Girlfriends, Ghosts, and Other Stories Page 8

  The lady who vanquished him found him so insipid she had no choice but to renounce him. The way she did this turned out badly for him.

  While he suffered because of her, she had tea served and listened in all tranquillity to Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.”

  She longed, incidentally, to be away from the castle, where she had begun to take over duties like, for example, slapping her maids. Her noble being suffered in such a milieu.

  He who wrote such things would have liked to have been, to his and the reader’s advantage, someone else, but this just wasn’t granted him.

  Nonetheless, he made himself famous, from which circumstance these lines derive.

  (1925)

  Translated with Annette Wiesner

  SHOP WINDOWS (I)

  WHO DOESN’T enjoy simply going window-shopping? With a quick glance one nibbles chocolate.

  Here hats interest you, there ties, elsewhere frankfurters and wieners. Sometimes the most gorgeous things are given gratis, for example views of reproductions of the great masters.

  Little bouquets of violets with their smart lilac lie appetizingly beside oranges. Our eyes provide us such a wealth of joys.

  In antique shops Swiss battle scenes are on display. One is amazed at what horrible things went on then. One must fight and struggle for the opportunity to enjoy the better part of life.

  I detect something nutritious, like an Emmentaler or a Gruyère.

  Clothing stores bespeak favorable appearances. It can never hurt to be well dressed. Haven’t I often eaten an Äpfelmütschli, a kind of apple bun, in a bakery in the Aarbergergasse?

  Cafés entice those hurrying by with fried pastries and pancakes, that is, Schenkeli and Pfannkuchen. It’s not proper for a gentleman to gaze intently on corsets and the like. For a journalist, however, it should be permitted.

  The hankies of lasses are most charmingly embroidered. Because of a handkerchief Othello made a scene with his wife.

  Early on I was told shoes were not to be given to ladies; it was more seemly for them to buy these themselves.

  Jewelry stores glitter with rings, brooches, and necklaces. Stationery stores bring to mind the rewards of writing a letter every once in a while.

  Recently, in a secondhand shop, I saw a little ivory picture of Christ, arms extended horizontally, feet perforated.

  Once again I have only been sketching here, when in fact I was obliged to do more.

  (1925)

  GRETCHEN

  GRETCHEN was a capricious lass. She didn’t know her own mind. She acquired a suitor. It’s fatal when a Gretchen is courted. He worshipped her, she dropped him; he stayed in bed for eight days. That he remembered; unfortunately he totally forgot it again. Because he no longer came to see her, she developed a longing (also known as tedium) for him. “Be so good as to come,” she wrote him. This sounded perfectly courteous and proper, but he did not go because he preferred, so to speak, her non-presence. She was delicate beyond words. A dainty, dainty little plant! To her he seemed a brute, though basically he wasn’t, rather a thing of delicacy, of sensitivity. She simply deluded herself into believing something that wasn’t true. Poor Gretchen! One day she wept, she didn’t know what about, but blamed him, charged him with it, which might and must be considered the pinnacle of indolence. Any woman can do that, can’t she? She called him heartless, he in turn said she was impossible, which infuriated her. Pointless effort. Gretchen dwelled in luxury, being a child of wealthy parents, and grew up unspeakably refined. One moment she laughed at, the next railed against the one she wasn’t sure she loved. At times she hated him, and then also hated herself, which goes to show she actually did love him. She wanted him near and at the same time a thousand miles away. Was she in need of medical attention? Well, in point of fact she died, and that made him laugh. When she heard about this, she rose from the dead solely to tell him how filthy she found this, coming from a faithful lover. Seems she wasn’t quite that dead after all. One moment she found him charming, the next imbecilic, and all her aversion made her fall into his arms, on which occasion he sensed her bosom’s throbbing, a music that moved him to say, “I love you.” “Indecent lout!” she cried, and fled. And what about him? Did he spring after her? No, he let her go. This she resented. We’d best break off the story of Gretchen and her devotee because we dread becoming as petulant as the former or as preposterous as the latter, and as windchimeish as both, and collapsing into an abyss of chagrin, which we definitely would regret, so let us conclude: “So long, Gretchen!”

  (1925)

  PORCELAIN

  THE VENUE is the display window of a trinket shop, and the characters of this playlet porcelain figurines.

  THE GENTLEMAN: Sometimes they call me a scoundrel. This charming designation convinces me of my innocence. I’ve done an untold amount of good. For the sake of decorum, I’ve forgotten how many benefactions I’ve bestowed. I possess a talent for speaking, and I sit here in the attitude of a perfect aristocrat. Whoever gazes attentively upon me can form an opinion of the infinitude of my exquisite qualities. It goes without saying I own here and there debt-ridden country estates. My ancestors proved quite fearless in the occasional skirmish. The founder of my lineage ran a spice business whose fragrances were sent to the most remote regions. My body fights my soul over which is the finer, which the more reserved. It’s possible that my suit fits me only too well.

  THE LADY: I bow my little head, which is of unparalleled grace, incredibly elegantly and unspeakably modestly, over a book I’m pretending to read. The book is delighted to be allowed to lie on my lap. Sentimentalities perfume me with the breath of lilac and as if with the scent of Christmas candles. Venice all but sank when it saw me. My little feet are swallows. Who gazes too frequently at them and with too much benevolence becomes sick with the longing to accomplish what might be called sinking before my feet. By gazing upon me, those with the most impoverished feelings are transformed into the most soulful. My hair is a temple constructed of untouchabilities that smile divinely in the slightest breeze.

  THE GENTLEMAN: I’m not speaking, yet I speak.

  THE LADY: I’m expecting someone and expect nobody.

  THE GENTLEMAN: I’m mute yet amusing.

  THE LADY: My breast is cold and warm.

  BOTH: A unique someone is being kind enough to bestow interest upon us.

  THE INTERESTED ONE: I don’t need to fear your running off. I still have to rush here and there.

  BOTH: Do we please you?

  THE OBSERVER: I won’t say yes or no. You can guess.

  BOTH: Do you think we have time for that? It’s unseemly for us to care for something. We’re objects of art that don’t exist for those who can’t summon for us any understanding. You understand us.

  THE PORCELAIN-FIGURE ENTHUSIAST: So for me you’re alive.

  (1925)

  LUDWIG

  A Review

  AH, IF I could give this book to everyone to read!

  In it a boy was sitting in an armchair, his face buried in his hands.

  His name was Ludwig, and the others claimed he was lost. However he never believed that!

  “How awful!” resounded frightfully around him. He was put in bed, apparently he was sick, but it seemed that the others were sicker than he, since they were talking pure nonsense.

  What did Ludwig do? What a question! He did nothing but sigh. Who brought this on him? Those who fancied themselves very wise. And what had their efforts achieved? Nothing, other than making him say to them, “Don’t turn me into what I’m not.”

  They, however, did not cease weeping over him. Restrained behavior is so boring! They would have bewailed Ludwig to death, if he hadn’t properly believed in himself. He lay there quiet as a child and let them have their way.

  A Mr. Batschano was there who pursued nothing special and in his beguiling chitchat was, to the dot, the same as the others. “What do you want with me?” our Ludwig asked.

  Women approached him and sa
id, “Darling, you’ve already caused us great pain.”

  “If only I knew the cause,” responded the afflicted lad. In the bed he was as pretty as a picture and in his tender endurance resembled a young girl.

  I didn’t read the book to the end, as the conversation always revolved around one thing alone, innocence and terror. Where no reason for wailing exists, the right to be inconsolable ceases.

  They wanted Ludwig to drive himself mad, but he spent his happiest days as a patient.

  “May I get up soon?”

  “What are you thinking? Are you crazy?”

  So he kept to his bed, for he was very obedient. One after the other, aunts and sisters, brides and enticing beauties kissed him without restraint. In his place I would have tolerated this as well.

  Edith would not leave his bedside. “You sinner,” she whispered. That’s not in the book; it’s penned by me. What a curious source I’m drawing from here! Oh, how I long to be hugged!

  (1925)

  IT’S ALL RIGHT, MISS

  THESE words were uttered by a gentleman next to whom I was sitting, who deemed himself polite. This was in a restaurant; in regard to fine clothing, the gentleman lacked nothing. He was a very nice, intelligent gentleman. The above expression, which he addressed to a young lady who had a little mishap, contained a kind of politeness and at the same time a kind of discourteousness. The young lady, you see, had tipped over a hat-and-coat stand while leaving her seat. The gentleman, who had, in a way, been keeping her company at dinner, attempted to calm, to console, to mentally and psychically cheer her up. So far that was nice of him. Of course she was a little embarrassed. Surely others would have been, too, in her situation. Her startled face was completely red. Thus it was very nice of the gentleman to spring to her aid with the expression that makes up the title of this sketch. But he could have been more helpful than just dropping kind and patronizing words of comfort; he could have risen and helped her with the practical matter of gathering up the coats and hats. A genuine helpfulness she would have preferred to a merely verbal one. In his politeness, therefore, there was a good deal of indolence. But indolence in respect to a young lady’s distress is impolite. At least he could have easily picked up one or two hats. That wouldn’t have hurt him, and also not her; on the contrary, it would have benefited her because it would have made her happy. When we evoke even the tiniest bit of joy we do our fellow man a kind of favor. Perhaps it was wise that he didn’t gladly assist the embarrassed one. He obeyed the demands of a very refined reserve.

  I know someone who would have hied himself to her like a lightning bolt to exhibit his zealousness. For him this little bit of bending down would have been a delight.

  Thus one can be polite and at the same time impolite.

  (1926)

  Translated with Annette Wiesner

  ESSAY ON BISMARCK

  FOR SUCH a nonentity as me, it takes courage to write about a man as stupendous as Bismarck.

  Though well-behaved, he waged wars, and despite the wars he apparently instigated and advocated, he was a most accommodating husband.

  Having grown up on a knight’s estate, he conducted himself, perhaps not always but for the most part, chivalrously. Toward ladies his behavior was remarkably gallant.

  His master, who held the position of king, he served honestly. In that he was of service to him, he also helped his people. May I point out that Bismarck’s nature was a simple one? Indeed, one can be simple and at the same time very smart, and honesty can combine with cleverness. The devoted aren’t always unwise, nor the good inept.

  Bismarck gained fame through his realism. Still, he, too, perhaps, possessed a romantic vein, in the evenings possibly enjoying reading poetry by lamplight.

  All in all, he had a fiery temperament; he possessed what we call inspiration, he was original and seemed more convinced about the problematic nature of all earthly things than about himself.

  He was endowed with an exceptionally healthy mind, whereby he achieved that which, from time to time, may have wrested a smile from his friends’ lips and from his opponents an abundance of disapproval.

  Because he was well-read, one could discourse with him in the most diverse fashion. Even if, while with others, he didn’t manage an engaging smile every second, nonetheless it appears he wasn’t always frowning.

  As for his achievements, it’s hardly necessary for me to remark upon them prolixly. One knows them well enough, but I permit myself to stress that I do not credit his iron will alone for all that he so splendidly achieved, because I do not doubt that his endeavors were often simply graced by so-called luck, by which, of course, in no way do I belittle his reputation.

  Surely Bismarck himself often didn’t know how cleverly he acted. And with this I have reached the point where it seems fitting to say he was a kind of artist, that is, an actor, as circumspect as he was brave.

  From his fellow countrymen he demanded devotion. During his entire career he advocated frugality, that is, preservation of strength, and practical consideration. He will have known the golden ruthlessness, so to speak, yet he didn’t think it desirable to see the dissemination of such maxims when they can never be applied by everyone.

  An amusing thing about him is that he had a predilection for reading a certain poet prone to satire. He liked to wear wide-brimmed hats and let himself be accompanied on walks by a Great Dane he treated with the kind of attention one gives to things not understood, which certainly to us are always more intriguing than inferior.

  If I’m not mistaken, Bismarck’s genius consisted, as with many other great men, of piety. Perhaps you’ll smile at these remarks, but that’s exactly why I wrote them, as in general I believe my best lines to be those that cause the reader to believe himself superior to the author.

  (1926)

  Translated with Annette Wiesner

  ANECDOTE

  RALPH was an exemplar of laziness. Perhaps it would be more refined if we adhered to the expression indolence. However, we’re of the opinion—and will not deviate from it—that there’s something comical in the word lazy, and we want to compose a story here that’s funny, not serious, much less sad.

  Reproaches had no effect on Ralph; he comported himself unbelievably quietly and calmly, that’s to say, lazily. His face remained always the same deadpan, since essentially he was much too lackadaisical to put agitation—that means rage—on his visage.

  This face drove you crazy.

  He was an acknowledged jumper, runner, dancer, or gymnast. His laziness, however, didn’t allow him to make use of his corporeal gifts. His steps bore the stamp of an almost repellent leisureliness. One suffered an attack of precipitateness when witnessing by chance his dilatoriness.

  For what high, exalted purpose was Ralph actually saving himself?

  He was a born laugher, but much too lethargic, too cold-blooded, and consequently, once again, too lazy to express any joy. Didn’t he sometimes almost resemble a superannuated, fagged-out cab horse? London perhaps would have been the appropriate whereabouts for a character like the one he appeared to be.

  It always seemed to us necessary to push him, in other words constantly to be cheering him on.

  Once the obstinacy of a girl, concerning whom he convinced himself he was in love with, made him unhappy. But do you think he could have been induced to show some sign of this? Not in the least! Obviously he was too lazy to display any feelings from which could be inferred he felt unsettled. No one noticed the disadvantageousness of which he availed himself.

  From time to time Ralph suffered from drowsiness, which came over him from the unpleasant sensation that he was bored. But no one ever saw him yawn, which was simply because he was too lazy to display even this little proof of his laziness.

  Thus he was definitely too lazy for either joy or sorrow. Was there ever a greater slacker?

  Since it seemed to him to get married would entail too much effort, he remained single.

  I must abscond from this ane
cdote, else it infect me.

  (1926)

  THE NOBEL PRIZE

  TODAY, thank God, I’m back in the pink again, which I definitely deserve because I’m a nice person. How was it for me yesterday? I was emotionally ill. Full of thoughts, I ran about vehemently and at the same time galled. And why was that? I believed my colleague Hopeful had won the Nobel Prize in Literature. A notice in the paper had fooled me. How gullible I am! I took my countryman High-hope for the happiest person and myself in consequence for the unhappiest. I imagined all the pretty girls had already composed the most talented satirical poems about me. Yet nevertheless, with what strength, what grandeur I conducted myself! With what composure I strode forth. I can barely describe it. In any case I’m satisfied with myself. I had received an apparently hard blow, but inwardly I did not refuse, not even for a minute, to accept the perfidy of fate. This morning I checked and learned that Persistence, not Hopeful, had received the Nobel Prize. Persistence is someone whom I do not begrudge the honor. The sensations one has. Regarding my dear compatriot Hopejoy, I can calm myself. This pleases me, and since I’m full of joy, I can allow myself to be seen again. Yesterday I thought I had become impossible to my countrymen. Thankfully this unpleasant notion had to retreat. My friend Hopeful is at work. I want to be as well. I can now. I’m capable of this anew. To the same extent that Persistence was crowned with the Nobel Prize, I am crowned with the most cheerful serenity. Yesterday I was like a snapped-off plant, while today I’m a sturdy tree. What illusions can do to us! Brain power, you’re weird! Now that this Nobel Prize business no longer weighs on me, how noble I seem. Yes, the world is gay and serious.

  (1926)

  THE CAROUSEL