Cordelia hates and fears me. What does a young girl fear? Intellect [Aand]. Why? Because intellect constitutes the nega- tion of her entire womanly existence. Masculine handsome- ness, prepossessing nature, etc. are fine resources. One can also make a conquest with them but never win a complete vic- tory. Why? Because one is making war on a girl in her own sphere of power, and in her own sphere of power she is always the stronger. With these resources, one can make a girl blush, drop her eyes, but one can never generate the indescribable, captivating anxiety that makes her beauty interesting.
Non formosus erat, sed erat facundus Ulixes, Et tamen aequoreas torsit amore Deas [Ulysses was not comely, but he was eloquent, Yet he fired two goddesses of the sea with love].*° Now, everyone ought to know his own powers. But some- thing that has often shocked me is that even those who have The Seducer’s Diary 363 talents act like such bunglers. A person actually ought to be able to see immediately in any young girl who has become a victim to another’s love—or, more correctly, to her own—in what way she has been deceived. The practiced killer uses a particular stab, and the experienced policeman immediately recognizes the criminal when he sees the wound. But where does one meet such systematic seducers, such psychologists? For most people, to seduce a young girl means to seduce a young girl, period—and yet a whole language is concealed in this thought.
Being a woman—she hates me; being a talented woman— she fears me; being a good mind—she loves me. This conflict I have now established in her soul as the first step. My pride, my defiance, my cold ridicule, my callous irony tempt her— not as if she would want to love me—no, there is certainly not the slightest trace of any such feelings in her, least of all for me. She wants to compete with me. What tempts her is the proud independence in relation to people, a freedom like that of the desert Arabs. My laughter and eccentricity neutralize every erotic expression. She is fairly free with me, and insofar as there is any reserve, it is more intellectual than womanly. She is so far from seeing a lover in me that our relationship is only that of two good minds. She takes me by the hand, clasps my hand, laughs, pays a certain attention to me in the purely Greek sense. Then when the ironist and the ridiculer have duped her long enough, I follow the instructions in an old verse: the knight spreads out his cape so red and bids the beau- tiful maiden sit on it.” I spread out my cape—not in order to sit on the greensward with her but to vanish into the air with her in a flight of thought. Or I do not take her along but set myself astride a thought, wave at her, throw her a kiss, and be- come invisible to her, only audible in the hum of winged words; I, unlike Jehovah,?! become not more and more visible in the voice, but less and less, for the more I speak the higher I ascend. Then she wants to go along, away on this bold flight of thought. But it is just for a moment; the next instant I am cold and arid.”
333 I 334 364 Either/Or, I There are various kinds of womanly blushes. There is the dense brick-red blush. “This is the one novelists always have in good supply when they have their heroines blush tiber und tiber [through and through]. There is the delicate blush; it is the spirit’s sunrise-red. In a young girl it is priceless. The fleeting blush that accompanies a happy thought is beautiful in a man, more beautiful in a youth, lovely in a woman. It is a flash of lightning, the summer lightning of the spirit. It is most beau- tiful in a youth, lovely in a girl, because it manifests itself in its virginal purity and thus also has the modesty of surprise. The older one grows, the more this kind of blush disappears.
Sometimes I read something aloud to Cordelia—for the most part very trivial things. As usual, Edward has to be an unwitting instrument—that is, I have pointed out to him that lending a girl books is a very good way to establish rapport with her. Indeed, he has gained in various ways thereby, for she is much obliged to him for it. 1am the one who gains the most, for I determine the choice of books and continually stay in the background. Here I have a wide playground for making my observations. I can give Edward whichever books I want to; literature is not his line; I can try what I wish, to any ex- treme whatsoever. Now when I visit her in the evening, I pick up the book as if by chance, leaf through it a little, read half aloud, commend Edward for his attentiveness. Last evening, by means of a test, I wanted to assure myself of the resilience of her soul. I was puzzled about whether I should have Edward lend her Schiller’s Gedichte so that I could accidentally come across Thekla’s song™ to recite, or Biirger’s Gedichte. I se- lected the latter, especially because his “Lenore” is somewhat highflown, however beautiful it is otherwise. I opened it to “Lenore” and read this poem aloud with all the pathos I could muster. Cordelia was moved; she sewed hurriedly, as if it were she Vilhelm came to fetch. I stopped; the aunt had listened without very much sympathy. She has no fear of any Vilhelms living or dead and, moreover, does not know German well, but she found herself quite in her element when I showed her the beautifully bound copy and started a conversation about The Seducer’s Diary 365 bookbinding work. *My intention was to destroy in Cordelia the impression of pathos the very moment it was awakened. She became a little anxious, but it was apparent to me that this anxiety did not have a tempting effect on her but made her un- heimlich [uncomfortable].
Today my eyes have rested upon her for the first time. It is said that sleep can make the eyelids so heavy that they close by themselves; perhaps this glance would be capable of some- thing similar. Her eyes close, and yet dark forces stir within her. She does not see that I am looking at her; she feels it, feels it through her entire body. Her eyes close, and it is night, but within her it is bright day.
Edward must go. He is at the last extremity; I can expect that at any moment he will go and make a declaration of love to her. No one knows that better than I, his confidant, who with diligence keep him overwrought so that he can influence Cordelia all the more. But to let him confess his love is too risky. I know very well that he will receive a “No,” but that will not be the end of the story. He will certainly take it very hard. This perhaps will move and agitate Cordelia. Although in that case I need not fear the worst, that she would change her mind, nevertheless her soul’s pride will possibly suffer from this unalloyed compassion. If that happens, my whole intention with Edward will be a complete failure.
My relationship with Cordelia is beginning to take a dra- matic course. Something has to happen; whatever it is, I can no longer have a relationship simply as an observer without letting the moment slip by. She must be surprised; it is neces- sary, but if I wish to surprise her, I must be at my post. That which ordinarily would surprise perhaps would not affect her in that way. She must be really surprised in such a way that at the very beginning that which is close to being the cause of her surprise is something that happens quite ordinarily. It must gradually become manifest that nevertheless something sur- prising was implicit in it. This is always the law for the inter- esting, and this in turn is the law for all my moves with regard to Cordelia. If one just knows how to surprise, one always 335 336 366 Either/Or, I wins the game. The energy of the person involved is tempo- rarily suspended; one makes it impossible for her to act, and this happens whether extraordinary or ordinary means are used. I still remember with a certain self-satisfaction a rash venture with a woman ofa rather aristocratic family. For some time, I had been covertly prowling around her looking for an interesting contact, but to no avail, and then one noon I met her on the street. I was certain that she did not recognize me or know that I lived here in the city. She was walking alone. | slipped by her and thus managed to meet her face-to-face. I stepped aside for her; she stayed on the flagstones. Just at that moment, I cast a sorrowful look at her; I believe I almost had tears in my eyes. I took off my hat. She stopped. With a shak- ing voice and a dreamy look, I said: Do not be angry, gracious lady; you have such a striking resemblance to a creature whom T love with all my soul, but who lives far away from me, that you will forgive my strange conduct. She believed I was a dreamer, and a young girl may very well like a little dreami- ness, especially when she also feels her superiority and dares to smile at one. Sure enough, she smiled, which was indescriba- bly becoming to her. With aristocratic condescension, she greeted me and smiled. She continued her walk; I accom- panied her for a few steps. I met her a few days later; I ventured to greet her. She laughed at me. —Patience is still a precious virtue, and he who laughs last laughs best.
Various means of surprising Cordelia are conceivable. | could try to raise an erotic storm capable of tearing up trees by the roots. By means of it, I could see if it is possible to lift her off the ground, to lift her out of the historical context, and through secret meetings to generate her passion in this unset- tled state. It is not inconceivable that it could be done. A girl with her passion can be made to do anything one pleases. But it would be esthetically incorrect. I do not relish romantic gid- diness, and this state is to be commended only when one is dealing with girls who are able to acquire a poetic afterglow in no other way. Moreover, one easily loses out on the real en- joyment, for too much turmoil is also damaging. On her, it The Seducer’s Diary 367 would completely fail in its effect. In a couple of drafts, I would have imbibed what I could have had the use of for a long time—indeed, worse yet, what I with circumspection could have enjoyed more fully and richly. Cordelia is not to be enjoyed ina state of elation. If I were to behave in that manner, she perhaps would be taken by surprise at first, but she would soon be sated, precisely because this surprise would lie too close to her audacious soul.
A plain and simple engagement is the best of all means, the most suitable for the purpose. She will perhaps believe her own ears even less when she hears me make a prosaic declara- tion of love, also ask for her hand, even less than if she listened to my ardent eloquence, imbibed my poisonous intoxicating potion, heard her heart pound at the thought of an elope- ment.”
The banefulness of an engagement is always the ethical in it. The ethical is just as boring in scholarship as in life. What a dif- ference! Under the esthetic sky, everything is buoyant, beau- tiful, transient; when ethics arrives on the scene, everything becomes harsh, angular, infinitely langweiligt [boring].°* But in the strictest sense an engagement does not have ethical real- ity [ Realitet] such as a marriage has; it has validity only ex con- sensu gentium [by universal consensus]. This ambiguity can be very advantageous for me. It has just enough of the ethical in it so that in due time Cordelia will gain the impression that she is transgressing the boundaries of the universal; moreover, the ethical in it is not so earnest that I have to fear a more serious jolt.
I have always had a certain respect for the ethical. I have never made a promise of marriage to any girl, not even non- chalantly; insofar as it might seem that I am doing it here, it is merely a simulated move. I shall very likely manage things in such a way that it is she herself who breaks the engagement. My chivalrous pride has contempt for making promises. | have contempt when a judge entices a culprit into a confession with the promise of freedom. A judge like that renounces his power and his talent. In my practice, there is even the addi- tional circumstance that I desire nothing that in the strictest 337 368 Either/Or, I sense is not freedom’s gift. Let vulgar seducers use such means. What do they gain anyway? He who does not know how to encircle a girl so that she loses sight of everything he does not want her to see, he who does not know how to poet- ize himself into a girl so that it is from her that everything pro- ceeds as he wants it—he is and remains a bungler. I shall not envy him his enjoyment. Such a person is and remains a bun- gler, a seducer, which I can by no means be called. I am an es- thete, an eroticist, who has grasped the nature and the point of love, who believes in love and knows it from the ground up, and I reserve for myself only the private opinion that no love affair should last more than a half year at most and that any re- lationship is over as soon as one has enjoyed the ultimate. All this I] know; I also know that the highest enjoyment imagina- ble is to be loved, loved more than anything else in the world. To poetize oneself into a girl is an art; to poetize oneself out of her is a masterstroke. But the latter depends essentially on the former.
There was the possibility of another way. I could do every- thing to get her engaged to Edward. I would then become a family friend. Edward would trust me unconditionally, for I would be the one to whom he would more or less owe his good fortune. I would thereby acquire a better camouflage. But it will not do. She cannot become engaged to Edward without her being diminished in one way or another. Add to that the fact that my relationship with her would become more engagingly provocative than interesting. The infinite prosi- ness of an engagement is precisely the sounding board for the interesting.
Everything is becoming more momentous at the Wahl house. One clearly perceives that underneath the everyday routines there stirs a secret life that soon must proclaim itself in a corresponding disclosure. The Wahl household is making preparations for an engagement. A merely superficial observer might think that the couple would be the aunt and I. What could not such a marriage do for the propagation of agro- nomical knowledge in the next generation! So then I would be The Seducer’s Diary 369 Cordelia’s uncle. I am a friend of freedom of thought, and no thought is so absurd that I do not have the courage to stick to it. Cordelia is apprehensive of a declaration of love from Ed- ward; Edward is hoping that such a declaration will decide everything. Indeed, he can be sure of that. But to spare him the unpleasant consequences of such a step, I shall steal a march on him. I hope to dismiss him soon; he is actually standing in my way. I really felt that today. Does he not look so dreamy and drunk with love that one may very well fear that he will sud- denly rise up like a sleepwalker and in front of the whole as- sembly confess his love from such an objective point of view that he will not even approach Cordelia. I looked daggers at him today. Just as an elephant picks up something with its trunk, I picked him up with my eyes, the whole of him, and tossed him over backward. Although he remained seated, I be- lieve that he nevertheless had a corresponding sensation in his entire body.
Cordelia is not as self-confident in relation to me as she was before. She has always approached me with womanly assur- ance; now she is a little unsteady. But it does not mean very much, and it would not be difficult for me to put everything on the old footing. But that I shall not do. Just one more ex- ploration and then the engagement. There can be no difficul- ties in this. In her surprise, Cordelia will say “Yes,” the aunt a fervent ‘““Amen.” She will be beside herself with joy to have such an agronomist for a son-in-law. Son-in-law! How thick as thieves we all become when we venture into this domain! I shall not actually become her son-in-law, but only her nephew or, more correctly, volente deo [God willing], none of these.
The twenty-third Today I harvested the fruit of a rumor I had started going around—that I was in love with a young girl. With Edward’s help, it also reached Cordelia’s ears. She is curious; she watches me, but she does not dare to inquire. And yet it is not unimportant for her to find out definitely, partly because it seems unbelievable to her, and partly because she almost sees I 338 339 370 Either/Or, I in it a precedent for herself, because if such a cold scoffer as I can fall in love, then presumably she can also, without needing to be ashamed. Today I broached the subject. To tell a story in such a way that the point is not lost is, I believe, right up my alley—also, in such a way that it is not divulged prematurely. It is my delight to keep the listeners to my story in suspenso by means of minor actions of an episodic nature to ascertain how they want it to turn out, and then in the course of the telling to fool them. My art is to use amphibolies so that the listeners un- derstand one thing from what is said and then suddenly per- ceive that the words can be interpreted another way. If one really wants to have a chance to make investigations of a par- ticular kind, one must always deliver a speech. In a conversa- tion, the person in question can be more evasive, can, through questions and answers, better conceal the impression the words are making.
With ceremonial earnestness, I began my speech to the aunt. “Shall I attribute this to the kindness of my friends or to the malice of my enemies, and who does not have too many of both the one and the other?” Here the aunt made a comment that I did everything in my power to spin out in order to keep Cordelia, who was listening, in suspense, a suspense she could not dispel since it was the aunt with whom I was talking, and my mood was very ceremonial. I continued: “Or shall I attrib- ute it to chance, the generatio aequivoca [spontaneous genera- tion]” (Cordelia obviously did not understand this phrase; it merely confused her, all the more since I gave it a false empha- sis, saying it with a sly look as if the point lay there) of a rumor “that I who am accustomed to live hidden from the world have become the subject of discussion inasmuch as they claim Iam engaged.” Cordelia obviously still lacked my interpreta- tion. I continued, “Shall I attribute it to my friends, since it is always regarded as a great good fortune to have fallen in love” (she was startled); “to my enemies, since it must always be re- garded as extremely ludicrous if this good fortune fell to my lot” (a countermove); ‘or to chance, since there is no founda- tion to it at all; or to the generatio aequivoca of the rumor, since the whole thing must have originated in an empty mind’s The Seducer’s Diary 371 thoughtless association with itself.’’ With feminine curiosity, the aunt hastened to find out the identity of this woman to whom rumor had been pleased to engage me. | parried every question along that line. The whole story made an impression on Cordelia; I almost believe that Edward’s stock went up a few points.
The crucial moment is approaching. I could communicate with the aunt in writing and ask for Cordelia’s hand. After all, that is the usual procedure in affairs of the heart, as if it were more natural for the heart to write than to speak. The very philistinism of such a move just might make me decide to do it. If I choose it, I lose the real surprise, and that I cannot relin- quish. —If I had a friend, he would perhaps say to me: Have you pondered well this very serious step you are taking, a step that is crucial to all the rest of your life and to another crea- ture’s happiness. This is the advantage of having a friend. I have no friend; whether this is an advantage I shall leave un- decided, but I regard being free from his advice as an absolute advantage. As for the rest, I have certainly thought through the whole matter in the strictest sense of the word.
On my side there is nothing to hinder the engagement now. So I go a’courting; who would think it to look at me? Soon my insignificant person will be seen from a higher point of view. I shall cease to be a person and become—a match—yes, a good match, the aunt will say. The one I almost feel most sorry for is the aunt, for she loves me with such a pure and upright agronomical love; she almost worships me as her ideal.
Now, I have made many declarations of love in my life, and yet here all my experience is of no help at all, for this declara- tion must be made in an altogether distinctive way. Primarily what I must drum into myself is that the whole thing is merely a simulated move. I have practiced various steps to see what the best approach might be. To make the moment erotic would be dubious, since this might easily anticipate what should come later and sequentially unfold. To make it very earnest is dangerous—for a young girl, such a moment is of such great significance that her whole soul can be concentrated 340 341 372 Either/Or, I in it, just as a dying person is concentrated in his last wish. To make it hearty, low comedy would not be in harmony with the mask I have used up to now or with the new one I intend to put on and wear. To make it witty and ironic is too great a risk. If my principal concern, as it commonly is for most peo- ple in such a situation, were to lure forth the little “Yes,” then it would be as easy as falling off a log. To be sure, this is of importance to me, but not of absolute importance, for even though I reserved this girl for myself, even though I have de- voted considerable attention, indeed, all my interest, to her, there nevertheless are conditions under which I would not ac- cept her “Yes.” I do not care at all to possess the girl in the ex- ternal sense but wish to enjoy her artistically. Therefore the beginning must be as artistic as possible. The beginning must be as nebulous as possible; it must be an omnipossibility. If she promptly sees a deceiver in me, then she misunderstands me, for I am no deceiver in the ordinary sense; if she sees a faithful lover in me, then she also misunderstands me. It is a matter of having her soul be determined as little as possible by this epi- sode. At such a moment, a girl’s soul is as prophetic as a dying person’s.'° This must be prevented. My dear Cordelia! Iam defrauding you of something beautiful, but it cannot be other- wise, and I shall give you all the compensation I can. The whole episode must be kept as insignificant as possible, so that when she has given her consent she will be unable to throw any light whatever on what may be concealed in this situation. It is precisely this infinite possibility that is the interesting. If she is able to predict anything, then I have gone about it the wrong way and the whole relationship loses significance. That she would give her consent because she loves me is unthink- able, for!'she does not love me at all. The best thing to do is to transform the engagement from an act to an event, from something she does to something that happens to her, some- thing about which she is compelled to say: God alone knows how it really came about.
The thirty-first Today I wrote a love letter for a third party. For me that is always a great pleasure. In the first place, it is always very in- The Seducer’s Diary 373 teresting to place myself so vividly into the situation, and yet in complete comfort. I fill my pipe and hear about the relation- ship; the letters from the other party are submitted. How a young girl writes is always a very important subject to me! He sits there head over heels in love like a rat in cheese; he reads her letters aloud, interrupted by my laconic comments: She writes very well; she has feeling, taste, prudence; she has cer- tainly been in love before etc. In the second place, what I am doing is a good deed. I am helping a couple of young people to come together; now I am settling the account. For every happy couple, I select a victim for myself; I make two people happy, at most only one unhappy. I am honest and reliable, have never deceived anyone who has confided in me. It goes with- out saying that there is always a little joking, but that, after all, is a legitimate perquisite. 1°*And why do I enjoy this confi- dence? Because I know Latin and do my homework, and be- cause I always keep my little stories to myself. And do I not deserve this confidence? After all, I never abuse it.
August 2 August 2 106The moment had arrived. I caught a glimpse of the aunt on the street and thus knew that she was not at home. Edward was at the customhouse. In all likelihood, Cordelia was home alone. And so she was. She was sitting at the sewing table busy with some handiwork. Rarely did I visit the family in the morning; therefore, she was a little flustered at seeing me. The situation became almost too emotional. She was not to blame for that, for she regained her composure rather easily, but I myself was at fault, for despite my armor plating, she made an unusually powerful impression upon me. How lovely she was in her plain, blue-striped calico housedress, with a freshly picked rose on her bosom. A freshly picked rose—no, the girl herself was like a freshly picked blossom, so fresh was she, so recently arrived! Indeed, who knows where a young girl spends the night—in the land of illusions, I believe—but every morning she returns, and this explains her youthful freshness. She looked so young and yet so fully developed, as if nature, like a tender and luxuriant mother, had this very moment re- leased her from her hand. To me it was as if I were a witness to 342 343 374 Either/Or, I this farewell scene; I saw how that fond mother embraced her once again in farewell, and I heard her say, “‘Go out into the world now, my child; I have done everything for you. Take now this kiss as a seal upon your lips. It is a seal that guards the sanctuary; it cannot be broken by anyone if you yourself do not want it to be, but when the right one comes you will know him.” And she pressed a kiss upon her lips, a kiss, unlike a hu- man kiss, which subtracts something, but rather a divine kiss, which gives everything, which gives the girl the power of the kiss. Wonderful nature, how profound and enigmatic you are! To man you give words, and to the girl the eloquence of the kiss! This kiss was upon her lips, and the farewell upon her brow, and the joyous greeting in her eyes—therefore she si- multaneously looked so much at home, for she was the child of the house, and so much the stranger, for she did not know the world but only the fond mother who invisibly watched over her. She was truly lovely, young as a child, and yet adorned with the noble-minded virginal dignity that inspires respect.
Soon, however, I was dispassionate again and solemnly ob- tuse, as is befitting when one is about to cause something full of meaning to happen in such a way as to make it mean noth- ing. After a few general remarks, | drew a bit closer to her and came out with my petition. A person who talks like a book is extremely boring to listen to, but sometimes it is rather expe- dient to talk that way. '*That is, a book has the remarkable characteristic that it can be interpreted as one pleases. Ifa per- son talks like a book, his talking also has the same character- istic. | kept very strictly to the usual formulas. '°She was sur- prised, as I had expected; that is undeniable. It is difficult for me to give an account of how she looked. Her expression was multifarious—indeed, just about like the still unpublished but announced commentary on my book, a commentary that con- tains the possibility of any and every interpretation. One word, and she would have laughed at me; one word, she would have been moved; one word, she would have escaped me—but no word passed my lips; I remained solemnly obtuse and kept precisely to the ritual. —“‘She had known me for such The Seducer’s Diary 375 a short time.’’ Good lord, such difficulties are encountered only on the narrow path of an engagement, not on the flowery path of love.
Very strange. When I was deliberating on the matter during the preceding days, I was resolute enough about it and sure that in her surprise she would say “‘Yes.”’ There one sees how much all the preparations help; the matter did not turn out that way, for she said neither ‘“‘Yes”’ nor “‘No”’ but referred me to her aunt. I should have foreseen that. But luck was actually with me, for this result was even better.
The aunt gives her consent; of that I have never entertained the remotest doubt. Cordelia follows her advice. As for my engagement, I shall not boast that it is poetic, for in every way it is utterly philistine and bourgeois. The girl does not know whether she should say “Yes” or ‘‘No’’; the aunt says ‘‘Yes,” the girl also says ‘‘Yes,” I take the girl, she takes me—and now the story begins.
The third The third 106So now Iam engaged; so is Cordelia, and that is just about all she knows concerning the whole affair. If she had a girl friend to whom she would talk honestly, she would very likely say, “What it all means, I really do not understand. There is something about him that draws me to him, but I can- not make out what it is. He has a strange power over me, but love him, that I do not and perhaps never shall, but I shall surely be able to endure living with him and thus also be quite happy with him, for he will probably not demand too much if one only sticks it out with him.”” My dear Cordelia! Perhaps he will require something more, and in return less endurance. —Of all ludicrous things an engagement is still the most ludi- crous. '’There is at least meaning in a marriage, even if this meaning does not suit me. An engagement is a purely human invention and is no credit whatsoever to its inventor. It is nei- ther one thing nor the other and has as much to do with love as the ribbon the beadle wears down his back has to do with a professor’s academic gown. Now I am a member of this re- 344 1 345 376 Either/Or, I spectable society. 'It is not without significance, for as Trop says: Not until you become an artist yourself do you earn the right to judge other artists.'°? And is not an engaged man also a Dyrehaug artist?1!°