I covered distance upon distance, praising nature, which endows us with all kinds of qualities, one with a preference for sitting still, the other the inclination to be often in motion.
I went through two or three villages; in one of them I could have paid a woman a visit, but alas I didn’t have the time. I reached Wichtrach, walked through a forest, advancing ever closer to the Bernese Oberland.
In the village of Heimberg I saw the signs for two inns, a Wilhelm Tell as well as a fabulously, exquisitely rendered Rütli scene commemorating the formation of the Swiss Confederacy. Soon the sight of the castle in Thun took me by surprise. How it thrilled me to enter this city where I once served as an office clerk.
First I ate a piece of cake, gazed into the shops, delightfully considered city hall, walked up the castle steps and found it enchanting at the top.
Everything was as it had been years ago, the houses, the gardens. Its unchangedness moved me. Here stood the office, there the rectory.
I entered the graveyard, walked around the church in which music was playing, inquired of a gentleman the reason for these sounds, and learned they were rehearsing for a concert. I thanked him and said, “This spot overlooking the small town, so close to the mountains, magnificently suits a performance.”
Girls promenaded in the sun. The sky, which until then had been cloudy, suddenly opened up like a blue flower and shone gloriously, as if delighting in this piece of earth beneath it.
The Niesen mountain glowed silver, clouds were flying in the air above, and a joyous wind was blowing.
“Inside they’re playing a symphony, but isn’t one being played outside as well?” I thought and went down the hill. On the bridge someone offered me a leaflet. Then I took a quick walk to the house on the little island where Kleist once lived, and afterwards made my way home.
(1921)
FOURTH NEWS
THERE exists here a little art exhibit; the artist usually sits behind a screen. When someone enters, he rises and welcomes the newcomer.
I met a quiet, kind lawyer.
I slept in a wonderfully nice bed that one needs only to fold out in the evenings, and during the day looks like a closet.
In a lounge I had a discussion with an American, drank liqueur, gave a kind of speech, and behaved in a manner that almost made me appear suave.
Currently I wear a pocket watch and thus become re-accustomed to a kind of refinement and more or less find the path to so-called civilization, for which I congratulate myself.
Now I’m going to talk about a
NEWSPAPER
Clearly I saw it; how could I have overlooked it? It was, after all, hanging in my direct vicinity. Did I long for it? Should I take it? Uncertain, I sat there and couldn’t make up my mind.
Two things were of concern: First, I was curious; second, I wasn’t curious in the least. Basically I didn’t give a fig about it, and again basically I could hardly take my eyes off it.
I read its title quite clearly, it seemed fascinating. The fact is it enticed me, it had something thrilling about it. On the other hand, in fact, it repelled me. Because it enchanted me, I couldn’t care less about it. This was a contradiction.
My desire to immerse myself in it was real, although I assumed an air of aloofness. My indifference was only feigned. The truth is that it really attracted me.
What might it contain? Would it edify me? The more convinced I was of its unimportance, the more I felt driven to rush to it, thereby preventing someone else from snatching it up.
I wanted to ignore it and on the other hand had the greatest desire to make its acquaintance. Without it, one could hardly get by. Everyone turned to it. Engaging with it seemed customary to everyone. Was I the only one who paid it no heed?
Outside the sun shone. I sat there unable to rid myself of the newspaper’s attraction or my infatuation with it, but just as much unable to rid myself of my aversion.
Unquestionably it was quite important. This and that was contained in it, all I had to do was open it. But what would happen if I did? That was what was in question.
I was just about to hurry over and deal with it, but at the last moment I had second thoughts and withdrew from it, but no, that’s not right, it was like this: Someone else beat me to it, held it tight in his hands, in such a way that renunciation on my part was easy, which was a relief. I went out. How resplendent the sky, how happy I felt that someone had preempted me.
Certainly he took something away from me, but from the bottom of my heart I didn’t begrudge him this. O, all we have to be is not envious, then life is good, isn’t it?
(1921)
CONGRATULATIONS ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE JOURNAL DIE SCHWEIZ
IN MY MEMORY Die Schweiz is closely connected to my military service. Before my eyes appears a little mountain cottage where around ten of us men were on guard duty. How unceremonious and jaunty it was there! Didn’t the wine and the camp freedom taste delicious? We lay around swapping stories and wandered in the region. Books and magazines were lying about. We appreciated almost every modest printed word. Intellectual food seemed exquisite to me and certainly to some of the others. I also found issues of Die Schweiz and read them with pleasure and said to myself that they offered plenitudes, and at the same time I thought about things past and future, then went out and looked at the lake and down onto the sunny plain, and it seemed to me, if I may openly confess, that I was pretty happy; and at night, when everyone was asleep, I climbed out of the straw, went to the table, lit the stump of a candle, and read the proofs a publisher had sent to my place of duty and into my serene Tessin life, and today I gladly say a few nice words on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the journal and wish the best of luck to this fine and noble undertaking and all the luck there is in its continuing efforts to thrive. Something good always finds its way, goes over many an obstacle (even if, from time to time, it may seem quite exhausted), and continues on undeterred to arrive, almost in spite of itself, at its satisfying destination.
(1921)
HOW ARE YOU?
ISN’T it quite irrelevant how we answer such a question? We hear it every day; some would rather ask it than hear it.
“How are you?” is asked out of habit; to those w
ho find it objectionable it’s a stupid question. It’s best to kid around a bit about everyday conventions.
To feign with a mien of misery that things are going magnificently seems ridiculous; only actors succeed in simulating conviviality. Better to assert with a smile on your face, “I’m miserable.”
To confess with a quip on your lips that you’ve gone to the dogs doesn’t cause any harm. The expression of discontent, however, only attests to discomfort, whatever your lips might say.
Someone broached me with “You’ve had a bit of bad luck, haven’t you?” Gently I let him believe this. Had I made an effort to convince him otherwise, he would have assured himself that his assumption was correct.
Why, anyway, should people think I’m well? I find silly those who fear appearing unhappy. It’s precisely this anxiety that’s to blame.
Your demeanor betrays how you’re doing every time with welcome clarity; no need to worry about that.
Sometimes it’s going well, sometime lousy; isn’t it lovely how this alternates? Why need anyone complain about monotony?
All of us are players. The main thing isn’t that we’re always doing well; what’s important is that we’re constantly playing well, that is, that we possess goodwill.
(1922)
AFTERNOON TEA
AFTERNOON tea is really delightful. One listens to music, drinks coffee, and tries to behave in a pleasant manner. The room is modern, the clientele predominantly female.
That smoking is not permitted, a smoker especially may find charming: He can display flexibility.
Girlfriends, Ghosts, and Other Stories Page 6