— 3–
The next morning the painter unpacked his landscapes from their portfolio, and first an entire autumn fell out of it, then a winter, all the moods of Nature came to life again. “How little this is of what I saw. Swift as a painter’s eye is, his hand is so sluggish, so slow. There are still so many things I have to paint! Often I think I’ll go mad.” All three of them, Klara, Simon and the painter, were standing around the pictures. Few words were spoken, and these were just exclamations of delight. Suddenly Simon leapt over to his hat, which lay on the floor of the room, thrust it savagely, furiously upon his head and dashed out the door, shouting, “I’m late!”
“An hour late! This is something a young man should not allow himself,” he was told at the bank.
“And if he nonetheless does allow it?” the one being scolded replied defiantly.
“What, insolence on top of everything else? Well, go right ahead! Suit yourself!”
Simon’s conduct was reported to the director, who decided to dismiss the young man; he called him to his office and gave him this news in a quite soft, even kindly voice. Simon replied:
“I’m perfectly happy things have come to an end. Do you perhaps suppose you’re striking me a blow by sending me away — robbing me of courage, destroying me or anything of the sort? On the contrary, I’m being raised up and flattered, at long last I’m being infused with new hope. I was never made to be a writing and calculating machine. I like to write, I like doing calculations and find it desirable to behave in a decorous manner towards my fellow men, I enjoy being industrious, and as long as it does my heart no injury, I passionately love to obey. I’d also be perfectly capable of submitting to certain laws if this were important, but it’s been some time now since such things had any importance for me here. When I found myself running late today, I merely felt angry and annoyed, I was by no means filled with honest conscientious concern, nor did I reproach myself, or if I did so, it was only for still being such a cowardly fool that I leap to my feet at the stroke of eight and start running like a wind-up clock that runs whenever it’s wound. I thank you for having the energy to dismiss me and request that you think of me however you please. You are surely an admirable, commendable, great man, but, you see, I too wish to be one, and that’s why it’s good you’re sending me away, why it was so advantageous for me to comport myself today in a manner one might call unseemly. In your offices, which are so highly touted and where anyone at all would be delighted to find employment, there can be no question of a young man developing and growing. I don’t care a whit about enjoying the benefits associated with receiving a fixed monthly income. While receiving it, I degenerate, becoming addlepated and lily-livered, I ossify. You may be surprised to hear me making use of such expressions, but you must admit I am speaking the complete truth. Only one person can be a man here: you! — Doesn’t it ever occur to you that among your poor subordinates there might be some who feel the urge to be men themselves: effective, productive, respect-inspiring men. I can’t possibly find it agreeable to stand off to one side in this world just to avoid acquiring a reputation as a malcontent and therefore a scarcely employable person. How great is the temptation here to feel afraid — and how faint the appeal of extricating oneself from this miserable fear. My having set in motion this all but impossible development on this day is something I cannot help appreciating in myself, let people say what they will. You, Herr Direktor, have barricaded yourself in here, you’re never visible, no one knows whose orders they are following, and in fact one isn’t following orders at all but rather merely stagnating according to one’s own bad habits, which turn out to be perfectly appropriate. What a trap for young people with a tendency to be indolent and sluggish. Here nothing is demanded of all the strength that might animate a young man’s spirit, nothing is required that might distinguish a man and human being. Neither courage nor wit, neither loyalty nor industry, neither creative drive nor the desire for challenges can help a person to advance himself here: Indeed, displaying strength and capabilities is even looked down upon. Naturally, how could it not be looked down upon in such a slow, sluggish, dry, miserable system? Farewell, sir, I leave in order to work myself back to health, even if this means shoveling dirt or carrying endless sacks of coal on my back. I love all sorts of work, excepting the sort whose performance does not require the exertion of all one’s faculties.”
“Shall I write you out a letter of reference, even though you don’t really deserve one?”
“A letter of reference? No, please don’t. If I have earned no other reference than at most a bad one, I’d rather have none at all. From now on I shall write my own references. I shall no longer call upon anyone other than myself when someone asks me for references, and this will make the best possible impression on sensible clear-minded people. I am glad to be leaving you without a letter in hand, for a reference from you would only remind me of my own cowardice and fear, a condition of sluggishness and relinquished strength, of days spent in idleness, afternoons filled with furious attempts at escape, evenings dedicated to sweet but pointless longings. I thank you for having had the intention of letting me go with an amicable gesture — that shows me I’ve been standing before a man who possibly grasps at least some of what I say.”
“Young man, you are far too hot-headed!” the director said. “You are undermining your own future—”
“I don’t want a future, I want a present. To me this appears of greater value. You have a future only when you have no present, and when you have a present, you forget to even think about the future.”
“I wish you well but I fear that something unfortunate will befall you. You interest me, that’s why I’ve been listening — otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted so much time on you. Perhaps you haven’t found your calling, perhaps you’ll amount to something yet. In any case, I hope things will go well for you.”
With a nod of the director’s head Simon was dismissed and soon found himself on the street outside. He observed a man pacing up and down in front of a pastry shop, probably he was waiting for someone, perhaps a woman, who could say? But the man aroused his interest. He was, at first glance, horrifically ugly, with a quite unusually large curved skull, a full beard and a rather weary, even animal, expression in his eyes. He had a mincing walk that was nonetheless noble, and his clothes were of good quality and tasteful. In his hand he held a yellow walking stick; he appeared to be a scholar, but one who was still young. There was something gentle, even heart-stirring about this man and his bearing. It seemed as though one might venture to address him freely — and Simon did:
“Forgive me, sir, for speaking to you in this way. The moment I set eyes on you something about you appealed to me. I would like to make your acquaintance. Shouldn’t such a heartfelt wish be sufficient grounds for addressing a few words to a person like yourself in the middle of the street? You seem as if you’re searching for someone, as if you suspect there might be someone waiting for you here on this square. But with this crowd of people milling about it will be difficult for you alone to discover the individual in question. I’ll help you look if you are willing to confide a few details of the person you hope to meet. Is it a lady?”