Kaspar and Other Plays

KASPAR

1 phase Can Kaspar, the owner of one sentence, begin and begin to do something with this sentence? 2 phase Can Kaspar do something against other sentences with his sentence? 3 phase Can Kaspar at least hold his own against other sentences with his sentence? 4 phase Can Kaspar defend himself from other sentences and keep quiet even though other sentences prod him to speak? 5 phase Can Kaspar only become aware of what he speaks through speaking? 6 phase Can Kaspar, the owner of sentences, do something with these sentences, not only to other sentences but also to the objects of the other sentences? 7 phase Can Kaspar bring himself into order with sentences about order, or rather, with ordered sentences? 8 phase Can Kaspar, from the order of a single sentence, derive a whole series of sentences, a series that represents a comprehensive order? 9 phase Can Kaspar learn what, in each instance, is the model upon which an infinite number of sentences about order can be based? 10 phase Can Kaspar, with the sentence model he has learned, make the objects accessible to himself or become himself accessible to the objects? 11 phase Can Kaspar, by means of sentences, make his contribution to the great community of sentences? 12 phase Can Kaspar be brought to the point where, with rhyming sentences, he will find rhyme and reason in the objects? 13 phase Can Kaspar put questions to himself? 14 phase Can Kaspar, with uninhibited sentences which he applies to his old inhibited sentences, reverse the inverted world of these sentences? 15 phase Can Kaspar defend himself at least with an inverted world of sentences against inverted sentences about the world? Or: Can Kaspar, by inverting inverted sentences, at least avoid the false appearance of rightness? 16 phase Who is Kaspar now? Kaspar, who is now Kaspar? What is now, Kaspar? What is now Kaspar, Kaspar?

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whath thould

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the fellow

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Ernst Jandl

The play Kaspar does not show how IT REALLY IS or REALLY WAS with Kaspar Hauser. It shows what is POSSIBLE with someone. It shows how someone can be made to speak through speaking. The play could also be called speech torture. To formalize this torture it is suggested that a kind of magic eye be constructed above the ramp. This eye, without however diverting the audience’s attention from the events on stage, indicates, by blinking, the degree of vehemence with which the PROTAGONIST is addressed. The more vehemently he defends himself, the more vehemently he is addressed, the more vehemently the magic eye blinks. (Or one might employ a jerking indicator of the kind used on scales for tests of strength in amusement parks.) Although the sense of what the voices addressing the protagonist say should always be completely comprehensible, their manner of speaking should be that of voices which in reality have a technical medium interposed between themselves and the listeners: telephone voices, radio or television announcers’ voices, the voice that tells the time on the phone, the voices of automatic answering services of all kinds, the speech mannerisms of sports commentators, of stadium announcers, of narrators in the more endearing cartoons, of announcers of train arrivals and departures, of interviewers, of gym teachers who by the way they speak make their directions correspond to the sequence of the gymnastic movements, of language course records, of policemen as they speak through bullhorns at demonstrations, etc. etc. These manners of speaking may all be applied to the text, but only in such a way that they clarify the SENSE or NONSENSE of what is being said. The audience need not be aware which manner of speaking is being used at any given moment, but etc. At the same time, the miniature scenes should be projected, enlarged, on the back of the stage.

Kaspar (Kasper means clown in German) does not resemble any other comedian; rather, when he comes on stage he resembles Frankenstein’s monster (or King Kong).

The front curtain is already drawn. The audience does not see the stage as a representation of a room that exists somewhere, but as a representation of a stage. The stage represents the stage. On first glance, the objects on the stage look theatrical: not because they imitate other objects, but because the way they are situated with respect to one another does not correspond to their usual arrangement in reality. The objects, although genuine (made of wood, steel, cloth, etc), are instantly recognizable as props. They are play objects. They have no history. The audience cannot imagine that, before they came in and saw the stage, some tale had already taken place on it. At most they can imagine that the stage hands have moved objects hither and thither. Nor should the audience be able to imagine that the props on stage will be part of a play that pretends to take place anywhere except on stage: they should recognize at once that they will witness an event that plays only on stage and not in some other reality. They will not experience a story but watch a theatrical event. This event will last until the curtain comes together at the end of the piece: because no story will take place, the audience will not be in a position to imagine that there is a sequel to the, story. The stage should look something like this: the backdrop of the stage consists of a curtain of the same size and fabric as the front curtain. The folds of the curtain are vertical and plentiful, so the audience has difficulty distinguishing the place where the curtain parts. The wings are bare. The props are in front of the backdrop: they are obviously actors’ props. They look new, so the audience won’t think they are seeing the representation of a junkshop; and to avoid this possibility, the objects are in their normal positions: the chairs are straight up, the broom is leaning, the cushions lie flat, the drawer is where it belongs in the table. However, so the audience won’t think it is seeing the representation of a home-furnishing exhibition, the objects are situated without any obvious relationship to each other; they stand there tastelessly, so the audience recognizes a stage in the objects on display. The chairs stand far from the table, as though they had nothing to do with it; they do not stand at the usual angle to the table or at a normal angle toward each other (they should not, however, give a picture of disorder). The table and its drawer face the audience. Elsewhere on stage there is another table, smaller, lower, with only three legs. Center stage is empty. Two chairs stand elsewhere, each with a different backrest, one with a cushion, one without. Somewhere else is a sofa with room for almost five persons. Half the sofa (from the vantage point of those sitting in the center of the auditorium) should be behind the wings, thus indicating backstage. Elsewhere there is a rocking chair. Somewhere else, a broom and shovel, one of them bearing the clearly discernible word STAGE or the name of the theater. Somewhere else, a wastepaper basket with the same inscription. On the large table, but not in the middle, stands a broad-necked bottle with water in it, and next to it a glass. At the back of the stage is a stylish closet with a large key in the lock. None of the props has any particularly unusual characteristic that might puzzle the beholder. In front, in the center of the apron, is a microphone.

The first person in the audience to enter the theater should find the stage lighted softly. Nothing moves on stage. Every theatergoer should have sufficient time to observe each object and grow sick of it or come to want more of it. Finally, the lights are slowly dimmed as usual, an occurrence that might be accompanied by, for example, a continuous muted violin tone (“The tone of the violin is more ample than that of the guitar”—Kaspar). The theater is dark throughout the play. (While the audience comes in and as they wait for the play to begin, this text might be read softly over the microphones, and repeated over and over.)

I

Behind the backdrop, something stirs. The audience detects this in the movement of the curtain. The movement begins on the left or right of the curtain and continues towards the center, gradually becoming more vehement and more rapid. The closer the person behind the curtain comes to the center, the greater the bulge in the curtain. What at first was only a grazing of the curtain becomes, now that the material is obviously pliable, an attempt to break through. The audience realizes more and more clearly that someone wants to get through the curtain onto the stage but has not discovered the slit in the curtain. After several futile tries at the wrong spots — the audience can hear the curtain being thrashed — the person finds the slit that he had not even been looking for. A hand is all one sees at first; the rest of the body slowly follows. The other hand holds on to a hat, so the curtain won’t knock it off. With a slight movement, the figure comes on stage, the curtain slipping off it and then falling shut behind it. Kaspar stands on stage.

II

The audience has the opportunity to observe Kaspar’s face and makeup: he simply stands there. His makeup is theatrical. For example, he has on a round, wide-brimmed hat with a band; a light-colored shirt with a closed collar; a colorful jacket with many (roughly seven) metal buttons; wide pants; clumsy shoes; on one shoe, for instance, the very long laces have become untied. He looks droll. The colors of his outfit clash with the colors on stage. Only at the second or third glance should the audience realize that his face is a mask; it is a pale color; it is life-like; it may have been fashioned to fit the face of the actor. It expresses astonishment and confusion. The mask-face is round because the expression of astonishment is more theatrical on round, wide faces. Kaspar need not be tall. He stands there and does not move from the spot. He is the incarnation of astonishment.

III

He begins to move. One hand still holds the hat. His way of moving is highly mechanical and artificial. However, he does not move like a puppet. His peculiar way of moving results from his constantly changing from one way of moving to another. For example, he takes the first step with one leg straight out, the other following timorously and “shaking.” He might take the next step in the same manner but reverse the order. With the next step, he throws one leg high in the air and drags the other leg heavily behind him; the next step, he has both feet flat on the ground; the next he takes with the wrong foot first, so that with the subsequent step he must put the other leg far forward to catch up with the first leg; he takes the next two steps (his pace quickens and he comes close to toppling over) by placing the right leg on the left and the left leg on the right, and he almost falls; on the next step, he is unable to get one leg past the other and steps on it; again, he barely avoids falling; the next step he takes is so long he almost slips into a split, consequently he must drag the other leg laboriously after him; in the meantime he has tried to move the right leg further forward, but in another direction, so once more he almost loses his balance; on the next step, which is even more hurried, he places one foot toeforward, the other toe-backwards, whereupon he attempts to align the toe on one foot with the toe on the other, becomes discombobulated, turns on his axis, and, as the audience has feared all along, finally falls to the ground. Before this occurs, however, he has not been walking toward the audience; his walk consists of spirals back and forth across the stage; it is not so much walking as something between an imminent fall and convoluted progress, with one hand holding on to the hat, a hand which remains on his head when he does fall. At the end of his fall, the audience sees Kaspar sitting on the stage floor in something like a disorderly lotus-position. He does not move; only the hand holding the hat becomes autonomous: it gradually lets go of the hat, slips down along his body, dangling awhile before it too stops. Kaspar just sits there.

IV

He begins to speak. He utters a single sentence over and over: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. He utters the sentence so that it is obvious that he has no concept of what it means, without expressing anything but that he lacks awareness of the meaning of the sentence. He repeats the sentence several times at regular intervals.

V

In the same position on the floor, the lotus position, Kaspar repeats the sentence, now giving it almost every possible kind of expression. He utters it with an expression of perseverance, utters it as a question, exclaims it, scans it as though it were verse. He utters it with an expression of happiness, of relief. He hyphenates the sentence. He utters it in anger and with impatience; with extreme fear. He utters it as a greeting, as an invocation in a litany, as an answer to a question, as an order, as an imprecation. Then, in monotone, he sings the sentence. Finally he screams it.

VI

When this does not get him anywhere, he gets up. First he tries getting up all at once. He fails. Halfway up, he falls down again. On the second attempt he gets almost all the way up, only to fall once more. Now he laboriously draws his legs out from under him, during which process, his toes get caught on the back of his knees. Finally he pries his legs apart with his hands. He stretches out his legs. He looks at his legs. At the same time he bends his knees, drawing them toward himself. Suddenly he is squatting. He watches as the floor leaves him. He points with his hand at the floor which is becoming more remote. He utters his sentence with an air of wonderment. Now he is standing upright, turns his head this way and that, toward the objects on stage, and repeats the sentence: I want to be a person like somebody else was once.

VII

He begins to walk again, still in an artificial manner, but now more regularly: for example, the feet are turned inward, the knees stiff; the arms hang slack, as do the fingers. He directs his sentence, not tonelessly yet without expressing anything, at a chair. He directs the sentence, expressing with it that the first chair has not heard him, at the next chair. Walking on, he directs the sentence at the table, expressing with it that neither chair heard him. Still walking, he directs the sentence at the closet, expressing with it that the closet does not hear him. He utters the sentence once more in front of the closet, but without expressing anything: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. As though by accident, he kicks the closet. Once again he kicks the closet, as though intentionally. He kicks the closet once more: whereupon all the closet doors open, gradually. The audience sees that the closet contains several colorful theatrical costumes. Kaspar does not react to the movement of the closet doors. He has only let himself be pushed back a bit. Now he stands still until the closet doors have stopped moving. He reacts to the open doors with the sentence: I want to be a person like somebody else was once.

VIII

The tri-sectioning of events now sets in first, Kaspar moves across the stage, now no longer avoiding each object but touching it (and more); second, after having done something to each object, Kaspar says his sentence; third, the prompters now begin to speak from all sides, they make Kaspar speak by speaking. The prompters — three persons, say — remain invisible (their voices are perhaps prerecorded) and speak without undertones or overtones; that is, they speak neither with the usual irony, humor, helpfulness, human warmth, nor with the usual ominousness, dread, incorporeality or supernaturalness: they speak comprehensibly. Over a good amplifying system they speak a text that is not theirs. They do not speak to make sense but to show that they are playing at speaking, and do so with great exertion of their voices even when they speak softly. The following events ensue: the audience sees Kaspar walking from the closet to the sofa and simultaneously hears speaking from all sides.

Kaspar goes to the sofa. He discovers the gaps between the cushions. He puts one hand into a gap. He can’t extract his hand. To help extract it, he puts his other hand into the gap. He can’t extract either hand. He tugs at the sofa. With one tug he gets both hands free but also flings one sofa cushion onto the floor, whereupon, after a moment of looking, he utters the sentence: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. Already you have a sentence with which you can make yourself noticeable. With this sentence you can make yourself noticeable in the dark, so no one will think you are an animal. You have a sentence with which you can tell yourself everything that you can’t tell others. You can explain to yourself how it goes with you. You have a sentence with which you can already contradict the same sentence.

The prompters stop speaking at about the time Kaspar does something to whatever object he happens to be touching: the sofa cushion falls on the floor at the moment the prompters stop speaking; it functions like a period. Kaspar’s sentence after each encounter with an object is preceded by a brief pause.

IX

Kaspar walks to the table. He notices the drawer in the table. He tries to turn the knob on the drawer but is unable to. He pulls on the drawer. It comes out a little. He tugs once more at the drawer. The drawer is now askew. He tugs at it once more. The drawer loses hold and falls to the floor. Several objects, such as silverware, a box of matches, and coins, fall out of the drawer. After regarding them for a moment Kaspar says: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. The sentence is more useful to you than a word. You can speak a sentence to the end. You can make yourself comfortable with a sentence. You can occupy yourself with a sentence and have gotten several steps further ahead in the meantime. You can make pauses with the sentence. Play off one word against the other. With the sentence you can compare one word with the other. Only with a sentence, not with a word, can you ask leave to speak.

X

Kaspar walks toward a chair. He tries to walk straight ahead even though the chair is in his way. While walking, he shoves the chair ahead in front of him. Still walking, he becomes entangled in the chair. Still walking, he tries to disentangle himself from the chair. At first he becomes more and more dangerously entwined in it, but then, as he is about to surrender to the chair, he becomes free of it just because he was about to give in. He gives the chair a kick, so that it flies off and falls over. After regarding it for a moment: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. With the sentence you can pretend to be dumfounded. Assert yourself with the sentence against other sentences. Name everything that comes in your way and move it out of your way. Familiarize yourself with all objects. Make all objects into a sentence with the sentence. You can make all objects into your sentence. With this sentence, all objects belong to you. With this sentence, all objects are yours.

XI

Kaspar walks toward the small table. The table has three legs. Kaspar lifts the table with one hand and yanks with the other hand on one leg but is unable to pull it out. He turns the leg, first in the wrong direction. He turns it in the right direction and unscrews the leg. He is still holding the table with the other hand. He slowly withdraws the hand. The table rests on his fingertips. He withdraws his fingertips. The table topples over. After regarding it for a moment: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. To put up resistance. A sentence to divert you. A sentence with which you can tell yourself a story. You have a sentence which gives you something to chew on when you are hungry. A sentence with which you can pretend you are crazy: with which you can go crazy. A sentence to be crazy with: for remaining crazy. You have a sentence with which you can begin to take notice of yourself: with which you can draw attention away from yourself. A sentence to take a walk with. To stumble over. To come to a halt with in mid-sentence. To count steps with.

XII

Kaspar walks toward the rocking chair. He walks around it. He touches it as though unintentionally. The chair begins to rock, Kaspar takes a step back. The chair continues to rock. Kaspar takes one step farther back. The rocking chair stops moving. Kaspar takes two steps toward the chair and nudges it with his foot, making it move slightly. When the chair is rocking, he uses his hand to make it rock more. When the chair is rocking more strongly, he uses his foot to make it rock even more. When the rocking chair is rocking even more strongly, he gives it an even stronger shove with his hand, so the rocking chair is now rocking dangerously. He gives it one more kick with his foot. Then, as the rocking chair is about to tip over, though it is still not quite certain whether it will fall or go on rocking, he gives it a little shove with his hand which suffices to tip it over. Kaspar runs off from the turned-over chair. Then he returns, step by step. After regarding it for a moment: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. You have a sentence you can speak from beginning to end and from end to beginning. You have a sentence to say yes and say nay with. You have a sentence to deny with. You have a sentence with which you can make yourself tired or awake. You have a sentence to blindfold yourself with. You have a sentence to bring order into every disorder: with which you can designate every disorder in comparison to another disorder as a comparative order: with which you can declare every disorder an order: can bring yourself into order: can deny every disorder. You have a sentence of which you can make a model for yourself. You have a sentence you can place between yourself and everything else. You are the lucky owner of a sentence which will make every impossible order possible for you and make every possible and real disorder impossible for you: which will exorcise every disorder from you.

XIII

Kaspar takes a look around. A broom is standing there. He walks to the broom. He draws the broom toward himself with his hand or foot, so that it now leans at a wider angle. He tugs once more at the broom, again increasing the angle. Once more, just a little. The broom begins to slip, and falls. After regarding it for a moment: I want to be a person like somebody else was once. You can no longer imagine anything without the sentence. You are unable to visualize an object without the sentence. Without the sentence, you cannot put one foot in front of the other. You can remember yourself with the sentence because you uttered the sentence while taking your last step, and you can remember the last step you took because you uttered the sentence.

XIV

Kaspar walks toward the one chair that is still upright. He stops in front of it. He remains standing in front of it for the duration of the sentence. Suddenly he sits down. After looking for a moment: I want to be a person like. He has obviously been interrupted in mid-sentence. You can hear yourself. You become aware. You become aware of yourself with the sentence. You become aware of yourself. You come upon something which interrupts the sentence which makes you aware that you have come upon something. You become aware: you can become aware: you are aware.

XV

Kaspar sits there. He is quiet. You learn to hesitate with the sentence and with the sentence you learn that you are hesitating, and you learn to hear with the sentence and you learn with the sentence that you are hearing, and with the sentence you learn to divide time into time before and time after uttering the sentence, and you learn with the sentence that you are dividing time, just as you learn with the sentence that you were elsewhere the last time you uttered the sentence, just as you learn with the sentence that you are elsewhere now, and learn to speak with the sentence and learn with the sentence that you are speaking; and you learn with the sentence that you are speaking a sentence, and you learn with the sentence to speak another sentence, just as you learn that there are other sentences, just as you learn other sentences, and learn to learn; and you learn with the sentence that there is an order and you learn with the sentence to learn order.

XVI

The stage is blacked out. You can still crawl off behind the sentence: hide: contest it. The sentence can still mean anything.

XVII

The stage becomes bright. Kaspar sits there quietly. Nothing indicates that he is listening. He is being taught to speak. He would like to keep his sentence. His sentence is slowly but surely exorcised through the speaking of other sentences. He becomes confused. The sentence doesn’t hurt you yet, not one word. Does hurt you. Every word does. Hurt, but you don’t know that that which hurts you is a sentence that. Sentence hurts you because you don’t know that it is a sentence. Speaking hurts you but the speaking does not. Hurt nothing hurts you because you don’t know yet what. Hurting is everything hurts you but nothing. Really hurts you the sentence does. Not hurt you yet because you don’t know yet that it is. A sentence although you don’t know that it is a sentence, it hurts you, because you don’t know that it is a sentence that hurts. You. I want to be a person like somebody else was once. Kaspar defends himself with his sentence:

I want.

I want to be like once.

I want to be a person like once.

Somebody else.

Like a person else.

Somebody. You begin, with yourself, you, are a, sentence you, could form, of yourself, innumerable, sentences, you sit, there but, you don’t, know that, you sit there. You don’t sit, there because you, don’t know that, you sit there you, can form, a sentence, of yourself, you sit in, your coat, is buttoned, the belt, on your, pants is, too loose, you have, no shoelace you, have no, belt your coat, is unbuttoned, you are not even, there you, are an un, loosed shoe, lace. You cannot defend yourself against any sentence: He still maintains his sentence:

I want to be a person like somebody else was once. He defends himself again:

Was I.

Somebody else like else.

Somebody else a person.

Be like I.

I be I.

Somebody was.

Be one.

I a person.

I want somebody else.

Like somebody else somebody.

Once like somebody.

Was somebody.

Like once.

I want to be somebody like. The shoelace hurts you. It does not hurt you because it is a shoelace but because you lack the word for it, and the difference between the tight and the loose shoelace hurts you because you don’t know the difference between the tight and the loose shoelace. The coat hurts you, and the hair hurts you. You, although you don’t hurt yourself, hurt yourself. You hurt yourself because you don’t know what is you. The table hurts you, and the curtain hurts you. The words that you hear and the words that you speak hurt you. Nothing hurts you because you don’t know what hurting is, and everything hurts, you don’t know what anything means. Because you don’t know the name of anything, everything hurts you even if you don’t know that it hurts you because you don’t know what the word hurt means: The first divergence:

I want to be like somebody else like somebody else once was somebody else. You hear sentences: something like your sentence: something comparable. You can play off your sentence against other sentences and already accomplish something: such as becoming used to the open shoelace. You are becoming used to other sentences, so that you cannot do without them any more. You can no longer imagine your sentence all alone by its self: it is no longer your sentence alone: you are already looking for other sentences. Something has become impossible: something else has become possible: He resists more vehemently but with less success:

One.

Be.

Somebody.

Was.

Want.

Somebody else. Somebody else like I like once I want to be. He resists even more vehemently, but even less successfully:

Waswant!

Somelike!

Someonce!

Some I!

Besome!

Likeonce!

Elsh! Where are you sitting? You are sitting quietly. What are you speaking? You are speaking slowly. What are you breathing? You are breathing regularly. Where are you speaking? You are speaking quickly. What are you breathing? You are breathing in and out. When are you sitting? You are sitting more quietly. Where are you breathing? You are breathing more rapidly. When are you speaking? You are speaking louder. What are you sitting? You are breathing. What are you breathing? You are speaking. What are you speaking? You are sitting. Where are you sitting? You are speaking in and out: Olce ime kwas askwike lein. The prompters address Kaspar very vehemently: Kaspar utters a very long e. Order. Put. Lie. Sit. Kaspar utters an n for not quite as long a duration as the e. Put. Order. Lie. Sit.

Lie. Put. Order. Sit. Kaspar utters a shorter s. Sit. Lie. Put. Order. Kaspar utters a brief, formally difficult, r. Order. Put. Lie. Sit. Kaspar utters a p, and tries to stretch the p like the other letters, an endeavor in which he of course fails utterly. Put. Order. Sit. Lie.

Sit. Lie. Order. Stand. With great formal difficulties, Kaspar utters a t. Stand. Sit. Lie. Order. With great effort, Kaspar utters a d. Lies. Stands. Sits. Completely ordered: Kaspar seeks to produce some kind of sound by means of movements such as stomping his feet, scraping, shoving a chair back and forth, and finally perhaps by scratching on his clothes. The prompters are now speaking calmly, already sure of their success:

Hear?

Remain?

Open up?

Hear!

Remain!!

Open up!!! Kaspar tries with all his strength to produce a single sound. He tries it with his hands and feet. He cannot do it. His strenuous movements become weaker and weaker. Finally he stops moving altogether. Kaspar has finally been silenced. His sentence has been exorcised. Several moments of quiet. The prompters let him mutely exert himself.

XVIII

Kaspar is made to speak. He is gradually needled into speaking through the use of speech material. The table stands. The table fell over? The chair fell over! The chair stands! The chair fell over and stands? The chair fell over but the table stands. The table stands or fell over! Neither the chair fell over nor the table stands nor the chair stands nor the table fell over?! You are sitting on a chair that fell over: Kaspar is still mute. The table is a horror for you. But the chair is no horror because it is no table. But your shoelace is a horror because the broom is no chair. But the broom is no horror because it is a table. But the chair is no horror because it is the table as well as the shoelace. But the shoelace is no horror because it is neither a chair nor a table nor a broom. But the table is a horror because it is a table. But the table, chair, broom, and shoelace are a horror because they are called table, chair, broom, and shoelace. They are a horror to you because you don’t know what they are called: Kaspar begins to speak:

Fallen down.

He begins to speak a little:

Because.

Often.

Me.

Never.

Least.

Into.

Let.

Me.

Nothing.

Although.

How.

Because me here at least already. They continue to stuff him with enervating words: For a closet on which you sit is a chair, or not? Or a chair on which you sit is a closet when it stands on the place of the closet, or not? Or a table which stands on the place of the closet is a chair when you sit on it, or not? Or a chair on which you sit is a closet as soon as it can be opened with a key and clothes hang in it, even if it stands on the place of the table and you can sweep the floor with it; or not? He comes closer and closer to uttering a regular sentence:

Into the hands.

Far and wide.

Or there.

Fell out.

Beat eyes.

No is.

Goes neither home.

To the hole.

Goat eyes.

Reservoir.

How dark.

Pronounced dead.

If I myself already here at least tell. A table is a word you can apply to the closet, and you have a real closet and a possible table in place of the table, and? And a chair is a word you can apply to the broom, so that you have a real broom and a possible chair in place of the chair, and? And a broom is a word you can apply to the shoelace, and you have a real shoelace and a possible broom in place of the shoelace, and? And a shoelace is a word you can apply to the table, so that you suddenly have neither a table nor a shoelace in place of the table, and? Eel. Run.

Boiled. From behind.

Right. Later. Horse.

Never stood. Screams.

Faster. Puss. Thrashing.

Whimpers. The knee.

Back. Crawls.

Hut. At once.

Candle. Hoarfrost. Stretch.

Awaits. Struggles.

Rats. Unique. Worse.

Walked. Living. Farther.

Jumped. Yes. Should. The chair still hurts you, but the word chair already pleases you. The table still hurts you but the word table already pleases you. The closet still hurts you a little, but the word closet already pleases you more. The word shoelace is beginning to hurt you less because the word shoelace pleases you more and more. The broom hurts you less the more the word broom pleases you. Words no longer hurt you when the word words pleases you. The sentences please you more the more the word sentence pleases you: Entered am chair without rags on the shoelace, which meantime talked to death struck the feet, without broom on the table, which are standing turned over some distance from the closet, barely two saving drops on the curtain. Words and things. Chair and shoelace. Words without things. Chair without broom. Things without words. Table without thing. Closet without shoelace. Words without table. Neither words nor things. Neither words nor shoelace. Neither words nor table. Table and words. Words and chair without things. Chair without shoelace without words and closet. Words and things. Things without words. Neither word nor things. Words and sentences. Sentences: Sentences: Sentences: Kaspar utters a normal sentence:

At that time, while I was still away, my head never ached as much, and I was not tortured the way I am now that I am here. It becomes dark.

XIX

It becomes light, Kaspar slowly begins to speak: After I came in, as I see only now, I put, as I see only now, the sofa into disorder, whereupon, as I see only now, the closet door with which I, as I see only now, played, as I see only now, with my foot, was left open, whereupon I, as I see only now, ripped, as I see only now, the drawer out of the table, whereupon, as I see only now, I threw over another table, thereupon a rocking chair, as I see only now, also turned over, as well as a further chair and broom, as I see only now, whereupon I walked toward, as I see only now, the only chair still standing (as I see only now) and sat down. I neither saw anything nor heard anything, and I felt good. He gets up. Now I have gotten up and noticed at once, not just now, that my shoelace was untied. Because I can speak now I can put the shoelace in order. Ever since I can speak I can bend down to the shoelace in normal fashion. Ever since I can speak I can put everything in order. He bends down toward the shoelace. He moves one leg forward so as to be able to bend down better toward the shoelace. But because he was standing with the other leg on the shoelace, he stumbles as he moves the leg forward and falls after making a futile attempt to remain upright — for a moment it looks as though he might stop himself, but he doesn’t. In the process he also overturns the chair he had been sitting on. After a moment of silence: Ever since I can speak I can stand up in a normal fashion; but falling only hurts ever since I can speak; but the pain when I fall is half as bad ever since I know that I can speak about the pain; but falling is twice as bad ever since I know that one can speak about my falling; but falling doesn’t hurt at all any more ever since I know that I can forget the pain; but the pain doesn’t stop at all any more ever since I know that I can feel ashamed of falling.

XX

Kaspar sets in. He speaks slowly: Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it!

Do remember that and don’t forget it! Ever since you can speak a normal sentence you are beginning to compare everything that you perceive with this normal sentence, so that the sentence becomes a model. Each object you perceive is that much simpler, the simpler the sentence with which you can describe it: that object is a normal object about which no further questions remain to be asked after a short simple sentence: a normal object is one which is entirely clarified with a short simple sentence: all you require for a normal object is a sentence of three words: an object is normal when you don’t first have to tell a story about it. For a normal object you don’t even require a sentence: for a normal object the word for the object suffices. Stories only begin with abnormal objects. You yourself are normal once you need to tell no more stories about yourself: you are normal once your story is no longer distinguishable from any other story: when no thesis about you provokes an anti-thesis. You should not be able to hide behind a single sentence any more. The sentence about your shoelace and the sentence about you must be alike except for one word: in the end they must be alike to the word.

XXI

A spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand which is slowly approaching the loose shoelace. It follows Kaspar’s other hand, which is also approaching the shoelace. He slowly crosses one shoelace over the other. He holds the crossed ends up. He winds one end precisely around the other. He holds up both ends, crossed. He draws the shoelaces together, slowly and deliberately. He elaborately makes a noose with one lace. He places the other lace around the noose. He pulls it through underneath. He draws the noose tight. The first order has been created. The spotlight is extinguished. The table stands. With the word table you think of a table which stands: a sentence is not needed any more. The scarf is lying. When the scarf is lying, something is not in order. Why is the scarf lying? The scarf already requires other sentences. Already the scarf has a story: does the scarf have a knot tied at one end, or has someone thrown the scarf on the floor? Was the knot ripped off the scarf? Was someone choked to death with the scarf? The curtain is falling just now: at the word curtain you think of a curtain that is falling just now: a sentence is not needed any more. What is worth striving for is a curtain that is just falling.

XXII

The spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand, which, by pushing up the jacket, approaches the belt, which may be very wide. The spotlight follows Kaspar’s other hand, which also moves toward the belt. One hand slips the belt end out of very many belt loops. One hand holds the prong of the buckle while the other draws the belt away from the prong. This hand pulls the belt tight while the other hand puts the prong through the next hole. The belt end, which has become even longer through the tightening of the belt, is again passed carefully through the many loops until the pants fit as they should obviously fit. The spotlight darkens. A sentence which demands a question is uncomfortable: you cannot feel at ease with such a sentence. What matters is that you form sentences that you can at least feel at ease with. A sentence which demands another sentence is unpretty and uncomfortable. You need homely sentences: sentences as furnishings: sentences which you could actually save: sentences which are a luxury. All objects about which there are still questions to be asked are disorderly, unpretty, and uncomfortable. Every second sentence (the words are timed to coincide with the loops through which Kaspar is passing the belt) is disorderly, unpretty, uncomfortable, irksome, ruthless, irresponsible, in bad taste.

XXIII

The spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand which is buttoning his jacket from top to bottom. One button is left over at the bottom. The spot points to the leftover button, as does Kaspar’s hand. Then it follows the hand as it unbuttons the jacket from bottom to top, but more rapidly than it buttoned it. Then it follows Kaspar’s hand as it buttons the jacket once more, even more quickly. This time he succeeds. The spot and Kaspar’s hands both point to the bottommost button. Then the hands release the button. The spot reveals that everything is in order. Then it goes out Every object must be the picture of an object: every proper table is the picture of a table. Every house must be the picture of a house. Every proper table is (the words are timed to coincide with the buttoning) orderly, pretty, comfortable, peaceful, inconspicuous, useful, in good taste. Each house (the words coincide with the buttoning) that tumbles, trembles, smells, burns, is vacant, is haunted is not a true house. Every sentence (the words again coincide with the buttoning) which doesn’t irk, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t aim, doesn’t ask, doesn’t choke, doesn’t want, doesn’t assert is a picture of a sentence.

XXIV

The spot shines on Kaspar. It is obvious that his jacket does not match his pants, either in color or in style. Kaspar just stands there. A table is a true table when the picture of the table coincides with the table: it is not yet a genuine table if the picture of the table alone coincides with the table whereas the picture of the table and chair together do not coincide with the table and chair. The table is not yet a true, actual, genuine, right, correct, orderly, normal, pretty, even prettier, spectacularly beautiful table if you yourself do not fit the table. If the table is already a picture of a table, you cannot change it: if you can’t change the table, you must change yourself: you must become a picture of yourself just as you must make the table into a picture of a table and every possible sentence into a picture of a possible sentence.

XXV

Kaspar puts the stage in order. While the spotlight follows him and everything he does, he moves from one object to the other and corrects whatever harm he has done to it. Moreover, he puts the objects into their normal relationships toward each other, so that the stage gradually begins to look inhabitable. Kaspar creates his own (three) walls for himself. His actions are accompanied by sentences from the prompters. At first these sentences are adjusted to Kaspar’s movements, until Kaspar’s movements gradually begin to adjust to the movement of the sentences. The sentences clarify events on the stage, of course without describing them. There is a choice among the following sentences. Each of his steps and movements is something new to which the spotlight calls attention. Occasionally he accompanies his actions with sentences. Every interruption of the action produces an interruption of the sentence. Every repetition of an action produces a repetition of the sentence. As he nears the completion of his task, his actions more and more obey the sentences of the prompters, whereas in the beginning the prompters’ sentences adjusted themselves to his actions. First of all, Kaspar rights the chair on which he had been sitting, saying, for example: I am righting the chair and the chair is standing. He goes to the second chair and raises it, this time with one hand. The spot shines on the hand, which holds on to a vertical rod on the backrest: I am putting up the second chair: I can count. The first chair has two rods. The second chair has three rods: I can compare. He squats down behind the chair and embraces the rods with both hands. He shakes them: everything that is barred with rods is a chair. One rod breaks in half. He quickly puts the two halfs together again: Everything that breaks is only a rod in a chair. Everything that can be covered up is only a rod in a chair. He walks to the large table. This time, before he kneels down, he pulls his pants up over his knees: I pull my pants up over my knees so they won’t get dirty. He quickly picks up what had fallen out of the drawer: Everything that cuts is only a table knife. Everything that lies face up is a playing card. He tries picking up a match with his whole hand. He fails. He tries with two fingers and succeeds: Everything I can’t pick up with my whole hand is a match. He quietly pushes the drawer into the table. He still has the match in his hand. He sees another match on the floor. He picks it up, whereupon the match in his hand drops. He picks it up, whereupon the second match falls out of his hand (the movements are very precise, the spot follows). For the first time he uses his other hand to pick up the match. He holds the two matches in his two fists. He no longer has a hand free to open the drawer. He stands before the drawer. Finally he gives the match from one hand to the other hand: I can hold one hand free. Everything that can move freely is a hand. He opens the drawer wide, with one hand. He puts the matches in the drawer, pushing the drawer shut with the other hand, whereupon the first hand gets caught in the drawer. He pulls on the caught hand while pushing in with the other hand, exerting himself more and more in both endeavors. Finally he is able to free his hand with one violent pull while the other hand, with one violent push, pushes in the drawer. He does not rub his hand but moves on immediately, righting the rocking chair, which had fallen near the table, almost in one movement with the bang of the drawer as it is shut. Immediafely afterward he leans the broom against the wall. Almost before the audience has time to realize it, he is kneeling before the three-legged able replacing the leg, all his movements being rapidly followed by the spotlight. As he moves, he says, also very rapidly: Everything that bangs is only a table drawer: everything that burns is only a chapped lip: everything that puts up resistance is only a fallen broom: everything that gets in the way is only a snowdrift: everything that rocks is only a rocking horse: everything that dangles is only a punching ball: everything that can’t move is only a closet door. In the meantime he has marched to the closet door and banged it shut. But it won’t stay shut. He slams it shut again. It slowly opens again. He pushes it shut. As soon as he lets go of it, it opens up again: Everything that doesn’t close is a closet door. Everything that frightens me is only a closet door. Everything that hits me in the face is only a closet door. Everything that bites me is only a closet door. (Each of these sentences coincides with Kaspar’s attempts to slam or push the door shut.) Finally he leaves the closet open. He goes to the sofa, puts it back in order, at the same time shoving it completely n stage. The spotlight precedes him, designating the place where the sofa should stand. Two other spots precede him, showing where the two chairs should stand. He puts the chairs there. (The spotlights are of different colors.) Another spot designates the place for the rocking chair. He follows it and places the rocking chair in its appointed spot. Another light already indicates the place for the little table. He puts it there. Another spot appears, designating the appropriate place for broom and shovel. He wants to put them there but the spot moves on and he follows it. It goes backstage and he follows it there with shovel and broom in hand. The spot returns without him and is already fixed on a place on the stage when Kaspar returns. In his arms he holds a large vase with flowers. He puts the vase in the designated place. Another spot indicates a place on the little table. Kaspar leaves the stage and returns with a plateful of decorative fruit. He puts it on the little table. Another spot designates an empty place in the corner of the stage. He leaves the stage and returns with a small stool. He puts it in its appointed place. Another spot indicates an empty area on the backdrop. He gives a sign to the tage-rigging loft and a painting is lowered onto the empty area. (What the painting represents is of no importance as long as it goes with the furnishings.) Kaspar irects it until it hangs perfectly. He stands there. Another spot walks ahead of him to the open closet. It lights up the clothes. Kaspar goes to the closet. Quickly he takes off his jacket, but finds no place to put it. The spotlight goes backstage and he follows it with the jacket over his arm. He returns with a clothes tree and hangs the jacket up on it. He walks to the loset and picks out another jacket, puts it on, buttons it. He stands there. He takes off his hat. He hangs the hat up on the clothes tree. The stage becomes increasingly more colorful. He has now begun to move in rhythm to the sentences from the prompters. A continuous sound has set in softly. It now becomes louder. It is apparent that the jacket goes with the pants and the other objects. Everything on stage goes with verything else. For a moment Kaspar looks Like a dummy at an interior-decoration exhibition. Only the open closet disrupts the harmony of the picture. The continuous tone becomes even louder. Kaspar stands there and lets people look him over. The stage is festively lit. Everyone is born with a wealth of talents. Everyone is responsible for his own progress. Everything that does harm is made harmless. Everyone puts himself at the service of the cause. Everyone says yes to himself. Work develops an awareness of duty in everyone. Each new order creates disorder. Everyone feels responsible for the smallest mote of dust on the floor. Whoever possesses nothing replaces his poverty with work. All suffering is natural. Every working man must be given leisure time in accordance with his need to replenish the energy expended while working. Everyone must build his own world. Example is a lesson that all men can read. A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Good order is the foundation of all things. A fanatical desire for order does not have to lead to a coup d’etat. Every step extends one’s perspective. That table is a meeting place. The room informs you about its inhabitant. An apartment is a prerequisite for an orderly life. Flowers should stand there as though they had a common center. Don’t stand if you can sit. Bending down expends more energy than anything else. A burden is lighter the closer it is held to the body. Put only things you don’t use often into the top shelves. Saving means saving energy. Balance the weight on both arms. The table won’t run away from you. Always take a fresh look at your work. Only if you’re healthy can you achieve a lot. Disorder outrages all decent thinking men. One of the most beautiful things in life is a well-set table. The furnishings should complement you. Apportion your time correctly. A place for everything and everything in its place. Happy are those who have steered a middle course. Nothing is given to you in life. The fingernails are a special index of order and cleanliness. Suggest with a friendly smile that you like your work. What has always been the way you find it, you won’t be able to change at once. Everyone must be able to do everything. Everyone should be completely absorbed in his work. Everything that appears to harm you is only in your best interest. You should feel responsible for the furniture. Sweep the floor in the direction of the boards. When you clink glasses, they should ring clearly. Every step must become completely natural to you. You must be able to act independently. Outside show is a poor substitute for inner worth. The merit of originality is not novelty; it is sincerity. The golden rule in life is moderation in all things. There’s nothing in this world constant but inconstancy. A bad beginning makes a bad ending. Circumstances are beyond the control of man; but his conduct is in his own hands. In an orderly room the soul also becomes orderly. Every object you see for the second time you can already call your own The relativeness of means is your basic principle. Running water does not become stagnant. A room should be like a picture book. Sitting all your life is unhealthy. A room should have a timeless character. You must show confidence in your work. There are no woodworms in the door hinges. You must be able to be proud of what you have achieved. Your well-being is determined by your achievement. The floor makes a decisive difference in the overall impression of the room. What matters is to be with it. Doors lock, but also constitute connections to the outside world. The objects must supplement your image. All work is what you make of it. The order should not be a soul-less order. You are what you have. Living in a dark room only brings necessary thoughts. The order of the objects creates all prerequisites for happiness. What is a nightmare in the dark is joyous certainty in the light. Every order eventually looses its terror. You’re not in the world for fun.

XXVI

The light on stage is very gradually extinguished, the tone adjusting itself to the light. Kaspar is speaking as the light goes out. He begins to speak in a deep, well-modulated voice, but raises it as the light and the continuous sound subside. The darker the stage and the softer the tone, the more shrill and ill-sounding Kaspar’s voice becomes. Finally, with the onset of complete darkness and the ceasing of the continuous sound, he is whimpering in the highest registers: Everything that is bright is peaceful: everything that is quiet is peaceful: everything that is in its place is peaceful: everything peaceful is friendly: everything friendly is inhabitable: everything inhabitable is comfortable: everything comfortable is no longer ominous: everything I can name is no longer ominous: everything that is no longer ominous belongs to me: I am at ease with everything that belongs to me: everything I am at ease with strengthens my self-confidence: everything that belongs to me is familiar to me: everything I am familiar with strengthens my self-confidence: everything that is familiar to me lets me breathe a sigh of relief: everything I am familiar with is orderly: everything that is orderly is beautiful: everything that is beautiful is good for my eyes: everything that is good for my eyes is good for me: everything that is good for me makes me good: everything that makes me good makes me good for something. It is now completely dark. As it again becomes bright very gradually, Kaspar begins to speak again, at first with a pleasant-sounding voice, but the brighter it becomes, the higher and shriller his voice gets: Everything that is in order is in order because I say to myself that it is in order, just as everything that lies on the floor is a dead fly because I say to myself that everything that lies on the floor is only a dead fly, just as everything that lies on the floor lies there only for a short while because I say to myself that it lies there only for a short while, just as everything that lies gets up again because I say to myself that it gets up again, just as everything that I say to myself is in order because I say to myself that everything that I say to myself is in order. The prompters speak while Kaspar is speaking, however without making him incomprehensible, whereas they themselves are only barely comprehensible because they speak too softly, their words overlap, they leave out syllables, reverse the order of the words, or put the wrong emphasis on them. In regular sequence they speak something like the following text: Hit the table. Sat between the chairs. Rolled up the sleeves. Stayed on the floor. Looked behind curtains. Spat into hands. Struck the table. Stayed on the floor. Rolled up sleeves. Sat down between chairs. Sat down at the table together. Struck the table. Sat down in the nettles. Slammed the door. Rolled up sleeves. Struck the chairs. Beaten to a pulp. Struck the table. Sat down in the nettles. Knocked down. Spit in front of feet. Struck between the eyes. Broke the china. Stayed tough. Sat down in the nettles. Knocked out. Beat down the request. Showed the fists. Beaten to a pulp. Struck a low blow. Exterminated from head to toe. Smashed the floor. Spat in front of the feet. Struck between the eyes. Broke the china. Pushed into the nettles. Smashed the table. Struck a low blow. Smashed the communal table. Struck down. Smashed the set. Smashed the door. Struck down the heckler. Stayed tough. Smashed all prejudices.

XXVII

Kaspar is now taught the model sentences with which an orderly person struggles through life. While he was uttering his last sentences, he sat down in the rocking chair. During the following course of instruction he continues to sit in the chair, but begins to rock only gradually. At first he drawls his words, although speaking with intensity, without punctuation marks; then he begins to speak with full stops, finally with hyphens, finally he makes exaggerated sense, and ultimately he utters model sentences. While Kaspar is sitting in the rocking chair, the words the prompters uttered just now, which anticipate the aphorisms, are repeated: now, because Kaspar is silent, they are more comprehensible and become completely comprehensible toward the end, and then turn into the following model sentences: Every sentence helps you along: you get over every object with a sentence: a sentence helps you get over an object when you can’t really get over it, so that you really get over it: a sentence helps you to get over every other sentence by letting itself take the place of the other sentence: the door has two sides: truth has two sides: if the door had three sides, truth would have three sides: the door has many sides: truth has many sides: the door: the truth: no truth without a door. You beat the dust off your pants: you beat the thought out of your head: if you couldn’t beat the dust off your pants, you couldn’t beat the thought out of your head. You finish speaking: you finish thinking: if you couldn’t finish speaking, you couldn’t say the sentence: I finish thinking. You look again: you think again: if you couldn’t look again, you couldn’t say the sentence: I reflect: if you couldn’t look again, you couldn’t reflect. The pupil of the eye is round fear is round had the pupil perished fear would have perished but the pupil is there and fear is there if the pupil weren’t honest I couldn’t say fear is honest if the pupil were not permitted fear wouldn’t be permitted no fear without pupil if the pupil weren’t moderate I couldn’t say fear only arises at room temperature fear is less honest than is permitted fear is drenched warm as a hand on the contrary You are standing. The table is standing. The table is not standing, it was placed there. You are lying. The corpse is lying. The corpse is not lying, it was placed there. If you couldn’t stand and if you couldn’t lie, you couldn’t say: the table is standing, and the corpse is lying: if you couldn’t lie and stand, you couldn’t say: I can neither lie nor stand. A fat man is true to life cold sweat is commonplace if a fat man weren’t true to life and if his cold sweat weren’t commonplace a fat man couldn’t become afraid and if a fat man couldn’t lie on his stomach I couldn’t say he neither stands up nor can he sing The room is small but mine. The stool is low but comfortable. The sentence is harsh but just. The rich man is rich but friendly. The poor man is poor but happy. The old man is old but sturdy. The star is famous but modest. The madman is mad but harmless. The criminal is scum but a human being nonetheless. The cripple is pitiable but also a human being. The stranger is different, but it doesn’t matter: But the snow falls contentedly. The fly runs over the water but not excessively. The soldier crawls through the mud but pleasurably. The whip cracks on the back but aware of its limits. The fool runs into the trap but at peace with the world. The condemned man leaps into the air but judiciously. The factory gate squeaks but that passes away. The ring is decorative as well as an object of value. The community is not only a burden but also a joy. War is indeed a misfortune, but sometimes inescapable. The future is obscure but it also belongs to the enterprising. Playing is not only a diversion, but is also a preparation for reality. Force is indeed a dubious method, but it can be useful. A harsh youth is indeed unjust, but it makes you hard. Hunger is bad indeed, but there are worse things. Whipping is reprehensible indeed, but one also has to see the positive side: The sunflowers are not only abundant, but also summer and winter. The corners are glowing indeed, but for dying of thirst they are not only made to order but also spend a meditative old age observed by daylight. The better solutions are not only not worth striving for, but indeed cat right out of my hand, yet will also decisively and emphatically reject any and all interference. The more lovingly the table has been laid, the more you love to come home. The greater the want of space, the more dangerous the thoughts. The more happily you work, the more quickly you find a way to yourself. The more self-assured you are, the easier it is for you to get ahead. The greater the mutual trust, the more bearable the living together. The more the hand perspires, the less sure of himself the man is. The cleaner the apartment, the cleaner the tenant. The farther south you go, the lazier the people: The more wood on the roof, the more mildew in the bread oven. The more cities with cellars, the more machinations on the slag heaps. The brighter the clotheslines, the more suicides in the trade department. The more emphatic the demand for reason in the mountains, the more ingratiating the dog-eat-dog laws of free nature. It goes without saying that a large vase stands on the floor, just as it goes without saying that a smaller vase stands on a stool, while it goes without saying that an even smaller vase stands on a chair, just as it goes without saying that an even smaller vase stands on the table, while it goes without saying that creepers stand even higher. It goes without saying that well-being is determined by achievement. It goes without saying that despair is out of place here: It goes without saying that the flour sack strikes the rat dead. It goes without saying that hot bread lets children come prematurely into the world. It goes without saying that discarded matches introduce a demonstration of confidence. You gain something new from each object. No one stands on the sidelines. Every day the sun rises. No one is irreplaceable. Every new building means peace. No one is an island. Every industrious person is liked everywhere. No one is allowed to shirk his task. Each new shoe hurts in the beginning. No one has the right to exploit another. Every courteous person is punctual. No one who has a high opinion of himself lets others do his work for him. Every sensible person will bear the whole situation in mind with every step he takes. No one points the finger at others. Every person deserves respect, even a cleaning woman. Every split straw is a vote for the progressive forces. No country fair means security for all. Each dripping faucet is an example of a healthy life. No sensible arm is lifted for the burning department store. Every pneumatic-drill operator who comes upon a corpse corresponds to a rapid-firing mechanism that can deliver six thousand rounds per minute. A cat is no getting on. A stone is not a completely satisfied need. A strawman is no body count. Running away is no equality of rights. To stretch a rope across the path is no permanent value. Poverty is no disgrace. War is not a game. A state is not a gangster organization. An apartment is no sanctuary. Work is no picnic. Freedom is no license. Silence is no excuse. A conversation is no interrogation. The appendix bursts. The grenade bursts. If the appendix couldn’t burst, you couldn’t say: the grenade bursts. The dog barks. The commander barks. The water is rising. The fever is rising. If the water couldn’t rise, the fever couldn’t rise. The avalanche roars. The angry man roars. The angry man thunders. Thunder thunders. Without the angry man, thunder couldn’t thunder. The flags flutter. The eyelids flutter. The balloon swells. The jubilation swells. Without the balloon, the jubilation couldn’t swell. The laughing man gurgles. The swamp gurgles. The nervous nelly jerks. The hanged man jerks. If it weren’t for the nervous nelly, the hanged man couldn’t jerk. The firewood cracks. The bones crack. The blood screams to high heaven. The injustice screams to high heaven. Without the blood, injustice could not scream to high heaven. The door springs open. The skin springs open. The match bums. The slap burns. The grass trembles. The fearful girl trembles. The slap in the face smacks. The body smacks. The tongue licks. The flame licks. The saw screeches. The torture victim screeches. The lark trills. The policeman trills. The blood stops. The breath stops. It is not true that the conditions are as they are represented; on the contrary, it is true that the conditions are different from their representation. It is untrue that the representation of the conditions is the only possible representation of the conditions: on the contrary, it is true that there exist other possibilities of the representation of the conditions. Kaspar speaks along with the prompters to the end of this sequence. It is untrue that the representation of the conditions is the only possible representation of the conditions: on the contrary, it is true that there exist other possibilities of the representation of the conditions. It does not correspond to the facts to represent the conditions at all; on the contrary, it corresponds to the facts not to represent them at all. That the conditions correspond to the facts is untrue. You bend down; someone sees you you rise; you see yourself. You move yourself; someone reminds you; you set yourself down; you remember yourself. You are afraid of yourself; someone quiets you; someone explains you; you rush yourself; you explain yourself; you disquiet yourself: I am quieting myself. You were already making a fist. I was still screaming. You still took a deep breath. I was already there. The chair still stands in its place. I was still standing. Nothing has changed yet. I was already awake. The door is already shut tight. I was already kicking. Some were still sleeping. I am whispering already. One can still hear throbbing. I still wasn’t hearing anything. Some still won’t listen. I am outside already. Here and there someone is still moving. I am still unbelieving. Many are already placing their hands on the head. I am already running. Some are still breathing. I am pulling in my head already. Someone still objected. I am already hearing. A single person is still whispering. I already understand. Single shots are still being fired. I know already. you went past you living weight you light and easy you within reach you nothing to look for you a better life you good laugh you master everything you will win everywhere you lowered the mother mortality you was leading you more and more comprehensively you free of you is peace and future you a relationship to the world you which moved things closer you peaceful purposes you constantly growing you in case of emergency to you only for protection you irresistibly you stretched myself you trampled you called you was and is you recognized me. You know what you are saying. You say what you are thinking. You think like you feel. You feel what it depends on. You know on what it depends. You know what you want. You can if you want to. You can if you only want to. You can if you must. You only want what everyone wants. You want because you feel pressed. You feel you can do it. You must because you can. Say what you think. You can’t say except what you think. You can’t say anything except what you are also thinking. Say what you think. When you want to say what you don’t think you must begin to think it that very moment. Say what you think. You can begin to speak. You must begin to speak. When you begin to speak you will begin to think what you speak even when you want to think something different. Say what you think. Say what you don’t think. When you have begun to speak you will think what you are saying. You think what you are saying, that means you can think what you are saying, that means it is good that you think what you are saying, that means you ought to chink what you are saying, that means, on the one hand, that you may think what you are saying, and on the other hand, that you must think what you are saying, because you are not allowed to think anything different from what you are saying. Think what you are saying: When I am, I was. When I was, I am. When I am, I will be. When I will be, I was. Although I was, I will be. Although I will be, I am. As often as I am, I have been. As often as I have been, I was. While I was, I have been. While I have been, I will be. Since I will be, I will have been. Since I have been, I am. Due to the fact that I am, I have been. Due to the fact that I have been, I was. Without having been, I was. Without having been, I will be. So that I will be, I have been. So that I will have been, I have been. Before I was, I was. Before I had become, I am. I am so that I will have become. I will have become so that I was. I was as soon as I will have become. I will have become as soon as I will be. I will be while I will have become. I will have become while I had become. I became because I will have become. I will have become because I became. I became because I will have become. I will have become because I am.

I am the one I am.

I am the one I am.

I am the one I am. Kaspar stops rocking. Why are there so many black worms flying about? The stage becomes black.

XXVIII

As it grows light again after several moments of quiet, the prompters speak once more: You have model sentences with which you can get through life: by applying these models to your sentences, you can impose order on everything that appears chaotic: you can declare it ordered: every object can be what you designate it to be: if you see the object differently from the way you speak of it, you must be mistaken: you must say to yourself that you are mistaken and you will see the object: if you don’t want to say that to yourself, then it is obvious that you want to be forced, and thus do want to say it in the end. It has now become very bright. Kaspar is quiet.

XXIX

You can learn and make yourself useful. Even if there are no limits: you can draw them. You can perceive: notice: become aware in all innocence: every object becomes a valuable. You can develop in an orderly fashion. It becomes even brighter. Kaspar is even quieter.

XXX

You can quiet yourself with sentences: you can be nice and quiet. It is very bright. Kaspar is very quiet.

XXXI

You’ve been cracked open.

XXXII

The stage becomes dark suddenly. After a moment: You become sensitive to dirt.

XXXIII

It becomes bright, but not very. Kaspar is sitting in the rocking chair. A second Kaspar with the same kind of face-like mask, the same costume, comes on stage from the wings. He enters, sweeping with a broom. He quickly cleans the stage, each movement being made distinctly visible, for example, by the spot. In passing he gives the closet door a shove, but it won’t stay shut. He cleans carefully under the sofa. He sweeps the dirt into a pile at the edge on the side of the stage. He walks across the stage to fetch the shovel. He walks back to the pile of dirt and sweeps the dirt onto the shovel. He does not succeed in sweeping the dirt onto the shovel with a single swipe of the broom, nor quite with the second swipe. By zigzagging backwards across the stage, between objects, without however bothering the first Kaspar, he continues to try to sweep the rest of the dirt onto the shovel. He sweeps and sweeps until he disappears backstage. At that moment the stage darkens.

XXXIV

After a moment: Become aware that you are moving.

XXXV

It becomes bright. A third Kaspar appears on stage from the wings, accompanying a fourth Kaspar, who walks on crutches, dragging his legs, moving very very slowly, almost imperceptibly. The third Kaspar repeatedly increases his pace somewhat, but each time has to wait for the fourth Kaspar to catch up with him. That takes time. They walk across stage front, Kaspar 3 nearer to the audience than Kaspar 4. Kaspar 3 to some extent adopts the gait of Kaspar 4, but in part retains his own manner of walking and therefore still has to wait for Kaspar 4 to catch up with him. So both are lurching, as they say, almost “unbearably” slowly across the stage, past Kaspar 1. When they have finally gone, the stage darkens instantly.

XXXVI

After a moment: What you can’t deal with, you can play with.

XXXVII

It becomes bright. Two further Kaspars come toward each other across the stage from different directions. They want to get past each other. Both step aside in the same direction, and bump into each other. They step aside in the other direction, and bump into each other again. They repeat the attempt in the first direction, and almost bump into each other. What looked awkward and unnatural at first gradually assumes a rhythm. The movements become more rapid and also more regular. The two Kaspars no longer walk into each other. Finally they move only the upper part of their body, then only their heads jerk, and finally they stand still. The next moment they make a wide, elegant curve around each other and walk off stage to the left and right. During these attempts at circumnavigation, Kaspar 1 has tried to fold an unfolded road map. He does not succeed. Finally he begins playing with the map, as though it were an accordion, say. Suddenly the map lets itself be folded thus, and that is the moment when the other Kaspars leave the stage and it darkens.

XXXVIII

After a moment: To become aware that everything falls back into order of its own accord.

XXXIX

It becomes bright. Another Kaspar steps out of the wings. He steps in front of the sofa, on which there is a thick cushion. He pushes with one fist into the cushion and steps aside. The audience sees the cushion slowly regain its original shape. This can also be projected on the backdrop. With a final tiny jolt, the cushion regains its original form. The stage darkens at once.

XL

After a moment: Movements.

XLI

Another Kaspar steps on stage. He has a ball in one hand. He places the ball on the floor and steps back. The ball rolls off. Kaspar 1 puts the ball where it was first. The ball rolls off. Kaspar holds his hand on the ball for a considerable period of time. He steps back. The ball rolls off. The stage darkens.

XLII

After a moment: Pains.

XLIII

It is still dark; the audience sees two matches being lit on stage. When it grows bright again, Kaspar 1 is sitting in the rocking chair, the other Kaspar on the sofa. Each is holding a burning match between his fingers. The flames touch the fingers. Neither Kaspar emits a sound. The stage darkens.

XLIV

After a moment: Sounds.

XLV

As it becomes bright, Kaspar 1 is alone on stage, standing by the large table. He takes the broad-necked bottle and pours a little water into the glass standing next to the bottle. The sound of pouring water is distinctly audible. He stops pouring. Quickly he pours the water from the glass back into the bottle. He takes the bottle and pours water slowly into the glass. The sound of pouring water is even more distinct. When the glass is full, the stage darkens.

XLVI

After a moment: A tone.

XLVII

When it becomes bright, even more quickly than before, another Kaspar is standing at the side ofthe stage while Kaspar l is standing by the table. He is holding a thick roll of paper which is held together by a rubber band. Slowly but surely he forces the rubber band off the roll. The band snaps off, a tone is heard. At once the stage darkens.

XLVIII

After a moment: A view.

XLIX

The audience hears a noise while the stage is still dark. When it becomes bright, Kaspar 1 is again alone on the stage, sitting by the table with the plastic fruit on it. He is holding a partially peeled apple in his hand. He continues peeling, the peel growing longer and longer, and stops peeling shortly before the apple has been completely peeled. He places the apple on top of the decorative fruit. The peel hangs way down. The stage darkens.

L

The prompters remain silent.

LI

It becomes bright. Kaspar is standing in the center of the stage, between the table and the closet. With one hand he is forcibly opening the other hand, which is a fist, finger by finger. The fist resists more and more tenaciously. Finally he wrenches open the hand. It is empty. The stage darkens.

LII

It quickly becomes bright. Another Kaspar is sitting on the sofa. Kaspar sees the other Kaspar. The stage darkens.

LIII

It becomes bright even more quickly. Kaspar is again alone on the stage, standing in front of the closet, his face to the audience. The stage darkens.

LIV

It becomes bright more quickly still. Kaspar looks down at himself. The stage darkens.

LV

Kaspar tries to catch himself. First he runs in a wide circle across the stage, then in smaller circles, spiraling in on himself until he turns on the same spot. He reaches for himself but, because he is standing on one spot, only seizes himself with his own arms … whereupon he becomes still and the stage darkens.

LVI

It becomes bright more quickly still. Kaspar is standing in front of the closet, his back to the audience. It darkens.

LVII

It becomes bright. Kaspar is in the process of closing the closet doors. He presses on them for some time. He steps back. The doors stay shut. The stage darkens.

LVIII

It becomes bright. It is very bright. Kaspar leans back against the closet. The stage looks harmonious. A chord. A spotlight is trained on Kaspar. He assumes various poses. He continues to alter the position of his arms and legs. Say, his arms are akimbo, he shoves one leg forward, lets his arms drop, crosses his legs, puts his hands in his pockets, first in his pants pockets, then in his jacket pockets, stands there with his legs apart, finally crosses his hands over his stomach, puts his feet close together, finally his arms are akimbo again. His legs are still close together. He begins to speak:

I am healthy and strong. I am honest and frugal. I am conscientious. I am industrious, reticent and modest. I am always friendly. I make no great demands. My ways are winning and natural. Everyone likes me. I can deal with everything. I am here for everyone. My love of order and cleanliness has never given reason for complaint. My knowledge is above average. Everything I am asked to do, I do perfectly. Anyone can provide the desired information about me. I am peace-loving and have an untarnished record. I am not one of those who start a big hue and cry over every little thing. I am calm, dutiful, and receptive. I can become enthusiastic about every worthy cause. I would like to get ahead. I would like to learn. I would like to be useful. I have a concept of length, height, and breadth. I know what matters. I treat objects with feeling. I have already become used to everything. I am better. I am well. I am ready to die. My head feels light. I can finally be left alone. I would like to put my best foot forward. I don’t accuse anyone. I laugh a lot. I can make head and tails of everything. I have no unusual characteristics. I don’t show my upper gums when I laugh. I have no scar under the right eye and no birthmark under the left ear. I am no public menace. I would like to be a member. I would like to cooperate. I am proud of what has been achieved so far. I am taken care of for the moment. I am prepared to be interrogated. A new part of my life lies ahead of me. That is my right hand, that is my left hand. If worst comes to worst, I can hide under the furniture. It was always my wish to be with it.

He pulls away from the closet, takes two or three steps, the closet stays shut:

At one time I may have felt as though I didn’t even exist; now I feel as though I exist too much, and the objects, of which there were too many at one time, now have become almost too few for me.

In the meantime he has walked farther forward. The closet stays shut:

Once plagued by sentences

I now can’t have enough of sentences.

Once haunted by words

I now play with every single letter.

He remains standing in the same spot:

At one time I only spoke when asked,

now I speak of my own accord, but now

I can wait to speak until I am asked.

He takes one or two steps more:

Earlier on, each rational sentence was a burden to me

and I detested each rational order

but from now on

I will be rational.

He either does or does not take a step:

Earlier, I threw down one chair, then a second, and then a third:

now, with the introduction of order, my habits are changing.

He takes roughly one step:

I am quiet

now I do not want

to be someone else any more

nothing incites me

against myself any more.

Every object

has become

accessible

to me

and I

am receptive

to each object.

Now I know what I want:

I want

to be

quiet

and every object

that I find sinister

I designate as mine

so that it stops

being sinister to me.

He walks off to the side of the stage but returns after several steps, as though he still had something more to say. He says nothing. He leaves again, taking more steps than the last time, but again steps halfway back onto the stage, as though he had something left to say. He says nothing. He almost leaves, but takes one or two steps back, again as though he had something left to say. He says nothing. Then he departs rapidly. On the now uninhabited stage the closet doors gradually open. When the wide-open closet doors have come to a complete rest, the stage darkens at a stroke, at the same time the auditorium becomes bright. It is intermission. The auditorium doors are opened.

LIX

After a few moments the INTERMISSION TEXT is piped through loudspeakers into the auditorium, into the lobbies, and even out onto the street if that is possible. At first these texts are quite low and barely audible. The texts consist of tapes of the prompters’ speeches, sheer noise, actual taped speeches by party leaders, popes, public speakers of every kind, presidents and prime ministers, perhaps even statements by writers and poets speaking at official functions. The sentences should never be complete, but should be complemented and superseded by other mangled sentences. Although the audience should not be kept from entering into well-deserved conversation, its relaxed mood ought to be disturbed now and then by the intermission texts. Some members of the audience might even be able to listen with one ear while devoting themselves to their drinks. The text might be as follows: (Noises, such as the clinking of glasses.) free of all worries of the present, we will have the last word. The surplus is lower than the criterion which has been anticipated. (Louder clinking of glasses.) What once was not an incalculable demand now becomes much too unexpected for many, and much too early. We need more courage if we can’t be saved. A new mass flight south is more important than a murder that never occurred. It is often unjustly forgotten how healthy it is to be a Marine. We want to work to the last man. Don’t think of what your country can do for you but climb up the wall. (The sound of a large truck approaching, then disappearing.) Criticism helps all real progress no matter the deposits in the glands. Animal herds should beware of the clear mountain air. The results exist to be burned without compunction. Without a certain number of dead each week, it neither goes upward nor downward. Hunger helps no one and doesn’t teach anyone manners. (Meanwhile, the blades of a large rotary saw have begun to clatter. This sound becomes increasingly louder.) In recent times the voices have increased that have great difficulty playing with themselves. The sides of the scale of justice lower themselves toward each other at the end although everyone is prepared to make sacrifices. With respect to the rat plague we must reach a mutually satisfactory result. Everyone should finally open his ears and listen to the truth when the brand name is announced. What now matters most is to objectively examine the whole realm of concepts associated with each demand. No one can depend on the fact that dooms the situation. (The saw blades penetrate wood with a screech; however, the noise soon turns into that of a gentle waterfall.) Nothing that comes from the outside is a distorted picture simply for that and no other simple reason. The human element appears quite ineradicable. We always exist under the condition that we refuse to let irresponsible circles rob us of the view of the public nuisance which is the world. Every declaration of war is designed for each case of patience which has been exhausted. Convincing someone in the nicest possible manner does not have to end with a blow of the water level on the head. Everyone is called upon to the extent of calling the thing by its well-deserved name. The police always has a time of it because it must justify itself. None of us is entirely innocent of the time of day. (Whistling, booing, stomping, the sound of waves.) A skeptical stock market gets off best. At least we don’t want the employees to have to pay extra even though many things speak for breaking it off. Impudence itself is no silver star. Of course the refugees have to be helped but running away with bare feet is not one of our problems. We know how to handle the glasses more and more. Uniformed persons know the difficulties when it suddenly becomes dark. The robes of the judges are breathtaking when all that is at stake is the shabby whole. We all want to move with profound seriousness which is what matters. (A swelling football cheer which breaks off with a profound sigh, then a resurgence of it which turns into regularly increasing and decreasing cheers.) Griping is easier than finding oneself a well-deserved apartment. We’ll inflict injuries on the head and chest of anyone who is of the same opinion as we are. The right of hospitality not only cannot be superseded as a concept but one must point to it if necessary with a brain stroke. A screwdriver in the windpipe is appropriate remuneration for someone who never did anything but someone else’s duty. Anyone who considers himself someone loses his nerve when angling. We’ll accept anyone into the bargain who shakes the foundations. (A sharply braking car; simultaneously, a jet of water from a firehose.) The transformation of society into any number of possible mass demonstrations corresponds to a pacifier for a blind man. The war in the sandbox has cost many a live corpse. Anyone who thinks the way he acts only strengthens the neck of the one who thinks differently. No one deserves a fate that makes him level with the ground. Life used to be more worthwhile at one time but now it is no brushfire any more. (Long-drawn-out factory siren or foghorn.) What was said of the property owners matters even less with respect to the flesh wounds. Anyone who kills in blind fury fools himself to an extent that is questionable in the least. Anyone who protests against the delivery of goods must also protest against revisionist thinking. We value the strength of a freely reached decision more than sharks chasing swimmers. Self-assurance contributes a great deal toward continuing useful conversations. Too little has been said so far about the minorities who proudly crawl off into their corners. (The scraping of chairs on a stone floor.) What was once forbidden has now been outlawed. Every outward order enables a peaceful and measured exchange of ideas. We regard the either/or as the mark of a free man. We all have to make an effort to be understanding when a dead man assumes the color of grass. A murder does not necessarily have to be equated with a nose dive. A third-degree burn clogs every gasoline line. (Sounds of horses’ hoofs, together with the sound of seats being turned up, street noises, doors being slammed shut, typewriter noises.) No one is beaten until he is ripe for retirement without good reason. The right to own estates requires no elaborate justification. A loosening-up exercise corresponds to the length of a nightstick between two legs. Whereas every suicide used to be left-handed, the regulation has now become uniform. No lull in the fighting permits time to count the sleeping flies on the ceiling of the cowshed. A single person perched on the church steeple can be equated with an incitement to riot. If one confronts a violent person by oneself, one is oneself a violent person, whereas when one confronts a violent person in the company of six or four men, thereupon the former becomes gentle of his own accord and is gentle. (Even before this last sentence, the sounds have changed and become distorted musical noises, as if a record is being played at inordinately slow speed; a monotonous, rhythmic music should be utilized for this purpose. In between a faucet is gradually turned on to full strength, then the stopper in a bathtub is pulled out; in addition there may be heavy breathing noises, then the sound of whiplashes, sudden bursts of laughter as after a joke, women’s laughter as if at a cocktail party. While all this is going on, the audience should be able to hear, although not quite comprehending, the spoken text. Then follows a short moment of quiet, then noise once again and the reading of texts, then a longer moment of quiet, then something like the following text by itself.) A beautifully laid table. Everything in the best order. You’re in no great hurry. You help your companion take off the coat. The colorful tablecloth delights everyone. The knife lies on the right. The napkin on the left. The plate stands in the middle. The cup stands at the right and to the back. The knife lies in front of the cup. The towel hangs to the right of the knife. Your finger rests on the towel. To the right of the towel is the first-aid kit. The plates are handed from the left. The soup is handed from the right. The drinks are handed from the right. Everything that you serve yourself is handed from the left. The stab comes from the right. You are sitting in the middle. The salt shaker stands on the left. The spoon is lying on the outside to the right of the knife. The spoon lies bottom up. The grip that chokes comes from both sides. Your hand is lying on the table. The edge of the knife is facing left. As seen from your seat, the heart of the person opposite you is on the right. The glass stands to the right of the plate. You drink in small sips. The blow is more effective when it comes from below. The bouquet of flowers is in the center of the table. The fork lies to the left of the plate. You can’t give white flowers to the dying. You sit upright on principle. The older one is on the right. The bouquet does not block your view of the person opposite you. The cooky plate is in the middle of each setting. The coal pile is under the table. You are not resting your head on your arms. You always look for friendly words. The victim of an assassination lies in the middle of each setting. The candelabra stand in the center of the table. A spot on a shirt is an everyday occurrence. It is not unusual for the knife to slip on the plate. Your neighbor’s hand is resting on the knife. You do not swallow the wrong way. You converse to your left and to your right. (Again the inordinately slow music has come on with a crash that is not recognizable as music at first. Houses crumble, bombs crash, but at a great distance; the text is gradually made unintelligible by the noises and finally is entirely suppressed; in between the audience begins to hear the buzzer as well as taped chimes; rattling, gongs, factory sirens as well as the theater buzzer that calls the audience back to the auditorium.)

LX

While the lights in the auditorium are slowly dimmed in a theatrical manner, the open stage is only moderately lighted. The objects are in exactly the same position as before the intermission. The closet is open. Two Kaspars are sitting on the sofa, close together. They are silent. The masks now evince an expression of contentment. After a few moments of silence, the prompters begin to recite all over the room:

LXI

While giving a beating

one is

never as calm as while beating a rug.

Water dripping regularly

down on one’s head

is no reason

to complain about a lack of order

a sip of acid in one’s mouth

or a kick in the guts

or two sticks

in the nostrils being wriggled

about

or something on that order

only more pointed

introduced

into the ears

without much ado

to needle someone

and bring him around

with all means

at one’s command

primarily

without being fussy about the

means

is no reason

to loose any words over the lack of order:

for

in the process

of putting-into-order

for better or worse

one makes others sing

whereas one—

once everything has been brought

to order

and everything that still laughed

is laughable—

can sing oneself

and after giving a beating

when fists and feet have nothing

left to

do

can beat the rug to ease one’s

mind. A third Kaspar with a small package wrapped in wrapping paper comes out of the wings and sits down next to the other two Kaspars, sits down in an orderly fashion, the package on his knees. In the process of putting-into-order

one is not as calm

and orderly

as later on

when one—

having been brought into order

oneself

by the thrashing one has given to

others—

with one’s conscience at ease

wants to

and can

enjoy

a world made orderly. A fourth Kaspar comes on stage with a similar package. Kaspar 3 makes room for him between himself and the other two Kaspars. Kaspar 4 sits down quietly. All four Kaspars are still. While giving a beating

it is sensible

not to think of the future

but in the pauses

between punches

it is blissful

to think of the time of order

so that

a too disorderly kick

won’t contribute

during the recommencement of the

beating

to channel the thoughts

of the socially sick

when he has adjusted

later on

in the wrong direction. A fifth Kaspar enters with a similar but perhaps larger package. Kaspar 3 gets up. Kaspar 5 takes Kaspar 3’s place. Kaspar 3 squeezes himself into the small space left next to Kaspar 4. Kaspar 5 puts the package in front of him on the floor. All five are still. But if

during the beating

an inordinate beating of the heart

fails to occur

and the fists

beat

the breath out of the victim’s

lungs

only (to use the same image again)

like dust

out of a rug

and one only

straightens out (to use the same image again)

the wretch’s tongue

like fringes on a rug

only then does

the injustice occur:

for

while giving a beating

one should not be as calm

as when beating a rug

while plugging up the mouth

one must be uneasy:

so as not to become uneasy

afterwards:

the failure of an inordinate

beating

of the beater’s heart while

he is giving a beating

is bad:

for

anyone whose hand has trembled

suitably

while giving a beating

has a clean slate

and is one more person

who will have to have no qualms

later on:

thus calm reigns on earth. The original Kaspar comes on stage as he did at first, but without having to look for the slit in the curtain. His movements are self-assured and he looks like the other Kaspars. His mask too should show a contented expression. He walks with firm steps to the front of the stage, as though to take a bow, nicely avoiding all objects. He stops in front of the microphone. All six Kaspars are still. Those who have been brought to order—

instead of withdrawing into themselves

and fleeing society—

should now realistically seek

without force or beatings

but out of their own strength

to show new ways

by looking for sentences

valid for all:

they cannot choose

they must choose

and tell the others

the truth about themselves

without phrases

or bubbles:

the others too

should finally be able to want to do

what they themselves

now want and should do.

LXII

Kaspar, at the microphone, begins to speak. His voice begins to resemble the voices of the prompters.

Already long

in the world

I realized nothing

I wondered

about the self-evident

and found everything finite

and infinite

laughable every object filled me with fear

the whole world galled me

neither did I want to be myself

nor somebody else

my own hand

was unknown to me

my own legs

walked of their own accord

I slept

deeply

with open

eyes:

I was without consciousness

like someone drunk

and though I was supposed to be

I wanted not to be

of use

to anything

each sight

produced dislike

each sound

deceiv-

ed me

about itself

each new step

produced

nausea and sucking

in my chest

I could not keep up

I blocked my view

myself

no light

lit up for me

with the whole mishmash

of sentences

it never occurred to me

that it was I who was meant

I noticed nothing of what

was happening around me

before I began

to come onto the world. He is quiet for a moment or more. The other Kaspars behind him are also rather still. I felt

the cacophony

the screaming

outside

was a roaring

and gurgling

in my guts:

I had to suffer,

could not distinguish

among anything:

three was not more

than two

and when I sunned myself

it rained

while I

when I was sweating

in the sun

or heating myself

running

fought my sweat with an umbrella

I could keep nothing apart

neither hot from cold

nor black from white

neither yesterday from today

nor the new from the old

neither people from things

neither prayer from cursing

neither caressing from kicking

every room

looked flat

to me

and hardly

was I awake

when the flat objects fell all over me

like a dream image:

they became obstacles

all the unknown objects

interrogated me

at once

all indistinguishables confused

my hands

and made me wild

so that I became

lost

among the objects

lost my way and

to find my way out

destroyed them. He is quiet for a few moments. The Kaspars behind him are quiet too. I came into the world

not by the clock

but because

the pain

while falling

helped me drive

a wedge

between me

and the objects

and finally extirpate

my babbling:

thus the hurt finally drove

the confusion out of me. I learned to fill

all empty spaces with words

and learned who was who

and to pacify everything that

screamed

with sentences

no empty pot confuses my brain box

any more

everything is at my will

never

again

will I tremble

before an empty closet

before empty boxes

empty

rooms

I hesitate before no walk

out into the open

for every crack

in the wall I

have sentences

as

lists

that help me

to keep the situation

under control: He now raises his tone. The light becomes brighter. The other Kaspars are still silent. Everyone must be free

Everyone must be part of the scene

Everyone must know what he

wants

for the nonce

no one

may miss the drill

no one

may kill

himself in the morning

everyone must do his living

everyone must do his best

everyone must reach the rest

no one may walk across bodies

no one may stand in the lobbies

everyone must be able to spy

into everyone’s eye

everyone must grant

everyone

what is his. The other Kaspars on the sofa begin to emit peculiar noises whose significance is unmistakable. The audience hears suggestions of stylized sobbing, imitation wind sounds, giggling. Everyone must be

his own man

everyone must see

to the bottom of the can

everyone must watch firmly

the other’s lips

no one may blindly

trust the other’s flips

everyone must see

the other’s good side too

no one may willy

nilly

pooh pooh

what pleases

the other one

everyone

must let

himself be led

no one may let

lies to be spread

about anyone. To some extent simultaneously with Kaspar l’s speaking, the audience hears grumbling, croaking, lamenting, falsetto singing, owl-like hooting coming from behind him. Everyone must work

on himself

everyone must shirk quarreling

with his inner self

or with others

everyone must not forget to care for others

everyone must think of the future and share

everyone must feel

everyone must feel

secure The audience hears rustling, leaves slapping against each other, ululations, roaring, laughter, humming, purring, warbling, and a single sharp scream. Everyone must wash his hands before eating

everyone must empty his pockets before a beating

in jail

no one may dump his pail

on his own doorstep

no one may eat out of the other’s lap

everyone must care for his brother

everyone must be combed for the meal mother

no one may let the other whimper and wail

everyone must lend a fingernail

no one may drink coffee

from the saucer or sink

everyone must wave to his neighbor and wink

everyone must cut his nails before lunch

no one may make life a misery for the other bunch

no one may soil

the clean doilies

everyone must clean his nose

everyone should smell like a rose

no one may make fools of others with jokes

no one may laugh at other blokes

no one may laugh at others

no one may tickle

during the burial

no one may scribble

on toilet walls no one may crinkle

the law books

everyone must listen to everyone

everyone must feel for everyone

everyone must tell everyone his name In the meantime, the noises and sounds in the background have risen to such an extent that Kaspar in front must raise his voice more and more. At the end of his rhymes, the other Kaspars are still sitting quietly on the sofa — trilling, twittering, clearing their throats, groaning, heckling, etc. But these sounds have let Kaspar’s speech become so loud that the last words resemble the thunderous ending of a speech.

LXIII

The Kaspars in back are quiet for the moment. Kaspar in front begins to sing, perhaps falsetto. Slowly but surely the prompters chime in, in canon fashion, which, however, is not resolved. They sing softly and delicately, so that Kaspar is intelligible throughout. Kaspar sings like a true believer. No one may bite the fork with his teeth no one may mention murderers at dinner no one may transport private persons in the official car everyone must be worth everyone’s while no one may call a man by another man’s name no one may live unregistered everyone should buy heavy goods only on the way home no one may ridicule anyone just because he has thick lips no one may tap anyone on the shoulder no one may stick a knife between anyone’s ribs everyone must call a cop on the street officer sir The Kaspars in back also sing along, but not words, only sounds. Nor do they really sing. They screech, yodel, buzz, trumpet, draw snot into their noses, smack their lips, grunt, burp, ululate, etc.: all of it in rhythm with the song. Now they grow gradually louder. None of the furniture may catch dust no hungry man may stand in line and rest no adolescent may loiter no beanpole may reach the height of the high- voltage wires no flag may flutter like a goiter in the wrong direction all morality must come into being I trust during work every animal that remains what it is must yield to the animal that sheds its skin on the field every word that does not mean well must be cut. The Kaspars in back become louder still. One of them unwraps his package, the paper rustling loudly in the process, takes a nail file from the package and begins filing his nails. Another Kaspar repeats the process, rustling the paper even more loudly and taking an even bigger file out of his package to file his nails with. Filing noises can already be heard. No elbow on the table no fish with the knife no parasite with the fingers no spoon with its side to the mouth no solace for tired eyes no truffles uncooked every bum in jail: kill every paradox Kaspar I is speaking again: The prompters sing what Kaspar utters, and the other Kaspars squeak, bark, make the sounds ofrain and storm, blow up bubble gum till it bursts, etc. No shit on a real stick no genuine finger for licking every fresh fish for frying every true person in the clear about everything every truly healthy fruit fling in the can everything unessential down the drain

LXIV

He stops speaking. There is silence. Then Kaspar says: What was it

that

I said

just now?

If I only knew

what it is

that I said

just now!

If I only knew

what I said

just now!

What is that

that I said

just now?

What

was I

actually

saying

just now?

What was it

that was

being said

just now?

If I only knew

what I

said

just now!

What

was that

actually

that I was

saying

just now?

Even while he is asking himself these questions, he, like the other Kaspars, begins to giggle and the like. At the same time the prompters sing his previous verses to the end. Kaspar, for instance, is snap — ping his finger against the microphone, producing a whine. All the Kaspars, while the prompters are singing, finally emit genuinely infectious laughter. Finally, sighing and giggling, the speaking Kaspar and the other Kaspars gradually grow quiet. The audience hears two or three of them filing their nails.

Kaspar in front says:

Every sentence

is for the birds

every sentence is for

the birds

every sentence is for the birds

There is silence.

He begins to speak without versifying.

A spotlight is on him.

I was proud of the first step I took, of the second step I felt ashamed; I was just as proud of the first hand which I discovered on myself, but of the second hand I felt ashamed: I felt ashamed of everything that I repeated; yet I felt ashamed even of the first sentence I uttered, whereas I no longer felt ashamed of the second sentence and soon became accustomed to the subsequent ones. I was proud of my second sentence.

In my story I only wanted to make a noise with my first sentence, whereas with my second sentence I wanted to call attention to my — self, and I wanted to speak with the next sentence, and I wanted to hear myself speak with the next sentence, and with my next sentence I wanted others to hear my speaking, and with the next sentence I wanted others to hear what I said, and with the next sentence I wanted others who also uttered a sentence not to be heard, and used only the next to last sentence to ask questions, and began only with the last sentence of the story to ask what the others had said, the others who were ignored while I said my sentence.

I saw the snow and attacked the snow. Thereupon I said the sentence: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to express why the snow was biting my hands. Once I woke up in the dark and saw nothing. Thereupon I said: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to express, first of all, why is it that the whole room has been moved away, and then, because I did not see myself, why have I been cut off from everything that belongs to me, whereupon, because I had heard someone, namely myself, speaking, I said once more: I want to be a person like somebody else was once? — with which I wanted to express that I would have liked to have known who else was making fun of me while I was speaking. Then once I took a look into the open, where there was a very green glow, and I said to the open: I want to be a person like somebody else was once? — and with this sentence I wanted to ask the open why it was that my feet were aching. I also noticed a curtain that was moving. Thereupon I said, but not to the curtain: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, and with that I wanted to say, but not to the curtain, I don’t know to whom, why are all the table drawers out and why does my coat always get caught in the door. I also heard someone climbing stairs which creaked, and thereupon I said to the creaking that I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to express when will my head feel lighter again. Once I also let my plate fall to the floor, but it did not break, whereupon I exclaimed: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I meant that I was afraid of nothing in the world, whereupon I said once more: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to make comprehensible that something probably could make me afraid, for example a cracked icicle; and once I felt no more pain, and I shouted: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to say to everyone that I finally felt no more pain, but then I felt pain once more and I whispered in everyone’s ear: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, with which I wanted to inform everyone that no, on the contrary, I felt no more pain and that everything was all right with me, with which I began to lie; and finally I said to myself: I want to be a person like somebody else was once, and wanted to know with that what that sentence, which I said to myself, what it actually means.

Because the snow was white and because snow was the first white I saw, I called everything white snow. I was given a handkerchief that was white, but I believed it would bite me because the white snow bit my hand when I touched it, and I did not touch the handkerchief, and when I knew the word snow I called the white handkerchief snow: but later, when I also knew the word handkerchief, when I saw a white handkerchief, even when I uttered the word handkerchief, I still thought the word snow, because of which I first began to remember. But a brown or gray handkerchief was not snow, just as the first brown or gray snow I saw was not snow, but the first gray or brown that I saw, for example animal droppings or a sweater. But a white wall was snow, and just as much as absolutely everything became snow when I looked into the sun for a long time, because I then saw only snow. Finally I even used the word snow, out of curiosity, for something that was not white, to see whether it would turn to snow because of my uttering the word snow, and even if I did not say the word snow I was thinking it and remembered at every sight if not the snow itself at least the word snow. Even while falling asleep or while walking along a country lane or while running in the dark I kept saying the word snow all the time. But finally I reached the point where I no longer believed not only words and sentences about snow, but even the snow itself when it lay there in front of me or was falling, did not believe any more and held it neither for real nor as possible, only because I no longer believed the word snow.

The landscape at that time was a brightly colored window shutter. As of the time that I saw the shadow a chair cast on the floor, I have from that time on always designated a fallen chair on the floor as the shadow of a chair. Each movement was running because at that time I wanted to do nothing but run and run away from everything; even swimming in the water was running. Jumping was running in the wrong direction. Even falling was running. Every liquid, even when it was calm, was a possible running. When I was afraid, the objects ran very quickly. But nightfall at that time was becoming unconscious.

When I did not know where to turn next, it was explained to me that I was afraid when I did not know where to turn, and that is how I learned to be afraid; and when I saw red it was explained to me that I was angry; but when I wanted to crawl away to hide I was ashamed; and when I leapt into the air I was happy; but when I was near bursting I had a secret or was proud of something; and when I nearly expired I had pity; but when I knew neither left nor right I was in despair; and when I did not know what was up or down I was confused; but when my breath stopped I was startled; and when I became ashen-faced I was afraid of death; but when I rubbed my hands together I was satisfied; and when I stuttered it was explained to me that I was happy when I stuttered; when I stuttered I was happy.

After I had learned to say the word I, I had to be addressed as I for a time because I did not know I was meant by the word you, since I was called I; and also, when I already knew the word you I pretended for a time that I did not know who was meant, because I enjoyed not understanding anything; thus I also began to enjoy responding whenever the word you was uttered.

When I did not understand a word I doubled it and doubled it once more, so that it would no longer bother me. I said: war, war; rag, rag. I said: war, war, war, war; rag, rag, rag, rag. Thus I became accustomed to words. Meantime, one of the Kaspars has taken a large file out of his carton and rasped once across the carton. Thereupon he also begins to file on the Kaspar sitting next to him. The sound produced by the filing is of the kind that drives one wild. All the Kaspars wear some kind of material which, if a file, knife, or nail is applied to it, produces all manner of excruciating noises. Up to this point, only one of these noises has been produced, and briefly. The Kaspars might have on their clothing pieces of foam rubber, tin, stone, slate, etc. All these are in the carton. One might also use the noise produced by crumpling the wrapping paper. The noises now become increasingly more frequent and louder because all the Kaspars in back begin to work on the cartons and on each other with their files, knives, slate pencils, nails, fingernails, etc. One by one, they get up and form a tight, wrangling huddle. However, each noise is distinct from the others: none is produced indiscriminately; nor do they drown out the words of Kaspar 1 at the microphone; on the contrary, they make them even more distinct. I first saw only one person. Later, after I had seen this one person, I saw several other persons. That certainly surprised me. I saw something sparkle. Because it sparkled, I wanted to have it. I wanted to have everything that sparkled. Later I also wanted to have what didn’t sparkle. I saw that someone had something. I wanted to have something like it. Later I also wanted to have something. When I woke up I ate. Then I played and also spoke until I fell asleep again and woke up again. Once I put my hands in my pockets and could not pull them out again. Once every object seemed to me to prove something, but what? Once (he tries to swallow) I was unable to swallow. Once (he tries to sneeze) I was unable to sneeze. The sounds become increasingly more ample and prolonged. For instance, one will hear the sound of a door scraping along a stone floor, of a metal bar slipping along a polar bear’s claws in a circus, of a sled running its runners from snow onto gravel, of chalk or a fingernail on slate, of a knife scraping a plate, of people scraping a marble floor with nails in their shoes, of a saw cutting through new wood, of a fingernail scraping across a pane of glass, of cloth tearing, etc. (Leave something to the imagination, but not too much.) As these noises are produced, and as the various objects in the cartons (foam rubber, etc.) are cut up, the Kaspars gradually come to the front of the stage. Once (he tries to yawn) I was unable to yawn. Once — (with effort he tries to speak the following sentence to the end) pursue the others … I caught … no one vanquished … the objects were … I drove … no one caressed … the others stormed … the objects had … no one pushed … I shoved … the others showed … the objects became … I moved … the others ripped … no one lowered … the objects are … the objects have … the others rub … no one hits … I drag … the objects become … no one chokes … the others get … — I was unable to speak a sentence to the end. Once made slip slip … once madip slip slip … once madip slin slin … monce mamin m: m:m … — I made a slip of the tongue, and they all looked at each other. Once I was the only one who laughed. Once I sat down on a fly. Once I heard everyone scream murder! but when I looked I only found a peeled tomato in the garbage can. All at once I distinguished myself from the furnishings. Already with my first sentence I was trapped.

I can make myself understood. I think I must have slept a long time because I am awake now. I go to the table and use the table, but look at that — the table continues to exist after it has been used. I can appear because I know where my place is. I cannot fall asleep with dry hands, but when I spit into my hands they become even drier. By saying: the chair is harmless, it is all over with the chair’s harmlessness. I feel good when the door, having stood open for long, is finally closed. I know where everything belongs. I have a good eye for the right proportion. I don’t put anything into my mouth. I can laugh to three. I am usable. I can hear wood rotting over long distances. I no longer understand anything literally. I cannot wait until I wake up, whereas earlier I could not wait to fall asleep. I have been made to speak. I have been converted to reality. — Do you hear it? (Silence.) Can you hear? (Silence.) Psst. (Silence.)

The stage becomes dark.

Silence.

LXV

As the stage becomes bright once more, the events on stage are again divided into three parts: together with Kaspar’s speech as follows, the prompters come on again. Whispering, they repeat something like this: If only. Own future. Now every second one as opposed to every fourth one at one time. A possible object. If only. Make life easier. If only. Development. If only. In reality. If only. In constantly growing numbers. If only. Serves the. If only. Bears dangers. If only. It is necessary for that. If only. Finally, they repeat over and over again, until the end, speaking softly: If only. If only. If only. Meanwhile, the Kaspars come forward (filing, etc.) and proceed to manhandle the speaking Kaspar with their files, etc. They make particular fun of one object, say a chair, laughing at it, imitating it, costuming it, dragging it off and imitating the sound it makes as it is being dragged across the floor, thus making it utterly ridiculous and making it and all other objects COMPLETELY IMPOSSIBLE. Kaspar 1 has gone on speaking:

I can hear the logs comfortably crackling in the fire, with which I want to say that I do not hear the bones crackling comfortably. The chair stands here, the table there, with which I mean to say that I am telling a story. I would not like to be older, but I would like for much time to have passed, with which I mean to say that a sentence is a monster, with which I mean to say that speaking can help temporarily, with which I mean to say that every object becomes ticklish when I am startled. I say: I can imagine to be everywhere now, except that I cannot imagine really being there, with which I mean to say that the doorknobs are empty. I can say: the air snaps shut, or: the room creaks, or: the curtain jingles, with which I mean to say that I don’t know where I should put or leave my hand, while I when I say that I don’t know where to put my hand mean to say that all doors tempt me only under the pretense that they can be opened, which sentence I would like to use in the sense of: my hair has gotten into the table as into a machine and I am scalped: literally: with each new sentence I become nauseous: figuratively: I have been turned topsy-turvy: I am in someone’s hand: I look to the other side: there prevails an unbloody calm: I cannot rid myself of myself any more: I toss the hat onto the meathook: every stool helps while dying: the furnishings are waterproof: the furniture is as it ought to be: nothing is open: the pain and its end come within sight: time must stop: thoughts become very small: I still experienced myself: I never saw myself: I put up no undue resistance: the shoes fit like gloves: I don’t get away with just a fright: the skin peels off: the foot sleeps itself dead: candles and bloodsuckers: ice and mosquitoes: horses and puss: hoarfrost and rats: eels and sicklebills:

Meantime, the other Kaspars are producing an infernal noise with their various tools which they have applied to the objects they have brought with them and to Kaspar 1. They are giggling, behave like crowds in crowd scenes in plays, ridicule Kaspar 1 by speaking in the same rhythm as he, etc. Kaspar 1 had also produced a file and makes similar noises by scraping with the file against the microphone while he is speaking his sentences. But now, all at once, an almost complete silence sets in. The Kaspars merely flap their arms about a little and gesticulate. They wriggle a little. They snuffle. Then Kaspar says:

Goats and monkeys With that, the curtain jolts a little toward the center, where the Kaspars are wriggling. The jolt produces a shrill sound. Goats and monkeys With an even shriller sound, the curtain jerks a little farther toward the middle. Goats and monkeys With an even shriller sound, the curtain jerks still farther toward the middle. Goats and monkeys With an even shriller sound, the curtain moves still more toward the center. Goats and monkeys With the shrillest possible sound, the curtain makes one final jerk toward the center, where the Kaspars are still wriggling a little. The curtain slams into them the moment Kaspar 1 says his last word: it topples all of them. They fall over, but fall behind the curtain, which has now come together. The piece is over.