MM N 289. Literary sketch

Literary sketch. “Danseuse espa[g]nole [A Spanish dancer]”.

MM N 289, p. 1

    Danseuse espa[g]nole [A Spanish dancer]. 1 fr. well let
us go in then –
There was a long hall with galleries on both
sides Chairs and Tables under the galleries
one stood randomly about.

    At the far end of the room a lady
in a violet-coloured tricot balanced – on a tightrope – above all
the black top hats –

    Were there any other pretty faces to be
found here – pretty maiden faces – no.
But plenty of young uppish Frenchmen
with gleaming top hats – pointing upwards.

    No I will just have to sit alone – this constant
fatigue.

    I found a seat and leaned back
it was nice and warm and my feet were not
freezing.

    The Romanian singers were playing
their national songs.
– and [songs about] the joy and longing of Love
and love’s sorrows and the music blended
in with the surrounding colours.

    The area over by the stage was lit up in the
most vibrant colours – like the ones in the paint boxes we
were given when we were little

MM N 289, p. 2

    dazzling white and glaring
red in the Romanians’ costumes – yellow and green as well. The tobacco smoke
(The stage scenery Palms and water)
drifted in great blue-green clouds and
veiled everything behind it in a haze.

    The music and colours captured my thoughts
They followed the hazy clouds
and the soft
notes into a world that was
joyful and bright

    I was going to do something – begin [working on]
something. It would grip
others as I was gripped now

    I would depict two [persons] in
the most hallowed seconds of their lives –
How they are gripped by
that force that compels one more strongly
than all else – that has the colour of
the rose yet is more powerful than death

    In the instant one is no longer one-
self – but merely one of the thousand
generations – that
propagates the next generation.

    I saw a strong naked arm
covered in down – a powerful brown neck
and against the naked sturdy breast

MM N 289, p. 3

a young woman leans her head
She closes her eyes halfway and listens to
the words he whispers into her
flowing hair.
And her delicate skin converges
with his –

    And the public will sense
the sanctity of this – and they will
take off their hats as in a church.
The music ceased – there was clapping
Oh no – they will say that it is immoral
Yes but can something that is great and powerful
and hallowed be immoral and that for
millenniums have been the most
vital seconds known to man.
Yes they will punish you – insult you.

    So be it.
Now violins are being tuned.

    I heard a few notes I knew
what would follow
It was the Carilla waltz
It was like a seductive woman –
alluringly delicate and soft notes – that
lured one as though she were standing right there

MM N 289, p. 4

narrowing her eyes and smiling
an affectionate smile
and with her loveliest most delightful voice
she tickles our ear – first teasing
– then
pleading and pleasing

    We are ensnared
And she laughs and cheers and mocks – she rejects
us and then shows us clemency
And I envisioned her again for she whom
I was fond of – and whom I had hated
always sang this while smiling

    It is a woman’s voice that seduces
– delicate soft and affectionate at
first – as though she is coddling
a child.

    She tantalises with her voice she
intoxicates with her gaze – now
teasing – now pleading and pleasing

    And I am ensnared I am [no] longer myself
– her eyes are my soul
And she smiles and cheers – and mocks and torments

    I can see her – the one who always sang this
waltz

    That time she sang it at twilight of an evening
by the piano – and many were present in the sitting room. Yet her gaze
sought me out.

    And that time [she] hummed it at my breast and her
quivering mouth tickled my naked throat