promise myself out of this relationship.
The fourteenth I scarcely know myself. My mind roars like a turbulent sea in the storms of passion. If someone else could see my soul in The Seducer’s Diary 325 this state, it would seem to him that it, like a skiff, plunged prow-first down into the ocean, as if in its dreadful momen- tum it would have to steer down into the depths of the abyss. He does not see that high on the masta sailor is on the lookout. Roar away, you wild forces, roar away, you powers of pas- sion; even if your waves hurl foam toward the clouds, you still are not able to pile yourselves up over my head—I am sitting as calmly as the king of the mountain.*?
Iam almost unable to find a foothold; like a water bird, lam seeking in vain to alight on the turbulent sea omy mind. And yet such turbulence is my element. I build upon it as the Alcedo ispida builds its nest upon the sea.”
Turkey cocks ruffle their feathers when they see red. So it goes with me when I see green, every time I see a green cloak, and since my eyes often deceive me, all my expectations some- times run aground on a porter from Frederik’s Hospital.
The twentieth One must limit oneself—that is the primary condition for all enjoyment. It does not seem that I shall soon find out anything about the girl who so fills my soul and my mind that the lack is amplified. Now I am going to stay quite calm, for this state, this obscure and indefinite but nevertheless powerful emotion, also has its sweetness. I have always liked to lie in a boat on a clear moonlit night out on one of our beautiful lakes. I haul in the sails, take in the oars, unship the rudder, lie down full length, and gaze up at the vault of heaven. When the waves rock the boat on their breast, when the clouds swiftly drift be- fore the wind, making the moon disappear for a moment and then reappear, I find rest in this restlessness. The motion of the waves lulls me; their slapping against the boat is a monotonous lullaby; the clouds’ hasty flight and the variation in lights and shadows intoxicates me so that I dream wide awake. | lie the same way now, haul in the sails, unship the rudder. Longing and impatient expectancy toss me in their arms; longing and expectancy become quieter and quieter, more and more bliss- ful: they coddle me like a child. Over me arches the heaven of 297 298 297 298 326 Either/Or, I hope; her image drifts past me like the moon’s, indistinct, now blinding me with its light, now with its shadow. How enjoy- able to ripple along on moving water this way—how enjoya- ble to be in motion within oneself.* The twenty-first The days go by; I am still making no headway. The young misses delight me more than ever, and yet I have no desire to enjoy. I look for her everywhere. Often it makes me unrea- sonable, befuddles my vision, enervates my enjoyment. “That beautiful season will soon be here when one can buy up in the public streets and lanes the small claims that cost dearly enough during the social life in the winter season, for a young girl can forget much, but not a situation. It is true that social life does put a person in touch with the fair sex, but it is no good for beginning an affair. In social life, every girl is armed; the situation is unsatisfactory and occurs again and again—she receives no sensuous jolt. In the street, she is on the open sea, and therefore everything affects her more, and likewise every- thing is more enigmatic. I would give a hundred rix-dollars for a smile from a young girl in a street situation, and not ten for a hand squeeze at a party—that is an entirely different kind of currency. When the affair has started, one looks for the per- son concerned at parties. One has a secret communication with her that is tempting; it is the most energetic stimulation I know. She does not dare to talk about it, and yet she thinks about it; she does not know whether one has forgotten it or not; now one misleads her in this way, now in another. This year my ingathering has been small; this girl preoccupies me too much. Ina certain sense, my profits are meager, but then I do indeed have the prospect of the grand prize.
The fifth Cursed chance! Never have I cursed you because you made your appearance; I curse you because you do not make your appearance at all. Or is this perhaps supposed to be a new in- vention of yours, you incomprehensible being, barren mother of everything, the only remnant remaining from “that time The Seducer’s Diary 327 when necessity gave birth to freedom, when freedom let itself be tricked back into the womb again? Cursed chance! You, my only confidant, the only being I deem worthy to be my ally and my enemy, always similar to yourself in dissimilarity; al- ways incomprehensible, always an enigma! You whom I love with all the sympathy of my soul, in whose image I form my- self, why do you not make your appearance? I do not beg, I do not humbly plead that you will make your appearance in this manner or that; such worship would indeed be idolatry, would not be pleasing to you. I challenge you to a fight—why do you not make your appearance? Or has the balance wheel in the world structure stopped, is your enigma solved, and so you, too, have plunged into the sea of eternity? Terrible thought—then the world will come to a halt out of boredom! Cursed chance, I am waiting for you! I do not want to van- quish you by means of principles or what foolish people call character—no, I shall be your poet! I do not want to be a poet for others; make your appearance, and I shall be your poet. I shall eat my own poem, and that will be my food. Or do you find me unworthy? Just as a temple dancer dances to the honor of the god [Guden], so I have consecrated myself to your serv- ice; light, thinly clad, limber, unarmed, I renounce every- thing. | own nothing; I desire to own nothing; I love nothing; I have nothing to lose—but have I not thereby become more worthy of you, you who long ago must have been tired of de- priving people of what they love, tired of their craven snivel- ing and craven pleading. Surprise me—I am ready. No stakes—let us fight for honor. Show her to me, show me a possibility that seems to be an impossibility; show her to me among the shades of the underworld, and I shall bring her back.*5 Let her hate me, scorn me, be indifferent to me, love someone else—I do not fear; but stir up the water,** break the silence. To starve me this way is mean of you, you who never- theless fancy yourself stronger than I.
May 6 Spring is here. Everything is burgeoning, the young girls also. Their cloaks are laid aside; presumably my green one, I 299 300 328 Either/Or, I too, has been hung up. This is the result of making a girl’s ac- quaintance in the street, not in society, where one is immedi- ately told her name, her family, where she lives, whether she is engaged. The last is extremely important information for all sober and steady suitors, to whom it would never occur to fall in love with an engaged girl. Such an ambler would then be in mortal distress if he were in my place; he would be utterly demolished if his efforts to obtain information were crowned with success and with the bonus that she was engaged. This, however, does not bother me very much. An engagement is nothing but a comic predicament. I fear neither comic nor tragic predicaments; the only ones I fear are the langweilige (boring] ones. So far, I have not come up with a single bit of information, although I certainly have left nothing untried and many times have felt the truth of the poet’s words: Nox et hiems longaeque viae, saevique dolores Mollibus his castris, et labor omnis inest [Night, storm, long journeys, cruel pains All kinds of pains are in this dainty camp].*” Perhaps she does not live here in the city at all; perhaps she is from the country, perhaps, perhaps—I can fly into a rage over all these perhapses, and the angrier I become, the more the per- hapses. I always have money at hand in order to be able to set out upon a journey. In vain do I look for her at the theater, at concerts, at dances, on the promenades. Ina certain sense, lam pleased; a young girl who participates in such amusements a great deal is usually not worth conquering; she most often lacks the originality that for me is and remains the conditio sine qua non [indispensable condition]. It is not as incomprehensible to find a Preciosa*® among the gypsies as in the market places where young girls are offered for sale—in all innocence—good heavens, who says otherwise!
The twelfth “Now, my child, why do you not remain standing quite calmly in the doorway? There is absolutely nothing against a young girl’s entering a doorway during a shower. I do it my- The Seducer’s Diary 329 self when I have no umbrella, sometimes even when I have one, as now, for example. Moreover, I could mention several estimable ladies who have not hesitated to do it. Just be calm, turn your back to the street; then the passersby cannot even tell whether you are just standing there or are about to enter the building. But it is indiscreet to hide behind the door when it is standing half open, chiefly because of the consequences, for the more you are concealed, the more unpleasant it is to be sur- prised. But if you have concealed yourself, then stand very still, commending yourself to your good guardian spirit and the care of all the angels; especially avoid peeking out to see whether the rain is over. If you really want to be sure of it, take a firm step forward and look up gravely at the sky. But if you stick your head out somewhat inquisitively, self-consciously, anxiously, uncertainly, quickly draw it back—then any child understands this movement; it is called playing hide-and-seek. And I, who always join in games, should I hold back, should I not answer when asked?...Do not think I am harboring any disrespectful thoughts about you; you did not have the slightest ulterior motive in sticking your head out—it was the most innocent thing in the world. In return, you must not af- front me in your thoughts; my good name and reputation will not tolerate it. Moreover, it was you who started this. I advise you never to speak to anyone about this incident; you are in the wrong. What do I propose to do other than what any gentle- man would do—offer you my umbrella. —Where did she go? Splendid! She has hidden herself down in the porter’s door- way. What a darling little girl, cheerful, contented. —‘‘Per- haps you could tell me about a young lady who this very mo- ment stuck her head out of this door, obviously in need of an umbrella. She is the one I am looking for, land my umbrella.” —You laugh. —Perhaps you will allow me to send my servant to fetch it tomorrow, or do you recommend that I call a car- riage? —Nothing to thank me for; it is only common cour- tesy. —That is one of the most delightful girls I have seen in a long time; her glance is so childlike and yet so saucy, her man- ner so lovely, so chaste, and yet she is inquisitive. —Go in peace, my child. If it were not for a green cloak, I might have I 301 302 330 Either/Or, I wished to establish a closer acquaintance. —She walks down along Store Kjobmagergade. How innocent and full of confi- dence, not a trace of prudery. See how lightly she walks, how pertly she tosses her head—the green cloak requires self-de- nial.
The fifteenth The fifteenth Thank you, kind chance; accept my thanks! Erect was she and proud, mysterious and abounding in thought like a spruce tree, one shoot, one thought, which deep from the interior of the earth shoots up toward heaven, unexplained, unexplain- able to itself, a unity that has no parts. The beech tree puts on a crown; its leaves tell what has occurred beneath it. The spruce has no crown, no history, is a riddle to itself—she was like that. °°She herself was hidden in herself; she herself rose up out of herself; there was a recumbent pride in her like the spruce’s bold escape—although it is riveted to the earth. A sadness sur- rounded her, like the cooing of the wood dove, a deep longing that was lacking nothing. She was an enigma that enigmati- cally possessed its own solution, a secret, >!and what are all the secrets of the diplomats compared with this, a riddle, and what in all the world is as beautiful as the word that solves it? How suggestive, how pregnant, the language is: to solve [at lose]— what ambiguity there is in it, with what beauty and with what strength it pervades all the combinations in which this word appears! Just as the soul’s wealth is a riddle as long as the cord of the tongue is not loosened [lest] and thereby the riddle is solved [last], so also a young girl is a riddle.
Thank you, kind chance; accept my thanks! If I had been able to see her in the wintertime, she no doubt would have been wrapped in the green cloak, benumbed with cold per- haps, and the harshness of nature would have diminished her beauty. But now—what luck! I saw her the first time at the most beautiful time of the year, in the early part of summer in the afternoon light. Of course, winter also has its advantages. A brilliantly lighted ballroom may very well be a flattering set- ting for a girl dressed for a dance. But for one thing she seldom shows up to her best advantage here precisely because every- The Seducer’s Diary 331 thing requires her to do so—a requirement that has a disturb- ing effect on her whether she complies with it or does just the opposite. For another, everything is reminiscent of transitori- ness and vanity and evokes an impatience that makes the en- joyment less refreshing. There are certain times when I admit- tedly would not want to be deprived of a ballroom, deprived of its expensive luxury, its priceless overabundance of youth and beauty, its multiple play of powers, but I do not enjoy it as much as I revel in possibility. It is not a particular beauty who captivates me, but a totality; a visionary picture floats past me in which all these feminine beings blend with one an- other and all these movements are seeking something, seeking repose in a picture that is not seen.
It was on the footpath between Nerreport and Osterport.*? It was about half past six. The sun had lost its vigor; only a rec- ollection of it was preserved in a soft glimmering that spread over the landscape. Nature breathed more freely. The lake was still, smooth as a mirror. The pleasant, friendly buildings of Blegdam*™ were reflected on the water, which further out was as dark as metal. The path and the buildings on the other side were illuminated by the faint rays of the sun. The sky was clear and open; only a single light cloud glided hazily across it, best observed when one stared fixedly at the lake, over whose smooth brow it disappeared. Not a leaf was stirring. —It was she. My eyes had not deceived me, even though the green cloak had done so. Although I had been prepared for this for a long time, it was impossible for me to control a certain rest- lessness, a rising and falling like that of the lark as it rises and falls in its song over the nearby fields.
She was alone. Once again I have forgotten what she was wearing, and yet I do have an image of her now. She was alone, preoccupied, obviously not with herself but with her own thoughts. She was not thinking, but the quiet revolving of her thoughts wove an image of longing for her soul that had a presentiment as unexplainable as a young girl’s many sighs. She was in her most beautiful age. A young girl does not de- velop in the sense that a boy does; she does not grow, she is born. A boy begins to develop immediately and takes a long I 303 304 332 Either/Or, I time to do it; a young girl takes a long time to be born and is born full-grown. In this lies her infinite richness; the moment she is born, she is full-grown, but this moment of birth comes late. Therefore she is born twice: the second time when she marries or, more correctly, at that moment she stops being born—only at that moment is she born. It is not only Minerva*’ who springs full-grown out of Jupiter’s forehead, it is not only Venus*® who rises up out of the sea in her full beauty—every young girl is like this if her femininity has not been spoiled by what is called developing. She does not awaken gradually, but at once; on the other hand, she dreams that much longer, that is, if people are not so unreasonable as to awaken her too soon. But this dreaming is an infinite rich- ness.
She was preoccupied not with herself but within herself, and this preoccupation was a boundless peace and repose within herself. In this way a young girl is rich; to embrace this rich- ness makes oneself rich. She is rich, although she does not re- alize that she possesses anything; she is rich—she is a treasure. A quiet peacefulness rested upon her, and a trace of sadness.>? She was light to lift with the eyes, as light as Psyche, who was carried away by the jinn, even lighter, for she carried her- self. Let the teachers of the Church argue about the assump- tion of the Madonna; it does not seem incomprehensible to me, for she no longer belonged to the world, but the lightness of a young girl is incomprehensible and mocks the law of gravity.
She did not notice anything and for that reason believed that she was not noticed either. I remained at a distance and im- bibed her image. She was walking slowly; no sense of haste marred her peace or the tranquillity of the surroundings. A boy sat by the lake and fished; she stood still and watched the mirror of the water and the little float. Although she had not been walking fast, she nevertheless wanted to cool off. She loosened a little scarf tied around her neck under her shaw]; a gentle breeze from the lake fanned a bosom as white as snow, yet warm and full. The boy did not seem pleased to have a wit- ness to his fishing; he turned and observed her with a rather The Seducer’s Diary 333 apathetic look. He really looked ludicrous, and I do not blame her for laughing at him. How youthfully she laughed; if she had been alone with the boy, I believe she would not have been afraid to scrap with him. Her eyes were large and glowing; when one looked into them, they had a dark luster, intimating an infinite depth, since it was impossible to penetrate into them; pure and innocent they were, gentle and calm, full of ro- guishness when she smiled. Her nose was delicately arched; when I saw her from the side, it seemed to draw back into her forehead and thereby became a bit shorter and a bit more saucy.
She walked on; I followed. Fortunately there were several strollers on the path. Exchanging a few words with one person and another, I let her get ahead a little and soon caught up with her again and in that way saved myself the need of having to walk at a distance just as slowly as she did. She walked in the direction of Osterport. I wished to see her closer at hand with- out being seen. On the corner there was a house from which I might be able to do that. I knew the family and thus needed only to pay them a visit. With a quickened pace, I hurried past her as if I did not notice her in the remotest way. Having gone far ahead of her, I greeted the family all around and then took possession of the window that looked out on the footpath. She came walking along; I looked and looked, while at the same time I spun out chitchat with the tea company in the living room. The way she walked quickly convinced me that she had not had much training in dance, and yet there was a pride in it, a natural nobility, but an absence of self-consciousness. I man- aged to see her one more time than I had actually counted on. From the window, I could not see far down the path, but I could see a dock that ran out into the lake, and to my great amazement I spied her again out there. It occurred to me that perhaps she lived out here in the country; perhaps her family had taken rooms for the summer.
I was already beginning to regret my visit, fearing that she would turn around and I would lose sight of her, indeed, that her appearance at the far end of the dock was a sign that she was vanishing from my sight—and then she appeared nearby.
305 334 Either/Or, I She was walking past the house; I hastily grabbed my hat and my cane with the intention of passing by her and dropping be- hind her again many times until I discovered where she lived— when in my haste I jolted a woman’s arm just as she was offer- ing tea. There was a frightful shriek; I stood there with hat and cane, wanting only to be off and if possible to give the incident a turn and motivate my retreat. I cried out with pathos: I shall be exiled like Cain from this place that saw this tea spilled! But just as if everything had conspired against me, my host had the dismaying idea of following up my comment and declared loudly and solemnly that I would not be allowed to go before I had enjoyed a cup of tea and had made restitution for the spilled tea by serving the ladies myself. Since I was convinced that in the present situation my host would regard it as a cour- tesy to use force, there was nothing to do but remain. —She had disappeared.
The sixteenth The sixteenth How beautiful it is to be in love; how interesting it is to know that one is in love. This, you see, is the difference. I can become furious at the thought that she disappeared before me the second time, and yet in a certain sense I am glad of it. The image I have of her hovers indefinitely somewhere between her actual and her ideal form. I now have this image before me, but precisely because either it is actuality or actuality is indeed the occasion, it has a singular magic. I feel no impatience, for she must live here in the city, and at this moment that is enough for me. This possibility is the condition for the proper appearance of her image—everything will be enjoyed in slow drafts. And should I not be calm—I, who can regard myself as a favorite of the gods, I, whose lot was the rare good fortune of falling in love again. This is something that cannot be elic- ited by skill or study—it is a gift. But if I have succeeded in stirring up an erotic love again, I do want to see how long it can be sustained. I coddle this love as I never did my first. The opportunity falls to one’s lot rarely enough—therefore the point is truly to utilize it if it does come along, for it is dismay- ing that it is no art to seduce a girl but it is a stroke of good The Seducer’s Diary 335 fortune to find one who is worth seducing. —Love is full of mysteries, and this first falling in love is also a mystery, even though a minor one. Most people rush ahead, become en- gaged or do other stupid things, and in a turn of the hand everything is over, and they know neither what they have won nor what they have lost. Two times she has appeared before me and has disappeared; that means she will appear more often. When Joseph had interpreted Pharaoh’s dream, he added: But the fact that you dreamed twice means that it will be fulfilled soon.*!
Yet it would be interesting if one could discern somewhat ahead of time the forces whose emergence forms the content of life. At present she is living in all her tranquil peace; she does not have even an inkling of my existence, even less of what is going on within me, to say nothing of the assurance with which I gaze into her future, for my soul is demanding more and more actuality, and it is becoming stronger and stronger. If at first sight a girl does not make such a deep impression on a person that she awakens the ideal, then ordinarily the actual- ity is not especially desirable; but if she does, then no matter how experienced a person is he usually is rather overwhelmed. Lalways advise the person who is not sure of his hand, his eye, and his victory to venture the attack in this first state, in which, precisely because he is overwhelmed, he has supranatural powers—for being overwhelmed is a curious mixture of sym- pathy and egotism. He will, however, miss out on an enjoy- ment, for he does not enjoy the situation since he himself is wrapped up in it, hidden in it. Which is the more beautiful is difficult to decide—which is the more interesting is easy. It is, however, always best to come as close as possible to the line. This is the real enjoyment, and what others enjoy I do not know for sure. Mere possession is very little, and the means such lovers use are usually paltry enough; they do not even reject money, power, alien influence, sleeping potions, etc. But what pleasure is there in love if absolute abandon is not intrin- sic to it, that is, from the one side—but ordinarily that takes spirit, and such lovers generally do not have that.
306 336 Either/Or, I The nineteenth Cordelia, then, is her name! Cordelia! It is a beautiful name, and that, too, is important, since it can often be very disturb- ing to have to name an ugly name together with the most tender adjectives. I already recognized her a long way off; she was walking with two other girls on her left. The movement of their walking seemed to indicate that they were about to stop. I stood on the corner and read the posters, while I contin- ually kept my eye on my strangers. They parted. The two pre- sumably had gone a little out of their way, for they went in a different direction. She came along toward my corner. When she had walked a few steps, one of the young girls came run- ning after her and cried loudly enough for me to hear it: Cor- — delia! Cordelia! Then the third one joined them; they put their heads together for a privy council meeting whose secrets I fu- tilely strained my ears to hear. Thereupon they all three laughed and hurried away at a somewhat quicker pace in the direction the two had taken. I followed them. They entered a house on Stranden.® I waited for a while, since there was a strong probability that Cordelia would soon come back alone. But that did not happen.
Cordelia! That is really a splendid name—indeed, the same name as that of King Lear’s third daughter, that remarkable girl whose heart did not dwell on her lips, whose lips were mute when her heart was full. So also with my Cordelia. She resembles her, of that I am certain. But in another sense her heart does dwell on her lips, not in the form of words but in a more heartfelt way in the form of a kiss. How ripe with health her lips! I have never seen lips more beautiful.
That I actually am in love I can tell partly by the secrecy with which I treat this matter, almost even with myself. All love is secretive, even the faithless kind, if it has the appropriate es- thetic element within it. It has never occurred to me to wish for confidants or to boast of my adventures. Thus it almost makes me happy that I did not come to know where she lives but the place where she frequently visits. Perhaps I thereby may also have come even closer to my goal. I can make my observations without arousing her attention, and from this The Seducer’s Diary 337 firmly established point it will not be difficult for me to gain admission into her family. But should this situation turn out to be a difficulty—eh bien [well, now]!—then I will put up with the difficulty alone. Everything I do I do con amore [with love], and so I also love con amore.
The twentieth The twentieth Today I learned something about the house into which she disappeared. It belongs to a widow with three lovely daugh- ters. Information in abundance is to be had there—that is, pro- vided they have any. The only difficulty is to understand these details raised to the third power, for they all three speak at once. Her name is Cordelia Wahl, and she is the daughter of an officer in the Royal Navy. He has been dead for some years— the mother, too. He was a very severe and strict man.® She now lives with her aunt, her father’s sister, who is supposed to be like her brother but otherwise is a very respectable woman. Now that is all very fine, but in other respects they know nothing about this household; they never visit there, but Cor- delia visits them frequently. She and the two girls take a course in the royal kitchen. Therefore, she generally visits there early in the afternoon, sometimes in the morning, never in the eve- ning. They keep very much to themselves.
So this is the end of the story; it is apparent that there is no bridge over which I can steal into Cordelia’s house.
Consequently, she does have a conception of the pains in life, of its dark side. Who would have said this of her. Yet these recollections probably belong to an earlier period; this is a ho- rizon under which she has lived without really being aware of it. That is fine—it has saved her femininity; she is not warped. On the other hand, it will also have significance in elevating her, if one really knows how to call it forth. All such things usually teach pride, provided they do not break one, and she is far from being broken.
The twenty-first She lives near the embankment; the locality is not the best, no neighbors whose acquaintance one could make, no public places where one can make observations unnoticed. The em- I 308 309 338 Either/Or, I bankment itself is not very suitable; one is too visible. If one walks below on the street, one cannot very well walk on the side next to the embankment, because no one walks there, and it would be too conspicuous, or one would have to walk close to the houses, and then one can see nothing. It is a corner house. Since the house has no neighboring house, the win- dows to the courtyard are also visible from the street. Presum- ably her bedroom is there.