The Activity of a Traveling Esthetician and How he Still Happened to Pay for the Dinner
[XIII 422] THE ACTIVITY OF A TRAVELING ESTHETICIAN AND HOW HE STILL HAPPENED TO PAY FOR THE DINNER93
Although New Year’s Day callers are extending more and more the time for their courtesy calls, which properly were limited to New Year’s Day, these calls still are more or less limited to a period of eight days. It is quite otherwise with our enterprising and venturesome man of letters, Mr. P. L. Møller, playing the role of the New Year’s well-wisher. Long in advance, he begins going around paying courtesy calls and gathering charitable donations to his splendid New Year’s gift (Gæa); yes, he even travels out in the country. If he does not collect anything or just a little, or if the paucity of copious and weighty contributions by the renowned indicates that his New Year’s gift is lacking in plenitude, he fills it out with conversations he has had in his travels out in the country. Basically, it is a very economical way to travel, one that never occurred to me, having always regarded traveling as very expensive, and perhaps one that would not occur to many others besides Mr. P. L. Møller, for, after all, thriftiness, too, can be carried too far. One takes a trip to Sorø, as Mr. P.L.M. did (according to Gæa 1846), visits Prof. Hauch,94 is received by the distinguished poet with Danish hospitality. One helps [XIII 423] oneself to the dishes served, and although very stingy people generally pinch a little food, a piece of meat in the pocket and some cake in the hat, Mr. P.L.M. is so voracious that he takes along the whole conversation and has it printed—thus it is paid for, yes, more than paid for, and since the repast did not cost anything, it is clear profit. If Trop95 had known about this way of traveling, he would not have suffered so much from want, for even if he had been given the brushoff in the famous man’s waiting room, he still could have made a little by having the famous man’s words printed. No sponging traveling salesman can travel so lucratively, for he can take away only the orders; yes, no gluttonous tithe collector can do it more advantageously—Mr. P.L.M. has the advantage that not a word is wasted: it all comes out in the New Year’s gift.
In the conversation our traveling esthetician had down there, my writing96 also became a subject for discussion. In that way, I, too, contributed my bit to the New Year’s gift by providing him the occasion for some effusions after dinner. Let him have it. After all, my contribution is very figurative, for, since everything he says is not only a confusion (a rephrasing of the difficulty of the task, which the book itself far more strongly emphasized, into an objection to the way the task was dealt with)* but even abounds in factual untruths on [XIII 424] the most crucial points, I actually am unable to say that it is my book he is talking about, except insofar as he mentions its title and in fulfillment reminds me of its prophetic motto: “Solche Wercke sind Spiegel; wenn ein Affe hineinguckt, kann kein Apostel heraussehen” [Such works are mirrors: when an ape looks in, no apostle can look out] (Lichtenberg).99
If there is anything distasteful in Mr. P. L. Møller’s enterprise, it is more the affront to a poet like Prof. Hauch and his private life. The fact that the scene takes place in the house of [XIII 425] Prof. Hauch and he takes part in the conversation naturally gives this interest. But it still seems somewhat offensive to make recompense in this way for—yes, for what?—for being received with hospitality by a famous man. Fortunately, there is in it not one single comment from Prof. Hauch100 about my writing, which pleases me just as much for the professor’s sake as for my own. Be it positive or negative, a comment from him always carries weight, as does every legitimate authority’s. It must and ought not be weakened and rendered dubious by ambiguity so that one cannot know which is which, because Prof. Hauch may well have said it but did not say it in Gæa, and P. L. Møller probably said it but yet did not say it, since in Gæa he said only that Prof. Hauch had said it in his living room. What a twisted misrelation between the judgment of an authority and this irresponsibility!
Now, however, everything is in order. I certainly have no objection to make, either against Mr. P.L.M.’s actually having said that, for, after all, he himself must know that best, or against the comment being his actual opinion, about which I am not one bit curious. If the defense is that what Mr. P.L.M. really meant and was talking about was a work dealing with the double-dialectic of religiousness on the edge of a transitional crisis, then I shall be always satisfied. A retraction of his opinion could not have as much significance to me as a solemn assurance that he really has an especially negative opinion.
The conversation about my writing is carried on between Mr. P.L.M. and, curiously enough, “a reasonable man.” It really cannot be called a conversation but rather two lectures. One could almost suppose that Mr. P.L.M. had prepared the discourse he intended to deliver, for in a conversation it is somewhat stiff and formal to talk three pages running.102 If this is assumed, then his journey is to be considered less remunerative. Perhaps he himself considers it a sacrifice to have traveled down to Sorø and competed esthetically with “a reasonable man” “after dinner” in Prof. Hauch’s house. Perhaps he regards his speech as a remuneration, something that would have been more obvious had it come a bit earlier, namely, if Mr. P.L.M. had undertaken to read it as an expression of thanks at the table. But it always pays somehow. Let us assume that a man of no importance whatsoever had the honor of speaking with the emperor of Russia. God knows that what he said was something foolish, yet it inevitably acquires [XIII 426] a certain interest by having been said during an audience at the emperor’s palace. It is the same with Mr. P.L.M.’s speech. Its interest is due simply and solely to Prof. Hauch’s house. If Mr. P.L.M. had delivered the same speech in the stagecoach to the driver, it would not have been at all interesting. The interest lies in the place; what is interesting is the contrast between the importance of the place and the unimportance of the speech. If delivered to the coachmen, consequently at the right place, the interest and the interesting disappear. As Mr. P.L.M.’s actual opinion, it is his actual opinion—and nothing more. “The reasonable man” is not much help, and, curiously enough, his speech ends with the words “At least this is how it seems to me,” which seems to be very strange coming from the mouth of “a reasonable man.” That is, it is not strange when, for example, Mr. Petersen, a reasonable man, says something like that, but when one is nothing but a purely abstract “reasonable man,” a reasonable man between quotation marks, it is difficult to fit it in, it seems to me, since this phrase assumably affirms individual idiosyncrasy.
Thus the affair is altogether unimportant, unpleasant only for Prof. Hauch, because in an unseemly way a distinguished man is placed in an unworthy setting. But for me it has almost an advantageous side, as I shall bring out, because I do not believe it too dialectical to be read easily on one page. When an imaginative constructor, who, as a rule, thank God, feels very [XIII 427] well,* lives in an age when all have doubted everything, overcome doubt,103 made their way through reflection, found mediation,104 left religion behind as surmounted presumably by leaving out its terrors, he pricks up his ears and thinks there must be trouble in the wind. And what does he do then? Well, he keeps himself healthy, cheerful; he eats, drinks, rides, travels, is a friend of jest and gaiety, for otherwise he would be unsuited for imaginative constructing. Collaterally, he writes an imaginary construction similar to the one I have just written, in which he taxes his reflection a bit. He does not care for reviews and understands this quite literally, just as he says in the book,105 for this must mean literally that reviews are supposed to help him to understand his own imaginary construction. But, on the other hand, he may psychologically welcome remarks, not just for the sake of comment itself but for the opportunity it gives him to get a little insight into whether he has wronged men by not believing that they actually [XIII 428] have made their way through reflection, for if they have, then such an exertion in reflecting will be as simple as bread and butter, or it is as he supposes. Now Mr. P. L. Møller offers his comments. But an imaginative constructor is a calm and imperturbable man. However pleased he is over a possibly desired outcome, he looks first of all to the state of the one who is to divulge something by his comments—lest the significance of the imaginary construction be weakened. Now as to Mr. P. L. Møller—he is found to be in good physical condition, he has traveled by stagecoach down to Sorø, is refreshed and invigorated by the country air. To go on—might he be hungry and starving, on the verge of fainting? No, he has eaten well at Prof. Hauch’s. Well, then, everything is fine. But might he have eaten too much? No, after all, he had to be alert to the conversation so that he could print it. Thus it was to his own interest as a guest not to eat too much or overload his stomach this time. So, then, everything is as it should be. What happens? The very thought of the book (he does not have it in his hands; it is down in Sorø), the very thought of the book, or perhaps even the thought of having had the book in his hands, makes him nervous. He feels sick, and in his distraught state he says something he himself almost fears “is saying too much.”112 By no means, Mr. P. L. Møller. All these are completely normal phenomena; the only abnormality is that the patient does not speak in the name of all humanity. To proceed, there are in fact circumstances present that could help the sufferer to persevere. He is in the company of others, it is after dinner, when anyone else, even a circumspect imaginative constructor who knows for sure and knows the reason why Mr. P.L.M. cannot be assumed to have eaten too much, could easily explain the belch some other way. But, no, he feels sick. The imaginative constructor’s report would put it this way: This man has not made his way [XIII 429] through reflection; if he nevertheless were to give the appearance of it and boast about mediation, I would know it.
If only Mr. P. L. Møller had been a somewhat more significant person and it really was certain that he had read the book, I would have turned the phenomena to account and argued on that basis.
An author with an awareness of the dialectical difficulty and strenuousness of his task expects, of course, very few readers and wants it that way as well, although he does not pretentiously and wantonly express it in a preface but acknowledges it in his own being and therefore even uses his own I, not exactly à la Andersen,113 but rather a little Socratically, in order teasingly to thrust people away. He is contented with a few readers, with one; he is contented with fewer, for he is contented to be an author, enchanted by the contradiction of the infinite: to be contented with the divine pleasure of thinking. Existential dialectic, especially in the form of double-reflection,114 cannot be communicated directly. If it so pleased me to declare everything I wrote to be nonsense, the person who is to be my reader must be able to let himself not be disturbed by it but see to it that he reproduces the dialectical movements himself. He must not be disturbed, either, if it pleased the whole world to declare it to be nonsense, no more than I would be; he must make that decision for himself. For this reason, that sort of author cannot object if a garrulous dinner guest prints his speech and thereby possibly contributes to repelling readers. Far from it—on the contrary, it is good. This is why I have not replied to him, either.
The person whose head can take the dialectical exertion can easily remain calm and undisturbed. In connection with a book that by reason of its dialectical character generally can have but few readers, a garrulous fellow always has an advantage when the matter is to be taken to the public at large, that [XIII 430] is, if something that is an advantage only as a falsehood can truly be called an advantage. One learns much from Holberg.115 One learns, for example, that the defect in Erasmus Montanus is not really a lack of capability but a lack of self-control to keep him from talking with Per Degn and from himself giving onlookers the impression that these two are discussing together learned and extraordinary matters that can concern only an Erasmus Montanus. You see, I refuse to give the impression that I am discussing the imaginary construction and its dialectic with Mr. P. L. Møller. No, we two talk about utterly different matters, about the trip to Sorø, the stagecoach, the driver, the meals and the drinks, the pack-asses,116 and other such popular subjects that do not exceed Mr. P. L. Møller’s powers of comprehension. The real reader of the imaginary construction will readily discover that what I have written here is of a different nature and can be read right away by anyone. Therefore, I am not insulting any newspaper reader by leading him into inquiries that cannot interest him and that cannot be dealt with in a newspaper. An interpretation of Mr. P. L. Møller’s journey to Sorø should not be dialectically difficult; neither should one ponder too profoundly, for that is the very way to a misunderstanding. But however much I find the joy of infinity in the occupation of thought and know that my joy is due to my being contented with it, even if no one shares my joy, I still have not given up psychological familiarity with actual people. Such an actual person is Mr. P. L. Møller. But obtrusive as he is and known to many, I thought that a little interpretation like this would not be wholly devoid of interest to readers of a newspaper. I really believed, too, that I would be doing some people a service117 thereby, but I do not insist that this service be appreciated, least of all by someone who for that reason would read a little in my book or buy a copy. For what I said in my note to the reader (p. 309),118 “One does not buy admission to these performances for a lump sum,” I repeat here without danger. After all, why should he be angry who has found his desire for the infinite satisfied, found what will occupy him day and night, even if it pleased God to increase the length of the day another 12 hours! He who is captivated by what captivates him eternally, even though he has much left to gain, is not disturbed, and I repeat unaltered the words of farewell [XIII 431] (p. 77):119 “Satisfied with the lesser, hoping that possibly sometime the greater will be granted me, I am happy in existence, happy in the little world that surrounds me.” When I wrote that, I knew very well that there are such as Mr. P. L. Møller and The Corsair, and, indeed, I knew very well what I wrote. Such persons are not part of my environment, and no matter how obtrusive and rude they are, it makes no difference; this does not disturb my joy over the little world that constitutes my surroundings. On the contrary, the obtrusiveness helps me to enjoy my surroundings more deeply.
Would that I might only get into The Corsair soon. It is really hard for a poor author to be so singled out in Danish literature that he (assuming that we pseudonyms are one) is the only one who is not abused there. My superior, Hilarius Bookbinder, has been flattered in The Corsair,120 if I am not mistaken; Victor Eremita has even had to experience the disgrace of being immortalized121—in The Corsair! And yet, I have already been there, for ubi spiritus, ibi ecclesia [where the spirit is, there is the Church]: ubi P. L. Møller, ibi The Corsair.122 Therefore our vagabond quite properly ends his “Visit to Sorø” with one of those loathesome Corsair attacks on peaceable, respectable men,123 each of whom in honest obscurity does his work in the service of the state, on men of distinction who have made themselves worthy in much and ridiculous in nothing, for as public figures authors have to put up with a great deal, including the imputation of a relation to people who by having something printed are also authors.
FRATER TACITURNUS
Chief of Part Three of
Stages on Life’s Way