The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Iv Part 8

With the greatest indignation I then thought of the bad men who would abolish sleep. They have probably never slept, and likewise never lived. Why are G.o.ds G.o.ds, except because they deliberately do nothing; because they understand that art and are masters of it? And how the poets, the sages and the saints strive to be like the G.o.ds, in that respect as in others! How they vie with one another in praise of solitude, of leisure, of liberal freedom from care and of inactivity!

And they are right in doing so; for everything that is good and beautiful in life is already there and maintains itself by its own strength. Why then this vague striving and pus.h.i.+ng forward without rest or goal? Can this storm and stress give form and nouris.h.i.+ng juice to the everliving plant of humankind, that grows and fas.h.i.+ons itself in quiet? This empty, restless activity is only a bad habit of the north and brings nothing but ennui for oneself and for others. And with what does it begin and end except with antipathy to the world in general, which is now such a common feeling? Inexperienced vanity does not suspect that it indicates only lack of reason and sense, but regards it as a high-minded discontent with the universal ugliness of the world and of life, of which it really has not yet the slightest presentiment. It could not be otherwise; for industry and utility are the death-angels which, with fiery swords, prevent the return of man into Paradise. Only when composed and at ease in the holy calm of true pa.s.sivity can one think over his entire being and get a view of life and the world.

How is it that we think and compose at all, except by surrendering ourselves completely to the influence of some genius? Speaking and fas.h.i.+oning are after all only incidentals in all arts and sciences; thinking and imagining are the essentials, and they are only possible in a pa.s.sive state. To be sure it is intentional, arbitrary, one-sided, but still a pa.s.sive state. The more beautiful the climate we live in, the more pa.s.sive we are. Only the Italians know what it is to walk, and only the Orientals to recline. And where do we find the human spirit more delicately and sweetly developed than in India?

Everywhere it is the privilege of being idle that distinguishes the n.o.ble from the common; it is the true principle of n.o.bility. Finally, where is the greater and more lasting enjoyment, the greater power and will to enjoy? Among women, whose nature we call pa.s.sive, or among men, in whom the transition from sudden wrath to ennui is quicker than that from good to evil?

Satisfied with the enjoyment of my existence, I proposed to raise myself above all its finite, and therefore contemptible, aims and objects. Nature itself seemed to confirm me in this undertaking, and, as it were, to exhort me in many-voiced choral songs to further idleness. And now suddenly a new vision presented itself. I imagined myself invisible in a theatre. On one side I saw all the well-known boards, lights and painted scenery; on the other a vast throng of spectators, a veritable ocean of curious faces and sympathetic eyes.

In the foreground, on the right, was Prometheus, in the act of fas.h.i.+oning men. He was bound by a long chain and was working very fast and very hard. Beside him stood several monstrous fellows who were constantly whipping and goading him on. There was also an abundance of glue and other materials about, and he was getting fire out of a large coal-pan. On the other side was a figure of the deified Hercules, with Hebe in his lap. On the stage in the foreground a crowd of youthful forms were laughing and running about, all of whom were very happy and did not merely seem to live. The youngest looked like amorettes, the older ones like images of women. But each one of them had his own peculiar manner and a striking originality of expression; and they all bore a certain resemblance to the Christian painters' and poets' idea of the devil--one might have called them little Satans. One of the smallest said:

"He who does not despise, cannot respect; one can only do either boundlessly, and good tone consists only in playing with men. And so is not a certain amount of malice an essential part of harmonious culture?"

"Nothing is more absurd," said another, "than when the moralists reproach you about your egoism. They are altogether wrong; for what G.o.d, who is not his own G.o.d, can deserve respect from man? You are, to be sure, mistaken in thinking that you have an ego; but if, in the meantime, you identify it with your body, your name and your property, you thereby at least make ready a place for it, in case by any chance an ego should come."

"And this Prometheus you can all hold in deep reverence," said one of the tallest. "He has made you all and is constantly making more like you."

And in fact just as soon as each new man was finished, the devils put him down with all the rest who were looking on, and immediately it was impossible to distinguish him from the others, so much alike were they all.

"The mistake he makes is in his method," continued the Sataniscus.

"How can one want to do nothing but fas.h.i.+on men? Those are not the right tools he has."

And thereat he pointed to a rough figure of the G.o.d of the Gardens, which stood in the back part of the stage between an Amor and a very beautiful naked Venus.

"In regard to that our friend Hercules had better views, who could occupy fifty maidens in a single night for the welfare of humanity, and all of them heroic maids too. He did those labors of his, too, and slew many a furious monster. But the goal of his career was always a n.o.ble leisure, and for that reason he has gained entrance to Olympus.

Not so, however, with this Prometheus, the inventor of education and enlightenment. To him you owe it that you can never be quiet and are always on the move. Hence it is also, when you have absolutely nothing to do, that you foolishly aspire to develop character and observe and study one another. It is a vile business. But Prometheus, for having misled man to toil, now has to toil himself, whether he wants to or not. He will soon get very tired of it, and never again will he be freed from his chains."

When the spectators heard this, they broke out into tears and jumped upon the stage to a.s.sure their father of their heartfelt sympathy. And thus the allegorical comedy vanished.

CONSTANCY AND PLAY

"Of course you are alone, Lucinda?"

"I do not know--perhaps--I think--"

"Please! please! dear Lucinda. You know very well that when little Wilhelmina says 'please! please!' and you do not do at once what she wants, she cries louder and louder until she gets her way."

"So it was to tell me that that you rushed into my room so out of breath and frightened me so?"

"Do not be angry with me, sweet lady, I beg of you! Oh, my child!

Lovely creature! Be a good girl and do not reproach me!"

"Well, I suppose you will soon be asking me to close the door?"

"So? I will answer that directly. But first a nice long kiss, and then another, and then some more, and after that more still."

"Oh! You must not kiss me that way--if you want me to keep my senses!

It makes one think bad thoughts."

"You deserve to. Are you really capable of laughing, my peevish lady?

Who would have thought so? But I know very well you laugh only because you can laugh at me. You do not do it from pleasure. For who ever looked so solemn as you did just now--like a Roman senator? And you might have looked ravis.h.i.+ng, dear child, with those holy dark eyes, and your long black hair s.h.i.+ning in the evening sunlight--if you had not sat there like a judge on the bench. Heavens! I actually started back when I saw how you were looking at me. A little more and I should have forgotten the most important thing, and I am all confused. But why do you not talk? Am I disagreeable to you?"

"Well, that _is_ funny, you surly Julius. As if you ever let any one say anything! Your tenderness flows today like a spring shower."

"Like your talk in the night."

"Oh sir, let my neckcloth be."

"Let it be? Not a bit of it! What is the use of a miserable, stupid neckcloth? Prejudice! Away with it!"

"If only no one disturbs us!"

"There she goes again, looking as if she wanted to cry! You are well, are you not? What makes your heart beat so? Come, let me kiss it! Oh, yes, you spoke a moment ago about closing the door. Very well, but not that way, not here. Come, let us run down through the garden to the summer-house, where the flowers are. Come! Oh, do not make me wait so!"

"As you wish, sir."

"I cannot understand--you are so odd today."

"Now, my dear friend, if you are going to begin moralizing, we might just as well go back again. I prefer to give you just one more kiss and run on ahead of you."

"Oh, not so fast, Lucinda! My moralizing will not overtake you. You will fall, love!"

"I did not wish to make you wait any longer. Now we are here. And you came pretty fast yourself."

"And you are very obedient! But this is no time to quarrel."

"Be still! Be still!"

"See! Here is a soft, cosy place, with everything as it should be.

This time, if you do not--well, there will be no excuse for you."

"Will you not at least lower the curtain first?"

"You are right. The light will be much more charming so. How beautiful your skin s.h.i.+nes in the red light! Why are you so cold, Lucinda?"

"Dearest, put the hyacinths further away, their odor sickens me."

"How solid and firm, how soft and smooth! That is harmonious development."

"Oh no, Julius! Please don't! I beg of you! I will not allow it!"

"May I not feel * * *. Oh, let me listen to the beating of your heart!

Let me cool my lips in the snow of your bosom! Do not push me away! I will have my revenge! Hold me tighter! Kiss upon kiss! No, not a lot of short ones! One everlasting one! Take my whole soul and give me yours! Oh, beautiful and glorious Together! Are we not children? Tell me! How could you be so cold and indifferent at first, and then afterward draw me closer to you, making a face the while as if something were hurting you, as if you were reluctant to return my ardor? What is the matter? Are you crying? Do not hide your face!

Look at me, dearest!"

"Oh, let me lie here beside you--I cannot look into your eyes. It was very naughty of me, Julius! Can you ever forgive me, darling? You will not desert me, will you? Can you still love me?"

"Come to me, sweet lady--here, close to my heart. Do you remember how nice it was, not long ago, when you cried in my arms, and how it relieved you? Tell me what the matter is now. You are not angry with me?"

"I am angry with myself. I could beat myself! To be sure, it would have served you right. And if ever again, sir, you conduct yourself so like a husband, I shall take better care that you find me like a wife.

You may be a.s.sured of that. I cannot help laughing, it took me so by surprise. But do not imagine, sir, that you are so terribly lovable--this time it was by my own will that I broke my resolution."