Daybreak

Nietsche on the verge of long-hoped for success

Daybreak

- Nietzsche at the end

-Tell us what you can about the events of that day.  What was his mood?

 

-Oh he was like a sunburst that morning.  We all remarked it.  He could be gloomy, poor man, such a variety he had of headaches and such, but that morning no.  Laughing, teasing, dancing his pretend waltz with those grand theatrical gestures that never stopped seeming peculiar-- 

 

-Peculiar?

-No.  I suppose I should leave that to the medical doctors.

-We don’t need a diagnosis.  Just say what you saw and heard.

-He'd been having such intense imaginings, as from a high fever.  He often spoke in vague terms of some great arising, a wondrous dawn.

That morning after breakfast he said he must go into the street, that there were crowds waiting for him to address them.  But of course there were always crowds in the street on a busy morning.

 

I said to him, ‘Herr Professor, are you going out like that’?  And he didn’t know my meaning.

 

He said, ‘Of course.  They are expecting me.  I am known!’

‘Your nightcap, Herr Professor’, I said.  ‘Surely you won’t be wearing that on the street?’

 

He was not at all concerned.  ‘Do you not understand it is a giddy time?  That I may do giddy things?"  In a confiding tone he added, 'There are royal persons I must see who can’t very well be kept waiting.’ 

 

‘A king or queen,’ I said, trying to join in on the joke.

 

‘Yes,’ he said.  'Forward looking men.  Who recognize one can be not just a philosopher but at the same time a buffoon.’  And he gave a hearty laugh.

‘Such fanciful thinking, Herr Professor,’ was all I could manage.  It was all so gay and so sad.

Our gazes met and he happened onto a mood of reflection, his eyes narrowing in that way of his, an eagle scanning the field.  He said with what I can only think of as a last gasp of lucidity:

 

‘I will tell you what I have been these many years: a subterranean man. Burrowing in dark tunnels, inching forward a cautious advance.  Breathing what little air such circumstance allowed.   Deprived yes, of air and light.  But not the vision of air and light.

‘Did I seem content?  Did you think me happy?  Perhaps I was.  Perhaps I knew unhappiness then was necessary to the fulfillment which now uplifts me.  To arrive at the surface!  My redemption!  My daybreak.’

 

Then he and his wide winking grin flew out the door.  Still with the nightcap on.

 

-And what do you know of the incident itself? 

-I know nothing of this incident that is so talked about.  That he wrapped his arms round a horse’s neck.

 

-They say he threw himself between the horse and the coachman’s whip.  Is it not so?

 

-If he did, I didn’t see it.  Late in the afternoon--as the dusk was gathering there was a knock at the door.  Two police had brought him.  They said he had been--the word they used was 'rioting'.  I didn’t bother about the details.  Once I saw the Professor’s condition, details seemed unimportant.

 

-And after that?

 

-He had gone as far as he could go.  Given what he had.  You'll excuse me now.  He must be bathed.  Then fed.  Then we both must find our way through this dark night.

Reviews

[Ken e Bujold]

A very interesting read Montag. The continuous flow of dialogue is almost a rave in today's time. I found myself being sucked in deeper and deeper, in search of something buried, never certain of what it was I hoped to find. Sort of how it was when I read the works of FN as a youth.

ken e