I have had to say goodbye to Kraus. Kraus has gone. A light, a sun, has disappeared. I feel that from now on it could only be evening in the world and all around me. Before a sun sets, it casts reddish rays across the darkening present, so did Kraus. Before he went, he gave me one more quick scolding, and as he did so the whole veritable Kraus was radiantly manifest for the last time. “Adieu, Jakob, improve yourself, change yourself,” he said to me as he held out his hand, almost annoyed at having to do so. “I’m going now, out into the world, into service. I hope you will have to do this soon too. It certainly won’t do you any harm. I hope your incomprehension gets a few hard knocks. Someone ought to take you by your naughty ears. Don’t laugh now that we’re saying goodbye. Though it suits you. And who knows, perhaps things in this world are so foolish that they’ll haul you up to the heights. Then you can quietly and cheekily carry on with your shameless ways, your defiance, your arrogance and smiling indolence, with your mockery and all kinds of mischief, and keep yourself carefree, as you are. Then you’ll be able to boast until you burst about all the bad habits that they haven’t been able to rid you of here in the Benjamenta Institute. But I hope that worry and toil will take you into their hard, vice-breaking school. Look, Kraus is saying hard words. But perhaps I mean it better for you, Brother Funny, than people who would wish you good luck to your gaping face. Work more, wish less, and something else: please forget all about me. I would only be annoyed if I felt that you might have one of your shabby old cast-off, dancing, here-today-and-gone-tomorrow thoughts left over for me. No, pal, realize this, Kraus doesn’t need any of your von Guntenish jokes.” “You dear, loveless friend,” I exclaimed, full of frightened farewell thoughts and feelings. And I wanted to hug him. But he stopped that in the simplest way in the world, just by quickly going, and forever. “The Benjamenta Institute is here today and will be gone tomorrow,” I said to myself. I went to see the Principal. I felt as if the world had been rent apart by a glowing, fiery, yawning gulf between one spatial possibility and the diametrically opposite one. With Kraus, the half of life was gone. “From now on, a different life!” I murmured. Besides, it’s quite simple: I was sad and a little stunned. Why go off into big words? To the Principal I bowed more ceremoniously than ever, and it seemed appropriate to say: “Good day, Principal.” “Are you mad, my boy?” he shouted. He came toward me and would have embraced me, but I stopped him with a knock on his outstretched arm. “Kraus has gone,” I said, very gravely. We were silent and contented ourselves with looking at one another for a fairly long time.
Then Herr Benjamenta said in a quiet manly voice: “I have found jobs today for all the others, your comrades. Now only we three are left here, you, me, and her lying on the bed. She (why not talk of the dead? They’re alive, aren’t they?) will be taken away tomorrow. That’s an ugly thought, but a necessary one. And we shall sit up all night. We two shall have a talk by her bedside. And when I think how one day you arrived with your request, demand, and question, wanting to be admitted to the school, I’m seized by a terrific zest for life and for laughter. I’m over forty years old. Is that old? It was, but now that you’re here, Jakob, it means youth, all green and budding, this being forty. With you, you heart of a boy, fresh life, life itself for the first time, came over me and into me. Here in this office, you see, I was desperate, I was drying up, I had positively buried myself. I hated the world, hated it, hated it. All this being and moving and living, I hated it unspeakably and avoided it. Then you came in, fresh, silly, impolite, cheeky, and blossoming, fragrant with unspoilt feelings, and quite naturally I gave you a mighty ticking-off, but I knew, the moment I saw you, that you were a magnificent fellow, flown down, I felt, from heaven for me, sent to me and given to me by an all-knowing God. Yes, it was you I needed, and I always smiled secretly when you came in from time to time, to pester me with your delightful cheek and clumsiness, which looked to me like successful works of art. Oh, no, not to pester, but to infatuate me. Stop it, Benjamenta, stop it. —Tell me, didn’t you ever notice that we two were friends? Don’t say anything. And when I kept my dignity, I would have liked to tear it to shreds. And even today that bow you gave was quite insanely ceremonious! But listen, how about my attack of rage recently? Did I want to hurt you? Did I want to play a deadly trick on myself? Perhaps you know, Jakob? Yes? Then tell me, please, at once. At once, do you understand? What’s happening to me? What is it? What do you say?” “I don’t know, I thought you were mad, Principal,” I said. Cold shudders ran through me as I saw the tenderness and zest for life showing all over his face. We said nothing for a while. Suddenly it occurred to me to remind Herr Benjamenta about the story of his life. That was very good. That might distract him, restrain him from fresh murderous attacks. I was at this moment firmly convinced that I was in the clutches of a semi-lunatic, and so I quickly said, with the sweat running down my forehead: “Yes, your life story, Principal, how about it? Do you know that I don’t like hints? You gave me a dark hint that you were a dethroned ruler. Now then. Please express yourself clearly. I’m very much looking forward to it.” He scratched behind his ear, quite embarrassed. Then suddenly he became really angry, pettily angry, and he shouted at me with a sergeant’s voice: “Dismissed! Leave me alone!” Well, I didn’t need telling twice, but vanished immediately. Was he ashamed, was he tormented by something, this King Benjamenta, this lion in his cage? Anyway I was very glad to be able to stand outside in the corridor and listen. It was deathly quiet in there. I went to my room, lit the stump of a candle, and sat gazing at the picture of Mamma, which I had always carefully kept. Later, there was a knock at the door. It was the Principal, he was dressed all in black. “Come,” he ordered, with iron severity. We went into the livingroom, to keep vigil by the body of Fräulein Benjamenta. Herr Benjamenta showed me, with gestures, to my seat. We sat down. Thank heavens, at least I didn’t feel at all tired. I was very glad of that. The dead girl’s face was still beautiful, yes, it even seemed to have become more graceful, and another thing: as the moments passed more and more beauty, feeling, and grace seemed to descend upon it. Something like a smiling forgiveness for mistakes of every kind seemed to float around and echo softly around the room. There was a sort of chirping. And it was so light, a bright seriousness in the room. Nothing dismal, nothing at all. I had a good feeling, because simply to be watching made me feel the pleasant peace that comes from quietly doing what it is one’s duty to do.
“Later, Jakob,” the Principal started to say, as we sat there, “later I’ll tell you everything. For we shall stay together. I am certain, quite certain, that you’ll agree to do this. Tomorrow, when I ask you for your decision, you won’t say no, I’m certain. For today, I must tell you that I’m not really a dethroned king, I only put it that way for the sake of the image. Of course, there were times when this Benjamenta, who is sitting beside you, felt himself a lord, a conqueror, a king, when life lay before me to be seized on, when I believed with all my senses in the future and in greatness, when my footsteps carried me elastically along as over carpet-like meadows and encouragements, when I possessed all I saw, enjoyed everything I fleetingly thought of, when everything was ready to crown me with satisfaction, to anoint me with successes and achievements, when I was king without really noticing it, great without needing consciously to take account of it. In this sense, Jakob, I have been exalted, that’s to say, simply young and promising, and in this sense the deposing and dethronement also occurred. I collapsed. And I doubted myself and everything. When one despairs and is sad, dear Jakob, one is so miserably small, and more and more small things hurl themselves over one, like greedy, fast-moving vermin eating us, very slowly, managing to choke us, to unman us, very slowly. But that bit about the king was just a figure of speech. I apologize, little listener, if I made you believe in a scepter and purple robes. But I think you really knew what was meant by these kingdoms in stammerings and sighs. I seem a bit more cozy to you now, don’t I? Now that I’m not a king? For even you will admi
t that rulers who are compelled to give lessons, et cetera, and to found institutes, must certainly be pretty dismal characters. No, no, I was proud and happy only for the future: those were my estates and royal revenues. Then for long years I was discouraged and humiliated. And now I am again, that is, I am beginning again, to be myself, and I feel as if I had inherited a fortune, good heavens no, not that, no, I feel as if I—had been raised up and crowned ruler. Of course the dark moments, the cruelly dark moments still come, when there’s blackness all around me and around my burnt and charred heart, as it were, don’t misunderstand me, everything is detestable, and at such moments I have an urge to destroy, to kill. O my soul, you, would you stay with me still, now that you know this? Could you, perhaps out of a simple liking for me, or out of any other feeling that appeals to you, decide to defy the danger of being together with a monster like me? Can you be defiant with a high heart? Are you that sort of a defiant person? And will you or won’t you hold all this against me? Against me? Ah, how silly. Besides, Jakob, I know that we shall live together. It is decided. Why still question you? Look, I do know my former pupil. You aren’t my pupil any more now, Jakob. I don’t want to educate and teach you any more, I want to live and, living, to shoulder some burden, carry it, and do something. Oh, it would be glorious, so glorious, to suffer with such a heart for one’s friend. I have what I wanted to have and so I feel as if I could do everything, could endure and gladly suffer everything. No more thoughts, no more words. Please don’t say anything. Tell me tomorrow, after this life there on the bed has been carried away, after I’ve been able to shed the purely external ceremony and turn it into an inward one, then tell me your opinion. You’ll say yes, or you’ll say no. Realize, you’re completely free now. You can say or do whatever you like.” Very quietly I said, trembling with a desire to give this all too confident person a bit of a fright: “But how shall I eat, Principal? You get homes for the others, and not for me? I find that strange. It isn’t right. And I insist on it. It’s your duty to find me a decent job. All I want is a job.” Ah, he shuddered. He jumped. How I giggled, inside. Devilment is the nicest thing in life. Herr Benjamenta said sadly: “You’re right. The correct thing is to get you a position, on the basis of your leaving-certificate. Certainly, you’re quite right. Only I thought, only—I thought—that you might make an exception.” I exclaimed in a blaze of dismay: “Exception? I make no exceptions. That is not fitting for the son of an alderman. My modesty, my birth, all my feelings forbid me to wish for more than what my fellow-pupils have received.” From then on, he spoke not another word. I liked leaving Herr Benjamenta in a state of visible, and for me flattering, uncertainty. We spent the rest of the night in silence.
But sleep did overcome me as I sat there at our vigil. Not for long, for half an hour, or perhaps a little longer, I was rapt away from reality. I dreamed (the dream, I remember, shot down upon me from above, violently, showering me with rays of light) that I was in a meadow on a mountainside. It was a dark, velvety green. And it was embroidered all over with flowers, like kisses in the shapes of flowers. It was nature, and yet not so, image and body at the same time. A wonderfully beautiful girl lay on the meadow, I told myself it must be the instructress, but quickly I said: “No, it can’t be. We haven’t got an instructress any more.” Well, then, it must have been somebody else, and I positively saw how I was consoling myself, and I heard the consoling. It said: “Bah! Stop all this interpreting!” The girl was naked, undulant and shining. On one of her beautiful legs there was a garter, softly fluttering in the wind that was caressing everything. It seemed as if the whole dream was fluttering, the whole sweet dream, clear as a mirror. How happy I was! For a fleeting moment I thought of “This Person.” Naturally it was the Principal of whom I was thinking. Suddenly I saw him, mounted on a high horse and clad in a shimmering, black, noble, and serious suit of armor. The long sword hung down at his side and the horse whinnied pugnaciously. “Well, just look now. There’s the Principal on horseback,” I thought, and I shouted, as loud as I could, so that the echoes rang in the gorges and ravines: “I have made my decision.” But he didn’t hear me. Agonized, I shouted: “Hey! Principal! Listen!” But no, he turned his back on me. He was looking into the distance, out and down into life. And he didn’t even turn his head. For my benefit, it seems, the dream now rolled on, bit by bit, like a wagon, and then we found ourselves, I and “This Person,” naturally no other than Herr Benjamenta, in the middle of the desert. We were traveling and doing business with the desert dwellers, and we were quite peculiarly animated by a cool, I might say splendid, contentment. It looked as if we had both escaped forever, or at least for a very long time, from what people call European culture. “Aha,” I thought, involuntarily, and, it seemed to me, rather foolishly, “so that was it, that was it!” But what it was, the thing I thought, I couldn’t puzzle out. We wandered on. Then a throng of hostile people appeared, but we dispersed them, though I really don’t know how it happened. The regions of the earth shot like lightning past us on our days of wandering. I knew the experience of entire long decades of tribulation, signaling as they passed us by. How peculiar that was. The particular weeks eyed one another like small, glittering gems. It was ridiculous and it was glorious too. “Getting away from culture, Jakob, you know, it’s wonderful,” said the Principal from time to time, looking like an Arab. We were riding camels. And the customs of the people we saw delighted us. There was something mysterious, gentle, and delicate in the movements of these countries. Yes, it was as if they were marching along, no, flying along. The sea extended majestically like a great blue wet world of thought. One moment I heard the wingbeats of birds, then animals bellowing, then trees rustling overhead. “So you did come along, then. I knew you would,” said Herr Benjamenta, whom the Indians had made a Prince. How crazy! As cruelly exciting as it may sound: the fact was, we were organizing a revolution in India. And apparently the trick worked. It was delicious to be alive, I felt it in every limb. Life was flourishing before our far-seeing gaze, like a tree with branches and twigs. And how steadfast we were! And through dangers and experiences we waded as through icy waters that were a balm to our heat. I was always the Squire and the Principal was the Knight. “Well and good,” I suddenly thought. And as I was thinking this, I woke up and looked around in the livingroom. Herr Benjamenta had fallen asleep too. I woke him up by telling him: “How can you sleep, Principal! But permit me to tell you that I’ve decided to go with you, wherever you want to go.” We shook hands, and that meant a great deal.
I’m packing. Yes, we two, the Principal and I, we are busy packing, really packing everything up, leaving, clearing out, tearing things apart, pushing and shoving. We shall travel. Well and good. This person suits me and I’m not asking myself why any more. I feel that life demands impulses, not considerations. Today I shall say adieu to my brother. I shall leave nothing here. Nothing’s keeping me, nothing obliges me to say: “How would it be if. . .” No, there’s nothing left to be woulding and iffing about. Fräulein Benjamenta is under the ground. The pupils, my friends, are scattered in all kinds of jobs. And if I am smashed to pieces and go to ruin, what is being smashed and ruined? A zero. The individual me is only a zero. But now I’ll throw away my pen! Away with the life of thought! I’m going with Herr Benjamenta into the desert. I just want to see if one can live and breathe and be in the wilderness too, willing good things and doing them, and sleeping and dreaming at night. What’s all this. I don’t want to think of anything more now. Not even of God? No! God will be with me. What should I need to think of Him? God goes with thoughtless people. So now adieu, Benjamenta Institute.
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