It’s nice to be a bit prosperous and to have one’s worldly affairs somewhat in order. I’ve been to my brother Johann’s apartment, and I must say it was a pleasant surprise, it’s quite an old-fashioned von Guntenish place. The mere fact that the floor is covered with a soft, dull-blue carpet, I found extraordinarily imposing. All the rooms show taste, not ostentatious taste, but a definite and fine choiceness. The furniture is placed gracefully, which has the effect of greeting you politely and gently when you come in. There are mirrors on the walls. There’s even one big mirror that reaches from floor to ceiling. The particular objects are old, yet not old, elegant, yet not elegant. There’s warmth and carefulness in the rooms, one feels this, and it’s pleasant. A free and solicitous will hung the mirrors up and showed the delicately curved sofa to its place. I wouldn’t be a von Gunten if I didn’t notice that. Everything is clean and without dust, and yet it doesn’t all shine, but everything looks at one calmly and serenely. Nothing strikes the eye sharply. The whole combination has a significant kindly look. A beautiful black cat was lying on the dark red plush chair, like black, soft easefulness bedded in red. Very pretty. If I were a painter, I’d paint the intimacy of such an animal image. My brother came toward me in a very friendly way and we stood facing one another like measured men of the world who know how enjoyable the proprieties can be. We talked of this and that. Then a large and slender snow-white dog ran up to us, with graceful joyous movements. Well, naturally I stroked the animal. Everything about Johann’s apartment is good. He took the trouble to discover, with love, each of the objects and pieces of furniture in antique shops, until he had collected together the coziest and most graceful ones. He has managed to make something simple but perfect within modest limits, so that convenient and useful objects join with beautiful and graceful ones and make his apartment look like a painting. Soon, as we sat there, a young lady appeared and Johann introduced me to her. Later, we drank tea and were very happy. The cat meowed for milk and the beautiful large dog wanted to eat some of the biscuits that were on the table. Both animals also had their wishes gratified. Evening came and I had to go home.
Here in the Benjamenta Institute one learns to suffer and endure losses, and that is in my view a craft, an exercise without which any person will always remain a big child, a sort of crybaby, however important he may be. We pupils have no hopes, it is even forbidden to us to nourish hopes for life in our hearts, and yet we are completely calm and happy. How can that be? Do we feel that guardian angels, or something similar, are flying back and forth over our smoothly combed heads? I can’t say. Perhaps we are happy and carefree from being so restricted. That’s quite possible. But does that make the happiness and freshness of our hearts any less valuable? Are we really stupid? We have our vibrations. Unconsciously or consciously we take thought for many things, we are with the spirits here and there, and we send out our feelings in all directions, gathering experiences and observations. There’s so much that comforts us, because we are, in general, very zealous and inquiring people, and because we set little value on ourselves. A person who sets a high value on himself is never safe from discouragements and humiliations, for confronting a self-conscious person there is always something hostile to consciousness. And yet we pupils aren’t by any means without dignity, but the dignity we have is a very very mobile, small, pliant, and supple dignity. Also we put it on and off, according to the requirements. Are we products of a higher culture, or are we nature-boys? I don’t know that either. One thing I do know for certain: we are waiting! That’s our value. Yes, we’re waiting, and we are, as it were, listening to life, listening out into that plateau which people call the world, out across the sea with its storms. Fuchs, by the way, has left. I was very glad of that. I couldn’t get along with him.
I have spoken with Herr Benjamenta, that’s to say, he has spoken with me. “Jakob,” he said to me, “tell me, don’t you find the life here sterile, sterile? Eh? I’d like to know your opinion. Be quite frank with me.” I preferred not to say anything, but not out of defiance. My defiance disappeared long ago. But I said nothing, and roughly in such a way that my answer would have been: “Sir, allow me not to say anything. In reply to such a question, the most I could say would be something unseemly.” Herr Benjamenta looked at me closely, and I thought he understood my silence. And it really was so, for he smiled and said: “You’re wondering, aren’t you, Jakob, why I spend my life here in the Institute so lethargically, so absent-mindedly, as it were? Isn’t that so? Have you noticed it? But the last thing I want is to lead you astray into giving outrageous answers. I must confess something to you, Jakob. Listen, I think you’re an intelligent and decent young person. Now, please, be cheeky. And I feel that I must confess something else to you: I, your Principal, think well of you. And a third confession: I have begun to feel a strange, a quite peculiar and now no longer repressible preference for you. You’ll be cheeky with me now, won’t you, Jakob? You will, won’t you?—now that I’ve revealed something of myself to you, young man, you’ll dare to treat me with disdain? And you’ll defy me now? Is it so, tell me, is it so?” We two, the bearded man and I, the boy, looked one another in the eye. It was like an inner combat. I was about to open my mouth and say something submissive, but I managed to control myself and said nothing. And now I noticed that the Principal, this gigantic man, was trembling slightly. From this moment, some common bond was between us. I felt it, yes, I didn’t only feel it, I knew it. “Herr Benjamenta respects me,” I told myself, and as a result of this realization, which came down on me like a flash of lightning, I found it right, even imperative, not to say anything. All the worse for me if I had said a single word. A single word would have made me into an insignificant little pupil again, and I had just risen to the most unpupil-like human heights. I felt all this deeply, and, as I now know, I behaved quite correctly during that moment. The Principal, who had come close to me, then said as follows: “There’s something important about you, Jakob.” He stopped, and at once I felt why. He doubtless wanted to see how I would now behave. I noticed this and therefore I didn’t move a muscle in my face, but looked ahead, rigidly, mindlessly. Then we looked at one another again. I stared austerely and sternly at my Principal. I managed to sham coldness, superficiality, while in fact I’d have liked best to laugh in his face for joy. But at the same time I saw that he was satisfied with my bearing, and finally he said: “My boy, go back to your work! Get busy with something. Or go and talk to Kraus. Go now!” I bowed deeply, just as usual, and went out. In the corridor I stopped, as once before, but actually also as usual, and listened at the keyhole, to hear if anything was going on in there. But everything was quiet. I couldn’t help laughing softly and happily, a very silly laugh, and then I went into the classroom, where I saw Kraus sitting in the twilight, a brownish light seemed to surround him. I stood there for a long time. Really, I stood there a long time, for there was something, something that I couldn’t quite understand. I felt as if I were at home. No, it was as if I hadn’t yet been born, as if I were swimming in some element before birth. I felt hot and before my eyes there was a sea-like vagueness. I went to Kraus and said to him: “Kraus, I love you.” He growled what’s-all-this-about. Quickly I went up to my room. And now? Are we friends? Are Herr Benjamenta and I friends? In any case there’s a relationship between us, but of what kind? I forbid myself to try to explain it. I want to keep bright, light, and happy. Away with thoughts!
I still haven’t found a position. Herr Benjamenta says he’s looking for one. He says so in a peremptory tone, and adds: “What? Impatient? All in good time. Wait!” The pupils are saying that Kraus will soon be departing. Departing, that sounds comically professional. Is Kraus going away soon? I hope these are only empty rumors, institutional excitements. Even among us pupils there’s a kind of newspaper gossip, snatched out of air and emptiness. The words, I notice, are everywhere the same. Also I have visited my brother again, and this fellow had the courage to introduce me to people. I sat at t
he tables of the rich, and I’ll never forget the way I behaved. I was wearing an old, but still rather grand, frock coat. Frock coats make one old and important. So it was, and I acted like a man with an income of at least twenty thousand. I have talked with people who would have turned their backs on me if they could have guessed who I am. Women who would have despised me completely if I had told them that I’m only a pupil have smiled at me and have, as it were, made gestures of encouragement to me. And I was amazed at my appetite. How placidly one helps oneself at other people’s tables! I saw how they all did it, and I copied them, with great talent. How vulgar that is. I feel something like shame to have shown my happy eating and drinking face there, in those particular circles. I didn’t notice much in the way of refined manners. But I did notice that people thought of me as a timorous boy, whereas (in my own eyes) I was bursting with impudence. Johann behaves well in society. He has the light and pleasant manner of a man who is of some importance and who knows it. His behavior is a delight for the eyes that behold it. Do I speak too well of Johann? Oh, no. I’m not enamored of my brother at all, but I try to see him whole, not only half. Of course, that may be love. No matter. It was very nice in the theater, too, but I don’t want to enlarge on that. Then I took off the fine frock coat again. Oh, it’s nice to walk and whiz around in the clothes of a person one esteems! Yes, whiz! One chirps and whizzes around there, in cultivated circles. Then I crept back to the Institute again and into my school clothes. I like it here and I shall probably have a foolish yearning for the Benjamentas later on, when I’ve become something grand, but I shall never, never be anything grand, and I tremble with a peculiar satisfaction that I should know this for certain in advance. One day I shall be laid low by a stroke, and then everything, all these confusions, this longing, this unknowing, all this, the gratitude and ingratitude, this telling lies and self-deception, this thinking that one knows and yet never knowing anything, will come to an end. But I want to live, no matter how.
Something incomprehensible has happened. Perhaps it’s of no significance at all. I’m not much inclined to let myself be overcome by mysteries. I was sitting all alone in the schoolroom, it was almost nightfall. Suddenly Fräulein Benjamenta was standing behind me. I hadn’t heard her come in, so she must have opened the door very quietly. She asked me what I was doing, but in a tone of voice that made an answer unnecessary. She said, as it were, even in asking, that she already knew. When that happens, one naturally doesn’t answer. She placed a hand on my shoulder, as if she were tired and needed a support. Then I felt strongly that I belonged to her, that’s to say, or is it, that I did belong to her? Yes, simply belonged to her. I always distrust feelings. But here my sort of belonging to her, to the Fräulein, was a true feeling. We belonged together. Naturally there was a difference. But suddenly we were close. Always, always, the difference. I really hate feeling little or no difference. To sense that Fräulein Benjamenta and I were two different kinds of being, in different situations, this was a joy for me. I usually despise deceiving myself. I consider distinctions and advantages as my enemies, unless they are completely genuine. So there was this big difference. Now what’s all this? Can’t I get over certain differences? But then the Fräulein said: “Come with me! Stand up and come with me. I want to show you something.” We walked along together. Before our eyes, at least before mine (not hers, perhaps), everything was veiled in impenetrable darkness. “It’s the inner chambers,” I thought, and I wasn’t wrong, either. That’s how it was, and my dear instructress seemed to be resolved to show me a world that had been hidden until now. But I must pause for breath.
It was, as I said, completely dark at first. The Fräulein took me by the hand and said in a friendly voice: “Look, Jakob, there will be darkness all around you. And then someone will take you by the hand. And you will be glad of this and you will feel deep gratitude for the first time. Don’t be disheartened. There will be brightnesses too.” She had hardly said this when a white dazzling light shone toward us. A door appeared and we went, she in front and me close behind, through the opening, into the glorious fire of the light. Never had I seen anything so radiant and promising, so I was really quite stunned. The Fräulein spoke with a smile, in an even more friendly voice: “Does the light dazzle you? Then make every effort to endure it. It means joy and one must know how to feel and endure it. You can also think, if you like, that it means your future happiness, but look what’s happening? It’s disappearing. The light is falling to pieces. So, Jakob, you’ll have no long-enduring happiness. Does my frankness hurt you? No. Come further now. We must hurry a little, for we must walk and tremble through several other apparitions. Tell me, Jakob, do you understand my words? But don’t say anything. You’re not allowed to talk here. Do you think that I’m an enchantress? No, I’m not an enchantress. To be sure, I know how to enchant a little, to seduce, I know that much. Every girl knows how to do that. But come on now.” With these words the admirable girl opened a trap door in the floor, I had to help her, and we climbed together, she as ever in front, down into a deep cellar. At length, as the stone stairs came to an end, we were walking over moist, soft earth. I felt that we were standing in the middle of the earth’s sphere, so deep and lonely was the place. We walked along a dark, lengthy corridor. Fräulein Benjamenta said: “We are now in the vaults of poverty and deprivation, and since you, dear Jakob, will probably be poor all your life, please try now to get a little accustomed to the darkness and to the cold, penetrating odor of the place. Don’t be afraid, and don’t be angry. God is here, too, he’s everywhere. One must learn to love and nourish necessity. Kiss the wet earth of the cellar. I ask you, yes, do it. Thus you give the token of your willing submission to the heaviness and darkness which will, it seems, make up the greatest part of your life.” I obeyed her, threw myself down on the cold earth and kissed it ardently, whereupon a hot and cold shudder ran through me. We walked on. Ah, these corridors of compulsory suffering and of terrible deprivation seemed endless to me, and perhaps they really were endless. The seconds were like whole lifetimes, and the minutes took on the size of anguished centuries. Enough, at last we reached a mournful wall, the Fräulein said: “Go and fondle the wall. It is the Wall of Worries. It will always stand before your eyes, and you’ll be unwise to hate it. Ah, one must simply know how to avoid rigidity and whatever yields to no conciliation. Go and try it.” I went quickly, as if in a passionate hurry, up to the wall and flung myself against its breast. Yes, against the stony breast, and I spoke to it a few kindly, almost joking words. And it remained unmoved, as was to be expected. I play-acted, to please my instructress, certainly, and yet again it was anything but play-acting that I was doing. And yet we both smiled, she, the instructress, as well as I, her callow pupil. “Come on,” she said, “let’s treat ourselves to a little freedom now, a little movement.” And with her small white familiar cane she touched the wall, and the whole horrible cellar disappeared and we found ourselves on a smooth, spacious, narrow track of ice or glass. We floated along it, as if on marvelous skates, and we were dancing, too, for like a wave the track rose and fell beneath us. It was delightful. I had never seen anything like it and I shouted for joy: “How glorious!” And overhead the stars were shimmering, in a sky that was strangely all pale blue and yet dark, and the moon with it unearthly light was staring down upon us skaters. “This is freedom,” said the instructress, “it’s something very wintry, and cannot be borne for long. One must always keep moving, as we are doing here, one must dance in freedom. It is cold and beautiful. Never fall in love with it! That would only make you sad afterwards, for one can only be in the realm of freedom for a moment, no longer. Look how the wonderful track we are floating on is slowly melting away. Now you can watch freedom dying, if you open your eyes. You will have your full share of this agonizing sight later in life.” Hardly had she spoken when we sank from our summit of happiness down into a place that was tired and cozy, it was a small bedchamber, chockfull of sophisticated comforts, tapestried
with all kinds of wanton scenes and pictures. It was a proper pillowy boudoir. Often I had dreamed of real boudoirs. And now I was inside one of them. Music was rippling down around the walls like a graceful snowfall, one could even see the music being made, the notes like magical flakes of snow. “Here,” said the Fräulein, “you can rest. You must decide for yourself how long.” We both smiled at these mysterious words, and although an unspeakably slight fear stole up on me, I wasted no time in making myself comfortable in this chamber on one of the rugs that lay around. An uncommonly good-tasting cigarette flew down from above into my involuntarily opened mouth, and I smoked. A novel fluttered into my hands and I could read it undisturbed. “That’s not the right thing for you. Don’t read such books. Stand up. It’s better we move on. Softness seduces one to thoughtlessness and cruelty. Listen, can’t you hear their angry thunder, they’re coming. This room is the chamber of calamity. You have had your repose in it. Now calamity will rain down on you and doubt and restlessness will drench you through. Come on! One must go out and meet the inevitable, bravely.” Thus spoke the instructress and she had hardly finished when I was swimming in a gluey and most unpleasant river of doubt. Thoroughly disheartened, I didn’t dare to look around to see if she was still near to me. No, the instructress, the enchantress who had conjured up all these visions and states, had disappeared. I was swimming all alone. I tried to scream, but the water only started to flow into my mouth. Oh, these calamities. I wept, and I bitterly regretted my surrender to the wanton pleasures of easefulness. Then suddenly I was sitting in the Benjamenta Institute again, in the dark classroom, and Fräulein Benjamenta was still standing behind me, and she stroked my cheeks, but as if she needed to comfort herself, not me. “She’s unhappy,” I thought. Then Kraus, Schacht, and Schilinski, who had been out together, came back. Quickly the girl drew her hand away from me and went into the kitchen to get supper. Had I been dreaming? But why ask myself this, now that it’s time for supper? There are times when I simply love to eat. I can bite into the silliest foods then, just like a hungry young apprentice, then I am living in a fairy tale and am no longer a cultured being in an age of culture.
Jakob von Gunten Page 9