NAVIGATION
SOCIAL
CONTACT
e-mail: info@theworldthroughwoodeneyes.co.uk
On the Marionette Theatre
By Heinrich von Kleist
While
spending
some
time
during
the
winter
of
1801
in
M,
one
evening
in
the
public
gardens
I
chanced
upon
Herr
C,
who
had
been
recently
engaged
as
the
leading
dancer
at
the
opera
house
and
who
had
found
exceptional
success
with
the
public
there.
I
mentioned
how
surprised
I
had
been
to
notice
him
on
several
occasions
attending
a
marionette
theatre
that
had
been
set
up
in
the
local
market
place,
which
entertained
the
masses
with
short
dramatic
burlesques,
interspersed
with
song
and
dance.
He
assured
me
that
the
performance
of
these
puppets
was
a
source
of
great
pleasure
to
him,
and
he
made
it
quite
clear
that
a
dancer
who
wished
to
improve
himself
could
learn
a
great
deal
from
observing
them.
Because
his
remarks
were
obviously not to be taken lightly, I sat down with him so that we might discuss his reasons for such a remarkable statement.
He
asked
me
if
indeed
I
hadn't
found
some
of
the
movements
of
the
puppets,
particularly
the
smaller
ones,
to
be
exceedingly
graceful
in
the
dances.
I
could
not
refute
this
observation.
In
fact,
one
group
of
four
peasant
figures
had
danced
a
roundelay
in
such
fashion
that
Teniers
could
not
have
painted
anything more charming.
I
was
curious
about
the
mechanics
of
these
figures
and
asked
how
it
was
possible
to
control
parts
of
each
limb
according
to
the
demands
of
the
rhythm
of
the
dance
without
having
myriads
of
strings
attached
to
the
fingers.
He
informed
me
that
I
must
not
suppose
that
every
single
limb,
during
the
various
movements
of
the
dance,
was
placed
and
controlled
by
the
puppeteer.
Each
movement,
he
said,
will
have
a
centre
of
gravity;
it
would
suffice
to
direct
this
crucial
point
to
the
inside
of
the
figure.
The
limbs
that
function
as
nothing
more
than
a
pendulum,
swinging
freely,
will
follow
the
movement
in
their
own
fashion
without
anyone's
aid.
He
further
stated
that
this
movement
was
really
quite
simple;
that
each
time
the
centre
of
gravity
was
moved
in
a
direct
line,
the
limbs
would
start
to
describe
a
curve;
and
that
often
when
simply
shaken
in
an
arbitrary
manner,
the
whole
figure
assumed
a
kind
of
rhythmic movement that was identical to dance.
These
remarks
seemed
to
throw
some
light
on
the
pleasure
that
he
maintained
he
discovered
in
the
marionette
theatre.
However,
I
as
yet
had
no
idea
of
the
consequences
he
would
later
draw
from
these
observations.
I
asked
him
if
he
thought
that
the
puppeteer
who
controlled
these
figures
was
himself a dancer, or at least if he did not have to possess an understanding of the aesthetic of the dance.
He
replied
that
though
such
a
task
might
be
simple
from
a
purely
mechanical
viewpoint,
it
did
not
necessarily
follow
that
it
could
be
managed
entirely
without some feeling.
The
line
that
the
centre
of
gravity
must
describe
was,
to
be
sure,
very
simple,
and
was,
he
felt,
in
most
cases
a
straight
line.
In
cases
where
that
line
is
not
straight,
it
appears
that
the
law
of
the
curvature
is
at
least
of
the
first
or,
at
best,
of
the
second
rank,
and
additionally
in
this
latter
case
only
elliptical.
This
form
of
movement
of
the
human
body's
extremities
is
natural,
because
of
the
joints,
and
therefore
would
require
no
great
skill
on
the
part
of
the
puppeteer
to
approximate
it.
But
viewed
in
another
way,
this
line
is
something
very
mysterious.
For
it
is
nothing
other
than
the
path
to
the
soul
of
the
dancer,
and
Herr
C.
doubted
that
it
could
be
proven
otherwise
that
through
this
line
the
puppeteer
placed
himself
in
the
centre
of
gravity
of
the marionette; that is to say, in other words, that the puppeteer danced.
I replied that a puppeteer's work had been suggested as something rather dull: somewhat like grinding the handle of a hurdy-gurdy.
Not
at
all,
he
replied.
Rather
the
movement
of
his
fingers
has
a
somewhat
artificial
relationship
to
those
of
the
attached
puppets,
somewhat
like
the
relationship
of
numbers
to
logarithms
or
the
asymptote
to
the
hyperbola.
Furthermore
he
stated
the
belief
that
this
final
trace
of
the
intellect
could
eventually
be
removed
from
the
marionettes,
so
that
their
dance
could
pass
entirely
over
into
the
world
of
the
mechanical
and
be
operated
by
means
of
a
handle,
such
as
I
had
suggested.
My
astonishment
now
grew
even
greater,
with
the
realisation
that
he
considered
this
entertainment
of
the
masses
worthy of a higher art.
He
smiled
and
replied
that
he
dared
to
venture
that
a
marionette
constructed
by
a
craftsman
according
to
his
requirements
could
perform
a
dance
that
neither
he
nor
any
other
outstanding
dancer
of
his
time,
not
even
Vestris
himself,
could
equal.
Have
you,
he
asked
while
I
gazed
thoughtfully
at
the
ground,
ever
heard
of
those
mechanical
legs
that
English
craftsmen
manufacture
for
unfortunate
people
who
have
lost
their
own
limbs?
I
replied
that
I
had
never
seen
such
artifacts.
That's
a
shame,
he
replied,
for
when
I
tell
you
that
these
unfortunate
people
are
able
to
dance
with
the
use
of
them,
you
most
certainly
will
not
believe
me.
What
do
I
mean
by
using
the
word
dance?
The
span
of
their
movements
is
quite
limited,
but
those
movements
of
which they are capable are accomplished with a composure, lightness, and grace that would amaze any sensitive observer.
I
suggested
somewhat
jokingly
that
in
this
way
he
had
found
his
man.
For
this
same
craftsman
who
would
be
capable
of
constructing
such
a
strange
limb
would
doubtless
be
able
to
construct
an
entire
marionette
according
to
his
requirements.
What
then,
I
asked,
as
he
for
his
part
looked
down
at
the
ground somewhat embarrassed, are the requirements necessary to accomplish this technical skill?
Nothing,
he
replied,
except
what
I
have
already
observed
here:
symmetry,
mobility,
lightness;
only
all
of
that
to
a
higher
degree
and
particularly
a
more
natural disposition of the centres of gravity. And the advantage such a puppet would have over a living dancer?
The
advantage?
First
a
negative
gain,
my
excellent
friend,
specifically
this:
that
such
a
figure
would
never
be
affected.
For
affectation
appears,
as
you
know,
when
the
soul
(vis
matrix)
locates
itself
at
any
point
other
than
the
centre
of
gravity
of
the
movement.
Because
the
puppeteer
absolutely
controls
the
wire
or
string,
he
controls
and
has
power
over
no
other
point
than
this
one:
therefore
all
the
other
limbs
are
what
they
should
be—dead,
pure
pendulums following the simple law of gravity, an outstanding quality that we look for in vain in most dancers.
Take
for
example
the
dancer
P.,
he
continued.
When
she
dances
Daphne
and
is
pursued
by
Apollo,
she
looks
back
at
him,
her
soul
is
located
in
the
vertebrae
of
the
small
of
her
back;
she
bends
as
if
she
were
about
to
break
in
half,
like
a
naiad
from
the
school
of
Bernini.
And
look
at
the
young
dancer
F.
When
he
dances
Paris
and
stands
among
the
three
goddesses
and
hands
the
apple
to
Venus,
his
soul
is
located
precisely
in
his
elbow,
and
it
is
a
frightful
thing
to
behold.
Such
mistakes,
he
mused,
cutting
himself
short,
are
inevitable
because
we
have
eaten
of
the
tree
of
knowledge.
And
Paradise
is
bolted,
with
the
cherub
behind
us;
we
must
journey
around
the
world
and
determine
if
perhaps
at
the
end
somewhere
there
is
an
opening
to
be
discovered again.
I
laughed.
Indeed,
I
thought,
the
spirit
cannot
err
where
it
does
not
exist.
Yet!
noticed
that
he
had
still
other
things
on
his
mind
and
invited
him
to
continue.
In
addition,
he
went
on,
these
puppets
possess
the
virtue
of
being
immune
to
gravity's
force.
They
know
nothing
of
the
inertia
of
matter,
that
quality
which
above
all
is
diametrically
opposed
to
the
dance,
because
the
force
that
lifts
them
into
the
air
is
greater
than
the
one
that
binds
them
to
the
earth.
What
wouldn't
our
good
G.
give,
to
be
sixty
pounds
lighter,
or
to
use
a
force
of
this
weight
to
assist
her
with
her
entrechats
and
pirouettes?
Like
elves,
the
puppets
need
only
to
touch
upon
the
ground,
and
the
soaring
of
their
limbs
is
newly
animated
through
this
momentary
hesitation;
we
dancers
need
the
ground
to
rest
upon
and
recover
from
the
exertion
of
the
dance;
a
moment
that
is
certainly
no
kind
of
dance
in
itself
and
with
which
nothing
further
can be done except to at least make it seem to not exist.
I
replied
that
although
he
handled
his
paradoxes
with
skill,
he
would
never
convince
me
that
in
a
mechanical
figure
there
could
be
more
grace
than
in
the structure of the human body.
He
replied
that
it
would
be
almost
impossible
for
a
man
to
attain
even
an
approximation
of
a
mechanical
being.
In
such
a
realm
only
a
God
could
measure up to this matter, and this is the point where both ends of the circular world would join one another.
I grew even more amazed and simply did not know how to reply to such strange statements.
It
would
seem,
he
continued
while
taking
a
pinch
of
snuff,
that
I
had
not
read
very
carefully
the
third
chapter
of
the
first
Book
of
Moses;
and
whoever
was
not
acquainted
with
that
first
period
of
human
civilization
could
not
reasonably
discuss
the
matters
at
hand
and,
even
less
so,
the
ultimate
questions.
I
told
him
that
I
understood
only
too
well
how
consciousness
creates
disorder
in
the
natural
harmony
of
men.
A
young
friend
of
mine
had
lost
his
innocence,
and
Paradise
too,
simply
because
of
an
observation
he
made
that
I
witnessed
at
the
same
time;
after
that
moment,
in
spite
of
all
possible
attempts, he never again regained it. However, I ventured, what conclusions can you draw from that?
He asked me to explain the incident to which I referred.
About
three
years
ago,
I
explained,
I
went
swimming
with
a
young
man
whose
personality
was
possessed
of
a
natural
charm.
He
was
probably
about
sixteen
years
old
at
the
time,
and
only
from
a
distance
could
one
notice
the
first
traces
of
vanity
in
him,
a
quality
brought
about
by
the
attentions
of
women.
Now
it
happened
that
a
short
time
before
in
Paris
we
had
seen
the
statue
of
the
youth
pulling
a
splinter
from
his
foot.
Copies
of
that
statue
are
well
known
and
can
be
seen
in
most
German
collections.
My
friend
was
reminded
of
this
statue
when
after
our
swim
he
placed
his
foot
on
the
footstool
to
dry
it
and
at
the
same
time
glanced
into
a
large
mirror;
he
smiled
and
told
me
what
a
discovery
he
had
made.
And
indeed
I
had
made
the
same
observation
at
the
same
moment;
but
whether
it
was
that
I
wanted
to
test
the
security
of
his
natural
charm,
or
whether
I
wanted
to
challenge
his
vanity,
I
laughed
and
replied
that
he
was
imagining
things.
He
blushed
and
lifted
his
foot
a
second
time
to
show
me;
as
one
could
have
easily
predicted,
the
attempt
failed.
Confused,
he
lifted
his
foot
a
third,
a
fourth,
even
a
tenth
time:
in
vain!
He
was
unable
to
duplicate
the
same
movement.
What
can
I
say? The movements he made became so comical I could hardly keep from laughing.
From
that
day
on,
from
that
very
moment
on,
an
inexplicable
change
took
place
in
this
young
man.
He
began
to
stand
in
front
of
the
mirror
all
day
long,
and
one
virtue
after
another
dropped
away
from
him.
An
invisible
and
inexplicable
power
like
an
iron
net
seemed
to
seize
upon
the
spontaneity
of
his
bearing,
and
after
a
year
there
was
no
trace
of
the
charm
that
had
so
delighted
those
who
knew
him.
There
is
only
one
other
person
alive
today
who
witnessed that strange and unhappy incident, and who would confirm it for you word for word as I have related it.
Following
his
line
of
thought,
Herr
C.
said
kindly,
I
must
in
turn
tell
you
another
story,
and
you
will
easily
understand
why
I
tell
it
now.
While
travelling
in
Russia,
I
came
upon
the
country
estate
of
Herr
von
G.,
a
Livonian
nobleman,
whose
sons
were
at
that
time
seriously
engaged
in
learning
to
fence.
The
oldest
boy,
who
had
just
returned
from
the
university,
in
particular
regarded
himself
as
somewhat
of
a
virtuoso,
and
one
morning
while
in
his
room
he
offered
me
a
foil.
We
fenced,
but
as
it
turned
out
I
was
superior
to
him.
The
heat
of
anger
further
added
to
his
confusion.
Almost
every
blow
I
struck
was
successful
and
finally
his
foil
was
knocked
into
a
corner
of
the
room.
As
he
picked
up
the
foil
he
admitted,
half
jokingly,
half
angrily,
that
he
had
met
his
master;
but
everything
in
this
world
meets
its
master
and
thereupon
he
proposed
to
conduct
me
to
mine.
The
brothers
laughed
loudly
and
cried:
Let's
be
off!
Let's
go!
Down
to
the
lumber
yard!
And
with
that
they
led
the
way
to
a
bear
that
their
father,
Herr
von
G.,
was
having
trained
in
the
open
yard.
The
bear
stood,
to
my
amazement,
on
his
hind
legs,
his
back
leaning
against
a
stake
to
which
he
was
chained,
with
his
right
paw
raised
ready
for
combat,
and
looked
me
in
the
eye:
this
was
his
fencing
position.
It
seemed
to
me
that
I
was
dreaming
when
I
first
faced
this
adversary;
but
strike!
strike!
cried
Herr
von
G.,
and
see
if
you
can
score
a
hit.
Having
recovered
somewhat
from
my
amazement,
I
went
at
him
with
my
foil;
the
bear
made
a
slight
movement
of
his
paw
and
parried
the
blow.
I
tried
to
throw
him
off
guard
by
feints,
the
bear
did
not
stir.
I
went
at
him
again
with
a
renewed
burst
of
energy;
without
a
doubt
I
would
have
struck
the
chest
of
a
man.
The
bear
made
a
slight
movement
of
his
paw
and
parried
the
blow.
Now
I
found
myself
in
almost
the
same
circumstance
as
the
young
Herr
von
G.
The
single-mindedness
of
the
bear
served
to
reduce
my
self-assurance;
as
thrusts
and
feints
followed
each
other,
I
was
dripping
with
perspiration.
But
all
was
in
vain!
Not
only
was
the
bear
able
to
parry
all
my
blows
like
some
world
champion
fencer,
but
all
the
feints
I
attempted—and
this
no
fencer
in
the
world
could
duplicate—went
unnoticed
by
the
bear.
Eye
to
eye,
as
if
he
could
see
into
my
very
soul,
he
stood
there,
his
paw
raised
ready
for
combat,
and
whenever
my
thrusts
were
not
intended
as
strikes,
he
simply
did
not move. Do you believe this story, he asked?
Absolutely,
I
replied
with
encouraging
approval;
it
is
plausible
enough
that
I
would
have
believed
it
had
any
stranger
told
me,
but
it
is
even
more
plausible coming from you.
Now,
my
excellent
friend,
said
Herr
C.,
you
are
in
possession
of
everything
that
is
necessary
to
comprehend
what
I
am
saying.
We
can
see
the
degree
to
which
contemplation
becomes
darker
and
weaker
in
the
organic
world,
so
that
the
grace
that
is
there
emerges
all
the
more
shining
and
triumphant,
just
as
the
intersection
of
two
lines
from
the
same
side
of
a
point
after
passing
through
the
infinite
suddenly
finds
itself
again
on
the
other
side
or
as
the
image
from
a
concave
mirror,
after
having
gone
off
into
the
infinite,
suddenly
appears
before
us
again
so
grace
returns
after
knowledge
has
gone
through
the
world
of
the
infinite,
in
that
it
appears
to
best
advantage
in
that
human
bodily
structure
that
has
no
consciousness
at
all
or
has
infinite
consciousness that is, in the mechanical puppet, or in the God.
Therefore, I replied, somewhat at loose ends, we would have to eat again of the tree of knowledge to fall back again into a state of innocence?
Most certainly, he replied: That is the last chapter of the history of the world.
Translated by THOMAS G. NEUMILLER
The
essay
Uber
das
Marionetten
Theatre
was
first
published
in
four
installments
in
the
daily
Berliner
Abendblatter
from
December
12
to
15,
1810.
Kleist
was editor of the newspaper.
Kleist on the
Marionette theatre
CONTACT
e-mail: info@theworldthroughwoodeneyes.co.uk
SOCIAL
On the Marionette Theatre
By Heinrich von Kleist
While
spending
some
time
during
the
winter
of
1801
in
M,
one
evening
in
the
public
gardens
I
chanced
upon
Herr
C,
who
had
been
recently
engaged
as
the
leading
dancer
at
the
opera
house
and
who
had
found
exceptional
success
with
the
public
there.
I
mentioned
how
surprised
I
had
been
to
notice
him
on
several
occasions
attending
a
marionette
theatre
that
had
been
set
up
in
the
local
market
place,
which
entertained
the
masses
with
short
dramatic
burlesques,
interspersed
with
song
and
dance.
He
assured
me
that
the
performance
of
these
puppets
was
a
source
of
great
pleasure
to
him,
and
he
made
it
quite
clear
that
a
dancer
who
wished
to
improve
himself
could
learn
a
great
deal
from
observing
them.
Because
his
remarks
were
obviously
not
to
be
taken
lightly,
I
sat
down
with
him
so
that
we might discuss his reasons for such a remarkable statement.
He
asked
me
if
indeed
I
hadn't
found
some
of
the
movements
of
the
puppets,
particularly
the
smaller
ones,
to
be
exceedingly
graceful
in
the
dances.
I
could
not
refute
this
observation.
In
fact,
one
group
of
four
peasant
figures
had
danced
a
roundelay
in
such
fashion
that
Teniers
could
not
have
painted
anything
more charming.
I
was
curious
about
the
mechanics
of
these
figures
and
asked
how
it
was
possible
to
control
parts
of
each
limb
according
to
the
demands
of
the
rhythm
of
the
dance
without
having
myriads
of
strings
attached
to
the
fingers.
He
informed
me
that
I
must
not
suppose
that
every
single
limb,
during
the
various
movements
of
the
dance,
was
placed
and
controlled
by
the
puppeteer.
Each
movement,
he
said,
will
have
a
centre
of
gravity;
it
would
suffice
to
direct
this
crucial
point
to
the
inside
of
the
figure.
The
limbs
that
function
as
nothing
more
than
a
pendulum,
swinging
freely,
will
follow
the
movement
in
their
own
fashion
without
anyone's
aid.
He
further
stated
that
this
movement
was
really
quite
simple;
that
each
time
the
centre
of
gravity
was
moved
in
a
direct
line,
the
limbs
would
start
to
describe
a
curve;
and
that
often
when
simply
shaken
in
an
arbitrary
manner,
the
whole
figure
assumed
a
kind
of
rhythmic
movement that was identical to dance.
These
remarks
seemed
to
throw
some
light
on
the
pleasure
that
he
maintained
he
discovered
in
the
marionette
theatre.
However,
I
as
yet
had
no
idea
of
the
consequences
he
would
later
draw
from
these
observations.
I
asked
him
if
he
thought
that
the
puppeteer
who
controlled
these
figures
was
himself
a
dancer,
or
at
least
if
he
did
not
have
to
possess
an
understanding of the aesthetic of the dance.
He
replied
that
though
such
a
task
might
be
simple
from
a
purely
mechanical
viewpoint,
it
did
not
necessarily
follow
that
it
could be managed entirely without some feeling.
The
line
that
the
centre
of
gravity
must
describe
was,
to
be
sure,
very
simple,
and
was,
he
felt,
in
most
cases
a
straight
line.
In
cases
where
that
line
is
not
straight,
it
appears
that
the
law
of
the
curvature
is
at
least
of
the
first
or,
at
best,
of
the
second
rank,
and
additionally
in
this
latter
case
only
elliptical.
This
form
of
movement
of
the
human
body's
extremities
is
natural,
because
of
the
joints,
and
therefore
would
require
no
great
skill
on
the
part
of
the
puppeteer
to
approximate
it.
But
viewed
in
another
way,
this
line
is
something
very
mysterious.
For
it
is
nothing
other
than
the
path
to
the
soul
of
the
dancer,
and
Herr
C.
doubted
that
it
could
be
proven
otherwise
that
through
this
line
the
puppeteer
placed
himself
in
the
centre
of
gravity
of
the
marionette;
that
is
to
say,
in
other
words,
that
the puppeteer danced.
I
replied
that
a
puppeteer's
work
had
been
suggested
as
something
rather
dull:
somewhat
like
grinding
the
handle
of
a
hurdy-gurdy.
Not
at
all,
he
replied.
Rather
the
movement
of
his
fingers
has
a
somewhat
artificial
relationship
to
those
of
the
attached
puppets,
somewhat
like
the
relationship
of
numbers
to
logarithms
or
the
asymptote
to
the
hyperbola.
Furthermore
he
stated
the
belief
that
this
final
trace
of
the
intellect
could
eventually
be
removed
from
the
marionettes,
so
that
their
dance
could
pass
entirely
over
into
the
world
of
the
mechanical
and
be
operated
by
means
of
a
handle,
such
as
I
had
suggested.
My
astonishment
now
grew
even
greater,
with
the
realisation
that
he
considered
this
entertainment
of
the
masses
worthy of a higher art.
He
smiled
and
replied
that
he
dared
to
venture
that
a
marionette
constructed
by
a
craftsman
according
to
his
requirements
could
perform
a
dance
that
neither
he
nor
any
other
outstanding
dancer
of
his
time,
not
even
Vestris
himself,
could
equal.
Have
you,
he
asked
while
I
gazed
thoughtfully
at
the
ground,
ever
heard
of
those
mechanical
legs
that
English
craftsmen
manufacture
for
unfortunate
people
who
have
lost
their
own
limbs?
I
replied
that
I
had
never
seen
such
artifacts.
That's
a
shame,
he
replied,
for
when
I
tell
you
that
these
unfortunate
people
are
able
to
dance
with
the
use
of
them,
you
most
certainly
will
not
believe
me.
What
do
I
mean
by
using
the
word
dance?
The
span
of
their
movements
is
quite
limited,
but
those
movements
of
which
they
are
capable
are
accomplished
with
a
composure,
lightness,
and
grace
that
would amaze any sensitive observer.
I
suggested
somewhat
jokingly
that
in
this
way
he
had
found
his
man.
For
this
same
craftsman
who
would
be
capable
of
constructing
such
a
strange
limb
would
doubtless
be
able
to
construct
an
entire
marionette
according
to
his
requirements.
What
then,
I
asked,
as
he
for
his
part
looked
down
at
the
ground
somewhat
embarrassed,
are
the
requirements
necessary to accomplish this technical skill?
Nothing,
he
replied,
except
what
I
have
already
observed
here:
symmetry,
mobility,
lightness;
only
all
of
that
to
a
higher
degree
and
particularly
a
more
natural
disposition
of
the
centres
of
gravity.
And
the
advantage
such
a
puppet
would
have over a living dancer?
The
advantage?
First
a
negative
gain,
my
excellent
friend,
specifically
this:
that
such
a
figure
would
never
be
affected.
For
affectation
appears,
as
you
know,
when
the
soul
(vis
matrix)
locates
itself
at
any
point
other
than
the
centre
of
gravity
of
the
movement.
Because
the
puppeteer
absolutely
controls
the
wire
or
string,
he
controls
and
has
power
over
no
other
point
than
this
one:
therefore
all
the
other
limbs
are
what
they
should
be—dead,
pure
pendulums
following
the
simple
law
of
gravity,
an outstanding quality that we look for in vain in most dancers.
Take
for
example
the
dancer
P.,
he
continued.
When
she
dances
Daphne
and
is
pursued
by
Apollo,
she
looks
back
at
him,
her
soul
is
located
in
the
vertebrae
of
the
small
of
her
back;
she
bends
as
if
she
were
about
to
break
in
half,
like
a
naiad
from
the
school
of
Bernini.
And
look
at
the
young
dancer
F.
When
he
dances
Paris
and
stands
among
the
three
goddesses
and
hands
the
apple
to
Venus,
his
soul
is
located
precisely
in
his
elbow,
and
it
is
a
frightful
thing
to
behold.
Such
mistakes,
he
mused,
cutting
himself
short,
are
inevitable
because
we
have
eaten
of
the
tree
of
knowledge.
And
Paradise
is
bolted,
with
the
cherub
behind
us;
we
must
journey
around
the
world
and
determine
if
perhaps
at
the
end
somewhere
there
is
an
opening
to
be
discovered again.
I
laughed.
Indeed,
I
thought,
the
spirit
cannot
err
where
it
does
not
exist.
Yet!
noticed
that
he
had
still
other
things
on
his
mind
and invited him to continue.
In
addition,
he
went
on,
these
puppets
possess
the
virtue
of
being
immune
to
gravity's
force.
They
know
nothing
of
the
inertia
of
matter,
that
quality
which
above
all
is
diametrically
opposed
to
the
dance,
because
the
force
that
lifts
them
into
the
air
is
greater
than
the
one
that
binds
them
to
the
earth.
What
wouldn't
our
good
G.
give,
to
be
sixty
pounds
lighter,
or
to
use
a
force
of
this
weight
to
assist
her
with
her
entrechats
and
pirouettes?
Like
elves,
the
puppets
need
only
to
touch
upon
the
ground,
and
the
soaring
of
their
limbs
is
newly
animated
through
this
momentary
hesitation;
we
dancers
need
the
ground
to
rest
upon
and
recover
from
the
exertion
of
the
dance;
a
moment
that
is
certainly
no
kind
of
dance
in
itself
and
with
which
nothing
further
can
be
done
except
to
at
least
make
it seem to not exist.
I
replied
that
although
he
handled
his
paradoxes
with
skill,
he
would
never
convince
me
that
in
a
mechanical
figure
there
could be more grace than in the structure of the human body.
He
replied
that
it
would
be
almost
impossible
for
a
man
to
attain
even
an
approximation
of
a
mechanical
being.
In
such
a
realm
only
a
God
could
measure
up
to
this
matter,
and
this
is
the
point
where
both
ends
of
the
circular
world
would
join
one
another.
I
grew
even
more
amazed
and
simply
did
not
know
how
to
reply to such strange statements.
It
would
seem,
he
continued
while
taking
a
pinch
of
snuff,
that
I
had
not
read
very
carefully
the
third
chapter
of
the
first
Book
of
Moses;
and
whoever
was
not
acquainted
with
that
first
period
of
human
civilization
could
not
reasonably
discuss
the
matters at hand and, even less so, the ultimate questions.
I
told
him
that
I
understood
only
too
well
how
consciousness
creates
disorder
in
the
natural
harmony
of
men.
A
young
friend
of
mine
had
lost
his
innocence,
and
Paradise
too,
simply
because
of
an
observation
he
made
that
I
witnessed
at
the
same
time;
after
that
moment,
in
spite
of
all
possible
attempts,
he
never
again
regained
it.
However,
I
ventured,
what
conclusions can you draw from that?
He asked me to explain the incident to which I referred.
About
three
years
ago,
I
explained,
I
went
swimming
with
a
young
man
whose
personality
was
possessed
of
a
natural
charm.
He
was
probably
about
sixteen
years
old
at
the
time,
and
only
from
a
distance
could
one
notice
the
first
traces
of
vanity
in
him,
a
quality
brought
about
by
the
attentions
of
women.
Now
it
happened
that
a
short
time
before
in
Paris
we
had
seen
the
statue
of
the
youth
pulling
a
splinter
from
his
foot.
Copies
of
that
statue
are
well
known
and
can
be
seen
in
most
German
collections.
My
friend
was
reminded
of
this
statue
when
after
our
swim
he
placed
his
foot
on
the
footstool
to
dry
it
and
at
the
same
time
glanced
into
a
large
mirror;
he
smiled
and
told
me
what
a
discovery
he
had
made.
And
indeed
I
had
made
the
same
observation
at
the
same
moment;
but
whether
it
was
that
I
wanted
to
test
the
security
of
his
natural
charm,
or
whether
I
wanted
to
challenge
his
vanity,
I
laughed
and
replied
that
he
was
imagining
things.
He
blushed
and
lifted
his
foot
a
second
time
to
show
me;
as
one
could
have
easily
predicted,
the
attempt
failed.
Confused,
he
lifted
his
foot
a
third,
a
fourth,
even
a
tenth
time:
in
vain!
He
was
unable
to
duplicate
the
same
movement.
What
can
I
say?
The
movements
he
made
became so comical I could hardly keep from laughing.
From
that
day
on,
from
that
very
moment
on,
an
inexplicable
change
took
place
in
this
young
man.
He
began
to
stand
in
front
of
the
mirror
all
day
long,
and
one
virtue
after
another
dropped
away
from
him.
An
invisible
and
inexplicable
power
like
an
iron
net
seemed
to
seize
upon
the
spontaneity
of
his
bearing,
and
after
a
year
there
was
no
trace
of
the
charm
that
had
so
delighted
those
who
knew
him.
There
is
only
one
other
person
alive
today
who
witnessed
that
strange
and
unhappy
incident,
and
who
would
confirm
it
for
you
word
for
word
as
I
have related it.
Following
his
line
of
thought,
Herr
C.
said
kindly,
I
must
in
turn
tell
you
another
story,
and
you
will
easily
understand
why
I
tell
it
now.
While
travelling
in
Russia,
I
came
upon
the
country
estate
of
Herr
von
G.,
a
Livonian
nobleman,
whose
sons
were
at
that
time
seriously
engaged
in
learning
to
fence.
The
oldest
boy,
who
had
just
returned
from
the
university,
in
particular
regarded
himself
as
somewhat
of
a
virtuoso,
and
one
morning
while
in
his
room
he
offered
me
a
foil.
We
fenced,
but
as
it
turned
out
I
was
superior
to
him.
The
heat
of
anger
further
added
to
his
confusion.
Almost
every
blow
I
struck
was
successful
and
finally
his
foil
was
knocked
into
a
corner
of
the
room.
As
he
picked
up
the
foil
he
admitted,
half
jokingly,
half
angrily,
that
he
had
met
his
master;
but
everything
in
this
world
meets
its
master
and
thereupon
he
proposed
to
conduct
me
to
mine.
The
brothers
laughed
loudly
and
cried:
Let's
be
off!
Let's
go!
Down
to
the
lumber
yard!
And
with
that
they
led
the
way
to
a
bear
that
their
father,
Herr
von
G.,
was
having
trained
in
the
open
yard.
The
bear
stood,
to
my
amazement,
on
his
hind
legs,
his
back
leaning
against
a
stake
to
which
he
was
chained,
with
his
right
paw
raised
ready
for
combat,
and
looked
me
in
the
eye:
this
was
his
fencing
position.
It
seemed
to
me
that
I
was
dreaming
when
I
first
faced
this
adversary;
but
strike!
strike!
cried
Herr
von
G.,
and
see
if
you
can
score
a
hit.
Having
recovered
somewhat
from
my
amazement,
I
went
at
him
with
my
foil;
the
bear
made
a
slight
movement
of
his
paw
and
parried
the
blow.
I
tried
to
throw
him
off
guard
by
feints,
the
bear
did
not
stir.
I
went
at
him
again
with
a
renewed
burst
of
energy;
without
a
doubt
I
would
have
struck
the
chest
of
a
man.
The
bear
made
a
slight
movement
of
his
paw
and
parried
the
blow.
Now
I
found
myself
in
almost
the
same
circumstance
as
the
young
Herr
von
G.
The
single-mindedness
of
the
bear
served
to
reduce
my
self-assurance;
as
thrusts
and
feints
followed
each
other,
I
was
dripping
with
perspiration.
But
all
was
in
vain!
Not
only
was
the
bear
able
to
parry
all
my
blows
like
some
world
champion
fencer,
but
all
the
feints
I
attempted—and
this
no
fencer
in
the
world
could
duplicate—went
unnoticed
by
the
bear.
Eye
to
eye,
as
if
he
could
see
into
my
very
soul,
he
stood
there,
his
paw
raised
ready
for
combat,
and
whenever
my
thrusts
were
not
intended
as
strikes,
he
simply
did
not
move.
Do
you
believe
this
story,
he asked?
Absolutely,
I
replied
with
encouraging
approval;
it
is
plausible
enough
that
I
would
have
believed
it
had
any
stranger
told
me,
but it is even more plausible coming from you.
Now,
my
excellent
friend,
said
Herr
C.,
you
are
in
possession
of
everything
that
is
necessary
to
comprehend
what
I
am
saying.
We
can
see
the
degree
to
which
contemplation
becomes
darker
and
weaker
in
the
organic
world,
so
that
the
grace
that
is
there
emerges
all
the
more
shining
and
triumphant,
just
as
the
intersection
of
two
lines
from
the
same
side
of
a
point
after
passing
through
the
infinite
suddenly
finds
itself
again
on
the
other
side
or
as
the
image
from
a
concave
mirror,
after
having
gone
off
into
the
infinite,
suddenly
appears
before
us
again
so
grace
returns
after
knowledge
has
gone
through
the
world
of
the
infinite,
in
that
it
appears
to
best
advantage
in
that
human
bodily
structure
that
has
no
consciousness
at
all
or
has
infinite
consciousness that is, in the mechanical puppet, or in the God.
Therefore,
I
replied,
somewhat
at
loose
ends,
we
would
have
to
eat
again
of
the
tree
of
knowledge
to
fall
back
again
into
a
state of innocence?
Most
certainly,
he
replied:
That
is
the
last
chapter
of
the
history
of the world.
Translated by THOMAS G. NEUMILLER
The
essay
Uber
das
Marionetten
Theatre
was
first
published
in
four
installments
in
the
daily
Berliner
Abendblatter
from
December 12 to 15, 1810. Kleist was editor of the newspaper.
Kleist on the
Marionette theatre
