"Time? Simple time? No, my dear fere, that is not devyll's ware. For that we should not earn the reward, namely that the end belongs to us. What manner of time, that is the heart of the matter! Great time, mad time, quite bedivelled time, in which the fun waxes fast and furious, with heaven-high leaping and springing - and again, of course, a bit miserable, very miserable indeed, I not only admit that, I even emphasize it, with pride, for it is sitting and fit, such is artist-way and artist-nature. That, as is well knowen, is given at all times to excess on both sides and is in quite normal way a bit excessive. Alway the pendulum swings very wide to and fro between high spirits and melancholia, that is usual, and is so to speak still according to moderate bourgois Nueremberg way, in comparison with that which we purvey. For we purvey the uttermost in this direction; we purvey towering flights and illuminations, experiences of upliftings and unfetterings, of freedom, certainty, facility, feeling of power and triumph, that our man does not trust his wits - counting in besides the colossal admiration for the made thing, which could soon bring him to renounce every outside, foreign admiration - the thrills of self-veneration, yes, of exquisite horror of himself, in which he appears to himself like an inspired mouthpiece, as a godlike monster. And correspondingly deep, honourably deep, doth he sink in between-time, not only into void and desolation and unfruitful melancholy but also into pains and sicknesse - familiar incidentally, which had always been there, which belong to his character, yet which are only most honorably enhanced by the illumination and the well-knowen 'sack of heyre.' Those are pains which a man gladly pays, with pleasure and pride, for what he had so much enjoyed, pains which he knows from the fairy-tale, the pains which the little sea-maid, as from sharp knives, had in her beautiful human legs she got herself instead of her tail. You know Andersen Little Sea-maid? she would be a sweetheart for you! Just say the word and I will bring her to your couch"
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Monday, April 16, 2007
DR. FAUSTUS - Chapter XXV
Labels: Thomas Mann
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