This flaw arises from yet another. Jüdinnen lacks the non-Jewish onlookers, those respectable opponents who in other stories draw forth the Jewishness so that it pushes out against them, shifts into astonishment, doubt, envy, terror, and finally, finally into self-confidence, but in any case can straighten itself to its full length only against them. Just that is what we demand, we don’t recognize any another resolution of the Jewish material. And we don’t rely on such a feeling in this case alone, at least in one direction it is general. On a footpath in Italy, for instance, we are delighted when a lizard darts off exquisitely from our footsteps, we keep wanting to bend down, but if we see them at a shop by the hundreds, crawling over one another in the large glasses where pickles are usually kept, then we don’t know how to handle it

Both flaws combine into a third. Jüdinnen can do without that foremost youth who in such a story usually pulls the best things to himself and leads them outward, in a beautiful radial direction, to the borders of the Jewish circle. That is precisely what we won’t accept, that the story can do without this youth, here we sense a fault more than we see it.

A woman is already waiting (up on the third floor of the Victoria Hotel at Jungmannsstrasse) but insists that I go in before her. We wait. The secretary comes with promises. Down the corridor I catch a glimpse of him. Immediately afterward he comes up to us with half-extended arms. The woman explains that I was the first to come. I walk behind him now, as he directs me into his room. His Kaiser gown, which on lecture evenings seems mopped black (not mopped, but rather radiant in its own blackness) is now by daylight (at 3 in the afternoon) dusty and even spotted, especially on the back and shoulders. In his room I try to show my humility, which I can’t feel, by looking for a ridiculous place for my hat; I put it on a small wooden rack for lacing boots. In the center a table, I sit with a view of the window, he on the left side of the table. Some papers on the table, with a few drawings recalling one of the lectures on occult physiology. A small volume of annals in natural philosophy tops a short pile of books, other books lie around elsewhere. You can’t look around now, for he keeps seeking to hold you with his gaze, and if he fails at it once, you must look out for the gaze’s return. He begins with a few loose sentences: So you are Dr. Kafka? Have you been interested long in Theosophy? But I press forward with my prepared speech: I feel as if a large part of my being is drawn to Theosophy, but at the same time I have the greatest fear of it. I’m afraid of it bringing a new confusion, which would be terrible for me, seeing as my present unhappiness consists of nothing but confusion. The nature of the confusion is this: my happiness, my abilities and any possibility of using them have always lain in literature. And here I have even experienced states (not many) which in my opinion lie very close to the clairvoyant states that you describe, Herr Doctor, in which I lived entirely within each idea, but also fulfilled each idea, and in which I felt myself not only at my own bounds but at the bounds of all humanity. Only the ecstatic peace which may be unique to the clairvoyant was missing from these states, though not quite entirely. I leave out of this that I have not written my best work in these states. — Currently I can’t devote myself entirely to these literary pursuits, as I should, and for various reasons. Apart from my family situation, I couldn’t live from literature alone because of the slow development of my work and its particular character; in addition, my health and my character prevent me from devoting myself to a life that is uncertain at best. So I have become an office worker at a social insurance institute. Now these two professions could never tolerate one another and accept a shared fortune. The least good fortune in one is a great misfortune in the other. If I have written something good one evening, the next day in the office I am on fire and can’t get anything finished. This back-and-forth is getting steadily worse.

In the office I fulfill my duties outwardly, but not my inner duties, and each unsatisfied inner duty turns into an unhappiness which never stirs out of me. And to these two endeavors, never to be balanced, shall I now add Theosophy as a third? Will it not disturb them on both sides and itself be interrupted from both? Will I, presently such an unhappy person, be able to carry these three to a conclusion? I have come, Herr Doctor, to ask you this, for I feel that if you consider me capable of it, I too can really take it upon myself.

He listened very attentively, without seeming to attend to me in the least, entirely devoted to my words. He nodded from time to time, which for him seemed to be an aid to strict concentration. At the beginning a silent cold disturbed him, it ran out of his nose, he kept working at it with his handkerchief deep in his nose, a finger on either nostril

Once a botanist, a great master of the occult, came to his native village. He enlightened him. - That I would look up Dr. Steiner was interpreted by the lady for me as the beginning of recollection. - The lady’s doctor had, when she showed the first signs of influenza, asked Dr. Steiner about a remedy, prescribed it to the woman so that she got better immediately. - A Frenchwoman took leave of him with “Au revoir.” He shook his hand behind her. Two months later she died. Yet another similar case in Munich. - A Munich doctor heals using colors picked out by Dr. Steiner. Also he sends patients into the Pinakotheque with instructions to concentrate on a particular picture for a half hour or longer. - Destruction of Atlantis, fall of Lemuria, and now through egoism. - We live in a decisive time. Dr. Steiner’s efforts will be successful if only the powers of Ahriman do not gain the upper hand. - He eats two liters of almond milk and fruits that grow in the air. - He keeps company with his absent students by means of thought forms, which he sends out to them without bothering about them after they have produced. But soon they wear off and he must generate more - Mrs. Fanta: I have a bad memory. Dr St. Don’t eat any eggs.

Theosophical lectures by Dr. Rudolf Steiner, Berlin. Rhetorical effect: relaxed discussion of the objections of opponents, the listener is amazed by this strong opposition, further development and enlivening of these objections, the listener falls into worry, sinks entirely into these objections as if there were nothing else, now the listener takes a response to be impossible and is more than satisfied with a fleeting description of the possibility of defense.

This rhetorical effect corresponds, incidentally, to the commandment of the devotional spirit. - Continual gazing on the surface of one’s extended hand. - Leaving out the final point. In general the spoken sentence begins at the speaker with its great capital letter, in its course bends as far as it can out to the listeners, and turns back to the speaker with the final point. But if the final point is left out, then the sentence, no longer held, blows directly onto the listener with the entire breath.

Earlier a lecture by Loos and Kraus.

Oskar M., an older student—if one looked at him closely, one was frightened by his eyes—stood one winter afternoon in the midst of the falling snow on an empty stretch, in his winter clothes with a winter coat on top, a shawl around his neck, and a fur cap on his head. He squinted his eyes in deliberation. He had lost himself so deeply in thought that at one point he took off his cap and brushed the fuzzed fur over his face. At last he seemed to reach some conclusion and turned with a dance step toward the road home. As he opened the door of his parents’ living room he saw his father, a clean—shaven man with a fleshy face, facing the door from his seat at an empty table. “Finally,” he said, Oskar having scarcely set foot in the room, I’m waiting here for you at the door, I’m so furious with you that I can hardly handle myself. But father, said Oskar, and only on speaking noticed how he had been running. Quiet, his father shouted and stood up, blocking a window. Quiet, I order you. And no arguments from you, you understand. Meanwhile he took the table with both hands and dragged it a step closer to Oskar. I won’t put up with your idle life any more. I’m an old man. I thought that in you I’d have a consolation for my old age, that’s what makes you a torment worse than all my illnesses. Blast such a son—through laziness, wastefulness, spite, and stupidity, he’s pushing his old father into the grave. Here Oskar’s father fell silent, but moved his face as if he were still speaking. Dear father, said Oskar, and moved cautiously toward the table, calm down, everything will be fine. I’ve had an idea today that will make a hardwoking man of me, as you could only hope for. What’s that? asked his father and looked into a corner. Just trust me, I’ll explain everything to you over dinner. Deep down I’ve always been a good son, it’s just that I couldn’t show it on the outside, I was so bitter that I would rather torment you, if there was no way I could make you happy. But just let me go for a short walk now, so that I can get my thoughts clearer. Oskar’s father, at first paying close attention, had sat down on the table’s edge, now he stood: I don’t believe there’s much sense in what you just said, I’d sooner take it for blather. But in the end you’re my son — come back on time, we’ll have dinner at home, and you can tell me the matter then. That little trust is all I need, I’m thankful to you from the bottom of my heart. But isn’t it plain to see in my eyes that I’m entirely occupied with a serious matter? At the moment I don’t see anything, said Oskar’s father. But that could also be my fault, after all I’ve gotten used to looking right past you. Meanwhile, as was his habit, he struck regular blows against the tabletop as a reminder of passing time. But what matters is that I don’t trust you at all any more, Oskar. If I shout at you — when you arrived I shouted at you, didn’t I? — I do it only in the hope that it might improve you, I do it only for the thought of your poor good mother, who perhaps now feels no immediate sorrow over you, but is slowly going to ruin from the effort of fending off that sorrow, since she imagines that this will help you somehow. But in the end this is something you already know quite well, and for my sake alone I wouldn’t have reminded you of it if you hadn’t provoked me with your promises. During these last words, the servant girl stepped in to check on the fire in the oven. Scarcely had she left the room when Oskar called out: But father! I wouldn’t have expected that. If I’d had only a small idea, let’s say an idea about my dissertation, that’s been sitting a good ten years in my chest and needs ideas like salt, so it’s possible, if not even highly probable, that just as happened today I would have come running home from my walk and said: Father, happily I’ve had this and this idea. And if then, with your venerable voice, you had spoken those accusations from a little while ago into my face, then my idea would have been simply blown away and I would have had to march off with some excuse, or without one. But now! Everything you say against me helps my ideas, they don’t cease, they get stronger and fill up my head. I’ll go, because only in privacy can I set them in order. He gulped at his breath in the warm room. And it could also be a dirty trick that you have in your head, said his father with wide eyes, now I believe it has got hold of you. But if something capable gets into you by mistake, then it runs out of you overnight. I know you. Oskar shook his head as if he were being held by the neck. Let me alone. It’s most unnecessary how you’re drilling into me. The mere possibility that you might be able to predict my future really shouldn’t tempt you to disturb my careful deliberations. Perhaps my past gives you that right, but you shouldn’t make use of it. There you see best how great your insecurity must be, if it forces you to speak against me like this. Nothing forces me, said Oskar, and jerked his neck. He even stepped much closer to the table, so that one could no longer tell to whom it belonged. What I said, I said in awe, and even from love for you, as you’ll see later, for the greatest part of my decisions comes out of consideration for you and Mama. Then I shall have to thank you, said his father, since it’s highly unlikely that your mother and I will still be able to do so at the appropriate moment. Please father, let the future sleep for now, as it deserves. If you wake it too early, you get a groggy present. But that your son should have to tell you this! It’s not even that I wanted to convince you, but only to announce the news. And that at least, as you have to admit, I’ve accomplished. Now Oskar only one thing still amazes me: why you haven’t often before come to me with a thing like today’s. It fits your previous nature so well. No, in fact I’m serious.

Yes, and you would have struck me instead of listening to me. I ran here so quickly, God knows, to give you some joy. But I can’t give away anything to you until my plan is completely finished. So why do you berate me for my good intentions, and demand explanations from me that might hinder the accomplishment of my plan.

Quiet I don’t want to know a thing. But I must answer you very quickly, since you’re drawing back to the door and obviously have something very urgent in mind: you calmed my original anger with your piece of artistry, — only now it’s all the sadder for me than before and so I beg you — if you stay longer I can even fold my hands — at least say nothing of your ideas to your mother. Let it be enough with me.

That certainly isn’t my father who’s speaking this way, cried Oskar, who had already laid his arm on the doorknob. Something has come over you since noon, or you’re a stranger I’m now meeting for the first time in my father’s room. My real father — Oskar was silent a moment, his mouth open — he would surely have embraced me, he would have called for my mother. What has happened to you, father?

You’d better eat dinner with your real father, I think. It would be more pleasant.

He’ll come soon. He can’t stay away much longer. And my mother must be with him. And Franz, whom I’m calling now. All of them. And Oskar pushed his shoulder against the easily moved door, as if he had meant to break it down.

Having arrived at Franz’s apartment, he bowed to the small landlady with the words: I know the Herr Engineer is sleeping, that means nothing, and with no further regard for the woman, who was moving uselessly back and forth in the hallway from displeasure at the visit, he opened the glass door, which trembled in his hand as if touched in a delicate position, and called carelessly into the room, which he still scarcely saw: Franz, get up. I need your professional advice. But I can’t stand it here in the room, we’ll have to go for a little walk, you’ll have to eat dinner with us too. So quickly now. With pleasure, said the engineer from his leather sofa, but which first, getting up, going for a walk, eating dinner, giving advice, and I probably missed some of it. And above all, no little jokes, Franz. That’s the most important, I forgot that. I’ll do you the favor immediately. But getting up — I’d rather eat dinner for you twice than get up for you once. Up now! No arguments. Oskar grabbed the weak man by the front of his clothes and sat him up. But you’re raving, you know. With all respect. He rubbed at his closed eyes with both little fingers. Say. Have I ever torn you like this from the sofa. But Franz, said Oskar with a twisted face, get dressed now. I’m not some idiot who’s woken you for no reason. — Just as I don’t sleep for no reason. I had the night shift last night, so I’ve just now gotten to my midday sleep, on your account too — How so? Oh, how it irritates me, how little consideration you take for me. It isn’t the first time. Naturally you’re a free student and can do whatever you like. Not everyone is so lucky. So you really have to be considerate, for God’s sake. Of course I’m your friend, but they haven’t lessened my work because of that. He illustrated this by shaking his open hands back and forth. But mustn’t I believe, from how you’re talking now, that you’ve slept more than enough, said Oskar, who had drawn himself up on a bedpost and from it looked at the engineer as if he had somewhat more time than earlier. So what do you actually want from me? or better said, why did you wake me? asked the engineer, and heavily rubbed his neck beneath his goatee, in the close connection with one’s body that one has after sleeping. What I want from you, said Oskar gently, and gave the bed a small push with his heel. Very little. I already told to you from the hall: for you to get dressed. If you want to suggest by this, Oskar, that your news interests me very little, then you’re completely right. That’s just fine, then it will set you on fire on your own account, even without our friendship getting involved. The information too will become clearer, I need clear information, keep that thought foremost. If you’re perhaps looking for your collar and necktie, they’re lying there on the armchair. Thanks, said the engineer and began to fasten his collar and tie, one really can depend on you.

I live my life here as if I were entirely certain of a second life, as if for example I had entirely gotten over the failed time spent in Paris, since I will strive to return soon. Connected to this, the sight of the sharply divided light and shadow on the street paving.

For a moment I felt myself covered in armor.

How distant, for example, are the muscles of my arms.

Mella Mars in the “Lucerna.” A witty tragedienne, who as it were entered onto an inside-out stage, as tragediennes sometimes show themselves behind the scenery. On her entrance she had a tired, in fact even a flat, empty, old face, the sort that is a natural start for all famous actors. She speaks very sharply, her movements too are sharp, beginning from her bent-back thumbs which seem to have hard sinews in place of bones. Particular changeability of her nose through the shifting highlights and depths of the muscles playing around it. In spite of the unending flashes of her movements and words, she makes her points delicately.

Is it bothering you? If it’s bothering you or perhaps keeping you from going up, I’ll go right away, but otherwise I’d rather stay here, for I’m tired.

The particular nature of my inspiration, in which I, the happiest and unhappiest of men, now go to sleep at two in the morning [perhaps it will remain, if I can only bear the thought of it, for it exceeds all that came before] is such that I can do anything, and not only for one particular work. If I write down a sentence at random, such as He looked out the window, it is already perfected.

When I tried to get out of bed today, I simply folded up. There’s a very simple reason for this, I am completely overworked. Not by the office but by my other work. The office has an innocent share in it only in that if I did not have to go there, I could live calmly for my work and would not have to spend six hours there daily, which especially on Friday and Saturday afflicted me to a degree you can’t imagine, since I was full of my own affairs. In the end I know perfectly well that these are empty words, that I am guilty and that the office has the clearest and most justified claims against me. But for me in particular it is a terrible double life, from which there is no way out but madness. I write this in good morning light and surely would not write it if it were not so true, and if I did not love you like a son.

For the rest, tomorrow I will surely be together again and will go to the office, where the first thing I hear will be that you want me out of your division.