The Tanners (31 page)

Authors: Robert Walser

BOOK: The Tanners

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that I now find incomprehensible—I
recall that everything, every
piece of furniture, every object, every
word caused me pain. Eventually, I became so timid that the time had come to
send me away, and that’s what they did. They found me a job in a
far-off town just to get rid of me, as I had proved myself utterly
useless. And so I left
.
—But now I don’t want to think of the past
any longer, nor speak of it. There’s something wonderful about having escaped
one’s early youth, for youth is by no means always beautiful, lovely and easy;
often it’s harder and more filled with worries than the life of many an old man.
The more one has lived, the more gently one lives. A person with a tempestuous
youth may well in later years rarely or—preferably—never again behave in a
tempestuous manner. When I think of how we children, each of us in turn, had
to
go through all these things, the years of error and violent emotion, and that
all children on earth must do this at their own youthful peril, well then I
don’t wish to be overhasty in praising the sweetness of childhood, and yet I
will praise it, for childhood remains a precious memory all the same. How
difficult it often is for parents to be good protective parents; and as for
being a well-behaved obedient child—how can this be more than a cheap
empty phrase for most children? As a woman, by the way, you know this better
than I do. To this day I’ve remained the least capable of human beings. I don’t
even have a suit to my name that might bear witness to my having put my life
more or less in order. Looking at me, you can’t see anything that might point
to
my having made a certain choice in life. I’m still standing at the door of life,
knocking and knocking, though admittedly none too forcefully, and breathlessly
listening to see whether someone will decide to open the bolt and let me in.
A
bolt like this is rather heavy, and people don’t like to come to the door if
they have the feeling it’s just a beggar standing outside knocking. I’m good
at
nothing but listening and waiting, though in these capacities I’ve achieved
perfection, for I’ve learned how to dream while waiting. These two things go
hand in hand, and dreaming does a person good and preserves respectability.
Might I have missed the chance to find my true profession? This is a question
I
no longer ask myself; a youth might ask such a thing, but not a man. Any
profession would have brought me exactly as far as I am now. And why should I
concern myself with that! I’m quite conscious of my virtues and weaknesses, and
take pains to avoid boasting about either. To every person I offer my knowledge,
strength, thoughts, achievements and love if he has any use for them. Anyone
who
wants need only stick out a finger and beckon, and though many a one would
thereupon just come hobbling up, not me—I come leaping and bounding, do you see,
the way the wind whistles, and I skip over and tread heedlessly upon memories
of
all sorts if that lets me run unhindered. And the entire world comes rushing
along with me—all of life! That’s how it must be, just like that! Nothing in
this world is mine, but I no longer yearn for anything. Longing has become a
stranger to me. When I still felt certain longings, I found people a matter of
indifference, mere hindrances, I sometimes even despised them, but now I love
them because I need them and I offer myself to them to be put to use. That’s
what we’re here for. Let’s say someone appears and says to me: “Hey there, you,
come here! I need you. I can give you work!” This person makes me happy. Then
I
know what happiness is! Happiness and pain are completely transformed, they
become clearer and more comprehensible to me, they elucidate themselves to me,
they permit me to woo them in love and anguish, to court them. Whenever I must
submit a letter of application to someone offering my services, I always draw
attention to my brothers and point out that since they have both proven to be
useful productive individuals, I too might perhaps also be of use, which makes
me laugh every time. I’m not at all worried that I myself might not, some day,
take on some form, but I want to put off forming myself as long as possible.
And
then it would be best if this came about of its own accord, unintentionally.
Now, for starters, I’ve had myself measured for a pair of sturdy broad shoes
with which I shall tread more firmly and show people with my very footsteps that
I am a person with a purpose and no doubt abilities as well. To be put to the
test is a pleasure for me! I scarcely know any higher pleasure. That I am poor
at the moment, what does that signify? It needn’t mean anything at all, it’s
merely the tiniest slip in the overall composition that can be erased again with
a few vigorous strokes. It might at most cause a healthy person a moment of
embarrassment, perhaps even worry, but certainly not alarm. You’re laughing.
No?
You’re saying you weren’t? What a shame that would be, for your laughter is a
beautiful thing. For a time it was always my idea that I could become a soldier,
but I no longer quite trust this romantic notion. Why not remain where one is?
If it’s my intention to perish, can it be that no suitable opportunities are
available to me in this country? I should be able to find a more worthy occasion
here for putting my health, strength and joie de vivre on the line. For the
moment, I’m delighted about my health and the joy of being able to move my legs
and arms at will, then about my mind, which I still find quite lively, and
finally about the thrilling recognition that I stand here before the world as
a
deeply burdened debtor who has every reason to finally take a deep breath and
start working himself back into the world’s good graces. I adore being a debtor!
If I had no choice but to tell myself that humankind had insulted me, I’d be
inconsolable. Then I’d have to withdraw into apathy, antipathy and bitterness.
No, things stand quite differently, they stand brilliantly, they couldn’t
possibly stand any more brilliantly for a person just becoming a man: It is
I—I—who have insulted the world. The world stands before me like an infuriated,
offended mother: that wonderful face I’m so in love with: the face of Mother
Earth, demanding atonement! I tally up everything I’ve neglected, squandered,
dreamed away, overlooked and transgressed. I shall satisfy the one I’ve
offended, and then some day, in some beautiful, intimate evening hour, I’ll tell
my siblings all about how I managed to make things turn out in such a way that
I
can hold my head high. It might take years, but after all, I find a task all
the
more delightful the longer and more difficult the exertions it requires. Now
you
know me a little.”

The lady kissed him.

“No,” she said, “you won’t sink. If such a thing were to happen, what
a shame it would be—a shame for you. You must never again condemn yourself so
criminally, so sinfully. You respect yourself too little, and others too much.
I
wish to shield you against judging yourself so harshly. Do you know what it is
you need? You need things to go well for you again for a little while. You must
learn to whisper into an ear and reciprocate expressions of tenderness.
Otherwise you’ll become too delicate. I shall teach you; I wish to teach you
all
the things you’re lacking. Come with me. We shall go out into the winter night.
Into the blustery forest. There’s so much I must say to you. Do you know that
I’m your poor, happy prisoner? Not another word, not one word more. Just
come—”

License edition by permission of the owner of rights,
Carl-Seelig-Stiftung, Zurich

Translation copyright ©
2009
by Susan Bernofsky

“Le Promeneur Solitaire”
from the forthcoming work
A Place
in the Country
by W. G. Sebald,
to be published by Random House, Inc., English translation copyright ©
2009
by Jo Catling, copyright ©
1998
by W. G. Sebald. Reprinted by permission The Estate of W. G. Sebald and
Random House, Inc.

This translation of Robert Walser’s
Der Geschwistern Tanner
is published by
arrangement with Suhrkamp Verlag.

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a
newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or website review, no part of this book
may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

New Directions would like to thank Jo Catling, Scott Moyers of
the Andrew Wylie Agency, and Deborah Foley of Random House for helping with the
publication of W. G. Sebald’s essay, “Le Promeneur Solitaire.”

Translator’s note for “Le Promeneur Solitaire”: All
translations of Walser are taken where possible from the published translations
by Susan Bernofsky and Christopher Middleton of his works. I should like to
thank Susan Bernofsky, Curdin Ebneter, Barbara Epler, Dr. Richard Hibbitt, Dr.
Brigid Purcell, Ada Vigliani and Anthony Vivis for their assistance and advice.

New Directions gratefully acknowledges the support of Pro
Helvetia, Swiss Arts Council.