The situation is no less comic than the preceding one. Der- viére is very nervous, and yet he himself has been the occasion of it all and has helped Rinville over the difficulty of passing himself off as Charles to Emmeline. The situation also forms a parody of the preceding one; the uncle could not recognize him right away, but she can. She accounts for it by a strange feeling that she nevertheless cannot define, but it was as if a voice whispered to her: There he is. (This voice is undoubt- edly her father’s voice,>” which betrayed everything.) She ex- The First Love 267 The First Love 267 plains it by sympathetic feelings that she can explain not to her father but presumably to Aunt Judith. Who, now, is the more sagacious: Derviére, who did not recognize him, who had no inkling but who now recognizes him, or Emmeline, who rec- ognized him immediately? The longer one watches it, the more ludicrous it becomes. Here again the lines help the spec- tator to become absorbed in the ludicrousness of the situation. After Emmeline says that she had such a strange feeling, Der- viére follows with: “I for my part did not have the faintest ink- ling, and if he had not come right out with it and told me his name...”°! Such a line is worth its weight in gold. It is so natural and simple, and yet perhaps not one playwright in ten would have the presence of mind and enough of an eye for the situation to have it appear. An ordinary playwright would have had all the attention center on Emmeline; indeed, in the previous scene he would have ended with the recognition be- tween Derviére and Charles. He would not have produced this interaction, and yet this contributes to making the situation so witty. It is comic that Emmeline immediately recognizes Charles in Rinville, but Derviére’s presence helps make the sit- uation ironic. He stands there like an idiot who cannot com- prehend a thing. And yet, which is easier to explain, that Emmeline had an inkling of it or that Derviére did not?
Now comes the recognition scene, one of the most felicitous situations imaginable. But the comic is by no means in Emme- line’s mistaking Rinville for Charles. After all, mistaken iden- tities have been seen often enough on the stage. A mistaken identity depends on an actual resemblance, whether the indi- vidual is unaware of it or has himself brought it about. If that were the case here, then Rinville, after having passed the test, would have to have some idea of what Charles looked like, for Charles, after all, would have to look somewhat like himself. But this is by no means the case; any such conclusion would be inane. The comic, then, is in Emmeline’s recognizing in Rin- ville someone she does not know. The comic is not in her rec- ognizing Rinville but in the indication thereby that she does not know Charles. As it went with Rinville, so it would have gone with any male under the same circumstances—she would 239 268 Either/Or, I also have taken him for Charles. So, then, she mistakes Rin- ville for someone she does not know, and this is undeniably a very comical kind of mistaken identity. Therefore, the situa- tion has a high degree of probability that one would think very difficult to achieve. Then Rinville is also a laughingstock, in- asmuch as he believes he has advanced one step further. That is, Emmeline’s Charles is an “x,” a desideratur [something wanted], and here one clearly sees what otherwise happens in secret, how such a little miss acts in forming an ideal for her- self. And yet she has loved Charles for eight years and will never love anyone else.
If one comes upon a very rare line that seems a little incor- rect artistically, Scribe makes up for it with a witticism, for ex- ample, Rinville’s line ““God be praised, I was afraid I had gone further than I wanted to.””>?
So Emmeline recognizes Charles, or, more accurately, she discovers him. Whereas Rinville does not, as one would rather have expected, come to find out what Charles looks like, Emmeline does, and this is very deftly designed, since she did not know it in advance. The situation is so lunatic that it is doubtful whether one should say it is Rinville who deceives Emmeline or Emmeline who deceives Rinville, for indeed he is deceived in a way, inasmuch as he thought there actually was a Charles. But amid all this the point, and it is inexhaus- tible, is that the scene is a recognition scene. The situation is just as lunatic as would be the comment from a man who had never seen his own image and then saw it in a mirror for the first time: I recognize myself right away.
Emmeline and the supposed Charles have come to the point in the recognition scene where they were interrupted by Charles’s departure; then the uncle interrupts them once more by his presence. From Mr. Zacharias, he has learned some- thing about Charles that is not especially pleasant. This now recoils upon Rinville. The situation is essentially the same as before, but we shall see what the poet has gained. Charles’s ex- ploits are of such a kind that if they were told bluntly they would interfere with the total impact of the play. It is a matter of giving them a certain light touch so that they do not have The First Love 269 The First Love 269 too earnest an effect. The poet has achieved this in two ways. The first information we obtain about Charles’s life is in scene nine. Here it recoils upon Rinville, who is passing himself off as Charles. The spectator’s attention is led away from the de- tails in the narrative to the mistaken identity; instead of think- ing about the specific episodes, one thinks only of stupid antics in general and of Rinville’s embarrassment and the comic sit- uation in his being asked for more detailed information. Com- plete information comes from Charles’s own mouth in scene sixteen, but one does not forget that Charles is passing himself off as Rinville. What would become far too earnest or too brash if Charles were telling it in his own person now comes to have a comic, almost hilarious, touch by his telling it in the person of Rinville, using his incognito to make it as fantastic as possible. If he told the story of his life in his own person, he would be required to have an awareness of it, and it would be regarded as exceedingly immoral if he did not have it. But now that he is telling everything in the person of someone else, indeed, in order to disturb Emmeline, we find the fantastic tinge of his narrative poetically correct in a double sense.
So Derviére has obtained information that the supposed Charles is unable to rectify or complete. Then Emmeline dis- covers ‘“‘that he is no longer the same.’’? This is somewhat precipitous after she had been absolutely positive that he is completely the same old Charles. Here Emmeline is really in her element; whatever she says is all sheer prattle. The remark itself deserves closer scrutiny, because it provides the occasion for reveling all the more in the situation, which in all its ludi- crousness is illuminated from a new angle. Just the sound of the words ‘‘the same”’ has the effect of a new titillating ingre- dient in the madness of the situation. One laughs involuntarily because one involuntarily asks: The same as who? The same as the one he appeared to be in the testing scene. One thinks, then, of how deficient that test was. The same as who? As Charles, whom she did not know? Moreover, when I say of a person that he is the same or that he is not the same, I can mean this in either an outer or inner sense, with respect either to his exterior or to his inner being. One would assume that the lat- 241 242 270 Either/Or, I ter would be especially important to the lover. Now, how- ever, it is discovered that the test was not concerned with this at all, and yet he had been found to be the same. Quite by chance, Emmeline begins to wonder whether Charles has not changed with respect to his character, and now she discovers that he is not the same. The denial that he is the same morally also implies an affirmation that in all other respects he is the same. Yet Emmeline explains herself more explicitly. She looks for the change not in Charles’s having become a wastrel and maybe something even worse but in his no longer confid- ing everything to her as she was accustomed to having him do. This must be one of her ideas from novels, which most likely must be interpreted to mean that she was accustomed to prat- tle about everything to him, as in the recognition scene. That Charles made a habit of confiding everything to her, she knew not at all from experience but from novels, from which one learns that lovers ought to have no secrets from each other. She would not be upset if Charles were a runaway convict, if only her erotic curiosity were satisfied by his confiding it to her. The attempt Emmeline makes to convince herself of Charles’s identity through an observation of his character must then be regarded as prattle, which in part illuminates her whole being, in part all the rest of her prattle. Therefore, she abandons this line of thought and obtains far more positive evidence that he is not the same the very moment she discovers that he does not have the ring. Now she needs no further testimony against him. She admits, therefore, that he could have done anything he wanted to, the wildest things, or, in other words, could have changed as much as he wanted to—he would still have re- mained the same—but that he does not have the ring testifies against him.** Emmeline is characterized by a singular kind of abstract thinking. But what she retains after and through all this abstraction is not so much Charles’s unalloyed nature as the ring. Emmeline is to be regarded as the jinni of the ring, who obeys the one “who has the ring in his hand.’’° Lapierre announces a new stranger. All are agreed that it must be Rinville. Emmeline is ordered to spruce herself up and bursts out, ““How tiresome. Must I go and dress up for the The First Love 271 sake of a strange man I already know in advance I can’t stand!” With this line the spectator is made aware in due time of the irony in one of the situations to follow. On the whole, Emmeline can flatter herself that she is irony’s darling. It fa- vors her everywhere and afterward makes fun of her. She wants the supposed Charles to be a handsome young man, and irony favors her; Derviére cannot see it, and he appears the fool; Emmeline comes off with flying colors, and yet she is the biggest fool. She wants the supposed Rinville to be a man she cannot stand, although her father informs her that he is sup- posed to be an excellent young man. Here again irony favors her, and yet in such a way that it makes a fool of her.
Scene eleven is a monologue by Rinville.*’ It might seem better to have omitted this monologue, since the effect is an in- terference in every way. Insofar as it was all right to leave Rin- ville in possession of the field of battle and be the first one to receive Charles, his monologue could have been shortened. Nor would it then have been without effect. In the words of the poet, the monologue could then say, “Bravo! It is going superbly! Quarreling with the father, quarreling with the daughter—I certainly have to admit that it is an auspicious plan.”’ This monologue would then contain a kind of objective reflection on the course of the play. If the poet considered it necessary to make the monologue a little longer in order to give Charles time to arrive, he could, after all, have Rinville make a little joke with himself about the fact that, in the long run, he perhaps would have been smarter to come in his own character, and about the drollery of thus being transmuted from badness to badness as new dispatches about Charles came in. Then it would have been best to have his deliberations be interrupted by Charles’s lines spoken in the wings. As Scribe ends the monologue, we feel too strongly that the monologue is now over and that a new person must come. If Rinville’s monologue were interrupted in this way, anew light would be thrown on Charles’s incredible haste, on the importunity that always marks his behavior, also on the breathless foolishness with which the poet has so incomparably stamped his first lines.58 243 244 272 Either/Or, I But this is less important. The main defect in this mono- logue is that Rinville’s proposed procedure turns out to be just talk, a merely feigned movement. Rinville explains that he is no longer playing the role of Charles in fun. As a matter of fact, it never was that; on the contrary, in the beginning he himself gave three solid reasons for his desire to bring about his marriage to Emmeline. Next he explains that he wants to prevent Emmeline from confusing him with Charles; he wants to convince himself that he is the one she loves and not the recollection of Charles. This is of the utmost importance for the whole play, because it is this that decides (as advanced previously) whether it is in the finite sense moralizing or in the infinite sense witty. His procedure, then, must aim at letting his own (to him distinctive) charm become visible through the person of Charles. But this does not happen, and if it had, the play would have been entirely different.
For Emmeline, everything revolves around the ring; when he shows up with it in scene fifteen,°? she restores him to favor, acknowledges him to be the same, etc. For the sake of the overall impact of the play, Rinville generally must in no way be interpreted as a poetic character, nor could this be demon- strated by the few sidelights that are given about him. He is a man who has arrived at the age of discretion, who has solid reasons for what he does. Now and then he appears in a comic light, because it turns out that his solid reasons and his sensi- bleness would help him very little in capturing such a romantic little gazelle as Miss Emmeline. Even if he were an absolutely charming man and dangerous for a young girl’s heart, he would have no power over Emmeline; she is invulnerable. The only way he can influence her is by coming in touch with her fixed idea, that is, by means of the ring. But since the main interest of the play would neutralize his actual charm, it is not right to accentuate his charm, something the poet has never done, either, except in this one monologue. In the scene where Rinville has the most to do with Emmeline, there can, of course, be no mention at all of any opportunity for him to manifest his personal charm. When a young miss has a liking for a man to the degree that Emmeline has for him and she by The First Love 273 The First Love 273 her own yielding continually provides him with every oppor- tunity to slip into her heart, Rinville would indeed have to be a total bungler if he could not come to her assistance. That this scene can be assumed to be designed for the purpose of show- ing Rinville’s charm is so far from the case that instead it seems to place him in a somewhat comic light. Rinville is obviously an intellectualist; in an earlier monologue he has been a bit pompous, has let the spectator and also his friends in Paris un- derstand that he is indeed the man to tame a little miss like this. He does in fact succeed, it is true; but if his friends in Paris could see how it happens, they would have no occasion to ad- mire his talents. His good sense tells him it is feasible to pass himself off as Charles. To that extent, he must be granted his due. Now it has happened; now he must manifest his charm. Now, one thinks, now he will have his hands full, and then it turns out that he has nothing at all to do. The fleet-footed Emmeline, hurrying back into childhood recollections, takes Mr. Rinville along, and any man who is not a complete clod would be able to emulate his masterstroke.
What has been advanced here about Rinville’s character is, in my opinion, of absolute importance for the whole play. In it there must not be a single character, not a single stage situa- tion, that could claim to survive the downfall that irony from the outset prepares for each and all in it. When the curtain falls, everything is forgotten, nothing but nothing remains, and that is the only thing one sees; and the only thing one hears is a laughter, like a sound of nature, that does not issue from any one person but is the language of a world force, and this force isirony. — Charles enters and meets Rinville. The fact that Charles, this schemer, arrives too late, not only in relation to Mr. Zacharias but above all in relation to the intrigue in the play, is the basis of the comic in the situation. His lines, here as everywhere, are masterly, simultaneously just as characteristic of him as they are adapted to the situation. Rinville advises Charles to pass himself off as Rinville. He has completely sketched the idea for it when Charles, who cannot possibly allow anyone else to teach him anything about mystification, interrupts him and 245 246 274 Either/Or, I gives the impression that he himself is the one who is contriv- ing the whole thing. Yet it promptly turns out that he is not a man who thinks of the slightest thing; he would also have overlooked the ring if Rinville had not called his attention to it. Rinville obtains the ring.
Charles introduces himself to the family as Mr. Rinville, and his reception is conditioned by that. Derviére finds him younger and handsomer than Charles; Emmeline finds him re- pulsive. Both opinions are equally untrustworthy, and one may very well presume to think that Emmeline has not even felt it worth the trouble to look at him but knows it on the ba- sis of an inspiration. So also with the father. Therefore, there is in the situation a profound mockery of Charles, who pre- sumably attributes this propitious reception to his cleverness and expects that everything will be successful if he only main- tains his incognito.
Now comes a monologue in which Emmeline consults her heart and learns that she will never forget Charles but will marry Rinville.
Rinville comes to take his leave and to deliver the ring. They are reconciled again. We are already acquainted with these sit- uations.
Now comes the most splendid situation in the whole play. It has an aura about it, a transfiguration; it has a festive for- mality of its own. One could almost wish to see Aunt Judith in the background as a spirit who gazes down at her two pu~ pils. Emmeline decides to confide in the supposed Rinville and to disclose everything. This situation completely exposes Emmeline and Charles. Emmeline’s faithfulness becomes ut- ter parody. Not for the whole world will she give him up; she will not be frightened by fire or water; Charles’s dilemma grows by leaps and bounds, since he wants to be rid of her. Such faithfulness is quite as it should be, for a little miss like Emmeline is usually most faithful when the beloved wishes to be rid of her.
Charles, who was positive that he was clever enough to res- cue himself from this whole mess, since he had learned that Mr. Zacharias had not divulged the worst,*! now becomes the The First Love 275 one who betrays everything. The opportunity is much too tempting. He can become the troubadour of his own life and hopes in this way to be rid of his cousin. It was pointed out earlier that the situation gains lightness because Charles’s ex- cesses take on a comic touch. One has a vivid idea of his irre- sponsibility and his intellectual confusion but does not become indignant, as one would if he told everything the same way in his own person, and yet one suspects that he probably would do these things. One suspects this, but one does not hear it. But Charles does not accomplish a thing; he pleases only him- self. Emmeline’s faithfulness knows no limits. Finally Charles confesses that he is married. The deftness with which the poet is able to present Emmeline ironically is unbelievable. She hears that he is married, and she becomes furious. Some spec- tators might think the reason for her being incensed with Charles was that she now had learned about all his bad esca- pades. Not at all, dear friend! You misunderstand her. She will take Charles if only she can get him. But he is married. To be sure, she would find it more appropriate if he had not looked at any other girl during the eight years but had conscientiously contemplated the moon. She, however, knows how to ignore such things. Let him have seduced ten girls, she will take him, take him d tout prix [at any price], but if he is married she cannot take him. Hinc illae lacrymae [Hence these tears]. If that was not what the poet meant, he would have had Emmeline interrupt Charles somewhat earlier. Charles has explained that he has been subjected to many pursuits by the opposite sex, that he has had various amorous adventures, that perhaps sometimes he has gone too far in being charming.© She does not interrupt him, promises to do everything to reconcile him with her father and to have him herself, for it is very apparent that if she cannot have him (as soon as she hears that he is mar- ried), she is not one to forget to sound the alarm in camp. Charles begins the story about Pamela; she listens calmly. Now comes the terrible thing—that he is married; there burst the kingdom of Norway.® The profound irony in this situation arises from Emmeline’s inviolable faithfulness, which at no price can give up Charles, 247 248 276 Either/Or, I since it would cost her life, and also from Charles’s mounting dilemma in not being able to be rid of her. The whole scene is like a licitation process whereby the ideal Charles is awarded to Emmeline. Finally, the whole thing ends at the point where it is clear that she cannot have Charles and Charles cannot run away from his stupid escapades.
Emmeline cries out; the father arrives on the scene, and he vows that he will never forgive Charles.
Now the supposed Charles enters. Emmeline has begged her father not to fly into a rage; she herself will hear his confes- sion. Here as everywhere we must admire the poet’s discre- tion. The scene is bound to remain ludicrous and the situation ironic when we see on the supposed Rinville the impression that the thundering denunciation should make on the sup- posed Charles—that is, the actual Charles has the pleasure of being personally present when he is being executed in effigie. It would have been a poetic injustice if the poet had assigned the delivery of this speech to Derviére. The uncle has been Charles’s benefactor and has a legitimate claim not to be made a fool of in front of Charles. To be sure, the uncle is not as bright as the chit of a girl, but his benefactions over a series of years give him an advantage over Charles that is quite different from the rash promise of marriage he has given Emmeline. But since everything else that Emmeline says turns out to be prattle, the marriage vow included, it is quite in order that this philippic also turns out that way. Her old love for Charles is drivel, and her new love for Rinville is also drivel; her enthu- siasm is drivel, and her rage is also drivel; her defiance is drivel, and her good resolve is also drivel.
Emmeline vents her wrath, and the supposed Rinville par- odies the effect of her speech with the facial expressions and gestures of the actual Charles. Emmeline’s admission that she actually has loved Charles can be regarded as the climactic point in this situation. The confusion here is complete. That is, the one she by her own admission has loved these eight years is Rinville, in whom through her feelings she had promptly recognized Charles, and who she later was convinced was not The First Love 277 the same, but then in turn she soon recognized him by the ring.
In the end, the mistaken identity is cleared up. It turns out that she now has Rinville instead of Charles. With this the play is finished—or, more correctly, it is not finished. This I have already discussed earlier; here I shall once again merely eluci- date in a few words what has been advanced. If it is the inten- tion of the play to show that Emmeline has become a sensible girl who in choosing Rinville is making a sensible choice, then the accent of the whole play falls in the wrong place. In that case, we shall be less interested in finding out exactly in what sense Charles is a black sheep. What we do require, however, is enlightenment as to Rinville’s charm. Just because Charles has become a rake, it by no means follows that Emmeline should choose Rinville, unless Scribe is derogated to a dra- matic dabbler who respects the dramatic convention that every young miss ought to be married, and if she does not want to have the one she must then take the other. If, however, the play is understood as I have understood it, then the jest is altogether aimless, the wittiness infinite, the comedy a master- piece.
The curtain falls; the play is over. Nothing remains but the large outline in which the fantastic Schattenspiel [shadow-play] of the situation, directed by irony, discloses itself and remains afterward for contemplation. The immediately actual situa- tion is the unreal situation; behind it appears a new situation that is no less awry, and so on. One hears the dialogue in the situation, and when it is most sensible it turns out to be most lunatic, and just as the situation regresses, so also does the dia- logue, more and more meaningless despite its sensibleness.
In order to enjoy the irony in this play contemplatively, one must not read it but see it; one must see it again and again, and if one is then so fortunate as to be contemporary with the four talented dramatic artists® in our theater who in every way contribute to disclosing and intimating to us the transparency of the situation, the enjoyment becomes greater and greater every time one sees it.
The lines in this play may be ever so witty—one will forget 249 250 278 Either/Or, I them. Once one has seen the situations, they are unforgettable. Once they have become familiar, the next time one sees the play one will learn to appreciate the dramatic performance. I know of no higher praise for the performance of the play than to say that it is so consummately done that it makes one alto- gether unappreciative the first few times because what one has is the play, no more, no less. I know a young philosopher®’ who once discoursed for me on some part of the doctrine of essence. The whole thing was so easy, so simple, so natural, that when he was finished I almost shrugged my shoulders and said: Is that all there is to it? When I arrived home, I wanted to reproduce the logical progression, but it turned out I could not even begin. Then I perceived that other factors must also be involved. I felt how much his virtuosity and his superiority were above me; I felt it almost as mockery that he had done it so well that I became unappreciative. He was a philosophical artist, and the same thing happened to him that happens to all great artists, the good Lord included.
As it was with me and my philosophical friend, so it also was with me and the performance of The First Love. Now, however, that I have seen it performed again and again, also on other stages, only now am I properly appreciative of our dra- matic artists. Therefore, if 1 were to show a stranger our stage, I would take him to the theater when this play is being per- formed, and then, assuming that he was familiar with this play, I would say to him: Look at Frydendahl;® now turn your eyes away, shut them, imagine him standing before you. Those pure, noble features, that aristocratic bearing—how can this be the object of laughter? Open your eyes and look at Fry- dendahl.
Look at Madame Heiberg; lower your eyes, for perhaps Emmeline’s charm might become dangerous to you; hear the girl’s sentimental languishing in the voice, the childish and ca- pricious insinuations, and even if you were dry and stiff like a bookkeeper, you still must smile. Open your eyes—how is it possible? Repeat these movements so quickly that they be- come almost simultaneous in the moment, and you will have a conception of what is being performed. Without irony, an The First Love 279 The First Love 279 artist can never sketch; a stage artist can produce it only by contradiction, for the essence of a sketch is superficiality. Where character portrayal is not required, the art is to trans- form oneself into a surface, which is a paradox for the stage performance, and it is given to only a few to solve it. A spon- taneous comedian can never play Derviére, for he has no char- acter. Emmeline’s whole nature is a contradiction and there- fore cannot be represented spontaneously. She must be charming, for otherwise the effect of the whole play is lost; she must not be charming, but extravagant, for otherwise the total effect of the whole play is lost in another sense.
Look at Phister;”? it almost hurts when you fix your eyes upon the infinitely insipid stupidity that is stamped on his face. And yet this is not a spontaneous stupidity; his look still has an enthusiasm that in its foolishness calls to mind a past. No one is born with such a face; it has a history. I can remember that when I was little my nursemaid explained to me that we must not make distorted faces, and as a warning to me and other children she told a story of a man with a preposterous face, which served him right, for he had made distorted faces. It so happened, strange to say, that the wind changed and the man kept his preposterous face. Phister lets us see a preposterous face such as this; there is still a trace of the romantic grimaces, but when the wind changed it remained somewhat twisted. Phister’s portrayal of Charles has less irony, but more whimsy. This is altogether proper, for the contradiction in his nature is not as conspicuous. He is not supposed to be Rinville except in the eyes of Derviére and Emmeline, who are equally biased although in different ways.
Look at Stage;”! delight in this handsome, manly bearing, this cultured personality, this slight smile that betrays Rin- ville’s fancied superiority over Derviére’s fantastic family, and then see this representative of good sense swept along in the confusion that arises, like a rushing wind, from Emmeline’s inane passion.
251 ROTATION OF CROPS