Selected Prose of Heinrich Von Kleist
SELECTED PROSE OF
HEINRICH VON KLEIST
SELECTED, TRANSLATED,
AND WITH AN AFTERWORD
BY PETER WORTSMAN
archipelago books
English translation copyright © 2010 Peter Wortsman
First Archipelago Books edition, 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted
in any form without prior written permission of the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kleist, Heinrich von, 1777–1811.
[Selections. English. 2010]
Selected prose of Heinrich von Kleist / by Heinrich von Kleist ;
selected, translated, and with an afterword by Peter Wortsman.
p. cm.
1. Kleist, Heinrich von, 1777–1811 – Translations into English.
I. Wortsman, Peter. II. Title.
PT2378.A2E5 2010 838’.609 – dc22
2009012080
ISBN 978-0-9819557-2-8
Archipelago Books
Third St. #A111
Brooklyn, NY 11215
www.archipelagobooks.org
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Cover Art: Paul Klee, Landschaft im Paukenton (Landscape
at the Sound of a Kettle-Drum), 1920.
This publication was made possible with support from Lannan Foundation,
The National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York State Council
on the Arts, a state agency.
Pour Claudie, toujours entre mes mots
P.W.
CONTENTS
Fragments
The Earthquake in Chile
The Betrothal in Santo Domingo
Saint Cecilia, or the Power of Music
The Beggar Woman of Locarno
The Marquise of O . . .
Michael Kohlhaas
On the Gradual Formulation of Thoughts While Speaking
On the Theater of Marionettes
All Fall Down: The House of Cards of Heinrich von Kleist (an afterword)
For it is not we who know,
but rather a certain state of mind in us that knows.
HEINRICH VON KLEIST
SELECTED PROSE OF
HEINRICH VON KLEIST
· · ·
I.
There are certain errors that demand a greater outlay of intellect than the truth itself. Tycho’s* renown is based entirely, and rightfully so, on an error, and if Kepler† had not explained the cosmic system he would have become famous solely on account of his delusion and on account of the keenly reasoned arguments on which he based that delusion, namely that the moon does not turn on its axis.
2.
One could divide humanity into two classes: 1) those who master a metaphor, and 2) those who hold by a formula. Those with a bent for both are far too few, they do not comprise a class.
* Tycho Brahe, alchemist and astronomer (1546–1601)
† Johannes Kepler, astronomer (1571–1630)
· · ·
In Santiago, the capital of the Kingdom of Chile, at the very moment when the great earth tremors of the year 1647 struck, in the wake of which many thousands found their doom, a young Spaniard by the name of Jeronimo Rugera, accused of a crime, stood beside a pillar in the prison where he’d been incarcerated and intended to hang himself. Don Henrico Asteron, one of the wealthiest noblemen in town, had about a year before chased him out of his house, where he was at the time employed as a tutor, because he had been found to have a tender entanglement with Donna Josephe, Don Henrico’s only daughter. The old Don, who had expressly warned his daughter, was enraged to such an extent by the secret denunciation conveyed to him by his crafty, proud, eavesdropping son, that he himself had his daughter sent off to the Carmelite Cloister of Our Beloved Lady of the Mountain.
By a fortuitous coincidence, Jeronimo had managed to reestablish contact with her there and on a silent night made the cloister garden the scene of his consummated bliss. It was on Corpus Christi Day, and the festive procession of nuns, followed by the novices, had just got started, when, at the tolling of the bells, the unfortunate Josephe collapsed in labor on the steps of the cathedral.
This occurrence caused quite a scene; the young sinner was immediately hauled off to prison, without consideration for her condition, and hardly had she given birth when, on the express orders of the archbishop, she was made to undergo the most grueling trial. The entire city spoke with such indignation of the scandal, and lashed out so vehemently against the entire cloister in which the scandal took place, that neither the pleas of the Asteron family nor even the wishes of the abbess herself, who, on account of the girl’s otherwise impeccable behavior, had taken a liking to her, could attenuate the severity of punishment ordained by the law of the sacred order. All that could be done was that, by an edict of the viceroy, the death by fire to which she was condemned was commuted to death by beheading, this to the great disgruntlement of the matrons and young girls of Santiago.
Viewing windows were rented out along the street on which the condemned was to pass in a cart, the rooftops were cleared, and the pious daughters of the city invited their girlfriends to stand at their sisterly side to enjoy together the spectacle of God’s wrath.
Jeronimo, who had in the meantime likewise been incarcerated, almost lost consciousness upon learning of the dreadful turn of events. To no avail did he try to come up with an escape plan; wherever the wings of his most audacious ideas drew him they struck against lock and wall, and an attempt to file through the window grill, as soon as it was discovered, led to his transfer to a still more narrow cell. He flung himself down before the picture of the holy mother of God and prayed to her with boundless fervor as the only one who could still save him.
But the dreaded day came, and with it the absolute certainty of the complete hopelessness of his situation. The bells that were to accompany Josephe to the place of execution began to toll, and desperation overwhelmed his soul. Life seemed hateful and he decided to seek death by means of a cord that chance had left him. As already mentioned, he was at that time stationed beside a pillar, and was in the process of fastening the cord that was to wrest him free of this wretched world to an iron hook at the level of the cornice, when, suddenly, the greater part of the city collapsed with a crash, as if the firmament caved in, and all that breathed life was buried under its ruins. Jeronimo Rugera was numb with horror; and now, as if his entire consciousness had been shattered, he held on for dear life to the pillar from which he was to have dangled, so as to keep from falling. The floor shook beneath his feet, all the walls of the prison cracked, the entire structure leaned toward the street, about to come crashing down, and only the slow collapse of the building across the way, bracing the prison’s collapse in an accidental buttress, prevented it from completely caving in. Trembling, with hair on end and knees about to buckle under, Jeronimo slid across the slanting floor toward the opening that the collision of the two buildings had rent in the front wall of the prison.
He had hardly managed to escape outdoors, when, in the wake of a second tremor, the entire, already shattered street completely caved in. With no thought as to how he would save himself from this general destruction, he scampered over rubble and fallen beams as death lunged for him from all sides, fleeing toward the nearest gates of the city. But another house collapsed in his path, its tumbling ruins flying in all directions, forcing him down a side street; here the flames already soared, flashing through billowing clouds of smoke from the gabled rooftops, driving him in terror down yet another street, where the Mapocho River, flooding its bed, caught him in its current and swept him, screaming, down a third street. Here lay a heap of the slaughtered, here a lone voice groaned, buried under the rubble, here people shrieked from burning rooftops, here man and beast battled with the flood, here a brave soul tried to help; here stood another, pale as death, stretching his trembling hands in silence to the heavens.
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