Einleitung
Friedrich Dürrenmatts Stücke Romulus der Große und Die Physiker sind zwei Tragikomödien zum Thema Macht. Die Protagonisten, Romulus und Möbius, sind, auf sehr unterschiedliche Weise, die zwei mächtigsten Männer ihrer Zeit. Innerhalb der Theatergeschichte sind sie atypisch, da der Besitz von Macht sie nicht erfreut. Während traditionelle Protagonisten, beispielsweise Wallenstein und Faust, alles riskieren, um Macht zu erwerben, gehen Dürrenmatts Protagonisten große Risiken ein, um sich ihrer Macht zu entledigen. Dürrenmatts Stücke sind damit eine Umkehrung des traditionellen Theaters, vergleichbar mit dem Spiel Mankomania, einer Umkehrung des Monopolyspiels, bei dem man eine Million Dollar so schnell wie möglich verlieren muss.
In dieser Arbeit werden die beiden Stücke vergleichend untersucht, wobei das Ziel ist, herauszufinden, wie sich in Dürrenmatts Dramaturgie die Macht und das Individuum, das sie ausübt, zueinander verhalten. Dabei bietet das Stück Die Physiker etwas mehr Material, weshalb der Untersuchung dieses Stückes in der vorliegenden Arbeit etwas mehr Raum gegeben werden soll.
Das Verhalten der beiden Protagonisten soll auf einer philosophischen und einer dramaturgischen Ebene betrachtet werden, um so zu versuchen, die Lebenshaltung dieser beiden ihrer Lage nach so unterschiedlichen Protagonisten miteinander in Verbindung zu bringen. Sie sind dabei nicht in erster Linie als Individuen, sondern als dramatische Charaktere zu beobachten. Zu Beginn erfolgt eine kurze Zusammenfassung der Stücke, wobei allerdings nur die Aspekte betrachtet werden, die für die Untersuchungen der vorliegenden Arbeit wichtig sind. Dann sollen drei Übereinstimmungen zwischen den beiden Stücken untersucht werden. Die erste soll ‚Brünnhilde-Komplex‘ genannt werden: dahinter verbirgt sich der Gedanke, dass ein Mensch mit seinem Verzicht auf die Macht die Macht als solche vernichten kann. Zweitens wird die Arbeit, ausgehend von Marianne Kestings Definition des epischen Theaters, näher beleuchten, inwieweit das Verhalten der beiden Protagonisten eine subtile Umkehrung der Lebenshaltung der meisten modernen Protagonisten ist. Und drittens soll versucht werden, Dürrenmatts Haltung gegenüber den aristotelischen Theatergesetzen zu klären, und mit einem Verweis auf Beckett zu argumentieren, dass er mit seinen Versuchen, den ältesten Gesetzen des Theaters zu gehorchen, ironischerweise genau in das Theater seiner Zeit hineinpasst.
Soweit dem Autor der vorliegenden Arbeit bekannt, ist ein spezifischer Vergleich zwischen Romulus der Große und Die Physiker noch nicht versucht worden. Es existiert eine große Menge an Studien über Dürrenmatts Stücke im Allgemeinen, aber auf die grundlegenden Ähnlichkeiten zwischen den Protagonisten dieser beiden Stücke ist noch nicht ausführlich aufmerksam gemacht worden.
I. Inhalt der beiden Stücke
1. Romulus der Große
Die erste Fassung von Romulus der Große erfuhr ihre Premiere in Basel am 23. April 1949. Vier Fassungen sind im Anschluss erschienen, und zwar 1957, 1961, 1964 und 1980. Die Fassung der Werkausgabe ist diejenige aus dem Jahr 1980; diese stellt auch die Vorlage für die Untersuchungen der vorliegenden Arbeit dar.
Das Verfassen einer Synopsis des Stückes birgt eine Reihe von Schwierigkeiten, weil es sich hier, wenn man es richtig betrachtet, um eine Reihe von komischen Skizzen handelt, die das Ziel verfolgen, eine Kontrast-Studie des Protagonisten Romulus, des Kaiser des Römischen Reiches, gegenüber seiner Umgebung zu sein. Die gesamte Handlung des Stückes dient nur dazu, ein Bild von ihm zu entwerfen und dem Leser klar zu machen, wie weit seine Mentalität von der seiner Umgebung entfernt ist.
Die Zuschauer und Leser erfahren erstens über ihn dass er als Kaiser sein Landhaus in den zwanzig Jahren seiner Regierungszeit nicht verlassen hat, und dass er sich wenig für die katastrophalen Nachrichten aus der Außenwelt interessiert.
Zweitens sehen die Leser und Zuschauer, dass er ein begeisterter Hühnerzüchter ist, der seine Hühner nach verschiedenen römischen Kaisern, nach seinem Feldherrn Orestes und dem Germanenfürsten Odoaker benannt hat. Die Hühner interessieren ihn mehr als das Regieren seines Reiches.
Drittens wird den Lesern im Stück gezeigt, dass Romulus bereit ist, römische Kunst und damit römische Kultur an den Antiquitätenhändler Apollyon zu verkaufen, und damit zu ihrem Ausverkauf beizutragen; aber dass er nicht bereit ist, seine Tochter an den reichen Hosenfabrikanten Cäsar Rupf zu verkaufen, auch nicht um das Reich zu retten.
Schließlich erfahren die Leser spät im zweiten Akt, im Gespräch mit seiner Frau Julia, dass Romulus die kaiserliche Macht nur erworben hat, weil er das Reich zugrunde richten möchte. Seiner Ansicht nach ist das römische Reich in seinem Wesen verbrecherisch, und er sieht es als seine Aufgabe an, es zu vernichten.
Romulus ist umgeben von militaristisch denkenden Traditionalisten. Unter ihnen gibt es Feiglinge, Heuchler und auch Helden, aber im Gegensatz zu Romulus glauben sie alle daran, dass ein Fortbestehen des Reiches notwendig ist.
Romulus ist bereit, sein Leben zu opfern, wenn das dazu führen sollte, dass das Reich ebenfalls untergeht. Der entscheidende Moment findet sich im vierten Akt, als die Germanen unter ihrem König Odoaker in der Villa eintreffen. Der König Odoaker ist ebenfalls Hühnerzüchter und so sehr von Kaiser Romulus beeindruckt, dass er sich ihm mit seinen Germanen ergeben will. Er hat dieselben Ansichten wie Romulus: Auch er glaubt, dass sein künftiges Reich nur zum Bösen taugt. Er will deshalb seine Macht an Romulus übertragen, damit die Welt vor den Germanen geschützt ist. Dies ist eine große Enttäuschung für Romulus. Die beiden einigen sich darauf, dass ihr Streben nach einer besseren Welt ohne Gewalt sinnlos ist.
2. Die Physiker
Das Stück Die Physiker wurde im Jahr 1962 uraufgeführt. 1980 erschien auch von diesem Stück eine neue Fassung. Die Physiker ist weniger skizzenhaft als Romulus der Große. Der Humor entsteht vielmehr aus der Situation heraus, die Anzahl der Verweise auf die Geschichte, die Politik, usf. sind deutlich niedriger. Das Stück Die Physiker ist sogar noch stärker von seinen Protagonisten bestimmt. Die chaotischen Verhältnisse im späten römischen Reich hätte es auch ohne Romulus gegeben, denn es handelte sich um eine Gesellschaft mitten in der Krise. Romulus eigenartiges Verhalten ist darin nur ein komplizierender Faktor. Im Werk Die Physiker wird hingegen betont, dass die Hauptfigur und seine Macht einzigartig sind. Im Laufe des Stückes wird klar, dass das Wissen des Physikers Möbius weit über das der wissenschaftlichen Gemeinschaft seiner Zeit hinausreicht. Der Leser erfährt während des Stückes, dass das Benehmen der übrigen Charaktere ausschließlich von ihrem Verhältnis zu Möbius bestimmt worden ist. Möbius ist ein Physiker, der Entdeckungen macht, die für die Welt gefährlich sein können; deswegen hat er sich, vierzehn Jahre vor Beginn der Handlung des Stückes, als Geisteskranker in das Sanatorium Les Cerisiers aufnehmen lassen. Er gibt vor, dass ihm der König Salomo erscheint. Patienten des Sanatoriums sind außer ihm zwei ebenfalls (angeblich) geisteskranke Naturwissenschaftler, die sich Einstein und Newton nennen und später enthüllen, dass sie Agenten der beiden großen Weltmächte sind. Sie haben nur vorgegeben, wahnsinnig zu sein, um sich Möbius annähern zu können, weil sie vermuteten, dass Möbius zu revolutionären naturwissenschaftlichen Erkenntnissen gekommen ist. Auch die Leiterin der Anstalt, die adlige Frau Dr. von Zahnd, vermutet dies und hat daher Möbius Aufzeichnungen kopieren lassen. Außerhalb der Anstalt gründet sie einen industriellen Komplex, das auf Möbius Erfindungen fußt.
Der größte Teil der Handlung ist abermals darauf ausgerichtet, das Leben und die Haltung von Möbius zu skizzieren. Im Laufe des zweiten Akts wird es Möbius immer klarer, dass sein Versuch, unentdeckt zu bleiben, gescheitert ist, und dass ihm sogar drei verschiedene Mächte auf der Spur sind. Er schafft es, die Agenten der beiden Großmächte, Einstein und Newton, davon zu überzeugen, dass es tatsächlich besser ist, wenn sein Wissen der Welt verborgen bleibt. Frau Dr. Mathilde von Zahnd kann er jedoch nicht überzeugen und ihr auch nicht entgehen. Auch sie behauptet nämlich, dass ihr der König Salomo erschienen sei.
II. Der ‚Brünnhilde-Komplex‘
1. Das Erbe Wagners
Wie zuvor erläutert verfolgen Romulus und Möbius dasselbe Ziel. Sie sind beide die mächtigsten Männer ihrer Zeit. Sie können sich beide aber nicht vorstellen, dass ihre Macht und ihre Fähigkeiten in irgendeiner Weise zum Guten verwendet werden könnten. Deswegen versuchen sie ihrer Macht mittels des Wahnsinns zu entfliehen. Beide scheitern daran.
Obwohl das Zeitgeschehen der vierziger, fünfziger und sechziger Jahre für das Verständnis der beiden Stücke wichtig ist, sollte man diese auch im Kontext der deutschsprachigen Kultur- und Theatergeschichte betrachten. Für das Verständnis von Macht in der deutschsprachigen Kultur stellt Richard Wagners (1813-1883) Oper Der Ring des Nibelungen (1848-1874) einen wichtigen Einfluss dar, der bis jetzt in der Dürrenmatt-Forschung vernachlässigt wurde. Die Handlung des Ringes stellt eine Reihe von Konflikten um Macht dar, die zu Ende gehen, als die Macht - symbolisiert durch den Ring - plötzlich einer Frau, nämlich Brünnhilde, in die Hände fällt. Ihre Liebe zu ihrem ermordeten Ehemann Siegfried und ihre Reue bringen sie zu der Entscheidung, auf die Macht zu verzichten. Sie wirft den Ring zurück in den Rhein, aus dem das Gold, woraus der Ring geschmiedet war, ursprünglich kam, und begeht dann Selbstmord. Mit ihrer Entscheidung, die Macht zu verwerfen und sich zu opfern, geht auch die Macht als solche zu Ende: „Das Feuer, das mich verbrennt/ rein´ge den Ring vom Fluch/ ihr in der Flut/ löset ihn auf……. der Götter Ende dämmert nun auf/ So – werf ich den Brand in Walhalls prangende Burg.“ Das Walhalla, die Festung der Götter, geht in Flammen auf, und auch die anderen Mächtigen, die Zwerge und Riesen, sind entmachtet worden. Mit dem Ende der Macht entsteht aber nicht notwendigerweise ein Utopia. Brünnhilde hat mit ihrem Verzicht auf die Macht kein ausgeprägtes Ideal vor Augen. Sie wird von einem puren Ekel vor der Macht, und allem, was sie bewirkt hat, angetrieben.
In der Handlung des Rings treffen das buddhistisch geprägte Denken Arthur Schopenhauers (1788-1860) und der Anarchismus des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts aufeinander. Die Anarchisten glaubten, dass in der Welt die Macht als solche untergehen sollte, um von einer utopischen neuen Weltordnung ersetzt zu werden, in der alle gleich sein sollten. Schopenhauer dagegen ist kein politischer Denker. Er glaubt aber an eine Lebenshaltung des Nichts-Tuns, die von der nicht selbstsüchtigen Liebe inspiriert ist, und verbindet eine Art Messianismus mit dieser Lebenshaltung, der in seinem Fall auf Buddha zurückgeht, welcher mit seinem Beispiel viele Menschen dazu inspiriert hat, sich der Welt zu entziehen.
Als Wagner mit der Schöpfung des Ring-Zyklus begann, war sein Denken, kurz nach dem Revolutionsjahr 1848, stark von den Anarchisten beeinflusst. In den folgenden Jahren entdeckte er Schopenhauer. Als er an den frühen Fassungen des Librettos arbeitete, glaubte er noch an ein Utopia, das auf das Verschwinden der Macht folgen sollte. Daran glaubte er später, nachdem er Schopenhauer entdeckt hatte, nicht mehr; er versöhnte sich aber keinesfalls mit den Auswirkungen der Macht. Stattdessen spricht aus Der Ring des Nibelungen ein tiefer Ekel gegen die Welt der Macht. Um so bewundernswerter ist Brünnhilde, die die Möglichkeit hatte, die Machtspiele zu dominieren, sich jedoch am Ende dagegen entschied.
In den Jahren bis 1945, in die auch Dürrenmatts Jugend fiel, hatten die Wagnerschen Opern einen sehr großen Einfluss auf die Kultur der deutschsprachigen Länder. Dieser Einfluss reichte weit über den der sie inspirierenden Denker hinaus. Die Grundgedanken, geprägt vom Anarchismus einerseits und Schopenhauer andererseits, wurden durch bürgerliche Opernhäuser weiter verbreitet.
In beiden Stücken, Romulus der Große und Die Physiker, parodiert Dürrenmatt die Lebenshaltung, die aus Wagners Ring-Zyklus spricht. Beide Protagonisten leiden an einem ‚Brünnhilde-Komplex‘, wenn auch Romulus stärker als Möbius. Was sie fühlen, passt in die Tradition von Wagner, und zum Beispiel nicht in die von Matthias Claudius, mit seinem „Es ist leider Krieg, […] und ich begehre nicht schuld daran zu sein“. Sie hassen das Böse der Macht, aber für sie reicht es nicht, einfach nicht schuld daran zu sein. So ein pragmatischer Fatalismus ist ihnen fremd. Sie glauben, dass sie mit ihrem Verzicht, so wie Brünnhilde, die Macht vernichten können.
2. Der Brünnhilde-Komplex bei Romulus und Möbius
Romulus befindet die römische Geschichte für abscheulich: „Nicht ich habe mein Reich verraten, Rom hat sich selbst verraten. Es kannte die Wahrheit, aber es wählte die Gewalt, es kannte die Menschlichkeit, aber es wählte die Tyrannei.“ Schon am Ende des zweiten Aktes sagte er: „Der Kaiser weiß, was er tut, wenn er sein Reich ins Feuer wirft, wenn er fallen läßt, was zerbrechen muß, und zertritt, was dem Tode gehört.“
Er wird nicht versuchen, noch etwas am römischen Reich zu ändern. Der Germanenkönig Odoaker, tief von ihm beeindruckt, bittet ihn, sich abermals an die Spitze der Welt zu stellen: „Du kannst nicht deiner Größe ausweichen, Romulus, du bist der einzige Mann, der diese Welt zu regieren versteht.“ Romulus weigert sich. Er wird nicht versuchen, die korrupte alte Ordnung zu retten, etwas Anständiges aus ihr zu machen. Er hat sich festgelegt: „Ich kann nicht mehr, Germane. Auch wenn ich es möchte.“
Auch Möbius versucht nicht, seine Macht zum Guten zu wenden. Albert Einstein, Enrico Fermi und Niels Bohr wollten dafür sorgen, dass - falls es eine Atombombe geben sollte - die Vereinigten Staaten diese vor dem von den Nationalsozialisten beherrschten Deutschland bekamen. Möbius entschied sich weder für eine solche Lösung, noch für eine subtile Art von Sabotage, so wie Werner Heisenberg und Otto Hahn, deren Leistungen ausreichend waren, um die Führung über das deutsche Atomprojekt zu behalten, aber absichtlich nicht ausreichend, um die Nationalsozialisten auch tatsächlich in die Lage zu bringen, eine Bombe herzustellen. Möbius vernichtet seine Karriere mit einer großen Gebärde. Brünnhilde hat zumindest nicht selbst entschieden, Siegfried zu opfern, Möbius hingegen entfremdet mit Absicht seine Familie von sich: „Ich spielte den Wahnsinnigen […] um von meiner Frau Abschied zu nehmen und von meinen Buben […]. Meine Familie kann mich nun mit gutem Gewissen vergessen.“ Er geht noch weiter und erdrosselt eine Krankenschwester, die ihn liebte und an ihn glaubte: „Sie hielt mich für ein verkanntes Genie […]. Töten ist etwas Schreckliches. Ich habe getötet, damit nicht noch ein schrecklicheres Morden anhebe.“
3. Historizismus
Die Haltung der Brünnhilde ist jedoch eine Ausprägung eines ideengeschichtlichen Phänomens, das über die direkten Quellen Wagners hinausreicht. Letztendlich handelt es sich um eine Auseinandersetzung mit der Philosophie der Geschichte. Der Untertitel des Stückes Romulus der Große ist hier von Bedeutung. Es handelt sich um eine „ungeschichtliche historische Komödie“, ein Titel in klarem Widerspruch zu sich selbst. Die somit ungeschichtliche geschichtliche Komödie weist darauf hin, dass die Natur der Geschichte als solche in diesem Stück in Frage gestellt wird.
Eine Reihe von Denkern, der Wichtigste unter ihnen Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831), entwickelten eine Geschichtsauffassung, die später von Karl Popper (1902-1994) als „Historizismus“ kritisiert worden ist. Popper richtet seine Kritik an die Sozialwissenschaften, wobei er historizistisch vorgehenden Wissenschaftlern vorwirft, sie glaubten, dass „it is the task of the social sciences to lay bare the law of evolution of society in order to foretell its future.“ Popper bringt diese Haltung in Verbindung mit den totalitären Ideologien des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts. In der Geschichte der Philosophie ist sie in erster Linie mit Hegel und Marx in Verbindung zu bringen. Implizit ist im Historizismus der Gedanke, dass die Geschichte eine feststehende Entwicklung durchlaufen müsse, und dass es keinen Weg zurück gebe. Die Mächte der Geschichte seien weit stärker als der einzelne Mensch, und dieser habe nicht die Möglichkeit, sich gegen die Geschichte zu wehren. Der Historizismus ist letzlich aus der christlichen Heilsgeschichte entstanden. Diese Geschichte hat einen Anfang (die Schöpfung der Erde) und eine kleine Anzahl von alles bestimmenden Ereignissen. Und sie hat einen Messias, der sich erst aufopfert, und dann über die Welt richtet. Weltliche historizistische Philosophien umfassen den alten, geistlichen Hegelianismus, den Anarchismus und Marxismus, und Francis Fukuyamas „End of History“-These, in welcher der definitive Sieg des Kapitalismus, vielleicht zu Unrecht, gefeiert wird.
4. Historizismus in Romulus der Große und Die Physiker
In Romulus der Große und Die Physiker wird die historizistische Sichtweise auf unterschiedliche Weise parodiert. Romulus glaubt, am Ende der Geschichte angelangt zu sein. Er beschreibt sich selbst als an „der Spitze des Riesenbaus der römischen Geschichte“ stehend, und Rom als „eine taumelnde Greisin“, eine Metapher, die mit einer Sichtweise übereinstimmt, nach der die Geschichte, wie das menschliche Leben, ein unumkehrbarer Prozess ist.
In Die Physiker wird der Glaube an den unvermeidlichen Fortschritt der Wissenschaft, ein Grundgedanke jedes weltlichen Historizismus, verspottet. Möbius sagt: „Wir sind in unserer Wissenschaft an die Grenzen des Erkennbaren gestoßen.“ und „Was einmal gedacht wurde, kann nicht mehr zurückgenommen werden“ . Das heißt dass die Wissenschaft mit Möbius die Grenzen der Erkenntnis erreicht hat und dass diese Fortschritte nicht rückgängig gemacht werden können. Jeder Fortschritt, den ein Forscher in einem bestimmten Zeitalter erzielen könne, könne auch von einem anderen Forscher erreicht werden - ein historizistischer Gedanke.
Ob diese Annahmen in der Wirklichkeit gelten ist unbeweisbar. Eine Studie betonte kürzlich, dass es nach den Vereinigten Staaten keinem Land gelungen sei, ohne Hilfe eines anderen Landes eine Atombombe zu bauen. Die Sowjetunion, Frankreich und Großbritannien hätten ihre Atombombe durch Bündnisse oder Spionage von den Vereinigten Staaten bekommen; die Volksrepublik China und Indien wiederum von der Sowjetunion, Pakistan von China, Nordkorea von Pakistan, Israel von Frankreich und Südafrika von Israel. Ob es in der wirklichen Welt so leicht ist, wissenschaftliche Erfolge zu kopieren, ist also unklar.
Innerhalb des Stückes Die Physiker stimmt der Gedanke der Unvermeidbarkeit des Fortschritts jedenfalls nicht. Was Möbius gedacht hat ist unwiederholbar. Den beiden namenlosen Großmächten des Stückes ist es die Mühe wert, Spitzenforscher zu opfern, um hinter Möbius' Geheimnisse zu kommen. Die Figur Newton sagt dazu: „Ich las zufällig Ihre Dissertation über die Grundlagen einer neuen Physik… Ich hatte es mit dem genialsten Dokument der neueren Physik zu tun.“
Die Figur Einstein sagt später, die Ganzheit von Möbius´ Theorien in Betracht ziehend: „Zum Lachen. Da versuchen Horden gut besoldeter Physiker in riesigen staatlichen Laboratorien seit Jahren vergeblich in der Physik weiterzukommen, und Sie erledigen das en passant im Irrenhaus am Schreibtisch.“
Newton und Einstein, zwei erstrangige Physiker, denken nicht daran, die Erkenntnisse von Möbius mit Hilfe gut besoldeter Kollegen und riesiger staatlicher Laboratorien auf der Grundlage dessen, was sie schon von Möbius´ Theorien wissen, einfach zu kopieren. Nein, sie kommen nach Les Cerisiers wie zum delphischen Orakel. Im Licht von Dürrenmatts Punkte zu den >Physikern<, laut denen der Zufall eine zentrale Rolle spielt, ist eine derartige Verhaltensweise auch logisch. Es ist den Aussagen seiner Kollegen nach tatsächlich so, dass niemand anderes Möbius´ Entdeckungen hätte machen oder eben nur nachmachen können. Und Möbius hätte mit seinem Vorhaben, die Welt vor seinem Wissen zu schützen, sogar erfolgreich sein können, wenn er nicht Frau Mathilde von Zahnd begegnet war (das siebente Punkt zu dem Stück Die Physiker lautet: „Der Zufall in einer dramatischen Handlung besteht darin, wann und wo wer zufällig wem begegnet.“ ), oder wenn er, wie im nächsten Abschnitt gezeigt wird, schlichtweg vernünftiger gewesen wäre.
Kurzgefasst: Die Unvermeidlichkeit des wissenschaftlichen Fortschritts, die vom Historizismus gerne angenommen wird, gibt es im Stück Die Physiker, einigen Aussagen von Möbius zum Trotz, nicht.
Wie im nächsten Abschnitt gezeigt wird, kann sich auch Romulus, um seine Absichten zu verwirklichen, nicht einfach auf die Wirkung der historischen Kräfte verlassen.
III. Passivität als eine Art von Aktivität
1. Das epische Theater
Die beiden Stücken stehen in einer langen Theatertradition und nehmen sowohl Bezug auf frühere Schriftsteller als auch auf die jüngste Vergangenheit. Dürrenmatt kann teilweise als ein Nachfolger Bertolt Brechts (1898-1956) bezeichnet werden, und damit stoßen wir auf den Begriff des „epischen Theaters“.
Es ist nicht leicht, genau zu bestimmen, was das „epische Theater“ ist, da der Begriff sich zwischen zwei Extrempunkten befindet. Einerseits hat er eine eher negative Bedeutung. Jedes Stück, das auf irgendeine Weise gegen die restriktiven Bedingungen der aristotelischen Poetik verstößt, hat automatisch epische Züge. Das andere Extrem sind die Vorschriften für das epische Theater aus den theoretischen Schriften Bertolt Brechts, die womöglich noch genauer sind als die aristotelischen Regeln. Jedes Stück, die von Brecht eingeschlossen, das man als „episch“ bezeichnen kann, muss irgendwo zwischen diesen beiden Extremen eingeordnet werden.
Marianne Kesting lässt die Entwicklung, die zum modernen epischen Theater führt, in der ersten Hälfte des neunzehnten Jahrhunderts beginnen, mit Georg Büchner (1813-1837) und Christian Dietrich Grabbe (1801-1836). Sie betont die große Bedeutung von Büchners Woyzeck für diese Entwicklung:
„Die Revolutionäre wie Danton handeln noch, in tragischer Einsicht, Woyzeck ist die arme Kreatur, die ,gehandelt wird'. Und damit tritt in das passive Drama der passive Held, der Ausgelieferte.“
Das Wort „Drama“ hat seinen Ursprung im altgriechischen „dran, dran“ (tun, handeln), und bedeutet „Handlung“. Der Wille der Protagonisten prägt das dramatische Theater. Woyzeck dagegen ist ein Opfer der auf ihn einwirkenden gesellschaftlichen Kräfte. Natürlich kann der Protagonist Woyzeck, gesellschaftlich auf dem untersten Rang verharrend, nicht viel gegen die Kräfte ausrichten, die auf ihn einwirken. Zur selben Zeit aber schreibt Christian Dietrich Grabbe Dramen über verschiedene, scheinbar äußerst wehrhafte militärische Führer aus der Weltgeschichte, und fängt hier an zu zeigen, dass auch diese Figuren in vielerlei Hinsicht eher von ihrer Zeit bestimmt wurden als dass sie ihre Zeit bestimmten, zum Beispiel in Napoleon oder den Hundert Tagen. Hiermit weist er voraus auf Tolstojs polemische Behauptung, Napoleon sei der machtloseste Mann im französischen Kaiserreich. All seine Unternehmungen seien nämlich bestimmt von Mächten, die er nicht kontrollieren könne. Er versuche nicht seinem Schicksal zu entgehen: Seine Aktivität sei eine Art Passivität.
Die Passivität von Romulus und Möbius, Dürrenmatts Protagonisten, ist dagegen eine Art Aktivität.
2. Romulus´ Passivität
Romulus muss fortwährend Aktivitäten unternehmen und Aussagen machen, um zu verhindern, dass er gezwungen wird, in die Situation des römischen Reiches einzugreifen. Einerseits bezeugt Romulus, dass er philosophisch gesehen Materialist ist. „Meldungen stürzen die Welt nie um. Das tun die Tatsachen“ sagt er, als er sich weigert, den Bericht vom Untergang Roms anzuhören. Damit verkennt er die Wirklichkeit der modernen so wie die der antiken Welt, in denen die Auswirkungen von Meldungen sehr bedeutend sein können. Es ist eine philosophische Stellungnahme: er ist materialistisch eingestellt, glaubt, dass die Wirklichkeit über den Schein triumphieren muss. Er glaubt an die Wirklichkeit, und nicht daran, dass symbolische Handlungen wirkungsvoll sein können. Dennoch besteht alles, was er im ersten Akt tut, aus symbolischen Handlungen. Er preist seinen Finanzminister, der die Staatskasse entwendet hat, um den Staatsbankrott verbergen zu können („Ein kluger Mann. Wer einen großen Skandal verheimlichen will, inszeniert am besten einen kleinen.“ ). Hier ist also die Meldung wichtiger als die Tatsache. Er verlangt beim Antiquitätenhändler Apollyon einen höheren Preis für eine Büste von Ovid, weil dieser „ein großer Dichter“ gewesen sei, und nicht wegen der bildhauerischen Qualität des Werks . Er behauptet, dass die Vorlage die Qualität des Werkes beeinflusst („Jede Büste hat den Stil, den sie verdient.“ RdG, S. 22) Obwohl auch die Henne, die er nach dem Tyrannen Domitian benannt hat, häufig Eier legt, weigert er sich, diese zu verspeisen. Lieber isst er die Eier von der Henne, die nach dem Philosophenkaiser Marc Aurel benannt ist, und die von der Henne namens Odoaker, benannt nach seinem eigentlichen Feind. Nach schlechten Kaisern benannte Hennen lässt er lieber schlachten, und sogar die Henne, die nach ihm benannt ist, bleibt nicht verschont („Wer nichts taugt, taugt in der Pfanne. Der Koch soll mit mir und Orestes auch Caracalla zubereiten“. ) Als man ihn fragt, was er gegen den drohenden Triumph der Germanen unternehmen wolle, antwortet er lakonisch: „Ich werde heute nachmittag eine Proklamation an meine Soldaten entwerfen“.
Er lebt in einer kultivierten Scheinwelt und entschuldigt sich damit, dass er nicht mehr imstande sei, den Niedergang des Reiches aufzuhalten. Er glaubt es jedoch selbst nicht. Schon im ersten Akt sagt er, als seine Ehefrau ihn fragt, was er denn eigentlich wolle, genau, was er vorhat: „Ich möchte die Weltgeschichte nicht stören, liebe Julia.“
Das stimmt aber nicht, wie der Leser in einem späteren Gespräch zwischen Romulus und seiner Frau erfährt. Julia fordert ihn auf, noch einmal Widerstand zu leisten. Romulus glaubt nicht daran. „Wenn wir uns wehren, wird unser Untergang nur blutiger… Man steckt eine Welt nicht in Brand, die schon verloren ist.“ Seine Frau nennt ihn einen Defätisten, aber das ist er nicht, wie er dann im Detail erklärt. Die Wahrheit klingt viel schlimmer: Er erklärt, dass er seine Frau nur geheiratet habe, damit er Kaiser werden konnte - nicht gerade eine Handlung, die man von einer der Natur nach passiven Persönlichkeit erwarten würde. Als Gründe führt Romulus an: „Ich bin aus politischer Einsicht Kaiser geworden… Es ist meine politische Einsicht, nichts zu tun.“ Er hat die Regierungsmacht übernommen, weil er die Zeit der seiner Meinung nach allzu aktiven Kaiser beenden wollte. Seine Frau entgegnet ihm: „Und als Kaiser zu faulenzen gefährdet den Staat.“
Romulus: „Du bist hinter den Sinn meiner Faulenzerei gekommen. […] Als Privatperson zu faulenzen ist völlig wirkungslos.“
Julia bringt es noch auf den Punkt: „Du hast den Zyniker gespielt und den ewigen verfressenen Hanswurst, nur um uns in den Rücken zu fallen.“ Romulus verhält sich für einen Kaiser sehr ungewöhnlich. Wenn er wirklich den Lauf der Weltgeschichte nicht stören will, sollte er sich wie ein normaler, mittelmäßiger Kaiser verhalten. Die Berechnungen eines Karl Marx oder anderer historizistischer Politikwissenschaftler gehen nicht auf, wenn Individuen nicht im Einklang mit ihren Interessen handeln. Ein willentlich irrational handelnder Kaiser hat eine größere Chance, die Weltgeschichte zu stören als irgendjemand sonst.
Es ist aber klar, dass es für Romulus gar nicht so leicht ist, sich als Kaiser dem Regieren zu entziehen. Ständig versucht man ihn mit Meldungen oder Fragen dazu zu bringen, etwas zu unternehmen. Er muss sehr radikal Berichte aus der Umwelt abwehren. „Seit ich Kaiser bin, lese ich keine Briefe“. „Ich rede nur mit meinem Friseur über die militärische Lage.“ Die Hühnerzucht hat er zum Teil deshalb, um etwas anderes zu tun zu haben, das er als Vorwand nutzen kann, wenn die Gefahr besteht, dass er dazu gebracht wird, Regierungsaktivitäten zu unternehmen. Als am Ende des zweiten Aktes Vorschläge gemacht werden, um das Reich zu retten, bricht er das Gespräch ab, indem er sagt: „Zu unserer Pflicht… Das Hühnerfutter her.“
3. Möbius und Salomo
Das Wesen von Möbius´ Macht ist komplexer, somit ist auch sein Verhalten komplexer. Seine einzige Möglichkeit, sich passiv zu verhalten, ist es, sich als wahnsinnig diagnostizieren zu lassen. Nur auf diese Weise glaubt er sich den Folgen seiner Macht entziehen zu können. Mit der Art Wahnsinn, die er gewählt hat, spielt er allerdings ein gefährliches Doppelspiel.
Roger Crockett zweifelt daran, dass Dr. Mathilde von Zahnd tatsächlich wahnsinnig ist. „[...] accepting the premise that the psychiatrist actually suffers from the exact same delusion Möbius invents and feigns requires too much suspension of disbelief.“ Aus psychiatrischer Sicht ist so etwas allerdings nicht unmöglich. Es gibt ein Syndrom, folie a deux oder shared psychotic disorder, bei welchem eine Person die genauen Wahnideen einer anderen Person übernimmt. Normalerweise ist letztere dann auch selbst tatsächlich geisteskrank, aber es scheint nicht undenkbar, dass ein kluger Simulant seine Rolle so gut spielen kann, dass er imstande ist, das Syndrom bei jemand anderem anzuregen, ohne selbst tatsächlich betroffen zu sein.
Auch im Fall von Möbius können wir zweifeln, ob er nicht doch wirklich verrückt ist. Er hat seinen vorgetäuschten Wahnsinn benutzt, um sich und seine Entdeckungen der Sicht der Welt zu entziehen, aber effektiver wäre es gewesen, dabei zur Verdoppelung der Sicherheit die Physik aufzugeben. Notfalls hätte er seine Tätigkeit als Physiker rein mental weiterführen können, so wie der Protagonist der Schachnovelle von Stefan Zweig (1881-1942) während seiner Inhaftierung das Schachspiel rein im Kopf bis auf ein Großmeister-Niveau zu beherrschen lernt.
Anstatt eine dieser Möglichkeiten zur fortlaufenden Täuschung zu nutzen, hat Möbius nicht nur seine Physik unter der Fahne des Wahnsinns weiter geführt, sondern noch dazu seine Entdeckungen schriftlich dokumentiert. Gegen Ende des ersten Akts hat er seine Entdeckungen mehr oder weniger vollendet. Er sagt:
„Salomo hat mir offenbart, was zu offenbaren war, das System aller möglichen Erfindungen ist abgeschlossen, die letzten Seiten sind diktiert.“
Es dürfte ihm klar sein, welch ein Risiko er eingeht. Es bedarf nur einer Person, die ihn durchschaut, ihm glaubt oder sich einfach nur mit Fachkenntnis seine Theorien anschaut und entdeckt, dass seine Aufzeichnungen zur Physik keineswegs unklug sind, und sein Plan, die Welt vor seiner Physik zu schützen, scheitert.
Dieser Fehler von Seiten Möbius' ist notwendig, um das Drama voranzutreiben. Ein Möbius, der wirklich bis zum Äußersten gegangen wäre, um die Welt vor seinen Erkenntnissen zu schützen, hätte das schaffen können, und wäre damit keine passende Vorlage für ein Stück gewesen. Menschen, die sich bewusst dafür entscheiden, der Welt ihre Genialität vorzuenthalten, verschwinden normalerweise ruhmlos in der Geschichte. Es ist Möbius´ Ambivalenz, die ihn zum Protagonisten eines Stückes macht. Trotzdem: Möbius täuscht Wahnsinn vor, aber seine Fehlentscheidung wirft die Frage auf, ob er nicht doch auch in Wirklichkeit zum Teil wahnsinnig ist. Wahrscheinlich hat er zu seinem Unglück einfach nicht die Wahl, mit der Physik aufzuhören. Es ist stärker als er: der König Salomo ist eine Metapher für die gewaltige Macht, die die Physik über ihn ausübt:
„Salomo bin ich treu geblieben. Er ist in mein Dasein eingebrochen, auf einmal, ungerufen, er hat mich mißbraucht, mein Leben zerstört, aber ich habe ihn nicht verraten.“
Möbius´ Handeln ist nicht rational; und die ausführliche Erklärung, die er seinen beiden Kollegen „Newton“ und „Einstein“ gibt und auf die auch das Publikum sich letztendlich verlassen muss, ist unzuverlässig. Wir können Möbius nichts mehr glauben. Es ist sogar denkbar, dass Die Physiker nicht nur grotesk, sondern auch noch magisch-realistisch ist. Zwei Charaktere betonen, dass der König Salomo ihnen erschienen sei. Einer von ihnen gibt vor, dass es eine Lüge sei, aber sein Verhalten ist nicht ausreichend konsistent, um sich als Leser sicher sein zu können, dass er diesmal die Wahrheit spricht. Wie lässt sich der negative Beweis für Salomo liefern?
Eine Möglichkeit ist eine Untersuchung, wie er den beiden erscheint. Es ist denkbar, dass der König Salomo, wenn es ihn tatsächlich gibt, Möbius und von Zahnd in unterschiedlichen Gestalten erscheint. Es ist aber wahrscheinlicher, dass der Salomo, den die beiden wahrzunehmen behaupten, in beiden Fällen identisch aussieht. Das ist nicht der Fall. Roger Crockett beschreibt Salomo als „a universal symbol for wisdom and by extension for knowledge“. Daher muss ausgeführt werden, dass die Rolle Salomos komplizierter ist.
Der biblische Salomo ist ein widersprüchlicher Charakter. Im ersten Buch der Könige wird er wegen seiner Macht und Weisheit gepriesen; auch wird ihm das Hohelied zugeschrieben, das als ein ekstatischer Lobsang auf Gott oder ein erotisches Liebesgedicht gelesen werden kann. Zur gleichen Zeit werden ihm auch die Sprüche Salomos, das nachdenkliche, nahezu depressive Buch Prediger, und die apokryphen (d.h. nicht in der offiziellen Fassung der Bibel enthaltenen) Psalmen Salomos zugeschrieben. Historisch können die verschiedenen Texte nicht mit ein und derselben Person in Verbindung gebracht werden. Die Forschung hat festgestellt, dass sie unmöglich aus dem Zeitalter des historischen Salomo stammen können. Aber die Tradition hat den historischen König und diese sehr verschiedenen Texte miteinander verbunden. Die Verbindung zwischen Salomos Allmacht, und sein Ausspruch „Eitelkeit der Eitelkeiten“, machen ihn zu einer Metapher, nicht nur für Weisheit, Reichtum, und Macht, sondern auch für die Verzweiflung, die trotz, oder sogar wegen dieser Weisheit bzw. aufgrund von Reichtum und Macht auftreten kann.
In das deutsche Sprachgebiet hat z.B. Bertolt Brecht dieses Thema durch seinen Salomon-Song aus der Dreigroschenoper eingebracht. „Dem Mann war alles sonnenklar/ er verfluchte die Stunde seiner Geburt/und sah dass alles eitel war“, der Refrain endet mit den Worten „Beneidenswert wer frei davon.“
„Beneidenswert wer frei davon“. Auch Möbius wäre es vielleicht besser gegangen, wenn seine Begabung eher mittelmäßig gewesen wäre.
So wie Faust wird Möbius von einem Geist besucht, der ihm zu Erkenntnissen verhilft. Vielleicht geht es Faust dabei sogar besser als Möbius, weil er nur vom Teufel besucht wird, Möbius stattdessen vom noch viel schrecklicheren König Salomo. Mephistopheles erscheint noch als ein anständiger Herr, Salomo dagegen wird folgendermaßen beschrieben: „[…] nackt und stinkend kauert er in meinem Zimmer als der arme König der Wahrheit“.
Er nimmt Möbius mit sich auf eine Reise durch das Universum. Möbius besingt diese Reise in seinem „Psalm Salomos“. Wissenschaftlich gesehen stimmt in diesem Psalm manches überhaupt nicht. Möbius singt zum Beispiel von „den Bleidämpfen des Merkurs“. In der Natur gibt es allerdings nirgendwo Blei in der Atmosphäre. Auf der Erde wird Blei nur infolge eines mechanisierten Prozesses freigesetzt. Bis in die achtziger Jahre war es üblich, dass Benzin Blei enthielt, mit erheblichen negativen Folgen für die menschliche Gesundheit. In der Zeit Dürrenmatts war die Erde also in gewissem Sinne von Bleidämpfen umgeben, der Planet Merkur aber sicher nicht.
Mit die Sonne steht es ähnlich. Die Sonne wird im Psalm Salomos als „radioaktiv“ beschrieben. In der Sonne findet aber nur Kernfusion und kaum Kernspaltung statt. Radioaktivität im strikten Sinne wird nur von der Kernspaltung generiert. Die Sonne strahlt verschiedenartige Strahlung aus (infrarot, ultraviolett, solare Röntgenstrahlung), aber nicht die außerordentlich gefährliche radioaktive Strahlung, die man mit Kernexplosionen assoziiert.
Im Psalm Salomos ist das Universum also durchtränkt mit Giftstoffen, die es in Wirklichkeit an den erwähnten Stellen nicht gibt.
Diese Gifte sind Metaphern: das All, das Möbius und Salomo bereisen, ist vergiftet. König Salomo, wie Möbius ihn auffasst, ist ein kosmischer Vagabund, und sein Kosmos ist eine Art Hölle.
Der König Salomo, der von Frau Dr. von Zahnd beschrieben wird, sieht völlig anders aus. Er wird ein „goldener König“ genannt, und sieht angeblich aus „wie ein Engel“. Dr. von Zahnd ist schockiert, als sie erfährt, dass Salomo den Auftrag gegeben habe, Schwester Monika zu erdrosseln . Freilich ist dies vor dem Hintergrund der Bibel weniger überraschend. Der König Salomo ist dort nicht nur reich, weise, mächtig, und zu Depressionen neigend, er ist auch ein Tyrann, der seinen Halbbruder und dessen Anhänger ohne klare Gründe umbringen lässt. (1. Könige 2.13-45)
Es ist also nicht ganz undenkbar, dass dieser schreckliche Salomo tatsächlich existiert. Ob der Leser zu glauben hat, dass es ihn wirklich gibt, oder ihn nur als Metapher betrachtet soll, ist letztendlich unwichtig. Wichtiger ist, dass Möbius´ Handeln gegen seinen Wille vorangetrieben wird durch etwas, das stärker ist als er und ihn dazu zwingt, Entdeckungen zu machen, die den Weltfrieden bedrohen können. Es ist für ihn viel leichter, der größte Physiker aller Zeiten zu sein, als unauffällig zu bleiben. In seinem Leben kämpft er dafür, keinen Einfluss auf die Weltgeschichte auszuüben - und scheitert daran.
IV. Die aristotelische Form
Sowohl Romulus als auch Möbius haben sich in einen beschränkten Raum zurückgezogen, sich sozusagen selbst eingesperrt, um die Welt vor den Folgen ihrer Macht zu schützen. Romulus verbringt seine ganze Regierungszeit auf seinem Sommersitz in Campania, der Provinz um Neapel. Möbius hat sich in das Sanatorium Les Cerisiers in der Schweiz aufnehmen lassen und ist seit fünfzehn Jahren nicht mehr herausgekommen. Die Entscheidung der Charaktere, sich zurückzuziehen, hat eine dramatische Funktion: sie ermöglicht es Dürrenmatt, die aristotelische Einheit des Raumes zu beachten. Hätte Romulus seine Rolle als Kaiser ernst genommen, dann hätte er beispielsweise auf einen Feldzug gehen müssen.
Das Leben der Physiker in Jungks Heller als tausend Sonnen spielt sich zwischen Göttingen, Kopenhagen, Leiden, Cambridge, verschiedenen amerikanischen Universitäten und letztendlich Los Alamos ab. Bei ihnen existiert demnach auch keine Einheit des Raumes. Bei ihnen gibt es also auch keine Einheit von Raum.
In beiden Stücken beobachten wir die Kulmination eines Prozesses. Möbius spielte fünfzehn Jahre lang den Verrückten, Romulus war zwanzig Jahre lang Kaiser. Die ganze Zeit haben sie sich darum bemüht, die Welt vor den Folgen ihrer Macht zu schützen. Im jeweils letzten Akt der beiden Stücke werden sie plötzlich und einmalig enttäuscht. Sie kommen schlagartig zu der Erkenntnis, dass ihr Versuch gescheitert ist. Ihre Lebensgeschichten lassen sich leicht zusammenfassen. Sie haben sich die ganzen langen Jahre auf eine einzige, sehr spezifische Weise verhalten. Mit diesen lange gezeigten Verhaltensweisen wird das Publikum in den ersten Akten schon vertraut. Darauf folgt dann ein einzelner, bestimmender Wendepunkt. Dieser ist ein Trick von Dürrenmatt, um der aristotelischen Einheit der Zeit gehorchen zu können. Aus Dürrenmatts Theaterproblemen wird klar, wie wichtig die aristotelischen Gesetze für ihn sind. Es seien achtenswürdige Ideale, denen ein Schriftsteller im postklassischen Zeitalter nur freilich kaum gehorchen könne:
„Die Einheit des Aristoteles ist die Forderung nach größter Präzision, größter Dichte und größter Einfachheit der dramatischen Mittel. […] die die Literaturwissenschaft an den Dramatiker stellen müßte, und die sie nur deshalb nicht stellt, weil das Gesetz des Aristoteles seit Jahr und Tag niemand befolgt.“
Seit der Antike ist es Dürrenmatt zufolge nicht mehr möglich, sich an die aristotelischen Einheiten zu halten. Ein antikes Drama stellt einen Moment innerhalb einer dem Publikum vorher bekannten Geschichte dar. Das Vorhergegangene ist schon bekannt und braucht nicht mehr erklärt zu werden: „Ödipus muß zuerst seinen Vater getötet und seine Mutter geheiratet haben, Handlungen, die eine gewisse Zeit benötigen, bevor das Theaterstück des Sophokles einsetzen kann.“
Im Zeitalter des modernen Theaters ist die Menge an möglichen unterschiedlichen Geschichten zu groß. Es lässt sich nicht unterstellen, dass jeder Mensch im heutigen Publikum über die Lebensgeschichte eines Wallenstein oder Galilei Bescheid weiß. Deshalb wird es notwendig, den gesamten Hintergrund eines Protagonisten zu erklären, und damit gewinnt die Theaterdichtung das epische Element. Dürrenmatt bedauert diese Tatsache und versucht in Romulus der Große und Die Physiker einen Weg zu finden, sich an die aristotelischen Einheiten halten zu können. Dürrenmatt zeigt das Verhalten der beiden Protagonisten und zeigt auf diese Weise die ganze Vergangenheit der beiden. Er schuf bewusst eine Geschichte, die nicht zu einer Verletzung der aristotelischen Einheiten auffordert.
Infolge dieses Tricks, der es dem Schriftsteller ermöglichen soll, den aristotelischen Theatergesetzen zu gehorchen, schließen sich die zwei Stücke nahtlos an das moderne Theater der Nachkriegszeit an. In dieser Hinsicht lässt sich Dürrenmatt in die „reflektierte Moderne“ einordnen. Es gelingt ihm, das traditionelle und das moderne Theater miteinander zu versöhnen.
Um ihn in das Theater der Nachkriegszeit einzuordnen, ließe er sich außerdem mit Samuel Beckett (1906-1989) vergleichen. Dessen Theater hat sich so weit von jeglichen traditionellen Werten und Zwecken des Theaters entfernt, dass er sich keine Mühe mehr geben muss, sich an die aristotelischen Einheiten zu halten. Eine Stelle ist ebenso absurd wie die andere, ein Moment ebenso zwecklos wie der folgende oder vorhergehende. Die aristotelische Einheit spiegelt die Einheit des Universums, in dem alles mit allem durch eine allumfassende Sinnlosigkeit verbunden ist. Die Zeit wird gefüllt mit einem nie endenden Prozess des Zerfalls, und es ist kaum möglich festzustellen, wie weit dieser Prozess schon fortgeschritten ist. Epische, das heißt erzählende, Elemente sind nicht notwendig, weil es nichts im Beckettschen Theater gibt, das klärungsbedürftig ist. Das Theater Dürrenmatts ist aber nicht absurd wie das Beckettsche Theater, sondern grotesk. Jürgen Kost hat versucht, den Unterschied zwischen dem Grotesken und dem Absurden zu definieren: „Es [das Groteske] verunsichert bestehende Ordnungs- und Sinnvorstellungen, ohne neue an deren Stelle zu setzen, aber auch ohne die absolute Sinnlosigkeit des Seins zu behaupten.“
Er bringt es mit Karl Pietzcker auf den Punkt:
„Das Absurde behauptet die Sinnlosigkeit, das Groteske greift bestimmten Sinn an.“
Dürrenmatt, als ein Schriftsteller der Groteske, ist sozusagen eine Haltestelle vor Beckett ausgestiegen. Obwohl das Streben seiner Protagonisten scheitert, war Erfolg nicht von vornherein völlig unmöglich. Ein gewaltloses Ende des römischen Reiches war wenigstens denkbar. Die Entdeckungen von Möbius hätten auch, innerhalb der Welt der Physiker, unentdeckt bleiben können. Und auch für die Entwicklung des Dramas ist der Unterschied bedeutend. Es ist Dürrenmatts Charakteren zwar möglich, sich eine Weile im Kreis zu bewegen, aber, anders als bei Beckett, muss es doch am Ende eine Lösung geben. Für Beckett ist das Leben ein Warten auf den Tod, aber als der Tod eintritt, ist der Mensch sich dessen nicht mehr bewusst. Beckett sieht es deswegen als unrealistisch an, dass das Leben eine Lösung haben soll, denn der Mensch werde die Lösung seines Lebens nie erfahren.
Dürrenmatts zweiter Punkt zum Stück Die Physiker behauptet das Gegenteil: „Geht man von einer Geschichte aus, muß sie zu Ende gedacht werden.“ Bei Dürrenmatt muss Godot schließlich kommen. Sein Theater schäkert mit der Absurdität, wenn zum Beispiel Romulus, als er begreift, dass er sich geirrt hat, sagt: „Es ist alles absurd geworden, was ich getan habe“ , oder wenn Möbius sagt: „Nun sind die Städte tot, über die ich regierte, […] und irgendwo um einen kleinen, gelben, namenlosen Stern kreist, sinnlos, immerzu, die radioaktive Erde.“
Aber die Stücke sind letztlich nicht absurd im Beckettschen Sinne. Die Hoffnungen der Protagonisten werden auf katastrophale und vielleicht unvermeidliche Weise zerstört. Die Zerstörung ist aber zeitlich einzuordnen, und sowohl das Publikum als auch die Protagonisten selbst konnten glauben, dass der Sinnlosigkeit zu entgehen möglich war.
Schlussbemerkung
Dürrenmatts Stücke zeigen grundlegende Übereinstimmungen, die deutlich machen, dass beide Stücke Schritte in der Entwicklung seiner Ideen über Theater, Macht, und deren Zusammenhang darstellen.
In Dürrenmatts Denken über Macht und über Theater, so wie es aus diesen Stücken hervorgeht, sehen wir einen ironischen Bezug auf die Vergangenheit, der sich auf subtile Weise im Werk manifestiert. Er spielt mit der apokalyptischen, „historizistischen“ Tradition in der deutschen Philosophie, die sich im Theater am stärksten in Wagners Ring des Nibelungen widerspiegelt. Er spielt mit der modernen, laut Marianne Kesting „epischen“ Konvention, um die Protagonisten eines Stückes als passiv dazustellen, und als Opfer von Kräften, die sie nicht beeinflussen können (hierbei soll, mit Kesting, die Moderne und das epische Theater mit Büchner und Grabbe anfangen). Außerdem schafft er es, den vor langer Zeit geschaffenen aristotelischen Theatergesetzen zu gehorchen und sie zu benutzen, um sehr moderne Literatur zu schreiben.
Mit einem Neigen seiner Stirne
On Rilke´s poem ´Der Engel´
By Berend ter Borg
Introduction
In this essay, I will investigate the resonances of a relatively neglected poem from Rilke´s Neue Gedichte: ´Der Engel´. I will attempt to demonstrate that the neglect is unjustified for various reasons. I will investigate its place within Rilke´s oeuvre, and will argue that, within his development, ´Der Engel´ is precocious. It does not fit in well with the poetics of the Neue Gedichte, and instead points towards the Duineser Elegien: The angel as it appears in this poem is the most significant ancestor, within Rilke´s work, of the angels of elegies.
The poem is also interesting from a number of other perspectives. It can shed some more light on Rilke´s complex relationship with Christianity, and Biblical themes; it contains resonances of the work of Friedrich Nietzsche, another important topic within Rilke scholarship; and it confirms once more that, in spite of a preoccupation with history and literary tradition, Rilke´s mature work clearly belongs to literary Modernism.
My focus will be on Stoffforschung. I will investigate the development of the theme of the poem, and formal concerns will be of secondary importance.
I will first reproduce the poem, and make some general comments on it. I will then establish a theoretical framework, drawing upon the work of various scholars to establish a general account of a number of relevant issues, these being:
-Rilke´s use of the Bible as a source of inspiration
-the development of the angel within Rilke´s work
-the poetics of the Neue Gedichte
-the nature of literary modernism
I will also try to give some indication of how these issues relate to the poem ´Der Engel´. Then, in order to establish what the significance of the poem is, and to determine its place within the development of literary Modernism, I will compare it to a number of other texts: firstly, the poem ´The Prophet´ by Alexander Pushkin, followed by Nietzsche´s Also Sprach Zarathustra, then Kafka´s story ´Vor dem Gesetz´, and, finally, Rilke´s own first Elegy. The aim of these comparisons is to facilitate an analysis of the themes of the poem in relation to the currents in European literature, in order to establish to what extent Rilke´s poem is a departure from existing traditions.
There is an overwhelming amount of scholarship on Rilke, and both the Neue Gedichte and the theme of the angel have been investigated thoroughly. Nevertheless, I have found only one thorough analysis of ´Der Engel´.
I will seek to demonstrate that this poem can be relevant to an understanding of Rilke´s development. In doing so, I will focus more on Stoffforschung than on an investigation of the formal qualities of the poem. The poem helps to clarify several developments within Rilke´s work. These include the evolution of his poetry towards Modernism, and to his ambivalent relationship to the Bible, and to the Christian religion in general. The poem is relevant, because it is a relatively neglected utterance on one of the key motives within Rilke´s work.
1. The Poem ´Der Engel´
The middle period of Rilke´s work is of key significance to understanding the angel´s transformation. In the Neue Gedichte there is one single poem that is exclusively concerned with the angel as an abstract entity, and this is ´Der Engel´. The Neue Gedichte also contains the poem ´L´Ange du Méridien´, but this is, to some extent, a description of a statue on the southern portal of the Cathedral of Chartres, rather than a description of an angel as a metaphysical entity. It is possible that the poem ´Der Engel´ was also inspired by a work of art, but there are no reliable indications to this effect.
it is not clear, therefore, whether the poem is exclusively about this particular work of art, or can also be read as a description of an angel in the more abstract sense. To gain an idea of Rilke´s view of angels at this particular junction, ´Der Engel´ is therefore more suitable.
“DER ENGEL
Mit einem Neigen seiner Stirne weist
er weit von sich was einschränkt und verpflichtet;
denn durch sein Herz geht riesig aufgerichtet
das ewig Kommende das kreist.
Die tiefen Himmel stehn ihm voll Gestalten,
und jede kann ihm rufen: komm, erkenn - .
Gieb seinen leichten Händen nichts zu halten
aus deinem Lastenden. Sie kämen denn
bei Nacht zu dir, dich ringender zu prüfen,
und gingen wie Erzürnte durch das Haus
und griffen dich als ob sie dich erschüfen
und brächen dich aus deiner Form heraus.”
The poem was written in the early Summer of 1906 in Paris, and was included in the first volume of the Neue Gedichte, which came out in December 1907. (Stahl, 1978, 208) The first stanza praises the angel for its power and independence. In the second stanza, it is suggested the angel has a connection to a world of beings that are beyond human comprehension. The end of the second stanza and the entirety of the third stanza consist of a warning to human beings not to engage with the angel, lest the higher beings with which the angel is in touch will come and tear them apart. It is hinted that this destruction might have the purpose of re-making the human being into something new (“als ob sie dich erschüfen”), but this is not fully articulated.
The poem has been neglected. It is rarely mentioned in studies of the Neue Gedichte. Indeed, in his recent treatise on the Neue Gedichte, Peter Por mentions a very early and little known poem by Rilke that is also titled ´Der Engel´, but omits the eponymous poem from the Neue Gedichte. (Por, 1997, 181)
In studies of the theme of the angel in Rilke´s work, the poem is sometimes mentioned, but rarely studied in great detail. Rüdiger Görner mentions it in his chapter on Rilke´s angels, but does not devote more than a single paragraph to it. Ulrich Schödlbauer takes it into account in his recent essay on Rilke´s angels, but also devotes little room to it. The only recent scholar who analyses it in any detail is Paul Claes. He emphasizes the religious connotations of the poem.
(Claes, 1995, 66-69)
Why is this poem neglected? To begin with, it is not among the more accessible poems in the Neue Gedichte. Many poems in the collection have an immediate emotional resonance that ´Der Engel´ lacks. To some extent, the poem also fails to correspond to the critical discourse that has been developed for Rilke´s Neue Gedichte, making it less interesting for scholars.
3. Biblical allusions
It is always difficult to make out the importance of Biblical allusions in the work of Rilke. Of course, Rilke would acknowledge the debt he owed to the Bible, claiming, at one point, that he always had two books with him: the work of Jens Peter Jacobsen, and a Bible. A heavily marked copy of Luther´s translation of the Bible which was owned by Rilke is kept at the Rilke-archive in Gernsbach.
Analyses of Biblical influences on Rilke´s work have recently been provided by Ulrich Fülleborn and Katja Brunkhorst. The basis of their theory on this matter is as follows: Rilke testifies, in his Brief des jungen Arbeiters and elsewhere, that he prefers the Old over the New Testament. This, according to both Brunkhorst and Fülleborn, has an impact on how the two are reflected in his work. Whereas references to the Old Testament are mainly in line with the original source, Rilke consistently subverts any references to the New Testament. This, incidentally, means that his attitude towards the Bible is similar to Nietzsche´s, who had an appreciation for the Old Testament, while Also Sprach Zarathustra also inverts parts of the New Testament.
But Fülleborn and Brunkhorst raise important reservations with regard to the Biblical resonance in Rilke´s work. The Bible has been interpreted over and over again by different Christian denominations. Moreover, most Biblical themes are treated rather summarily within the Bible, only to be visualized in great detail by artists from different periods. Any reworking of the Bible has been influenced by such traditions. And in the case of Rilke, focussed as he was on the visual arts, this tendency would have been even more pronounced. (Fülleborn, 1999, 19-30; Brunkhorst, 2004, 37-40)
The Biblical origins of the figure of the angel are a case in point. The word ´angel´ in itself reveals part of the problem, in that it derives from the Greek, aggelos, colloquially pronounced ´angellos´, which means ´messenger´. The word does not refer to any pre-existent Greek mythological creature, which was then assimilated to the Christian tradition. There are various winged gods and creatures which might bear some relation to the eventual Christian angel, such as the divine messenger Hermes with his winged shoes (who was also notable for his exceptionally large penis, setting him somewhat apart from the Christian angels, who are often thought to be sexless), the winged goddess of victory Nike, Eros, the winged god of love and desire, the winged horse Pegasus, and so forth. More importantly, ´angel´ is not a word that has a direct equivalent in Hebrew. (Vorgrimler, 2001, 8-17) The Luther translation, which was most important for Rilke, reflects this. In many cases, apparitions that were identified by tradition as being ´angels´ are not identified as such in the Old Testament. This is true, even, for the passage that Paul Claes identifies as being possibly the most important source of inspiration for the poem ´Der Engel´. Claes mentions Jacob´s wrestling with the angel: however, in the Luther translation (Genesis 32:25-33) no mention of an angel is made. Jacob comes to a place, and ´Da rang ein man mit ihm´. Jacob wins, and when he asks the man who he is, the man says that he now blesses Jacob, because “du hast mit Gott und mit Menschen gekämpft und du hast gewonnen.” Jacob asks the man for his name, and the man responds “Warum fragst du, wie ich heisse?” The inference from the passage in the Luther Bible would be that Jacob has wrestled God himself, rather than a messenger from God. However, tradition has it that Jacob fought an angel. If the poem ´Der Engel´ was inspired by this passage from the Bible, then only indirectly, possibly after mediation from an artistic source.
Another intriguing example is a similarly cryptic passage from the Book Josua. All through the book, Josua communicates directly with God. Then, in Josua 5:13-15, Josua sees a man walking around all alone, and asks him if he is a friend or foe. The man answers ´Nein,´ which could be taken to mean that he is neither a friend nor a foe, ´sondern ich bin der Fürst über das Heer des HERRN.´ Josua asks which orders God´s servant (Knecht) gives him, and the ´Fürst über das Heer des HERRN´ tells him to take his shoes off, as he is standing on hallowed ground.
The passage is oddly isolated within the Book Josua. The ´Fürst´ makes his first and last appearance here. Afterwards, God continues to speak to Josua directly. Furthermore, the ´Fürst´ identifies himself as the leader of God´s army, but where is God´s army? Is it somewhere out there, invisible to Josua? A salient, inexplicable passage of this sort may well have fed Rilke´s imagination.
There are, of course, many instances in Luther´s translation of the Old Testament where angels are identified as being angels, for instance in Genesis 19, when two angels visited the city of Sodom. Generalising, we can say that, in the Old Testament, angels:
1) are not always identified as such. It would not, in fact, have been possible to identify them as angels, because the word originates from the Greek, while the Old Testament was originally written in Hebrew, without much preceding influence from Greek culture.
2) only make intermittent appearances, as God mostly speaks to human beings directly. Consequently, the angels´ role as ´angelloi´, ´messengers´ is not as central.
3) tend to play a somewhat sinister role. They are often the harbingers, and sometimes the executors, of the wrath of the Lord.
The angels in the New Testament are rather different from those in the Old Testament. God himself does not normally speak directly to human beings, therefore ´angels´ are introduced as messengers. They are also not as sinister as they are in the Old Testament, communicating a message of salvation from God to human beings. The exception is the Revelation of John, in which angels are dominantly present, and revert to their aggressive role from the Old Testament.
These observations serve to make the only analysis of the poem ´Der Engel´, by Paul Claes, somewhat problematic. According to Claes, most of the poem is either inspired by the Bible, or reacting against it.
An example of the first is “…das ewig Kommende das kreist” which Claes relates to Revelations 4:8: “…Heilig, Heilig, Heilig ist Gott der Herr, der da war und der da ist und der da kommt.” An example of the latter is “Gieb seinen leichten Handen nichts zu halten aus deinem Lastenden,”an inversion of Psalms 55:23: “Wirf dein Anliegen auf den Herrn”.
Claes also detects references to Jacob´s wrestling with the angel in the book Genesis, and to the books Exodus, Jesaja, Corinthians, and Job, which he does not specify. Claes is of the opinion that the poem ´Der Engel´ is a halfway house within the evolution of Rilke´s angel: the poem still expresses some Christian sentiments, but also rebels against Christianity. (Claes, 1995, 66-69)
This analysis is somewhat unsatisfying. Claes does not provide any evidence that the Biblical allusions he detects were actually relevant to Rilke´s creative process. The differences between Rilke´s text and the quotes as they appear in the Luther Bible are such, that it must remain a matter of ambivalence whether they were a direct influence.
Still, it seems likely that the Old Testament was a partial inspiration for the poem. The angel in the poem does have something in common with the many enigmatic and sinister angelic figures of the Old Testament.
3. The Evolution of Rilke´s Angels: Some Scholarly Views
Angels are a recurrent motive within Rilke´s oeuvre. His earliest work contains a cycle of poems titled Engellieder (1897-1898), and angels are also present in Das Stunden-Buch (1899-1903), although they are less important here than elsewhere. In the middle period there are a number of significant poems featuring angels, in the Buch der Bilder (1902 and 1906), the Neue Gedichte (1907-1910), and elsewhere. Then, in his late work, angels once again play a key role in the Duineser Elegien (1912 and 1922). After that, angels largely disappear from Rilke´s German poetry, but maintain a strong presence in the French poetry he wrote in his final years.
Because angels are a recurring element within an oeuvre that is otherwise subject to such radical development, it can be used as an instrument with which to measure this development. (Rilke, 2006; Engel, 2004)
The angel in Rilke´s work is subject to a metamorphosis. The angels in the very early work, including the Engellieder, are, to some extent, consistent with the benevolent, but relatively weak creatures of popular culture. They are highly dependent upon human beings on the one hand, and God on the other. In Das Stunden-Buch, they are even weaker, being nothing but servants. Starting with the middle work (the Buch der Bilder and the Neue Gedichte), angels become stronger and more independent. The relationship between the angels and God starts to become hazy, as they are hardly mentioned in connection with each other anymore. The angels´ attitude towards human beings is now increasingly characterised by indifference and a sense of disdain. Human beings, in turn, can no longer comprehend or touch angels. By the time of the Duineser Elegien, it would seem as if angels have themselves become the supreme beings in the universe, set apart by their great beauty, which is so overpowering that it is dangerous to human beings.
Various critics have commented on this development, and tend to share the opinion that Rilke´s angels gradually develop into ´Modernist´, ´post-metaphysical´, or even ´atheist´ beings.
Jakob Steiner believes that, in Rilke´s late work, the angels have seized power. While God was mentioned frequently in the early work, much more so than the angels, “so wird Gott jetzt (in the late work) kaum noch genannt”. But: “…. der Engel ist übermächtig geworden.” Somewhere after the Stunden-Buch, but prior to the Duineser Elegien, something decisive happened to Rilke´s angels, something that allowed them, in a sense, to replace God. In the Duineser Elegien, the angel has become the supreme being. “In ihm ist alles versammelt, was der Mensch……. nur sukzessive, also getrennt, und unvollkommen erfassen kan.” The angel cannot or will not share these riches, because human beings are infinitely far removed from him. “…… eine Annäherung des Engels an den Menschen (means) nur dessen Tod.” (Steiner, 1986, 148-166)
Ulrich Schödlbauer perceives the angel as a potentiality: a symbol of a higher, idealised world that is purely imagined. The angel is impervious, and even dangerous, because this imagined world is no longer available to human beings. The world has been robbed of its magic, in more than one sense. The human race has lost belief in many different things: not only in God, but also in, let us say, faeries, and, most importantly, in the idea of an orderly world where all things have their purpose. Religion has been lost, but at the same time, the ideal of the Enlightenment is no longer able to take its place. Angels represent the awareness of this loss. (Schödlbauer, Heidelberg, 2002)
Rüdiger Görner also notes that angels played a role in Rilke´s work from the very beginning, and claims that the “modernistischen Verhältnisses zum Engel” started in the Buch der Bilder. Görner describes this Modernist angel as an “ästhetischen Zwischenwesen aus Restbeständen des Glaubens und Projektionen des sich selbst auf Spiel setzenden Ich im nachmetaphysischen Zeitalter”. He insists that the angel that appears in the Buch der Bilder has a great deal in common with the angels in the Neue Gedichte and the Duineser Elegien, but he does note that the angels in Das Marien-Leben (1912) are somewhat different. In this text, which was written at a relatively late stage of Rilke´s development, the angel is not as independent and indifferent as in the other texts. Its primary role here is once more to communicate between human beings and higher powers. A throwback, it could be said, to the more traditional perception of the angel from the early work.
Then finally, in the Duineser Elegien, Rilke´s angels gives up on the task of being an intermediaries between human beings and a higher reality once and for all. It is no longer possible for human beings even to enter into communication with angels: the human race has been cut off. (Görner, 2004, 230-243)
A related issue is Rilke´s relationship to God. The Christian angel, by definition, is a messenger and servant of God. Volumes have been written on Rlke´s religious viewpoints, but the prevailing opinion is that Rilke, in spite of frequent references to God, is not a religious poet. It has been noted that, in Rilke´s work, God gradually becomes more feeble and vulnerable, and, to some extent, inferior to and weaker than the human race. (Baer, 2006, 98-110) Briefly put, God´s development is the opposite if that of the angel, and it is therefore unsurprising that angels gradually seem to cease being dependent upon God.
To use words such as ´atheist´ or ´post-metaphysical´ in relation to Rilke´s angels may not be entirely accurate. But whether God still exists in the later work, whether the angels have become the equivalent of God, or whether the concept of a higher, metaphysical reality has been dispensed with, is not of fundamental importance. The angel has turned away from the human race, and therefore, human beings are thrown back on themselves, and have become pitiful, hopeless creatures in a chaotic world: something that fits in well with the disjointed state of the world which is familiar from so many other texts that are considered to belong to literary Modernism.
3. The Poetics of the Neue Gedichte
Theorising about the Neue Gedichte is difficult. There appear to be common threads within the collection, but it is impossible to generalise. There are too many exceptions to rules that are being laid down, and ´Der Engel´ is one of them.
The article by Wolfgang Müller on the Neue Gedichte in the Rilke-Handbuch sums up a series of characteristics of the collection. “Die Dinge werden dabei wie in einem Gemälde, von ihrer Umgebung isoliert, unter Konzentration auf das Sichtbare und unter Verwendung vielfältiger metaphorischer Techniken…… präsentiert.”
To what extent do these pronouncements hold true for ´Der Engel´? ´Wie in einem Gemälde´ could mean anything. “….von ihrer Umgebung isoliert´, is also problematic. The angel in ´Der Engel´ clearly has a relationship to the human race, albeit a relation of indifference. It is also connected to a world of higher beings, and inn fact, it is a bridge between the two: a bridge the human beings might do well never to trespass on.
There does not seem to be a “…..a Konzentration auf das Sichtbare”. Rilke does not bother with a description of the physical properties of the angel, and chooses to concentrate on its metaphysical properties.
Towards the end of the poem, there are a number of metaphors, however. It is said that the nameless entities go ´….wie Erzürnte durch das Haus´ and grasp human beings ´….als ob sie dich erschüfen´.
In most ways, the poem ´Der Engel´ is an exception to Müller´s generalisations.
Another, more intuitive, approach to the Neue Gedichte is somewhat more fruitful. Judith Ryan has said that the Neue Gedichte could be conceived of as a walk through a virtual picture gallery. Every poem in the collection relates either to an actual, or a possible work of art. It is unclear whether any specific work of art inspired ´Der Engel´, but of course there is an abundance of angels in the history of art. To name but a few: the ´Ange du Meridien´ on Chartres cathedral, the angels on frescoes by Fra Angelico in Florence, on the Ponte Sant´ Angelo in Rome, et cetera. Even Rodin himself sculpted a number of angels. German popular culture was also suffusued with angels.
It would not have been difficult for any potential reader of Rilke´s work to picture an angel, and in fact, Rilke calls upon his readership to do so. By the simple act of giving his poem the title ´Der Engel´, he inevitably invokes images in his reader´s minds. If that would not be the case, or if the poem had been given a different title, its effect would have been fundamentally different. The text does not mention any details that we would inevitably associate with an angel. Other authors might be tempted to refer to a ´flutter of wings´ or something along those lines, but not Rilke. He refers to ´der Himmel´, but makes no other references that are overtly angelic.
This procedure is not at all uncommon within the Neue Gedichte. Rilke does something in many other poems, including, for instance, ´Der Panter´. There are no words in the body of the text that would, independently of the title, call a leopard to mind. There is no mention of a tail, talons, or a jaw. There is no conventional feline imagery. ´Think of a leopard,´ Rilke seems to say, and then he takes off. This is the essence of what Rilke had in common with the early modern painters and sculptors he admired. The thing in itself is a starting point, the focus of intense concentration. The artist (Cézanne, or Rilke) looks at the object for a long time with such intensity that it ceases to be the same thing everybody else sees. Cézanne no longer paints the way academic painters would: he uses different colours, and even different shapes, to depict the same things others would paint with conventional shapes and colours. Rilke attempts to do the same thing in language in the Neue Gedichte, and succeeds. He also depicts subjects that would have been relatively conventional, but he manages to eschew cliché. By using new language, he reveals new aspects of angels, leopards, and other things. (Ryan, 1999, 50-91)
5. Modernism: A Working Definition
Almost every aspect of the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke evolved significantly over the course of his life-time. His style, his working methods, and the underlying ideas are all subject to major transformations. Where his very early poems are considered to be fairly conventional, and a bit old-fashioned, or even sentimental, his late work is often considered to belong to the era of Modernism.
Modernism will be looked at in an international perspective. In Germany, the current in literature described as ´die Moderne´ begins in the 1880s, and ends with World War I. Rilke did engage with literary developments within Germany, but also with developments outside of Germany, particularly in France. The problem with applying the international definition of modernism to Rilke is that developments within the English-speaking world are essential to this definition. It is tempting to align Rilke´s development with that of English-language poetry. The poetry of the era of the Neue Gedichte is often compared to the work of the Imagists, particularly William Carlos Williams, and the Duineser Elegien are sometimes perceived as a German-speaking counterpart to Eliot´s The Waste Land, in part because they were written in the same year. Rilke was astonishingly familiar with the most important French representatives of high modernism, but entirely unfamiliar with its English-speaking representatives
The temptation to think of him as a Modernist is partly inspired by the contingency that his two most famous works, the Duineser Elegien and the Sonette an Orpheus came into existence in the annus mirabilis of Modernism, 1922, the year also associated with James Joyce´s Ulysses, T.S. Eliot´s The Waste Land, and a number of other key texts. But the differences are also apparent. Modernist literature is sometimes thought of as literature that actively engages with the modern era, and in this sense, Rilke does not fit in. When putting his work next to that of Eliot and Joyce, or that of most authors who are commonly described as Modernist, Rilke´s work just seems less modern. Joyce, for instance, juxtaposes the classical Odyssey with contemporary Dublin. Likewise, Eliot´s The Waste Land also refers back to the old cultural tradition, but is simultaneously inspired by the chaos of contemporary London. Rilke does something similar in Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge, juxtaposing a modern Parisian hospital ward with the traditional life of the Danish nobility, but it is hard to detect the modern world in most of his poetry. This may well be a superficial concern, however. Engagement with the modern world is not necessarily the distinguishing characteristic of a Modernist text.
For the purpose of analysing Rilke´s work, Eliot´s review of Joyce´s Ulysses seems particularly relevant. Eliot argued that traditional literary forms were unable to deal with the chaos of the modern world. There used to be a certain coherence in the world, a transcendent order, but it has disappeared. In the perception of the Modernists, the world was disjointed, broken, cut off from a higher reality. For a text to be Modernist, it has to reflect this broken state of reality. It does not necessarily have to reject tradition: it only has to recognise that tradition is now also broken, and has therefore become problematic. Many other definitions of Modernism are possible, but this is the one that will apply in this essay.
For Rilke´s poetry, which is much concerned with religious themes, the existence of a divine order is essential to a coherent universe. This goes beyond the mere existence of a god. If God does exist, but fails to take an interest in the human race, or does not adhere to his covenant with the human race, the universe is in a disjointed state nevertheless. (Abrams and Harpham, 2005, 175-177; Engel, 2004, 507-528)
6. Alexander Pushkin´s ´The Prophet´
An interesting parallel to Rilke´s vicious angels in general, and ´Der Engel´ in particular, can be found in the poem ´The Prophet´ by Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), written in 1826. Pushkin is thought of as the first representative of the classical period of Russian literature. In terms of his subject matter and style, much of his work, and particularly his lyric poetry, is close to the spirit of European Romanticism. Rilke may well have known this particular poem, as he was a translator of Russian literature, and did report reading Pushkin´s work. (Lehmann, 2004, 103 ) The poem is mainly of interest, however, because it is a representation of the angel from an author steeped in the Romantic literary tradition. The theme of this poem resonates with that of ´Der Engel´ to some extent. Wandering through the desert, an ignorant and despondent human being is confronted by an angel, “a six-winged seraphim”, and is literally slaughtered, taken apart bit by bit. The angel literally amputates various parts of the human´s body, and replaces everything he takes away with something better or purer.
“And he clove my breast with his sword,
And drew forth my palpitating heart,
And into the open breast he inserted
A coal, blazing with fire.”
The angel also amputates and replaces the person´s tongue, the person´s eyes, and so forth. The purpose of this act is to re-make the human being, to make him more independent of the opinions of others, and more courageous: to turn him into a prophet. Pushkin´s angel is as vicious and as dangerous as that of Rilke, but there is a fundamental difference. For the Romantic Pushkin, the angel´s intention is to elevate the mortal human being to a higher state. Dangerous and frightening as this angel might be, he does engage with the human race. Rilke warns of a similar confrontation, in which the angel´s nameless allies also demolish a human being. But he does not specify what, if anything, the human beings might receive in exchange. Nor does Rilke´s angel go out of its way to inflict this horror upon the human being. The human being will have to actively confront the angel if anything is to happen. The angel, elevated as it is, has turned his back on the human race. It will react violently to the human race, not for any clearly defined purpose, but rather out of something resembling irritation. Because the themes of the two poems are to some extent similar, the differences in the worldviews the two poems represent are all the more salient. (Pushkin, 2003)
7. Nietzsche´s Übermensch
The impact of Friedrich Nietzsche is often thought to be a decisive influence in the evolution of literary Modernism. A number of commentators have also drawn attention to the hard to define, but clearly perceptible influence of Nietzsche on the work of Rilke, and have made a point of drawing parallels between Nietzsche´s Übermensch and the Rilkean angel. Some parallels could be drawn between some of Nietzsche´s works, and particularly Also Sprach Zarathustra, and the poem ´Der Engel´. There is one broad similarity between Also Sprach Zarathustra and Rilke´s poem, as viewed by Paul Claes: both works invert Christian imagery in order to undermine the Christian religion.
A more obvious similarity is in the line “Denn durch sein Herz geht…… das ewig Kommende das kreist´´, which Richard Detsch connects to the concept of the ´eternal recurrence of the same´ from Also Sprach Zarathustra. (Detsch, 2003, 56) This is the idea that everything that happens in the universe, down to the smallest detail, is part of a cycle of events that will be repeated in the exact same way into eternity. Consequently, the universe is pointless in the most literal sense of the word: that is, there is no point in which everything will culminate. History has no destiny, and there is no progress or regress. Historically, this idea should be seen as a counterpoint to the linear, historicist ideologies which were dominant at the end of the nineteenth century: Christianity, Enlightenment philosophy, Hegelian dialectics, Marxism, and even early forms of Darwinism. Adherents of these ideologies believed history had a purpose, and would
According to Walter Kaufmann´s interpretation, the “Übermensch”, the ´high man´ from the Zarathustra, who is destined to overcome the human race, is unthinkable without the concept of the ´eternal recurrence of the same´. Because how is the ´high man´ superior to human beings? Mainly because of his awareness of the ´eternal recurrence´. Unlike all the ´historical men´, held in thrall by the petty hope given them by Christianity, Marxism, Hegelian dialectics, and similar ideologies, the high man knows that, because of the eternal recurrence, life is pointless. But, unlike Schopenhauer and the ´Decadents´, he does not regret this. The high man revels in his awareness of the pointlessness of life.. The Übermensch is not necessarily superior in any more superficial way, and does not need to be. (Kaufmann, 1987, 307-333) In Rilke´s poem, “das ewig Kommende das kreist” is clearly defined as an aspect of the angel. It is within him. And like Nietzsche´s high man, the angel is also far superior to ordinary human beings. But is the angel in Der Engel superior because it is aware of this cycle? Or is it rather that, with its violent nature, it is an agent of this cycle? Or both? There is no evidence available to answer these questions definitively.
Another Nietzschean element is the juxtaposition of lightness and heaviness. “Gieb seinen leichten Händen nichts zu halten aus deinem Lastenden,” writes Rilke. Nietzsche frequently expresses his dislike of ´Schwerheit´, of spiritual heaviness, and praises light spirits on many occasions. His Zarathustra ultimately utters the invocation: “Auf, lasst uns der Geist der Schwere toten!” (Nietzsche, 1973, 306-307) In ´Der Engel´, the higher beings to which the angel has access threaten to do exactly that.
These similarities on matters of detail point to larger, more abstract parallels. Like the poem ´Der Engel´, Nietzsche´s work reflects the idea that human beings have been thrown back on themselves. They cannot hope for salvation from a higher power. This does not imply, however, that the human race is the apex of the universe. Both Rilke and Nietzsche find it easy to conceive of beings that are much greater, more beautiful, and more complete than the human race. In the case of Rilke, this is the angel, in the case of Nietzsche, the high man. Having transcended the human race, they would not feel the need to pity human beings, or chastise them, or be involved with them in any way at all.
8. Kafka´s ´Vor dem Gesetz´
In terms of themes and style, the distance between Pushkin´s poem and that of Rilke may not seem unbridgeable, but in terms of underlying ideas, Rilke´s poem ´Der Engel´ definitely belongs to the early 20th century. Underneath, Rilke´s angel is a sinister figure who denies human beings access to a higher reality. In this respect, he is reminiscent of the ´Türhüter´ from the parable ´Vor dem Gesetz´ by Franz Kafka (1883-1924), which was written in late 1914, and first published in 1915, and was also an integral part of the novel Der Prozess. It is a story about the warden at the gate that provides access to the Law. A man comes and asks to be admitted, but the warden refuses. His demeanour towards the man is stoic and indifferent. He challenges the man to try and go past him, but warns him of his own might, and the even greater might of the wardens of the gates behind him. The man does not attempt to pass, but instead pleads with the warden, and even tries to bribe him, all to no avail. Ultimately, the man ages and dies. The warden tells him he will now close the gate, because it was only intended for him. The warden is not described in any great detail. No indications are given as to his looks, how he feels, or whether he ages.
There is a measure of similarity between the role of the warden in this story and the role of the angel in Rilke´s poem. Both the angel and the warden stand between a human being and something higher that remains invisible. The other, mightier wardens the first warden speaks about are parallels of the “Gestalten” of whom the angel is aware. The human being is incapable of knowing these higher entities, and yet they could be dangerous to him. In both texts, the actual confrontation remains hypothetical – in Rilke´s poem, human beings are warned against confronting the angel. In Kafka´s story, the warden of the gate himself delivers the warning.
The essence is the same – both the warden and the angel stand between a human being and a higher world, and have no interest in, and no compassion for, that human being. (Kafka, 2007, 162-163)
10. The Duineser Elegien
Probably more than any other poem within Rilke´s early and middle period, the angel in ´Der Engel´ points to the angels in the Duineser Elegien. It is a harbinger of the despair of the first few elegies – any attempt to touch the angel of ´Der Engel´ is dangerous. The same is true in the first elegy: ´…gesetz selbst, es nähme einer mich plötzlich ans Herz: ich verginge von seinem stärkeren Dasein.´ The them of the rest of the Duineser Elegien revolves around the human attempt to either undo this regrettable condition of being cut off from the angel and his higher reality, or, as for instance in the ninth Elegy, to attempt to find something valuable in the lower, cut-off human existence. The Duineser Elegien begin where ´Der Engel´, and, in a different way, Kafka´s ´Vor dem Gesetz´, end.
Conclusion
The angel in Rilke´s poem ´Der Engel´ is a hybrid being. It derives from an old religious and literary tradition, but no longer belongs there. The poem echoes the Bible, and is also somewhat reminiscent of Pushkin´s angel in the poem ´The Prophet´. Nevertheless, but this angel is qualitatively different: it is no longer focussed on its engagement with the human race. When confronted with this angel, human beings will feel they are immeasurably far removed from it. It is a link in a chain that has been broken. In that sense, the angel in this poem has far more in common with Nietzsche´s ´Übermensch´ and Kafka´s ´Türhüter´ than with any of its more traditional angelic precursors.
Although the method behind ´Der Engel´ is recognisable poems within the Neue Gedichte, in terms of its subject matter,
the poem points forwards to the next stage in Rilke´s development. This angel is already ´schrecklich´, like the angels at the beginning of the Duineser Elegien. At this stage, Rilke does not yet commence the struggle to find new meaning in a universe in which even angels have become so terrible, and so remote.
Works consulted:
Abrams, M.H, and Geoffrey Galt Harpham. A Glossary of Literary Terms, Eighth Edition, Thomson Wadsworth, Boston, 2005,
Baer, Ulrich. Das Rilke-Alphabet, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt, 2006,
Die Bibel, oder die ganze heilige Schrift des alten und neuen Testaments, nach der Übersetzung Martin Luthers, Württembergische Bibelanstalt, Stuttgart, 1968
Brunkhorst, Katja. ´Bibel´, in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 37-40,
Claes, Paul. Raadsels van Rilke, Een nieuwe lezing van de Neue Gedichte, Uitgeverij De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam, 1995,
Detsch, Richard. Rilke´s Connections to Nietzsche, University Press of America, Lanham-New York-Oxford, 2003
Engel, Manfred. ´Rilke als Autor der Moderne,´ in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 507-528,
Fülleborn, Ulrich. ´Rilkes Gebrauch der Bibel, in: Manfred Engel and Dieter Lamping, Rilke und die Weltliteratur, Artemis & Winkler, Düsseldorf/Zürich, 1999, 19-30,
Görner, Rüdiger. Rainer Maria Rilke, Im Herzwerk der Sprache, Paul Zsornay Verlag, Vienna, 2004,
Kafka, Franz. ´Vor dem Gesetz´, in: Die Erzählungen und andere ausgewählte Prosa, S. Fischer Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 2007, 162-163,
Kaufmann, Walter. Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist, Vintage Books, New York, 1968,
Lehmann, Jürgen. ´Kontakte und Kontexte: Russland´, in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 98-111,
Müller, Wolfgang. ´Neue Gedichte/Der Neuen Gedichte anderer Teil´, in: in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 296-317,
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Also Sprach Zarathustra, Werke II, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt, 1973,
Por, Peter. Die orphische Figur, Universitätsverlag C. Winter, Heidelberg, 1997,
Pushkin, Alexander. ´The Prophet´, transl. Daniel Weissbort, Educational Insight – Poet´s Corner, 2003. http://www.cfi.educ.ubc.ca/publication/insights/v08n01/poet/teaching/prophet.html.
Rilke, Rainer Maria. Die Gedichte, Insel Verlag, Frankfurt am Main and Leipzig, 2006,
Ryan, Judith. Rilke, Modernism and Poetic Tradition, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999,
Schödlbauer, Ulrich, Rilkes Engel, Edition Zeno im Manutius Verlag, Heidelberg, 2002,
Stahl, August. Werner Jost, and Reiner Marx, Rilke Kommentar zum lyrischen Werk, Winkler Verlag München, 1978,
Steiner, Jakob. Rilke, Vorträge und Aufsätze, von Loeper Verlag, Karlsruhe, 1986,
Vorgrimler, Herbert, Ursula Bernauer and Thomas Sternberg, Engel, Erfahrungen göttlicher Nähe, Herder, Freiburg-Basel-Vienna, 2001,
By Berend ter Borg
Introduction
In this essay, I will investigate the resonances of a relatively neglected poem from Rilke´s Neue Gedichte: ´Der Engel´. I will attempt to demonstrate that the neglect is unjustified for various reasons. I will investigate its place within Rilke´s oeuvre, and will argue that, within his development, ´Der Engel´ is precocious. It does not fit in well with the poetics of the Neue Gedichte, and instead points towards the Duineser Elegien: The angel as it appears in this poem is the most significant ancestor, within Rilke´s work, of the angels of elegies.
The poem is also interesting from a number of other perspectives. It can shed some more light on Rilke´s complex relationship with Christianity, and Biblical themes; it contains resonances of the work of Friedrich Nietzsche, another important topic within Rilke scholarship; and it confirms once more that, in spite of a preoccupation with history and literary tradition, Rilke´s mature work clearly belongs to literary Modernism.
My focus will be on Stoffforschung. I will investigate the development of the theme of the poem, and formal concerns will be of secondary importance.
I will first reproduce the poem, and make some general comments on it. I will then establish a theoretical framework, drawing upon the work of various scholars to establish a general account of a number of relevant issues, these being:
-Rilke´s use of the Bible as a source of inspiration
-the development of the angel within Rilke´s work
-the poetics of the Neue Gedichte
-the nature of literary modernism
I will also try to give some indication of how these issues relate to the poem ´Der Engel´. Then, in order to establish what the significance of the poem is, and to determine its place within the development of literary Modernism, I will compare it to a number of other texts: firstly, the poem ´The Prophet´ by Alexander Pushkin, followed by Nietzsche´s Also Sprach Zarathustra, then Kafka´s story ´Vor dem Gesetz´, and, finally, Rilke´s own first Elegy. The aim of these comparisons is to facilitate an analysis of the themes of the poem in relation to the currents in European literature, in order to establish to what extent Rilke´s poem is a departure from existing traditions.
There is an overwhelming amount of scholarship on Rilke, and both the Neue Gedichte and the theme of the angel have been investigated thoroughly. Nevertheless, I have found only one thorough analysis of ´Der Engel´.
I will seek to demonstrate that this poem can be relevant to an understanding of Rilke´s development. In doing so, I will focus more on Stoffforschung than on an investigation of the formal qualities of the poem. The poem helps to clarify several developments within Rilke´s work. These include the evolution of his poetry towards Modernism, and to his ambivalent relationship to the Bible, and to the Christian religion in general. The poem is relevant, because it is a relatively neglected utterance on one of the key motives within Rilke´s work.
1. The Poem ´Der Engel´
The middle period of Rilke´s work is of key significance to understanding the angel´s transformation. In the Neue Gedichte there is one single poem that is exclusively concerned with the angel as an abstract entity, and this is ´Der Engel´. The Neue Gedichte also contains the poem ´L´Ange du Méridien´, but this is, to some extent, a description of a statue on the southern portal of the Cathedral of Chartres, rather than a description of an angel as a metaphysical entity. It is possible that the poem ´Der Engel´ was also inspired by a work of art, but there are no reliable indications to this effect.
it is not clear, therefore, whether the poem is exclusively about this particular work of art, or can also be read as a description of an angel in the more abstract sense. To gain an idea of Rilke´s view of angels at this particular junction, ´Der Engel´ is therefore more suitable.
“DER ENGEL
Mit einem Neigen seiner Stirne weist
er weit von sich was einschränkt und verpflichtet;
denn durch sein Herz geht riesig aufgerichtet
das ewig Kommende das kreist.
Die tiefen Himmel stehn ihm voll Gestalten,
und jede kann ihm rufen: komm, erkenn - .
Gieb seinen leichten Händen nichts zu halten
aus deinem Lastenden. Sie kämen denn
bei Nacht zu dir, dich ringender zu prüfen,
und gingen wie Erzürnte durch das Haus
und griffen dich als ob sie dich erschüfen
und brächen dich aus deiner Form heraus.”
The poem was written in the early Summer of 1906 in Paris, and was included in the first volume of the Neue Gedichte, which came out in December 1907. (Stahl, 1978, 208) The first stanza praises the angel for its power and independence. In the second stanza, it is suggested the angel has a connection to a world of beings that are beyond human comprehension. The end of the second stanza and the entirety of the third stanza consist of a warning to human beings not to engage with the angel, lest the higher beings with which the angel is in touch will come and tear them apart. It is hinted that this destruction might have the purpose of re-making the human being into something new (“als ob sie dich erschüfen”), but this is not fully articulated.
The poem has been neglected. It is rarely mentioned in studies of the Neue Gedichte. Indeed, in his recent treatise on the Neue Gedichte, Peter Por mentions a very early and little known poem by Rilke that is also titled ´Der Engel´, but omits the eponymous poem from the Neue Gedichte. (Por, 1997, 181)
In studies of the theme of the angel in Rilke´s work, the poem is sometimes mentioned, but rarely studied in great detail. Rüdiger Görner mentions it in his chapter on Rilke´s angels, but does not devote more than a single paragraph to it. Ulrich Schödlbauer takes it into account in his recent essay on Rilke´s angels, but also devotes little room to it. The only recent scholar who analyses it in any detail is Paul Claes. He emphasizes the religious connotations of the poem.
(Claes, 1995, 66-69)
Why is this poem neglected? To begin with, it is not among the more accessible poems in the Neue Gedichte. Many poems in the collection have an immediate emotional resonance that ´Der Engel´ lacks. To some extent, the poem also fails to correspond to the critical discourse that has been developed for Rilke´s Neue Gedichte, making it less interesting for scholars.
3. Biblical allusions
It is always difficult to make out the importance of Biblical allusions in the work of Rilke. Of course, Rilke would acknowledge the debt he owed to the Bible, claiming, at one point, that he always had two books with him: the work of Jens Peter Jacobsen, and a Bible. A heavily marked copy of Luther´s translation of the Bible which was owned by Rilke is kept at the Rilke-archive in Gernsbach.
Analyses of Biblical influences on Rilke´s work have recently been provided by Ulrich Fülleborn and Katja Brunkhorst. The basis of their theory on this matter is as follows: Rilke testifies, in his Brief des jungen Arbeiters and elsewhere, that he prefers the Old over the New Testament. This, according to both Brunkhorst and Fülleborn, has an impact on how the two are reflected in his work. Whereas references to the Old Testament are mainly in line with the original source, Rilke consistently subverts any references to the New Testament. This, incidentally, means that his attitude towards the Bible is similar to Nietzsche´s, who had an appreciation for the Old Testament, while Also Sprach Zarathustra also inverts parts of the New Testament.
But Fülleborn and Brunkhorst raise important reservations with regard to the Biblical resonance in Rilke´s work. The Bible has been interpreted over and over again by different Christian denominations. Moreover, most Biblical themes are treated rather summarily within the Bible, only to be visualized in great detail by artists from different periods. Any reworking of the Bible has been influenced by such traditions. And in the case of Rilke, focussed as he was on the visual arts, this tendency would have been even more pronounced. (Fülleborn, 1999, 19-30; Brunkhorst, 2004, 37-40)
The Biblical origins of the figure of the angel are a case in point. The word ´angel´ in itself reveals part of the problem, in that it derives from the Greek, aggelos, colloquially pronounced ´angellos´, which means ´messenger´. The word does not refer to any pre-existent Greek mythological creature, which was then assimilated to the Christian tradition. There are various winged gods and creatures which might bear some relation to the eventual Christian angel, such as the divine messenger Hermes with his winged shoes (who was also notable for his exceptionally large penis, setting him somewhat apart from the Christian angels, who are often thought to be sexless), the winged goddess of victory Nike, Eros, the winged god of love and desire, the winged horse Pegasus, and so forth. More importantly, ´angel´ is not a word that has a direct equivalent in Hebrew. (Vorgrimler, 2001, 8-17) The Luther translation, which was most important for Rilke, reflects this. In many cases, apparitions that were identified by tradition as being ´angels´ are not identified as such in the Old Testament. This is true, even, for the passage that Paul Claes identifies as being possibly the most important source of inspiration for the poem ´Der Engel´. Claes mentions Jacob´s wrestling with the angel: however, in the Luther translation (Genesis 32:25-33) no mention of an angel is made. Jacob comes to a place, and ´Da rang ein man mit ihm´. Jacob wins, and when he asks the man who he is, the man says that he now blesses Jacob, because “du hast mit Gott und mit Menschen gekämpft und du hast gewonnen.” Jacob asks the man for his name, and the man responds “Warum fragst du, wie ich heisse?” The inference from the passage in the Luther Bible would be that Jacob has wrestled God himself, rather than a messenger from God. However, tradition has it that Jacob fought an angel. If the poem ´Der Engel´ was inspired by this passage from the Bible, then only indirectly, possibly after mediation from an artistic source.
Another intriguing example is a similarly cryptic passage from the Book Josua. All through the book, Josua communicates directly with God. Then, in Josua 5:13-15, Josua sees a man walking around all alone, and asks him if he is a friend or foe. The man answers ´Nein,´ which could be taken to mean that he is neither a friend nor a foe, ´sondern ich bin der Fürst über das Heer des HERRN.´ Josua asks which orders God´s servant (Knecht) gives him, and the ´Fürst über das Heer des HERRN´ tells him to take his shoes off, as he is standing on hallowed ground.
The passage is oddly isolated within the Book Josua. The ´Fürst´ makes his first and last appearance here. Afterwards, God continues to speak to Josua directly. Furthermore, the ´Fürst´ identifies himself as the leader of God´s army, but where is God´s army? Is it somewhere out there, invisible to Josua? A salient, inexplicable passage of this sort may well have fed Rilke´s imagination.
There are, of course, many instances in Luther´s translation of the Old Testament where angels are identified as being angels, for instance in Genesis 19, when two angels visited the city of Sodom. Generalising, we can say that, in the Old Testament, angels:
1) are not always identified as such. It would not, in fact, have been possible to identify them as angels, because the word originates from the Greek, while the Old Testament was originally written in Hebrew, without much preceding influence from Greek culture.
2) only make intermittent appearances, as God mostly speaks to human beings directly. Consequently, the angels´ role as ´angelloi´, ´messengers´ is not as central.
3) tend to play a somewhat sinister role. They are often the harbingers, and sometimes the executors, of the wrath of the Lord.
The angels in the New Testament are rather different from those in the Old Testament. God himself does not normally speak directly to human beings, therefore ´angels´ are introduced as messengers. They are also not as sinister as they are in the Old Testament, communicating a message of salvation from God to human beings. The exception is the Revelation of John, in which angels are dominantly present, and revert to their aggressive role from the Old Testament.
These observations serve to make the only analysis of the poem ´Der Engel´, by Paul Claes, somewhat problematic. According to Claes, most of the poem is either inspired by the Bible, or reacting against it.
An example of the first is “…das ewig Kommende das kreist” which Claes relates to Revelations 4:8: “…Heilig, Heilig, Heilig ist Gott der Herr, der da war und der da ist und der da kommt.” An example of the latter is “Gieb seinen leichten Handen nichts zu halten aus deinem Lastenden,”an inversion of Psalms 55:23: “Wirf dein Anliegen auf den Herrn”.
Claes also detects references to Jacob´s wrestling with the angel in the book Genesis, and to the books Exodus, Jesaja, Corinthians, and Job, which he does not specify. Claes is of the opinion that the poem ´Der Engel´ is a halfway house within the evolution of Rilke´s angel: the poem still expresses some Christian sentiments, but also rebels against Christianity. (Claes, 1995, 66-69)
This analysis is somewhat unsatisfying. Claes does not provide any evidence that the Biblical allusions he detects were actually relevant to Rilke´s creative process. The differences between Rilke´s text and the quotes as they appear in the Luther Bible are such, that it must remain a matter of ambivalence whether they were a direct influence.
Still, it seems likely that the Old Testament was a partial inspiration for the poem. The angel in the poem does have something in common with the many enigmatic and sinister angelic figures of the Old Testament.
3. The Evolution of Rilke´s Angels: Some Scholarly Views
Angels are a recurrent motive within Rilke´s oeuvre. His earliest work contains a cycle of poems titled Engellieder (1897-1898), and angels are also present in Das Stunden-Buch (1899-1903), although they are less important here than elsewhere. In the middle period there are a number of significant poems featuring angels, in the Buch der Bilder (1902 and 1906), the Neue Gedichte (1907-1910), and elsewhere. Then, in his late work, angels once again play a key role in the Duineser Elegien (1912 and 1922). After that, angels largely disappear from Rilke´s German poetry, but maintain a strong presence in the French poetry he wrote in his final years.
Because angels are a recurring element within an oeuvre that is otherwise subject to such radical development, it can be used as an instrument with which to measure this development. (Rilke, 2006; Engel, 2004)
The angel in Rilke´s work is subject to a metamorphosis. The angels in the very early work, including the Engellieder, are, to some extent, consistent with the benevolent, but relatively weak creatures of popular culture. They are highly dependent upon human beings on the one hand, and God on the other. In Das Stunden-Buch, they are even weaker, being nothing but servants. Starting with the middle work (the Buch der Bilder and the Neue Gedichte), angels become stronger and more independent. The relationship between the angels and God starts to become hazy, as they are hardly mentioned in connection with each other anymore. The angels´ attitude towards human beings is now increasingly characterised by indifference and a sense of disdain. Human beings, in turn, can no longer comprehend or touch angels. By the time of the Duineser Elegien, it would seem as if angels have themselves become the supreme beings in the universe, set apart by their great beauty, which is so overpowering that it is dangerous to human beings.
Various critics have commented on this development, and tend to share the opinion that Rilke´s angels gradually develop into ´Modernist´, ´post-metaphysical´, or even ´atheist´ beings.
Jakob Steiner believes that, in Rilke´s late work, the angels have seized power. While God was mentioned frequently in the early work, much more so than the angels, “so wird Gott jetzt (in the late work) kaum noch genannt”. But: “…. der Engel ist übermächtig geworden.” Somewhere after the Stunden-Buch, but prior to the Duineser Elegien, something decisive happened to Rilke´s angels, something that allowed them, in a sense, to replace God. In the Duineser Elegien, the angel has become the supreme being. “In ihm ist alles versammelt, was der Mensch……. nur sukzessive, also getrennt, und unvollkommen erfassen kan.” The angel cannot or will not share these riches, because human beings are infinitely far removed from him. “…… eine Annäherung des Engels an den Menschen (means) nur dessen Tod.” (Steiner, 1986, 148-166)
Ulrich Schödlbauer perceives the angel as a potentiality: a symbol of a higher, idealised world that is purely imagined. The angel is impervious, and even dangerous, because this imagined world is no longer available to human beings. The world has been robbed of its magic, in more than one sense. The human race has lost belief in many different things: not only in God, but also in, let us say, faeries, and, most importantly, in the idea of an orderly world where all things have their purpose. Religion has been lost, but at the same time, the ideal of the Enlightenment is no longer able to take its place. Angels represent the awareness of this loss. (Schödlbauer, Heidelberg, 2002)
Rüdiger Görner also notes that angels played a role in Rilke´s work from the very beginning, and claims that the “modernistischen Verhältnisses zum Engel” started in the Buch der Bilder. Görner describes this Modernist angel as an “ästhetischen Zwischenwesen aus Restbeständen des Glaubens und Projektionen des sich selbst auf Spiel setzenden Ich im nachmetaphysischen Zeitalter”. He insists that the angel that appears in the Buch der Bilder has a great deal in common with the angels in the Neue Gedichte and the Duineser Elegien, but he does note that the angels in Das Marien-Leben (1912) are somewhat different. In this text, which was written at a relatively late stage of Rilke´s development, the angel is not as independent and indifferent as in the other texts. Its primary role here is once more to communicate between human beings and higher powers. A throwback, it could be said, to the more traditional perception of the angel from the early work.
Then finally, in the Duineser Elegien, Rilke´s angels gives up on the task of being an intermediaries between human beings and a higher reality once and for all. It is no longer possible for human beings even to enter into communication with angels: the human race has been cut off. (Görner, 2004, 230-243)
A related issue is Rilke´s relationship to God. The Christian angel, by definition, is a messenger and servant of God. Volumes have been written on Rlke´s religious viewpoints, but the prevailing opinion is that Rilke, in spite of frequent references to God, is not a religious poet. It has been noted that, in Rilke´s work, God gradually becomes more feeble and vulnerable, and, to some extent, inferior to and weaker than the human race. (Baer, 2006, 98-110) Briefly put, God´s development is the opposite if that of the angel, and it is therefore unsurprising that angels gradually seem to cease being dependent upon God.
To use words such as ´atheist´ or ´post-metaphysical´ in relation to Rilke´s angels may not be entirely accurate. But whether God still exists in the later work, whether the angels have become the equivalent of God, or whether the concept of a higher, metaphysical reality has been dispensed with, is not of fundamental importance. The angel has turned away from the human race, and therefore, human beings are thrown back on themselves, and have become pitiful, hopeless creatures in a chaotic world: something that fits in well with the disjointed state of the world which is familiar from so many other texts that are considered to belong to literary Modernism.
3. The Poetics of the Neue Gedichte
Theorising about the Neue Gedichte is difficult. There appear to be common threads within the collection, but it is impossible to generalise. There are too many exceptions to rules that are being laid down, and ´Der Engel´ is one of them.
The article by Wolfgang Müller on the Neue Gedichte in the Rilke-Handbuch sums up a series of characteristics of the collection. “Die Dinge werden dabei wie in einem Gemälde, von ihrer Umgebung isoliert, unter Konzentration auf das Sichtbare und unter Verwendung vielfältiger metaphorischer Techniken…… präsentiert.”
To what extent do these pronouncements hold true for ´Der Engel´? ´Wie in einem Gemälde´ could mean anything. “….von ihrer Umgebung isoliert´, is also problematic. The angel in ´Der Engel´ clearly has a relationship to the human race, albeit a relation of indifference. It is also connected to a world of higher beings, and inn fact, it is a bridge between the two: a bridge the human beings might do well never to trespass on.
There does not seem to be a “…..a Konzentration auf das Sichtbare”. Rilke does not bother with a description of the physical properties of the angel, and chooses to concentrate on its metaphysical properties.
Towards the end of the poem, there are a number of metaphors, however. It is said that the nameless entities go ´….wie Erzürnte durch das Haus´ and grasp human beings ´….als ob sie dich erschüfen´.
In most ways, the poem ´Der Engel´ is an exception to Müller´s generalisations.
Another, more intuitive, approach to the Neue Gedichte is somewhat more fruitful. Judith Ryan has said that the Neue Gedichte could be conceived of as a walk through a virtual picture gallery. Every poem in the collection relates either to an actual, or a possible work of art. It is unclear whether any specific work of art inspired ´Der Engel´, but of course there is an abundance of angels in the history of art. To name but a few: the ´Ange du Meridien´ on Chartres cathedral, the angels on frescoes by Fra Angelico in Florence, on the Ponte Sant´ Angelo in Rome, et cetera. Even Rodin himself sculpted a number of angels. German popular culture was also suffusued with angels.
It would not have been difficult for any potential reader of Rilke´s work to picture an angel, and in fact, Rilke calls upon his readership to do so. By the simple act of giving his poem the title ´Der Engel´, he inevitably invokes images in his reader´s minds. If that would not be the case, or if the poem had been given a different title, its effect would have been fundamentally different. The text does not mention any details that we would inevitably associate with an angel. Other authors might be tempted to refer to a ´flutter of wings´ or something along those lines, but not Rilke. He refers to ´der Himmel´, but makes no other references that are overtly angelic.
This procedure is not at all uncommon within the Neue Gedichte. Rilke does something in many other poems, including, for instance, ´Der Panter´. There are no words in the body of the text that would, independently of the title, call a leopard to mind. There is no mention of a tail, talons, or a jaw. There is no conventional feline imagery. ´Think of a leopard,´ Rilke seems to say, and then he takes off. This is the essence of what Rilke had in common with the early modern painters and sculptors he admired. The thing in itself is a starting point, the focus of intense concentration. The artist (Cézanne, or Rilke) looks at the object for a long time with such intensity that it ceases to be the same thing everybody else sees. Cézanne no longer paints the way academic painters would: he uses different colours, and even different shapes, to depict the same things others would paint with conventional shapes and colours. Rilke attempts to do the same thing in language in the Neue Gedichte, and succeeds. He also depicts subjects that would have been relatively conventional, but he manages to eschew cliché. By using new language, he reveals new aspects of angels, leopards, and other things. (Ryan, 1999, 50-91)
5. Modernism: A Working Definition
Almost every aspect of the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke evolved significantly over the course of his life-time. His style, his working methods, and the underlying ideas are all subject to major transformations. Where his very early poems are considered to be fairly conventional, and a bit old-fashioned, or even sentimental, his late work is often considered to belong to the era of Modernism.
Modernism will be looked at in an international perspective. In Germany, the current in literature described as ´die Moderne´ begins in the 1880s, and ends with World War I. Rilke did engage with literary developments within Germany, but also with developments outside of Germany, particularly in France. The problem with applying the international definition of modernism to Rilke is that developments within the English-speaking world are essential to this definition. It is tempting to align Rilke´s development with that of English-language poetry. The poetry of the era of the Neue Gedichte is often compared to the work of the Imagists, particularly William Carlos Williams, and the Duineser Elegien are sometimes perceived as a German-speaking counterpart to Eliot´s The Waste Land, in part because they were written in the same year. Rilke was astonishingly familiar with the most important French representatives of high modernism, but entirely unfamiliar with its English-speaking representatives
The temptation to think of him as a Modernist is partly inspired by the contingency that his two most famous works, the Duineser Elegien and the Sonette an Orpheus came into existence in the annus mirabilis of Modernism, 1922, the year also associated with James Joyce´s Ulysses, T.S. Eliot´s The Waste Land, and a number of other key texts. But the differences are also apparent. Modernist literature is sometimes thought of as literature that actively engages with the modern era, and in this sense, Rilke does not fit in. When putting his work next to that of Eliot and Joyce, or that of most authors who are commonly described as Modernist, Rilke´s work just seems less modern. Joyce, for instance, juxtaposes the classical Odyssey with contemporary Dublin. Likewise, Eliot´s The Waste Land also refers back to the old cultural tradition, but is simultaneously inspired by the chaos of contemporary London. Rilke does something similar in Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge, juxtaposing a modern Parisian hospital ward with the traditional life of the Danish nobility, but it is hard to detect the modern world in most of his poetry. This may well be a superficial concern, however. Engagement with the modern world is not necessarily the distinguishing characteristic of a Modernist text.
For the purpose of analysing Rilke´s work, Eliot´s review of Joyce´s Ulysses seems particularly relevant. Eliot argued that traditional literary forms were unable to deal with the chaos of the modern world. There used to be a certain coherence in the world, a transcendent order, but it has disappeared. In the perception of the Modernists, the world was disjointed, broken, cut off from a higher reality. For a text to be Modernist, it has to reflect this broken state of reality. It does not necessarily have to reject tradition: it only has to recognise that tradition is now also broken, and has therefore become problematic. Many other definitions of Modernism are possible, but this is the one that will apply in this essay.
For Rilke´s poetry, which is much concerned with religious themes, the existence of a divine order is essential to a coherent universe. This goes beyond the mere existence of a god. If God does exist, but fails to take an interest in the human race, or does not adhere to his covenant with the human race, the universe is in a disjointed state nevertheless. (Abrams and Harpham, 2005, 175-177; Engel, 2004, 507-528)
6. Alexander Pushkin´s ´The Prophet´
An interesting parallel to Rilke´s vicious angels in general, and ´Der Engel´ in particular, can be found in the poem ´The Prophet´ by Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), written in 1826. Pushkin is thought of as the first representative of the classical period of Russian literature. In terms of his subject matter and style, much of his work, and particularly his lyric poetry, is close to the spirit of European Romanticism. Rilke may well have known this particular poem, as he was a translator of Russian literature, and did report reading Pushkin´s work. (Lehmann, 2004, 103 ) The poem is mainly of interest, however, because it is a representation of the angel from an author steeped in the Romantic literary tradition. The theme of this poem resonates with that of ´Der Engel´ to some extent. Wandering through the desert, an ignorant and despondent human being is confronted by an angel, “a six-winged seraphim”, and is literally slaughtered, taken apart bit by bit. The angel literally amputates various parts of the human´s body, and replaces everything he takes away with something better or purer.
“And he clove my breast with his sword,
And drew forth my palpitating heart,
And into the open breast he inserted
A coal, blazing with fire.”
The angel also amputates and replaces the person´s tongue, the person´s eyes, and so forth. The purpose of this act is to re-make the human being, to make him more independent of the opinions of others, and more courageous: to turn him into a prophet. Pushkin´s angel is as vicious and as dangerous as that of Rilke, but there is a fundamental difference. For the Romantic Pushkin, the angel´s intention is to elevate the mortal human being to a higher state. Dangerous and frightening as this angel might be, he does engage with the human race. Rilke warns of a similar confrontation, in which the angel´s nameless allies also demolish a human being. But he does not specify what, if anything, the human beings might receive in exchange. Nor does Rilke´s angel go out of its way to inflict this horror upon the human being. The human being will have to actively confront the angel if anything is to happen. The angel, elevated as it is, has turned his back on the human race. It will react violently to the human race, not for any clearly defined purpose, but rather out of something resembling irritation. Because the themes of the two poems are to some extent similar, the differences in the worldviews the two poems represent are all the more salient. (Pushkin, 2003)
7. Nietzsche´s Übermensch
The impact of Friedrich Nietzsche is often thought to be a decisive influence in the evolution of literary Modernism. A number of commentators have also drawn attention to the hard to define, but clearly perceptible influence of Nietzsche on the work of Rilke, and have made a point of drawing parallels between Nietzsche´s Übermensch and the Rilkean angel. Some parallels could be drawn between some of Nietzsche´s works, and particularly Also Sprach Zarathustra, and the poem ´Der Engel´. There is one broad similarity between Also Sprach Zarathustra and Rilke´s poem, as viewed by Paul Claes: both works invert Christian imagery in order to undermine the Christian religion.
A more obvious similarity is in the line “Denn durch sein Herz geht…… das ewig Kommende das kreist´´, which Richard Detsch connects to the concept of the ´eternal recurrence of the same´ from Also Sprach Zarathustra. (Detsch, 2003, 56) This is the idea that everything that happens in the universe, down to the smallest detail, is part of a cycle of events that will be repeated in the exact same way into eternity. Consequently, the universe is pointless in the most literal sense of the word: that is, there is no point in which everything will culminate. History has no destiny, and there is no progress or regress. Historically, this idea should be seen as a counterpoint to the linear, historicist ideologies which were dominant at the end of the nineteenth century: Christianity, Enlightenment philosophy, Hegelian dialectics, Marxism, and even early forms of Darwinism. Adherents of these ideologies believed history had a purpose, and would
According to Walter Kaufmann´s interpretation, the “Übermensch”, the ´high man´ from the Zarathustra, who is destined to overcome the human race, is unthinkable without the concept of the ´eternal recurrence of the same´. Because how is the ´high man´ superior to human beings? Mainly because of his awareness of the ´eternal recurrence´. Unlike all the ´historical men´, held in thrall by the petty hope given them by Christianity, Marxism, Hegelian dialectics, and similar ideologies, the high man knows that, because of the eternal recurrence, life is pointless. But, unlike Schopenhauer and the ´Decadents´, he does not regret this. The high man revels in his awareness of the pointlessness of life.. The Übermensch is not necessarily superior in any more superficial way, and does not need to be. (Kaufmann, 1987, 307-333) In Rilke´s poem, “das ewig Kommende das kreist” is clearly defined as an aspect of the angel. It is within him. And like Nietzsche´s high man, the angel is also far superior to ordinary human beings. But is the angel in Der Engel superior because it is aware of this cycle? Or is it rather that, with its violent nature, it is an agent of this cycle? Or both? There is no evidence available to answer these questions definitively.
Another Nietzschean element is the juxtaposition of lightness and heaviness. “Gieb seinen leichten Händen nichts zu halten aus deinem Lastenden,” writes Rilke. Nietzsche frequently expresses his dislike of ´Schwerheit´, of spiritual heaviness, and praises light spirits on many occasions. His Zarathustra ultimately utters the invocation: “Auf, lasst uns der Geist der Schwere toten!” (Nietzsche, 1973, 306-307) In ´Der Engel´, the higher beings to which the angel has access threaten to do exactly that.
These similarities on matters of detail point to larger, more abstract parallels. Like the poem ´Der Engel´, Nietzsche´s work reflects the idea that human beings have been thrown back on themselves. They cannot hope for salvation from a higher power. This does not imply, however, that the human race is the apex of the universe. Both Rilke and Nietzsche find it easy to conceive of beings that are much greater, more beautiful, and more complete than the human race. In the case of Rilke, this is the angel, in the case of Nietzsche, the high man. Having transcended the human race, they would not feel the need to pity human beings, or chastise them, or be involved with them in any way at all.
8. Kafka´s ´Vor dem Gesetz´
In terms of themes and style, the distance between Pushkin´s poem and that of Rilke may not seem unbridgeable, but in terms of underlying ideas, Rilke´s poem ´Der Engel´ definitely belongs to the early 20th century. Underneath, Rilke´s angel is a sinister figure who denies human beings access to a higher reality. In this respect, he is reminiscent of the ´Türhüter´ from the parable ´Vor dem Gesetz´ by Franz Kafka (1883-1924), which was written in late 1914, and first published in 1915, and was also an integral part of the novel Der Prozess. It is a story about the warden at the gate that provides access to the Law. A man comes and asks to be admitted, but the warden refuses. His demeanour towards the man is stoic and indifferent. He challenges the man to try and go past him, but warns him of his own might, and the even greater might of the wardens of the gates behind him. The man does not attempt to pass, but instead pleads with the warden, and even tries to bribe him, all to no avail. Ultimately, the man ages and dies. The warden tells him he will now close the gate, because it was only intended for him. The warden is not described in any great detail. No indications are given as to his looks, how he feels, or whether he ages.
There is a measure of similarity between the role of the warden in this story and the role of the angel in Rilke´s poem. Both the angel and the warden stand between a human being and something higher that remains invisible. The other, mightier wardens the first warden speaks about are parallels of the “Gestalten” of whom the angel is aware. The human being is incapable of knowing these higher entities, and yet they could be dangerous to him. In both texts, the actual confrontation remains hypothetical – in Rilke´s poem, human beings are warned against confronting the angel. In Kafka´s story, the warden of the gate himself delivers the warning.
The essence is the same – both the warden and the angel stand between a human being and a higher world, and have no interest in, and no compassion for, that human being. (Kafka, 2007, 162-163)
10. The Duineser Elegien
Probably more than any other poem within Rilke´s early and middle period, the angel in ´Der Engel´ points to the angels in the Duineser Elegien. It is a harbinger of the despair of the first few elegies – any attempt to touch the angel of ´Der Engel´ is dangerous. The same is true in the first elegy: ´…gesetz selbst, es nähme einer mich plötzlich ans Herz: ich verginge von seinem stärkeren Dasein.´ The them of the rest of the Duineser Elegien revolves around the human attempt to either undo this regrettable condition of being cut off from the angel and his higher reality, or, as for instance in the ninth Elegy, to attempt to find something valuable in the lower, cut-off human existence. The Duineser Elegien begin where ´Der Engel´, and, in a different way, Kafka´s ´Vor dem Gesetz´, end.
Conclusion
The angel in Rilke´s poem ´Der Engel´ is a hybrid being. It derives from an old religious and literary tradition, but no longer belongs there. The poem echoes the Bible, and is also somewhat reminiscent of Pushkin´s angel in the poem ´The Prophet´. Nevertheless, but this angel is qualitatively different: it is no longer focussed on its engagement with the human race. When confronted with this angel, human beings will feel they are immeasurably far removed from it. It is a link in a chain that has been broken. In that sense, the angel in this poem has far more in common with Nietzsche´s ´Übermensch´ and Kafka´s ´Türhüter´ than with any of its more traditional angelic precursors.
Although the method behind ´Der Engel´ is recognisable poems within the Neue Gedichte, in terms of its subject matter,
the poem points forwards to the next stage in Rilke´s development. This angel is already ´schrecklich´, like the angels at the beginning of the Duineser Elegien. At this stage, Rilke does not yet commence the struggle to find new meaning in a universe in which even angels have become so terrible, and so remote.
Works consulted:
Abrams, M.H, and Geoffrey Galt Harpham. A Glossary of Literary Terms, Eighth Edition, Thomson Wadsworth, Boston, 2005,
Baer, Ulrich. Das Rilke-Alphabet, Suhrkamp, Frankfurt, 2006,
Die Bibel, oder die ganze heilige Schrift des alten und neuen Testaments, nach der Übersetzung Martin Luthers, Württembergische Bibelanstalt, Stuttgart, 1968
Brunkhorst, Katja. ´Bibel´, in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 37-40,
Claes, Paul. Raadsels van Rilke, Een nieuwe lezing van de Neue Gedichte, Uitgeverij De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam, 1995,
Detsch, Richard. Rilke´s Connections to Nietzsche, University Press of America, Lanham-New York-Oxford, 2003
Engel, Manfred. ´Rilke als Autor der Moderne,´ in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 507-528,
Fülleborn, Ulrich. ´Rilkes Gebrauch der Bibel, in: Manfred Engel and Dieter Lamping, Rilke und die Weltliteratur, Artemis & Winkler, Düsseldorf/Zürich, 1999, 19-30,
Görner, Rüdiger. Rainer Maria Rilke, Im Herzwerk der Sprache, Paul Zsornay Verlag, Vienna, 2004,
Kafka, Franz. ´Vor dem Gesetz´, in: Die Erzählungen und andere ausgewählte Prosa, S. Fischer Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 2007, 162-163,
Kaufmann, Walter. Nietzsche: Philosopher, Psychologist, Antichrist, Vintage Books, New York, 1968,
Lehmann, Jürgen. ´Kontakte und Kontexte: Russland´, in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 98-111,
Müller, Wolfgang. ´Neue Gedichte/Der Neuen Gedichte anderer Teil´, in: in: Engel, Manfred and Dorothea Lauterback (ed). Rilke-Handbuch, Leben-Werk-Wirkung, Verlag J.B. Metzler, Stuttgart Weimar, 2004, 296-317,
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Also Sprach Zarathustra, Werke II, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt, 1973,
Por, Peter. Die orphische Figur, Universitätsverlag C. Winter, Heidelberg, 1997,
Pushkin, Alexander. ´The Prophet´, transl. Daniel Weissbort, Educational Insight – Poet´s Corner, 2003. http://www.cfi.educ.ubc.ca/publication/insights/v08n01/poet/teaching/prophet.html.
Rilke, Rainer Maria. Die Gedichte, Insel Verlag, Frankfurt am Main and Leipzig, 2006,
Ryan, Judith. Rilke, Modernism and Poetic Tradition, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999,
Schödlbauer, Ulrich, Rilkes Engel, Edition Zeno im Manutius Verlag, Heidelberg, 2002,
Stahl, August. Werner Jost, and Reiner Marx, Rilke Kommentar zum lyrischen Werk, Winkler Verlag München, 1978,
Steiner, Jakob. Rilke, Vorträge und Aufsätze, von Loeper Verlag, Karlsruhe, 1986,
Vorgrimler, Herbert, Ursula Bernauer and Thomas Sternberg, Engel, Erfahrungen göttlicher Nähe, Herder, Freiburg-Basel-Vienna, 2001,
Vironosowo Wonosobo, Prince of Solo
excerpt from the novel: Iron will bend
It was a different world I entered into then. If anything, it resembled a descent into the underworld. Or as if my senses had suddenly been numbed; as if somebody had made me go through a torture session, and took everything away from me. Plucked out my eyes, plopped my eardrums, lopped off my nose, pulled out my tongue, everything. It was not that I felt more afraid than I had at home. Beguiling and beautiful as court life in Indonesia is, one would have to be recklessly foolish to feel safe under suchcircumstances. A legitimate son in a court of bastards is never safe. Every bowl of rice could hide poison, every hand a knife. It was not that I felt more scared in the Netherlands. The fear was different. Back home I had been taught to be afraid for myself, for my personal safety. In the Netherlands, it was suddenly the fate of mankind as a whole I was worried about.
Imagine my life at my father’s court, one of the minor princes of Solo. I was surrounded, always surrounded, by servants, in colourful sarongs, perpetually ready to do anything for me. The sun beat down on the roofs like the rain does in Europe. Always, the sound of gamelans, either close by or in the distance, the muezzins calling to prayer. There were birds, in all colours, caged or free alike, singing. The food was prepared in the open air and smothered in spices. The smells never went away. Nutmeg, vanilla, ginger; as if the whole world was one huge dish for me to eat. These smells had to be so intense, to hide the other smell, of decay, right underneath them. It was a colourful, vagrant, and melodious world.
Therefore, the shock the Netherlands induced was all the more depressing. The grey skies, walls red like congealed blood, a lack of light, a lack of sound, the small room with the brown furniture in which I had to spend my days, potatoes and meat at every meal, boiled to grey spiceless nothingness; and nobody anywhere willing to talk to me.
I realise that the Dutch, coming to Indonesia, used to a sparse and orderly world, have the opposite experience. That to them, arriving in my country seems like a landing, just as my arrival to Holland was for me. I’ve been inside some of the Dutch houses, in Batavia, Bandoeng, Semarang, Soerabaja. Being there, you realise how afraid these people are of the land they’ve conquered, how they try to block it out, the sight, the sound, the smell, the heat. The build high houses with thick walls and few windows, and refuse to eat anything in their homes but their own traditional foodstuffs, so much inferior to ours. I might be able to feel for them, but I didn’t ask them to come.
I, on the other hand, had no choice but to come to the Netherlands. When I was twelve years old I was sent to a school in the city of Haarlem, as had been preordained at the time of my birth. I didn’t protest, because I did not yet know what it would be like. I thought the world was the same everywhere. I went to Haarlem; bizarrely, not even the worst place in that country to live. I was one of only a handful of coloured people on the ocean steamer. I arrived at the port of Rotterdam on a suitably grim day. My landlord, a teacher at the school, was waiting there to pick me up. There was a feeling of brownness about him; brown hair, brown trousers, brown moustache, brown trousers, brown shirt, brown shoes, brown socks. Only his skin was pale. Mr. Verweel. We employed him, paid him, to take me in, I’d been told. I had no way of recognising him, I was walking down the plankway, among well-to-do Dutch people. I had made sure I looked my very best, in suit, a little westerner. The assorted rich people never met my eyes.
The dock where our ship landed was right next to the dock from which the liners to America departed. Emigrants with shabby suitcases, not Dutchmen most of them, Germans, Eastern Europeans, Jews, watched breathlessly at our luxurious ship. A hint of a better world.
When we had disembarked, I had no chance of recognising Mr. Verweel: all the suits were the same, and the faces might have been the same as well. The brown man suddenly stepped up to me.
‘Are you Wonosobo?’ he asked, observing me through his glasses as if I was an insect under a microscope.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Mr. Verweel. Let’s go.’He didn’t offer a hand. He paid some boy a dime to carry my suitcases, and off we were, to the train station. He hid himself behind a newspaper, all the way to the town of Haarlem, while I observed the contours of my new home nation, and decided I wasn’t impressed with it.
I was never bullied when I was there. I was too strong, too mysterious. The first time I entered class, at the beginning of the year, I found myself a seat at the rear of the classroom. It was a chemistry class. I decided to observe. These were all boys from good families, all had servants in their homes, white servants. Servants who would speak to them as if they were kings, using the forms of politeness, and would never look at them directly. This first day was a battle of wills: I knew how servants behaved, and they would treat me like one, on account of my skin colour. I did not want their sympathy. I disdained of them, and knew they felt the same about me. Respect was all I could hope for.
They were a mixed bunch. There were some boys with dark hair, and dark eyes; but most of them adhered to the stereotype. Fair skin, brown or blond hair, and those cheeks that were so bizarrely rosy, something I’ve never found attractive. They were impeccably dressed, as I was, and all taller than me. The teacher, a nervous, bespectacled man, entered. We were all sitting silently, waiting in attendance. Although these boys were the sons of merchants and industrialists, the teacher still enjoyed a measure of respect. When he entered he walked past me first. He looked at me slyly, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge my existence, but was intent to keep tabs on where I was. I felt I didn’t need to be afraid of him. I surveyed the other boys as the teacher made his way to his desk. The last row had remained empty. After I had taken a seat there, nobody else dared to sit down there. None of the blushy pimply blue-eyed boys had even glanced at me. The teacher sat down, began to read out names.
‘ter Borg, Meerten.’ A nervous boy, even more red-faced than normal in this company, shrieked out a ‘yes’.
‘That’s from the north that name, isn’t it?’
‘Yes sir,’ the boy answered.
‘Carelse, Robert.’
Another yes, a pale boy with silvery hair.
‘Isn´t your father on the board of the Droste factory?’
‘Yes sir, that’s my father.’
And so it went until the teacher got to the letter V.
‘Vironosowo.’
He mis-pronounced it, made no apology.
‘Vironosowo,’ I repeated, putting the stress back where it belonged.
‘In this school, young man, we don’t talk back.’
‘But….’
‘Vironosowo,’ he repeated, mis-pronouncing the name once more. I knew when I’d lost.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
I was not addressed in that class as the chemistry lesson progressed. Nor was I looked back at. I sat alone at my table and took everything in: the elements, the teacher’s regressing hairlines, the meaty necks of my fellow students. I was a paying student, with a right to be there. But if I was to get anything out of my education, I would have to find it for myself.
There was something I found out, however. Being a servant or a master is a matter of mentality. Servants bow, go out of people´s way, don’t look their masters straight in the eye, speak with deference. Although the Dutch had paler skin, bluer eyes, and were taller and more muscular, this was not the reason they were our masters. Nor was their superior culture or intelligence; because that they didn’t have. It was purely a matter of mindset. And it was a mindset they hadn’t acquired naturally. They had looked at their neighbours, the French and the English most notably, and had adapted their attitude to the purpose. Mastery was like a poorly fitting suit to them. It was only in front of us, Indonesians, who didn’t know any better, that they could appear to be masters.
I adjusted my attitude accordingly. I can proudly proclaim: No, I never held open a door for a Dutchman. Whenever anybody I knew approached me, I would look them straight in the eyes, without giving any indication of recognising them, as if they were animals escaped from the zoo. If they would greet me (and they would only rarely do so) it would not take me long to make up my mind. Did this individual have sufficient respect for me? Had this individual ever attempted to be kind to me, in any way whatsoever? Had he? If so I would nod to him. If otherwise, a blank stare, perhaps some puzzlement, was all they might hope for from me. I was a product of my prosperous background. I had taken people for granted, and looked down on them without even realising it: the servants, the peasants, the vagrants, the tradespeople.
And now, here in this foreign country, I was treated with that same disrespect, and therefore I made a decision to invert my values. When I now walk the land back around Solo, my erstwhile fellow students would be hard-pressed to recognise me, on account of my kindness and my humbleness, and my sincere interest and feeling for the people I meet. It was there, in the town of Haarlem in the Netherlands, that I made my decision. I told myself: from now on I will treat my servants as if they are my masters, and my masters as if they are my servants.
It was a different world I entered into then. If anything, it resembled a descent into the underworld. Or as if my senses had suddenly been numbed; as if somebody had made me go through a torture session, and took everything away from me. Plucked out my eyes, plopped my eardrums, lopped off my nose, pulled out my tongue, everything. It was not that I felt more afraid than I had at home. Beguiling and beautiful as court life in Indonesia is, one would have to be recklessly foolish to feel safe under suchcircumstances. A legitimate son in a court of bastards is never safe. Every bowl of rice could hide poison, every hand a knife. It was not that I felt more scared in the Netherlands. The fear was different. Back home I had been taught to be afraid for myself, for my personal safety. In the Netherlands, it was suddenly the fate of mankind as a whole I was worried about.
Imagine my life at my father’s court, one of the minor princes of Solo. I was surrounded, always surrounded, by servants, in colourful sarongs, perpetually ready to do anything for me. The sun beat down on the roofs like the rain does in Europe. Always, the sound of gamelans, either close by or in the distance, the muezzins calling to prayer. There were birds, in all colours, caged or free alike, singing. The food was prepared in the open air and smothered in spices. The smells never went away. Nutmeg, vanilla, ginger; as if the whole world was one huge dish for me to eat. These smells had to be so intense, to hide the other smell, of decay, right underneath them. It was a colourful, vagrant, and melodious world.
Therefore, the shock the Netherlands induced was all the more depressing. The grey skies, walls red like congealed blood, a lack of light, a lack of sound, the small room with the brown furniture in which I had to spend my days, potatoes and meat at every meal, boiled to grey spiceless nothingness; and nobody anywhere willing to talk to me.
I realise that the Dutch, coming to Indonesia, used to a sparse and orderly world, have the opposite experience. That to them, arriving in my country seems like a landing, just as my arrival to Holland was for me. I’ve been inside some of the Dutch houses, in Batavia, Bandoeng, Semarang, Soerabaja. Being there, you realise how afraid these people are of the land they’ve conquered, how they try to block it out, the sight, the sound, the smell, the heat. The build high houses with thick walls and few windows, and refuse to eat anything in their homes but their own traditional foodstuffs, so much inferior to ours. I might be able to feel for them, but I didn’t ask them to come.
I, on the other hand, had no choice but to come to the Netherlands. When I was twelve years old I was sent to a school in the city of Haarlem, as had been preordained at the time of my birth. I didn’t protest, because I did not yet know what it would be like. I thought the world was the same everywhere. I went to Haarlem; bizarrely, not even the worst place in that country to live. I was one of only a handful of coloured people on the ocean steamer. I arrived at the port of Rotterdam on a suitably grim day. My landlord, a teacher at the school, was waiting there to pick me up. There was a feeling of brownness about him; brown hair, brown trousers, brown moustache, brown trousers, brown shirt, brown shoes, brown socks. Only his skin was pale. Mr. Verweel. We employed him, paid him, to take me in, I’d been told. I had no way of recognising him, I was walking down the plankway, among well-to-do Dutch people. I had made sure I looked my very best, in suit, a little westerner. The assorted rich people never met my eyes.
The dock where our ship landed was right next to the dock from which the liners to America departed. Emigrants with shabby suitcases, not Dutchmen most of them, Germans, Eastern Europeans, Jews, watched breathlessly at our luxurious ship. A hint of a better world.
When we had disembarked, I had no chance of recognising Mr. Verweel: all the suits were the same, and the faces might have been the same as well. The brown man suddenly stepped up to me.
‘Are you Wonosobo?’ he asked, observing me through his glasses as if I was an insect under a microscope.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Mr. Verweel. Let’s go.’He didn’t offer a hand. He paid some boy a dime to carry my suitcases, and off we were, to the train station. He hid himself behind a newspaper, all the way to the town of Haarlem, while I observed the contours of my new home nation, and decided I wasn’t impressed with it.
I was never bullied when I was there. I was too strong, too mysterious. The first time I entered class, at the beginning of the year, I found myself a seat at the rear of the classroom. It was a chemistry class. I decided to observe. These were all boys from good families, all had servants in their homes, white servants. Servants who would speak to them as if they were kings, using the forms of politeness, and would never look at them directly. This first day was a battle of wills: I knew how servants behaved, and they would treat me like one, on account of my skin colour. I did not want their sympathy. I disdained of them, and knew they felt the same about me. Respect was all I could hope for.
They were a mixed bunch. There were some boys with dark hair, and dark eyes; but most of them adhered to the stereotype. Fair skin, brown or blond hair, and those cheeks that were so bizarrely rosy, something I’ve never found attractive. They were impeccably dressed, as I was, and all taller than me. The teacher, a nervous, bespectacled man, entered. We were all sitting silently, waiting in attendance. Although these boys were the sons of merchants and industrialists, the teacher still enjoyed a measure of respect. When he entered he walked past me first. He looked at me slyly, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge my existence, but was intent to keep tabs on where I was. I felt I didn’t need to be afraid of him. I surveyed the other boys as the teacher made his way to his desk. The last row had remained empty. After I had taken a seat there, nobody else dared to sit down there. None of the blushy pimply blue-eyed boys had even glanced at me. The teacher sat down, began to read out names.
‘ter Borg, Meerten.’ A nervous boy, even more red-faced than normal in this company, shrieked out a ‘yes’.
‘That’s from the north that name, isn’t it?’
‘Yes sir,’ the boy answered.
‘Carelse, Robert.’
Another yes, a pale boy with silvery hair.
‘Isn´t your father on the board of the Droste factory?’
‘Yes sir, that’s my father.’
And so it went until the teacher got to the letter V.
‘Vironosowo.’
He mis-pronounced it, made no apology.
‘Vironosowo,’ I repeated, putting the stress back where it belonged.
‘In this school, young man, we don’t talk back.’
‘But….’
‘Vironosowo,’ he repeated, mis-pronouncing the name once more. I knew when I’d lost.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
I was not addressed in that class as the chemistry lesson progressed. Nor was I looked back at. I sat alone at my table and took everything in: the elements, the teacher’s regressing hairlines, the meaty necks of my fellow students. I was a paying student, with a right to be there. But if I was to get anything out of my education, I would have to find it for myself.
There was something I found out, however. Being a servant or a master is a matter of mentality. Servants bow, go out of people´s way, don’t look their masters straight in the eye, speak with deference. Although the Dutch had paler skin, bluer eyes, and were taller and more muscular, this was not the reason they were our masters. Nor was their superior culture or intelligence; because that they didn’t have. It was purely a matter of mindset. And it was a mindset they hadn’t acquired naturally. They had looked at their neighbours, the French and the English most notably, and had adapted their attitude to the purpose. Mastery was like a poorly fitting suit to them. It was only in front of us, Indonesians, who didn’t know any better, that they could appear to be masters.
I adjusted my attitude accordingly. I can proudly proclaim: No, I never held open a door for a Dutchman. Whenever anybody I knew approached me, I would look them straight in the eyes, without giving any indication of recognising them, as if they were animals escaped from the zoo. If they would greet me (and they would only rarely do so) it would not take me long to make up my mind. Did this individual have sufficient respect for me? Had this individual ever attempted to be kind to me, in any way whatsoever? Had he? If so I would nod to him. If otherwise, a blank stare, perhaps some puzzlement, was all they might hope for from me. I was a product of my prosperous background. I had taken people for granted, and looked down on them without even realising it: the servants, the peasants, the vagrants, the tradespeople.
And now, here in this foreign country, I was treated with that same disrespect, and therefore I made a decision to invert my values. When I now walk the land back around Solo, my erstwhile fellow students would be hard-pressed to recognise me, on account of my kindness and my humbleness, and my sincere interest and feeling for the people I meet. It was there, in the town of Haarlem in the Netherlands, that I made my decision. I told myself: from now on I will treat my servants as if they are my masters, and my masters as if they are my servants.
Thinking of the Man Almayer
An Essay on Joseph Conrad
In A Personal Record, Joseph Conrad stated that, if he had not made the acquaintance of the individual whose name he spelled ‘Almayer’, ‘.....it is almost certain that there would never have been a line of mine in print.’ The real name of this ‘Almayer’ was Olmeijer, a Dutch trader living on the Berau river, on the Indonesian island of Kalimantan, then known as Borneo. It could be argued that this claim on the part of Conrad tended towards the hyperbolic. His biographer Jocelyn Baines also quotes this same line from A Personal Record, and then remarks: “This was paying Almayer too big a compliment, because when somebody is ready to write there will always be an Almayer to hand.” In fact, the line quoted by Baines is relatively understated, compared to some of Conrad’s other statements regarding Almayer. In the fourth chapter of A Personal Record, Conrad exposes a direct link between the life of ‘the man Almayer’, and his initial impulse to start writing. He claims, perhaps facetiously, that he never previously had the ambition of becoming a writer, and once more, he does not eschew hyperbole. “I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a good reason for not writing at all.” But at the age of thirty-one, in between berths, occupying rooms in Bessborough Gardens, Pimlico, London, he nevertheless feels compelled to do so. Conrad attempts to downplay the event, while simultaneously ascribing immense significance to it. Writing is merely a way of killing time. He is bored: when not engaged on a ship, he has nothing to do. And then “.....in the necessity of occupying my mornings Almayer (that old acquaintance) came nobly to the rescue.” This remark stands in stark contrast to how he describes the impact of the event three chapters later. He tells us he was inspired to write a single page of about two hundred words. “...from the moment I had written that page........... the die was cast.” And a bit further down, with a somewhat pompous classical allusion: “Never had Rubicon been more blindly forded......” The ‘blindly’ connects to the idea that he did not, at this point, or so he claims, think of becoming a writer, or even of writing a single book. He cannot recall thinking of anything much at all at this fateful moment “.... though it is possible and even likely that I was thinking of the man Almayer.” Conrad claims that this moment, this event, seemingly insignificant at the time, is responsible for his career as a writer. “(Almayer)....... is responsible for the existence of some fourteen volumes, so far.”[1]
Beyond these emphatic remarks in A Personal Note, evidence of Olmeijer’s role is limited. Conrad does not mention him in other autobiographical writings. All the more reason for critics and biographers to take the remarks in A Personal Note with a grain of salt. In fact, Batchelor and Meyers do not even mention this remark in their biographies, even though Fletcher finds it important enough to mention in his monography on Conrad.[2]
Of course there is no possibility of verifying whether Conrad’s remarks on Olmeijer’s role are correct – whether or not the man really was as significant as Conrad claims in this one book. Nevertheless, these remarks are important enough to merit further attention.
Najder downplays the impact Olmeijer, and Borneo generally, had on Conrad´s writing. He sees Conrad´s using of the Malay environment in his early novels as a necessity emerging from his position as an immigrant writer in England. He could not write with confidence about other parts of the British empire that he had come to known, such as Autralia, Singapore, or England itself: his readership would know more about those places than him. Consequently, Borneo, which he did not know too well himself, was a part of the world he could bluff his way into. According to Najder, and in contrast to Conrad´s claims in A Personal Record, Conrad did not know Olmeijer well at all. The real Olmeijer was a succesfull businessman, who had eleven children, rather than just the one daughter featured in Almayer´s Folly.
In the absence of further personal testimony, the main source to turn to would be Conrad’s two early novels, Almayer’s Folly and An Outcast of the Islands. Clearly, the main character of Conrad’s first novel is Almayer, and he also plays a key role in the second one. There is also personal testimony that Conrad first met the prototype of Willems, protagonist of An Outcast of the Islands, at a dinner with Olmeijer “....... sitting at table with us in the manner of the skeleton at the feast, shunned by everybody......” Another character Conrad might not have invented without Almayer. There is no doubt that the meeting with Almayer provided Conrad with the themes he dealt with at the very beginning of his literary career. But the phrasing he uses in A Personal Record suggests that a great deal more was going on, at least when Conrad looked back on it at the moment when writing this text.
There is a possible clue at the end of An Outcast of the Islands. Conrad suddenly introduces a new character in Chapter IV of Part V, on page 359, eight pages from the end of the book. Here, Almayer has a conversation with ‘’’..... a chance visitor from Europe.” This man, a Rumanian, a failed scientist, and an alcoholic, and is described in some detail. It must seem unusual to introduce a new character at this late stage of the novel. The character is nothing but a caricature. He has scientific pretensions, quotes Latin phrases, and makes pompous announcements about how he sees the world. He is described as “the learned gatherer of orchids” and “the man who ought to have been a professor”. And instead of realising his ambitions, he ends up dead shortly after, in the ‘second white man’s grave in Sambir’, after that of Willems, the novel´s protagonist. As yet, Conrad’s famous irony is a blunt weapon.
None of the works I have consulted deal with this character at any length. He must seem too insignificant. Still, his presence in the novel must give some pause for thought. There is a wide range of European and partly European characters in the novel, and all of them are very loosely based on actual people.
Almayer is based on Olmeijer, even though the man and the character do not have a great deal in common.
There was a Willems, even though the character as he ended in the book is also based, in part, of various other people. Conrad met one person by the name of Lingard, and knew of another man by that name by reputation. Conrad used real people as the starting point for fictional characters. His career as a sailor meant he had a large number of very superficial encounters with very interesting people.
The Rumanian, insignificant as he may be, is bizarrely unaccountable. His role could have been filled by almost anybody. He is a sounding-board for Almayer´s closing reflections. In fact, a more experienced novelist might well have opted for a less flamboyant character for this purpose, who would not have distracted attention to the same extent. The available sources do not provide an answer. Even Norman Sherry, who has been most concerned with tracking down the real-life progeny of Conrad´s characters in the early novels, does not mention the Rumanian.
So what possessed Conrad to put him in? And where does this character, detailed as he is, come from?
There are various possibilities. Most likely, the character is a mixture of factors. Conrad was known to draw experience from books as well as real life. It is likely that there is a character either in a novel, or in a work of non-fiction, who would have provided elements that went into the creation of this Rumanian. Somewhere on his travels, Conrad might have met somebody like this Rumanian, who then went on to slip through the nets of Conrad´s major biographers.
Part of the answer could also be that the creation of this character was an exercise in grim self-parody on the part of Conrad. Conrad also had pretensions of grandeur, and was inclined to ridicule himself on this account. He was a ‘materialist’, a man who preferred a scientific worldview over a religious one. At an earlier stage of his life, he had the ambition to become an explorer. At the time when he travelled through Borneo, he would have appeared to be a half-educated Eastern European of great ambition and modest achievement, just like the Rumanian orchid-hunter . It could fairly be asked how many Eastern Europeans of that sort would make landfall in Borneo at any one time during the 1880s.
It would be merely a mystery with greater relevance, if not for the things that Almayer specifically says to this Rumanian, whom he seems to think of as being capable of answering certain questions.
“You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me..... why such infernal things are ever allowed. .......... Where’s your Providence? Where’s the good in all this? The world’s a swindle!.......”
Of course, the Rumanian does not have answers, and instead slides into a drunken stupor. [3]
He was a Roumanian, half naturalist, half orchid-hunter for commercial purposes, who used to declare to everybody, in the first five minutes of acquaintance, his intention of writing a scientific book about tropical countries. On his way to the interior he had quartered himself upon Almayer. He was a man of some education, but he drank his gin neat, or only, at most, would squeeze the juice of half a small lime into the spirit. He said it was good for his health, and, with that medicine before him, he would describe to the surprised Almayer the wonders of European capitals.
´I am a materialist,´ declared the man of science, tilting the bottle shakily over the emptied glass.
´The most rapacious thief I ever met!´ exclaimed the traveller thickly.
´De mortuis nil ni……. num,´ muttered Almayer´s guest.
´Don´t be angry,´ hiccoughed the other. ´It´s Latin, and it´s wisdom. It means; Don´t waste your breath in abusing shadows. No offence there. I like you. You have a quarrel with Providence – so have I. I was meant to be a professor, while – look.
The learned gatherer of orchids lifted his head.
´He was a sen – sentimen – tal old buc – buccaneer,´ he stammered out, ´I like him. I´m sent – tal himself.´
´Not I!´ said the other. ´No interest – in the sun – too tiring….. Unless you carry me there.´
As a matter of fact he was carried there a few months afterwards, and his was the second white man´s grave in Sambir; but at present he was alive if rather drunk.
The naturalist woke up, and sat all in a heap, staring owlishly,
´Here!´ went on Almayer, speaking very loud and thumping the table, ´I want to know. You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me… why such infernal things are ever allowed. Here I am! Done harm to nobody, lived an honest life…… Where´s the sense of all this? Where´s your Providence? Where´s the good for anybody in all of this? The world´s a swindle! A swindle! Why should I suffer? What have I done to be treated so?´
The man who ought to have been a professor made a tremendous effort to articulate distinctly: ´My dear fellow, don´t – don´t you see that the ba – bare fac – the fact of your existence is off – offensive. ……. I – I like you – like….´
He fell forward on the table and ended his remarks by an unexpected and prolonged snore.
Ian Watt about Almayer and Almayer´s Folly:
After relating some memories of their subsequent encounters – extending at most to four visits of a day or two each (Najder, pp. 97-98) – Conrad makes the singular assertion that ´if I had not…….´
The casually preposterous hyperbole is characteristic of how……
Still, why it should have been a few chance encounters with ´Almayer´ that precipitated Conrad into authorship is not easy to explain.
There is no first-hand testimony about Olmeijer´s character.
There (in A Personal Record) he is an extraordinary combination of ambitious dreamer and habitual defeatist.
Behind this lack of ambition, however, Conrad became aware of Almayer´s abiding sense of his own importance.
What he did find was probably the vast disparity between the extravagant hopes of Almayer´s inner life and the petty actualities of his achievement, a disparity which Conrad was familiar with, no doubt, in himself.
This kind of identification would at least be consistent with a passage in A Personal Record where Conrad imagines himself placating Almayer´s aggrieved shade for the ´very small larceny´ of his name, and for having given him a fictional incarnation which was ´not worthy of your merits´. At first, Conrad´s defense is jocular and ironical, but he goes on to disclaim any intention of mocking Almayer´s aspirations.
Works consulted:
Baines, Jocelyn, Joseph Conrad, A Critical Biography, Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, 1986
Batchelor, John, The Life of Joseph Conrad, Blackwell, Oxford, 1994
Conrad, Joseph, Almayer´s Folly, Cambridge University Press, 1994
Conrad, Joseph, An Outcast of the Islands,
Fletcher, Chris, Joseph Conrad, Oxford University Press, Oxford,
Meyers, Jeffrey, Joseph Conrad, A Biography, John Murray, London, 1999
Najder, Zdzislaw, Joseph Conrad, A Chronicle, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1983
Sherry, Norman, Conrad´s Eastern World, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1960,
[1] Joseph Conrad, A Personal Note, ‘A Familiar Preface’, ‘Chapter IV’, The University of Adelaide Library, eBooks,
Jocelyn Baines, Joseph Conrad, A Critical Biography, Penguin Books, London, 1960, p. 116-118
[2] Jeffrey Meyers, Joseph Conrad, a Biography, Murray, London, 1991,
John Batchelor, The Life of Joseph Conrad, Blackwell Critical Biographies, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, 1994,
Chris Fletcher, Joseph Conrad, The British Library Writer’s Lives, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1999, p. 44,
[3] Joseph Conrad, An Outcast of the Islands,Thomas Nelson & Sons, London, pp.359-367
In A Personal Record, Joseph Conrad stated that, if he had not made the acquaintance of the individual whose name he spelled ‘Almayer’, ‘.....it is almost certain that there would never have been a line of mine in print.’ The real name of this ‘Almayer’ was Olmeijer, a Dutch trader living on the Berau river, on the Indonesian island of Kalimantan, then known as Borneo. It could be argued that this claim on the part of Conrad tended towards the hyperbolic. His biographer Jocelyn Baines also quotes this same line from A Personal Record, and then remarks: “This was paying Almayer too big a compliment, because when somebody is ready to write there will always be an Almayer to hand.” In fact, the line quoted by Baines is relatively understated, compared to some of Conrad’s other statements regarding Almayer. In the fourth chapter of A Personal Record, Conrad exposes a direct link between the life of ‘the man Almayer’, and his initial impulse to start writing. He claims, perhaps facetiously, that he never previously had the ambition of becoming a writer, and once more, he does not eschew hyperbole. “I admit that almost anything, anything in the world, would serve as a good reason for not writing at all.” But at the age of thirty-one, in between berths, occupying rooms in Bessborough Gardens, Pimlico, London, he nevertheless feels compelled to do so. Conrad attempts to downplay the event, while simultaneously ascribing immense significance to it. Writing is merely a way of killing time. He is bored: when not engaged on a ship, he has nothing to do. And then “.....in the necessity of occupying my mornings Almayer (that old acquaintance) came nobly to the rescue.” This remark stands in stark contrast to how he describes the impact of the event three chapters later. He tells us he was inspired to write a single page of about two hundred words. “...from the moment I had written that page........... the die was cast.” And a bit further down, with a somewhat pompous classical allusion: “Never had Rubicon been more blindly forded......” The ‘blindly’ connects to the idea that he did not, at this point, or so he claims, think of becoming a writer, or even of writing a single book. He cannot recall thinking of anything much at all at this fateful moment “.... though it is possible and even likely that I was thinking of the man Almayer.” Conrad claims that this moment, this event, seemingly insignificant at the time, is responsible for his career as a writer. “(Almayer)....... is responsible for the existence of some fourteen volumes, so far.”[1]
Beyond these emphatic remarks in A Personal Note, evidence of Olmeijer’s role is limited. Conrad does not mention him in other autobiographical writings. All the more reason for critics and biographers to take the remarks in A Personal Note with a grain of salt. In fact, Batchelor and Meyers do not even mention this remark in their biographies, even though Fletcher finds it important enough to mention in his monography on Conrad.[2]
Of course there is no possibility of verifying whether Conrad’s remarks on Olmeijer’s role are correct – whether or not the man really was as significant as Conrad claims in this one book. Nevertheless, these remarks are important enough to merit further attention.
Najder downplays the impact Olmeijer, and Borneo generally, had on Conrad´s writing. He sees Conrad´s using of the Malay environment in his early novels as a necessity emerging from his position as an immigrant writer in England. He could not write with confidence about other parts of the British empire that he had come to known, such as Autralia, Singapore, or England itself: his readership would know more about those places than him. Consequently, Borneo, which he did not know too well himself, was a part of the world he could bluff his way into. According to Najder, and in contrast to Conrad´s claims in A Personal Record, Conrad did not know Olmeijer well at all. The real Olmeijer was a succesfull businessman, who had eleven children, rather than just the one daughter featured in Almayer´s Folly.
In the absence of further personal testimony, the main source to turn to would be Conrad’s two early novels, Almayer’s Folly and An Outcast of the Islands. Clearly, the main character of Conrad’s first novel is Almayer, and he also plays a key role in the second one. There is also personal testimony that Conrad first met the prototype of Willems, protagonist of An Outcast of the Islands, at a dinner with Olmeijer “....... sitting at table with us in the manner of the skeleton at the feast, shunned by everybody......” Another character Conrad might not have invented without Almayer. There is no doubt that the meeting with Almayer provided Conrad with the themes he dealt with at the very beginning of his literary career. But the phrasing he uses in A Personal Record suggests that a great deal more was going on, at least when Conrad looked back on it at the moment when writing this text.
There is a possible clue at the end of An Outcast of the Islands. Conrad suddenly introduces a new character in Chapter IV of Part V, on page 359, eight pages from the end of the book. Here, Almayer has a conversation with ‘’’..... a chance visitor from Europe.” This man, a Rumanian, a failed scientist, and an alcoholic, and is described in some detail. It must seem unusual to introduce a new character at this late stage of the novel. The character is nothing but a caricature. He has scientific pretensions, quotes Latin phrases, and makes pompous announcements about how he sees the world. He is described as “the learned gatherer of orchids” and “the man who ought to have been a professor”. And instead of realising his ambitions, he ends up dead shortly after, in the ‘second white man’s grave in Sambir’, after that of Willems, the novel´s protagonist. As yet, Conrad’s famous irony is a blunt weapon.
None of the works I have consulted deal with this character at any length. He must seem too insignificant. Still, his presence in the novel must give some pause for thought. There is a wide range of European and partly European characters in the novel, and all of them are very loosely based on actual people.
Almayer is based on Olmeijer, even though the man and the character do not have a great deal in common.
There was a Willems, even though the character as he ended in the book is also based, in part, of various other people. Conrad met one person by the name of Lingard, and knew of another man by that name by reputation. Conrad used real people as the starting point for fictional characters. His career as a sailor meant he had a large number of very superficial encounters with very interesting people.
The Rumanian, insignificant as he may be, is bizarrely unaccountable. His role could have been filled by almost anybody. He is a sounding-board for Almayer´s closing reflections. In fact, a more experienced novelist might well have opted for a less flamboyant character for this purpose, who would not have distracted attention to the same extent. The available sources do not provide an answer. Even Norman Sherry, who has been most concerned with tracking down the real-life progeny of Conrad´s characters in the early novels, does not mention the Rumanian.
So what possessed Conrad to put him in? And where does this character, detailed as he is, come from?
There are various possibilities. Most likely, the character is a mixture of factors. Conrad was known to draw experience from books as well as real life. It is likely that there is a character either in a novel, or in a work of non-fiction, who would have provided elements that went into the creation of this Rumanian. Somewhere on his travels, Conrad might have met somebody like this Rumanian, who then went on to slip through the nets of Conrad´s major biographers.
Part of the answer could also be that the creation of this character was an exercise in grim self-parody on the part of Conrad. Conrad also had pretensions of grandeur, and was inclined to ridicule himself on this account. He was a ‘materialist’, a man who preferred a scientific worldview over a religious one. At an earlier stage of his life, he had the ambition to become an explorer. At the time when he travelled through Borneo, he would have appeared to be a half-educated Eastern European of great ambition and modest achievement, just like the Rumanian orchid-hunter . It could fairly be asked how many Eastern Europeans of that sort would make landfall in Borneo at any one time during the 1880s.
It would be merely a mystery with greater relevance, if not for the things that Almayer specifically says to this Rumanian, whom he seems to think of as being capable of answering certain questions.
“You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me..... why such infernal things are ever allowed. .......... Where’s your Providence? Where’s the good in all this? The world’s a swindle!.......”
Of course, the Rumanian does not have answers, and instead slides into a drunken stupor. [3]
He was a Roumanian, half naturalist, half orchid-hunter for commercial purposes, who used to declare to everybody, in the first five minutes of acquaintance, his intention of writing a scientific book about tropical countries. On his way to the interior he had quartered himself upon Almayer. He was a man of some education, but he drank his gin neat, or only, at most, would squeeze the juice of half a small lime into the spirit. He said it was good for his health, and, with that medicine before him, he would describe to the surprised Almayer the wonders of European capitals.
´I am a materialist,´ declared the man of science, tilting the bottle shakily over the emptied glass.
´The most rapacious thief I ever met!´ exclaimed the traveller thickly.
´De mortuis nil ni……. num,´ muttered Almayer´s guest.
´Don´t be angry,´ hiccoughed the other. ´It´s Latin, and it´s wisdom. It means; Don´t waste your breath in abusing shadows. No offence there. I like you. You have a quarrel with Providence – so have I. I was meant to be a professor, while – look.
The learned gatherer of orchids lifted his head.
´He was a sen – sentimen – tal old buc – buccaneer,´ he stammered out, ´I like him. I´m sent – tal himself.´
´Not I!´ said the other. ´No interest – in the sun – too tiring….. Unless you carry me there.´
As a matter of fact he was carried there a few months afterwards, and his was the second white man´s grave in Sambir; but at present he was alive if rather drunk.
The naturalist woke up, and sat all in a heap, staring owlishly,
´Here!´ went on Almayer, speaking very loud and thumping the table, ´I want to know. You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me… why such infernal things are ever allowed. Here I am! Done harm to nobody, lived an honest life…… Where´s the sense of all this? Where´s your Providence? Where´s the good for anybody in all of this? The world´s a swindle! A swindle! Why should I suffer? What have I done to be treated so?´
The man who ought to have been a professor made a tremendous effort to articulate distinctly: ´My dear fellow, don´t – don´t you see that the ba – bare fac – the fact of your existence is off – offensive. ……. I – I like you – like….´
He fell forward on the table and ended his remarks by an unexpected and prolonged snore.
Ian Watt about Almayer and Almayer´s Folly:
After relating some memories of their subsequent encounters – extending at most to four visits of a day or two each (Najder, pp. 97-98) – Conrad makes the singular assertion that ´if I had not…….´
The casually preposterous hyperbole is characteristic of how……
Still, why it should have been a few chance encounters with ´Almayer´ that precipitated Conrad into authorship is not easy to explain.
There is no first-hand testimony about Olmeijer´s character.
There (in A Personal Record) he is an extraordinary combination of ambitious dreamer and habitual defeatist.
Behind this lack of ambition, however, Conrad became aware of Almayer´s abiding sense of his own importance.
What he did find was probably the vast disparity between the extravagant hopes of Almayer´s inner life and the petty actualities of his achievement, a disparity which Conrad was familiar with, no doubt, in himself.
This kind of identification would at least be consistent with a passage in A Personal Record where Conrad imagines himself placating Almayer´s aggrieved shade for the ´very small larceny´ of his name, and for having given him a fictional incarnation which was ´not worthy of your merits´. At first, Conrad´s defense is jocular and ironical, but he goes on to disclaim any intention of mocking Almayer´s aspirations.
Works consulted:
Baines, Jocelyn, Joseph Conrad, A Critical Biography, Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, 1986
Batchelor, John, The Life of Joseph Conrad, Blackwell, Oxford, 1994
Conrad, Joseph, Almayer´s Folly, Cambridge University Press, 1994
Conrad, Joseph, An Outcast of the Islands,
Fletcher, Chris, Joseph Conrad, Oxford University Press, Oxford,
Meyers, Jeffrey, Joseph Conrad, A Biography, John Murray, London, 1999
Najder, Zdzislaw, Joseph Conrad, A Chronicle, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1983
Sherry, Norman, Conrad´s Eastern World, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1960,
[1] Joseph Conrad, A Personal Note, ‘A Familiar Preface’, ‘Chapter IV’, The University of Adelaide Library, eBooks,
Jocelyn Baines, Joseph Conrad, A Critical Biography, Penguin Books, London, 1960, p. 116-118
[2] Jeffrey Meyers, Joseph Conrad, a Biography, Murray, London, 1991,
John Batchelor, The Life of Joseph Conrad, Blackwell Critical Biographies, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, 1994,
Chris Fletcher, Joseph Conrad, The British Library Writer’s Lives, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1999, p. 44,
[3] Joseph Conrad, An Outcast of the Islands,Thomas Nelson & Sons, London, pp.359-367
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