Samuel Beckett's German Diaries 1936-1937

Samuel Becketts
German Diaries 19361937

Historicizing Modernism
Series Editors
Matthew Feldman, Senior Lecturer in Twentieth Century History, University
of Northampton, UK, and Erik Tonning, Research Director, University of
Bergen, Norway
Associate Editor
Paul Jackson, Lecturer in History, Open University, UK
Editorial Board
Professor Chris Ackerley, Department of English, University of Otago, New
Zealand; Professor Ron Bush, St. Johns College, University of Oxford, UK;
Dr Finn Fordham, Reader in 20th Century Literature, Royal Holloway,
UK; Professor Steven Matthews, Department of English, Oxford Brookes
University, UK; Dr Mark Nixon, Director, Beckett International Foundation,
University of Reading, UK; Professor Shane Weller, Department of
Comparative Literature, University of Kent, UK; Professor Janet Wilson,
Department of English, University of Northampton, UK
Historicizing Modernism challenges traditional literary interpretations by

taking an empirical approach to modernist writing: a direct response to new
documentary sources made available over the last decade.
Informed by archival approaches to literature, and working beyond the

usual European/American avant-garde 19001945 parameters, this series
reassesses established views of modernist writers by developing fresh views of
intellectual backgrounds, working methods, and manuscript research.
Series Titles
Katherine Mansfield and Literary Modernism
Edited by Janet Wilson, Gerri Kimber and Susan Reid
Reframing Yeats: Genre and History in the Poems, Prose and Plays
Charles Ivan Armstrong
Samuel Becketts German Diaries 19361937

Mark Nixon
Samuel Becketts More Pricks Than Kicks

John Pilling
Samuel Becketts
German Diaries 19361937
Mark Nixon
Continuum International Publishing Group
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Mark Nixon 2011
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Mark Nixon has asserted his right under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act,
1988, to be identified as author of this work.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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ISBN: 978-1-4411-5258-9 (hardcover)
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for aura
Das Wort zum Zur-Tiefe-gehn,

das wir gelesen haben.
Die Jahre, die Worte seither.
Wir sind es noch immer.
Weisst du, der Raum ist unendlich,

Weisst du, du brauchst nicht zu fliegen,
Weisst du, was sich in dein Aug schrieb,
vertieft uns die Tiefe.
(Paul Celan)
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Contents
List of Illustrations viii

Acknowledgements ix
Series Editors Preface xii
List of Abbreviations and Notes on the Text xiii
Introduction: Becketts German Diaries 1

1 Becketts Journey to Germany 19361937 6
2 Becketts German Diaries 19
3 Psychoanalysis, Quietism and Literary Waste 37
4 Beckett Reading German Literature 60
5 Beckett, Nazi Culture and Contemporary German Literature 84
6 Playing the Scales of Literature: Becketts Notesnatching 100
7 Becketts Journal of a Melancholic and Other Writing 110
8 Talking Pictures: Beckett and the Visual Arts 132
9 Clarifiers and Obscurantists: Towards a New Aesthetic 162
Conclusion: The Threshold of Words 187
Appendix: Becketts Travel Itinerary 193

Notes 194
Bibliography 224
Index 239
List of Illustrations
Figure 1 Visitors Book to the Schreckenskammer, Moritzburg,

Halle, 1937; courtesy of the Moritzburg, Halle. 137
Figure 2 Giorgione: Self-Portrait, c. 1510, Herzog Anton
Ulrich-Museum Braunschweig, Kunstmuseum
des Landes Niedersachsen. 144
Figure 3 Antonello da Messina: St. Sebastian, c. 147576,
Gemldegalerie Alte Meister, Staatliche
Kunstsammlungen Dresden. 146
Figure 4 Naumburger Master: Hermann and Reglindis, 1937,
West Screen, Naumburg Cathedral; courtesy of
Deutsche Fotothek. 150
Figure 5 Paul Czanne: Montagne Sainte-Victoire, 190506,
watercolour on paper, Tate, London;
Tate, London, 2010. 155
Figure 6 Karl Ballmer: Head in Red, c. 193031, tempera
and oil on plywood; courtesy of the Aargauer
Kunsthaus, Aarau. 156
Figure 7 Hercules Seghers: View of Rhenen, c. 162530,
oil on oak, Gemldegalerie Berlin; bpk /
Gemldegalerie, SMB /Jrg P. Anders. 160
Acknowledgements
This book has had a long genesis, as I have been working on Samuel
Becketts German diaries for precisely ten years. The book builds on my
PhD thesis, entitled what a tourist I must have been: Samuel Becketts
German Diaries, completed in 2005 under the supervision of Emeritus
Professor John Pilling at the University of Reading. Invariably, there have
been many people along the road who have enabled, encouraged and
supported my work on Becketts diaries, and it gives me great joy to
acknowledge, however inadequately, my debt to them here.
My first and foremost debt of gratitude is to John Pilling, who first drew
my attention to the German diaries in 1999. Over the past ten years, my
work has benefited from his limitless knowledge of all things Beckettian
in more ways than I can say. He has in numerous conversations offered
encouragement and invaluable insights, saved me from various errors
of fact and interpretation, and also provided relevant material. His own
scholarship has been a model and a source of inspiration to me, and his
friendship invaluable.
It is also a pleasure to acknowledge my gratitude to James Knowlson for
his boundless personal and intellectual generosity. Always finding the right
words at the right time, he has over the last ten years helped me to see more
clearly what matters, and what does not. This book has crucially benefited
from the fact that, several years ago, we decided to merge our transcriptions
of the German diaries. Thank you, Jim, for everything.
I am also grateful to the staff, past and present, at Special Collections of
the University of Reading: Mike Bott, Verity Andrews, Brian Ryder, Guy
Baxter and Nathan Williams. In particular, I would like to thank the former
Beckett Fellow, Julian Garforth, for all his help. For assistance, in many little
and big ways, I am grateful to Jan Cox in the English Department. My thanks
also go to individuals at various libraries and archives: Tom Staley, Richard
Workman and Rich Oram at the Harry Ransom Humanities Research
x Acknowledgements
Center in Austin, Jane Maxwell at Trinity College Dublin Library and John
Hodge at Washington University Library in St. Louis.
Many friends and colleagues have enriched my view of Beckett in conver-
sation and have been most helpful in providing material. I am particularly
grateful to Dirk Van Hulle, who both as a friend and a scholar has helped
me bring several blurred ideas into focus. Our many conversations over
the years have stimulated my thinking about Becketts work, and I have
benefited from his scholarly rigour and generosity during our collaborative
work on various projects. Matthew Feldman gave crucial assistance by
generously providing manuscript transcriptions. Thanks are also due to
Diane Lscher-Morata for letting me use her transcriptions from the Watt
notebooks, Sen Lawlor for the many good conversations, Klaus Albrecht
(Hamburg) for important information regarding his brother, Gnter, and
Axel Kaun, and for welcoming me to his home, and Roswitha Quadflieg
(Hamburg) for her friendship, encouragement and insights into Becketts
visit to Hamburg in 1936.
I have benefited from conversations about the German diaries (and
Becketts work in general) with many colleagues, in particular Karine
Germoni, Gaby Hartel, Frank Kaspar, Sen Kennedy, Michael Maier, Ulrika
Maude, James McNaughton, Matthias Mhling, Lois Overbeck, Erik
Tonning, David Tucker, Carola Veit and Shane Weller. I would also like
to thank my colleagues at the Beckett International Foundation, Rnn
McDonald, Jonathan Bignell and Mary Bryden. Needless to say, all errors in
this book are entirely my own.
I have published some essays in the last few years that are related to
chapters in this book. A version of Chapter 4 was published as Scraps of
German: Samuel Beckett reading German Literature, in Samuel Beckett
Today/Aujourdhui 16 (2006), and parts of Chapter 5 appeared as The
German Diaries 1936/37: Beckett und die moderne deutsche Literatur, in
Der Unbekannte Beckett: Samuel Beckett und die deutsche Kultur, eds Marion
Dieckmann-Fries and Therese Seidel (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 2005)
and as Gospel und Verbot: Beckett und Nazi Germany, in Das Raubauge
in der Stadt: Beckett liest Hamburg, eds Michaela Giesing, Gaby Hartel and
Carola Veit (Gttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2007).
I would like to thank Colleen Coalter and the staff at Continuum for their
editorial guidance (and patience), and the series editors Matthew Feldman
and Erik Tonning for giving this book a home. Finally, and crucially, I am
extremely grateful to Edward Beckett for granting permission on behalf of
the Estate of Samuel Beckett to cite from unpublished material, and for
supporting my work over the years. I am also grateful to the Harry Ransom
Acknowledgements xi
Humanities Research Center, the University of Texas at Austin, the Board

of Trinity College Dublin and the Beckett International Foundation at the
University of Reading for granting permission to cite from unpublished
material.
On a more personal level, I am indebted to my family for their support,
in particular my parents, Peter and Sheila Nixon, and my sister Lisa
Ehrsam-Nixon. And to John Nixon for the many walks on the fells, and to
Lilly, Keith and Sue Thompson for their kindness. Thank you all, from the
bottom of my heart.
Finally, my largest debt of gratitude is reflected in the dedication. There
are no words without Aura this book would simply not exist. This is for
her, and in memory of Sputnik who, like Murphy, was a strict non-reader.
Series Editors Preface
This book series is devoted to the analysis of late-nineteenth to twentieth

century literary Modernism within its historical context. Historicizing Mod-
ernism thus stresses empirical accuracy and the value of primary sources
(such as letters, diaries, notes, drafts, marginalia or other archival deposits)
in developing monographs, scholarly editions and edited collections on
Modernist authors and their texts. This may take a number of forms, such as
manuscript study and annotated volumes, archival editions and genetic criti-
cism, as well as mappings of interrelated historical milieus or ideas. To date,
no book series has laid claim to this interdisciplinary, source-based territory
for modern literature. Correspondingly, one burgeoning sub-discipline of
Modernism, Beckett Studies, features heavily here as a metonymy for the
opportunities presented by manuscript research more widely. While an
additional range of canonical authors will be covered here, this series also
highlights the centrality of supposedly minor or occluded figures, not
least in helping to establish broader intellectual genealogies of Modernist
writing. Furthermore, while the series will be weighted towards the English-
speaking world, studies of non-Anglophone Modernists whose writings are
ripe for archivally-based exploration shall also be included here.
A key aim of such historicizing is to reach beyond the familiar rhetoric of
intellectual and artistic autonomy employed by many Modernists and
their critical commentators. Such rhetorical moves can and should them-
selves be historically situated and reintegrated into the complex continuum
of individual literary practices. This emphasis upon the contested self-
definitions of Modernist writers, thinkers and critics may, in turn, prompt vari-
ous reconsiderations of the boundaries delimiting the concept Modernism
itself. Similarly, the very notion of historicizing Modernism remains
debatable, and this series by no means discourages more theoretically
informed approaches. On the contrary, the editors believe that the histor-
ical specificity encouraged by Historicizing Modernism may inspire a range of
fundamental critiques along the way.
Matthew Feldman
Erik Tonning
List of Abbreviations and
Notes on the Text
Works by Beckett
CIWS Company / Ill Seen Ill Said / Worstward Ho / Stirrings Still, ed. Dirk
Van Hulle. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
CDW The Complete Dramatic Works. London: Faber & Faber, 1986.
CSP The Complete Short Prose 19291989, ed. S. E. Gontarski. New York:
Grove Press, 1995.
Dis Disjecta: Miscellaneous Writings and a Dramatic Fragment, ed. Ruby
Cohn. London: John Calder, 1983.
DN Becketts Dream Notebook, ed. John Pilling. Reading: Beckett
International Foundation, 1999.
Dream Dream of Fair to Middling Women. Dublin: Black Cat Press, 1992.
ECEF The Expelled / The Calmative / The End & First Love, ed. Christopher
Ricks. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
HII How It Is, ed. Magessa OReilly. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
MC Mercier and Camier, ed. Sean Kennedy. London: Faber & Faber,
2010.
MD Malone Dies, ed. Peter Boxall. London: Faber & Faber, 2010.
Mo Molloy, ed. Shane Weller. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
MPTK More Pricks than Kicks, ed. Cassandra Nelson. London: Faber &
Faber, 2010.
Mu Murphy, ed. J. C. C. Mays. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
PTD Proust and Three Dialogues with Georges Duthuit. London: John
Calder, 1965.
SP Selected Poems 19301989, ed. David Wheatley. London: Faber &
Faber, 2009.
TFN Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose 19501976, ed. Mark Nixon.
London: Faber & Faber, 2010.
xiv List of Abbreviations and Notes on the Text
Un The Unnamable, ed. Steven Connor. London: Faber & Faber, 2010.
W Watt, ed. Chris Ackerley. London: Faber & Faber, 2009.
Samuel Beckett Archival Material
EB Echos Bones [typescript], Harry Ransom Humanities Research

Center, The University of Texas at Austin, Leventhal Collection,
Box 1 Folder 1.
GD German Diaries [6 notebooks], Beckett International Foundation,
University of Reading.
GR Letters to George Reavey, Harry Ransom Humanities Research
Center, The University of Texas at Austin.
MM Letters to Mary Manning Howe, Harry Ransom Humanities
Research Center, The University of Texas at Austin.
TM Letters to Thomas MacGreevy, Trinity College Library Dublin,
TCD MS10402.
WN Whoroscope Notebook, Beckett International Foundation, University
of Reading, UoR MS3000.
Other Works
Faust Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, ed. Robert Petsch. Leipzig:
Bibliographisches Institut, n.d. [1925].
WWI Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, 3 vols, trans.
R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp. London: Kegan Paul, Trench,
Trbner & Co, 1896.
Library Archives
HRC Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, The University of

Texas at Austin.
UoR Beckett International Foundation, University of Reading.
TCD Trinity College Dublin Library, Department of Manuscripts.
Notes on the Text
Extracts from Samuel Becketts letters, notebooks and manuscripts

reproduced by kind permission of the Estate of Samuel Beckett.
List of Abbreviations and Notes on the Text xv
All translations from other languages are my own unless stated otherwise.
All stylistic characteristics of sources have been retained.
All transcriptions from unpublished material are my own, except those
from the Watt notebooks (kindly provided by Diane Lscher-Morata) and
those from Becketts notes on Geulincx (TCD MS10971/6) and Philosophy
(TCD MS10967), which were kindly provided by Matthew Feldman.
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Introduction
Becketts German Diaries
Freilich ist hier niemals die Sprache selbst, die Sprache schlechthin am Werk,
sondern immer nur ein unter dem besonderen Neigungswinkel seiner Existenz
sprechendes Ich, dem es um Kontur und Orientierung geht. Wirklichkeit ist
nicht, Wirklichkeit will gesucht und gewonnen werden.
[To be sure, it is never language itself, language as such at work, but always an
I speaking from a particular angle of inclination of its own self, concerned with
outline and orientation. There is no reality, reality must be sought and won].
(Celan 2000, III, 1678)
Written for the Flinker bookshops 1958 almanac, Paul Celans statement
attends to a specific moment of investigation into self and being in the
world through the creative act. In the same year, but in a different context
(his acceptance speech for the Bremen Literary Prize), Celan went on to
acknowledge that he wrote poems um zu sprechen, um mich zu orientieren,
um zu erkunden, wo ich mich befand und wohin es mit mir wollte, um mir
Wirklichkeit zu entwerfen [so as to speak, to orient myself, to find out where
I was and where I was meant to go, to create a reality for myself] (Celan
2000, III, 186). Celans words point to a textual inscription of what Samuel
Beckett in For Avigdor Arikha posited as the marks of what it is to be and
be in face of (Dis, 152). The interrogative, or rather, self-interrogative
nature of such an undertaking is epitomised by Becketts Malone, who
writes out his days in an exercise book in order to know where I have got
to (MD, 33). This notion of writing as a vantage point, a space or location
within which to apprehend the present as well as to identify where, in
Celans words, one is meant to go, illuminates Becketts German diaries.
Kept during his six-month journey through Germany in 19361937, these
diaries stage a confrontation with daily life through an immediacy of
notation, as well as perform the onward movement of a journey. They thus
represent a textual space which folds the dimensions of the processes of
2 Samuel Becketts German Diaries 19361937
writing and living. As Celan said of his poems, Becketts diaries are
unterwegs: sie halten auf etwas zu [underway: they are making toward
something], and thus crystallise the bedevilling problem of going on
(Celan 2000, III, 186).
As Beckett departed Dublin for Germany on 28 September 1936, the
question of how to go on was uppermost in his mind. Becketts journey
was an attempt to counter the feelings of personal and creative disorienta-
tion he had felt since the completion of Murphy in June 1936, and thus
undertaken with the desperate hope of reversing what he called the trickle
down hill (SB to TM, 9 September 1936). The six-month tour of Germany
was, like Belacquas walks in Ding-Dong, a moving pause (MPTK, 32). Yet
if Belacqua derived in the intervals a measure of ease, the lack of creative
stimulus during this period was a rather more distressing affair for Beckett.
Nevertheless, although Beckett told MacGreevy I do no work (SB to TM,
7 March 1937), there is also a sense in which he was mentally shaping the
aesthetic and creative direction his work was to take. Becketts intense
encounter with the visual arts during these six months, for example, offered
a new impetus for his writing, as Beckett studied, and took notes on,
literally hundreds of paintings he saw in German galleries. Furthermore,
both the choice of the diary form as well as the thoughts inscribed in its
pages testify to Becketts increasing concern with notions of authenticity,
the moment of writing and the inadequacies of language. Cutting across
these preoccupations is Becketts overwhelming desire to find a manner in
which to inscribe himself into, and at the same time remove himself from,
his texts. Despite having at an early stage decided that he wanted to be the
opposite of Carducci, whom he deemed to be an excellent university
professor but an excessively bad poet (TCD MS10965, 16v), Beckett
throughout the 1930s struggled to remove the layers of erudite references
on which he relied in his enquiry into his, and the human, condition. From
1936 onward, a growing emphasis on irrationality and incompetence
contributed to a shift in Becketts aesthetic thinking, and he began to seek
a way to express his emotions without concession or loss of substance. The
German trip marks the fulcrum of this development, as Becketts choice of
diary writing, with its concomitant use of the first person, and his recorded
aesthetic pronouncements, illustrate. That Beckett was trying to capitalise
on such preoccupations is evident from his creative enterprises while in
Germany, in particular the ultimately unwritten new work entitled Journal
of a Melancholic.
The object of my inquiry, the German diaries, consists of six notebooks
found by Edward Beckett in a trunk following Samuel Becketts death
Introduction 3
in 1989. Written mainly in English, yet with German and French words and
phrases playfully interwoven, the diaries comprise roughly 120,000 words.
They were first made available to James Knowlson, whose perceptive and
illuminating discussion of these notebooks in his 1996 biography, Damned to
Fame, remains unrivalled, and to which this present study is necessarily
indebted (1996, 23061). Other scholars, however, were slow to continue
the initial work done by Knowlson, which can partly be explained by the
fact that the German diaries were unpublished, and remain so to this day.1
It was the German translation of Knowlsons biography, published by
Suhrkamp in 2001, which galvanised critics in Germany, and reviews of the
biography invariably focused on the existence of the German diaries. The
significant documentary value of the diaries was highlighted during an
exhibition held at the Akademie der Knste (November 2003December
2004) in Hamburg, in which the historical, cultural and social context
of Becketts visit was presented on the basis of his diaries. The writer
and graphic artist, Roswitha Quadflieg, who mounted the exhibition,
subsequently published extracts from the Hamburg part of the diary in a
limited art edition (2003). Quadflieg subsequently published Beckett was
here; Hamburg im Tagebuch Samuel Becketts von 1936 (2006), a meticulously
researched book which brought Becketts time in Hamburg into sharp
historical focus. There followed scholarly symposia in Dsseldorf (2004)
and Hamburg (2006), and another exhibition at the Literaturhaus in
Berlin in 2006, all of which focused on the diaries and all of which resulted
in accompanying publications.2
This book builds upon these initial discussions in order to investigate the
importance of the diaries to Becketts development as a writer during the
1930s. As the German diaries telescope the creative evolution prior to 1936
as well as anticipate the direction Becketts writing took after his return to
Dublin in April 1937, I propose to use the diaries to illuminate Becketts
texts written throughout the thirties, at the same time using those very
texts to reflect on the significance of the diaries themselves. Indeed, if the
procedure is generally not unlike Miss Counihans bust in being all centre
and no circumference (Mu, 40), it is so because the nature of the diaries
precludes the dominance of any one approach over any other. Travel diary,
aide-mmoire and creative notebook in one, the German diaries call
for an intergeneric as well as an interdisciplinary discussion. Such a multi-
faceted approach is further determined by the fact that, even as they offer
a unique opportunity to eavesdrop on Beckett speaking, or rather writing,
to himself, the diaries are fundamentally private documents. Molloys
Oh its only a diary (Mo, 61) indicates the difficulty of discussing a form
of writing that in its nonfictionality adheres to different (and, moreover,

unstable) criteria than those commonly analysed by literary criticism.
Nevertheless, several of Becketts texts draw on aspects of diary writing,
particularly when characters, such as Molloy, recall my present existence
(Mo, 61). Furthermore, although it was not intended for publication (or,
for that matter, for any public reading), Beckett remarks of his diary that at
least it is not self-communion (GD, 6 October 1936).
The opening chapter investigates the origins of Becketts self-writing,
locating an autobiographical urge in a personal and cultural German
complex first visible in Dream of Fair to Middling Women. Chapter 2 will trace
Becketts urge to reveal and conceal traces of his own self and experiences
in his work through a short outline of his reading of autobiographical and
biographical texts, in which he sought to understand how other writers
inscribed themselves in their texts. This in turn will lead to a general
discussion of the formal and functional aspects of diary writing, and
Becketts particular use of the form. Chapter 3 maps out Becketts psycho-
logical development, during which an increasing acceptance of the solitary
nature of existence and a melancholy temperament becomes apparent. By
way of an exploration of the self through psychoanalytical treatment and
literature, Becketts commitment to a quietist attitude, with its concomitant
aesthetic awareness of having to write from rather than about a sense of
dereliction, is discussed. The following chapter will concentrate on Becketts
reading of classical German literature throughout the 1930s, showing the
enabling effect it had on Becketts developing aesthetics. Chapter 5 will
look at Becketts encounter with contemporary German literature during
his time in Germany in 19361937, charting the influence this reading had
on his negation of the trope of the journey and on his creative thinking in
general. This chapter will also explore Becketts response to the political
situation in Nazi Germany. The impact German literature had on Beckett
in moving toward a compositional process liberated from intertextual
references is subsequently analysed in Chapter 6 through a study of Becketts
evolving strategy of note-taking. Chapter 7 explores Becketts creative enter-
prises while in Germany, which reveal an emphasis on feeling, as well as a
developing interest in drama. Central to Becketts artistic movements during
his journey is the Journal of a Melancholic, an ultimately abandoned literary
project. The penultimate Chapter 8 will focus on Becketts profound study
of art in German galleries, which both clarified his aesthetic preoccupa-
tions at this time and influenced his creative endeavours. Finally, Chapter 9
focuses on the shift in Becketts aesthetics, formulated in 19361937 but
only creatively expressed after 1945. Becketts emphasis on an authentic
Introduction 5
inscription of the self and an unflinching inquiry into the human condition
in texts such as Malone Dies is thus the subject of the conclusion, which
reveals Becketts creation of a textual space which ties being to writing.
Becketts German diaries crucially prepare the ground for this development.
As Vincent Kaufmann has argued for the letter writer, the diary writer
occupies an elusive zone leading from what he is to what he writes, where
life becomes a work and the work becomes a life (Kaufmann 1994, 6). Ulti-
mately, in the trajectory from cerebral texts such as the poem Whoroscope
to an underlined passage in Becketts personal copy of Maeterlinck that
nothing is certain que notre ignorance [except our ignorance], the German
diaries mark a turning point which anticipates the grander vision of 1946:
Only then did I begin to write the things I feel.3 Thus when Malone reflects
on what a tourist I must have been, he specifically invokes Becketts trip to
Germany by recalling Tiepolos ceiling at Wrzburg (MD, 63). Moreover,
as he even remember[s] the diaeresis, if it is one, he not only manages
to set the Umlaut on Wrzburg correctly, but also points to the Greek
word diairein, the dividing line that led Beckett to his mature work. Indeed,
Becketts situation in the 1930s is summed up by his question that what
I want to know about is the artist, who is never comfortable by definition
(GD, 4 February 1937).
Chapter 1
Becketts Journey to Germany 19361937
They had consulted together at length, before embarking on this journey, weighing
with all the calm at their command what benefits they might hope from it, what ills
apprehend, maintaining turn about the dark side and the rosy. The only certitude
they gained from these debates was that of not lightly launching out, into the
unknown.
(Samuel Beckett, Mercier and Camier, 3)
When Samuel Beckett sailed to Hamburg from the port of Cobh on board
the S.S. Washington on 29 September 1936, he was, like his characters
Mercier and Camier, not lightly launching out. Feeling very dubious
about his projected journey (GD, 29 September 1936), with only a vague
hope that it would bring benefits rather than ills, Beckett could merely
reassure himself with the thought that Germany was at least not entirely
unknown. Yet the political situation within Germany had changed radic-
ally since Becketts six visits to his relatives, the Sinclairs, in Kassel between
Christmas 1928 and January 1932. In the intervening years the wider
intentions of the Nazi regime had become apparent. By September 1936,
having staged the Olympics in the summer, Germany had reoccupied
the demilitarised Rhineland (March 1936), and nearly established its
complete hold on the political, social and cultural life within its borders.
Even without the advantages of hindsight, Becketts decision to travel
through Germany for six months in 1936 and 1937 appears somewhat
surprising. Beckett was undoubtedly aware that in Germany, as Mercier and
Camier puts it, the dark side outweighed the rosy (3). He would have
learnt of the anti-Semitism propagated by the Nazis even before they came
to power in 1933 through his Jewish uncle, Boss Sinclair, who for that very
reason left Germany (with not much more than pyjamas & toothbrushes)
when it got too hot for him (SB to TM, 7 September 1933). Perhaps as a
result of this Beckett included a Nazi with his head in a clamp in the
(rejected) short story Echos Bones, written in November 1933.1 And in a

letter to A. J. Leventhal of 7 May 1934 Beckett punned on Hitlers Mein
Kampf by writing Mein Krampf [My Cramp]. Furthermore, the rise of
Nazism in the ensuing years, and with it the threat to individual freedom
and of geographic expansion, was widely reported in the press.2 Barely a
week after his arrival in Germany he acknowledged in his diary that he was
travelling through a country that might well be at war in the near future:
They must fight soon (or burst) (GD, 6 October 1936). Indeed, Beckett
appears to have been aware of the likelihood of conflict, wryly commenting
on his plans for the future with the remark if Europe has not been obliter-
ated before then (SB to TM, 9 October 1936). This knowledge compelled
him to persevere in his journey, feeling I shant be in Germany again after
this trip (SB to TM, 18 January 1937).
Becketts correspondence before and during his trip, as well as his diary
entries, point to a variety of reasons for his decision to undertake the jour-
ney into Nazi Germany in the first place. By the autumn of 1936, Beckett
had arrived at a natural turning point in his life, or rather a personal and
creative impasse which left him uncertain as to how to proceed (Dream,
178). The writing of Murphy, which he completed towards the end of
June 1936, had left him both physically and mentally tired (SB to TM,
27 June 1936). Moreover, the return to Dublin earlier that year following
the termination of his psychoanalytical treatment in London proved to be
a more unsettling and immediate concern. With no income to his name,
and Murphy far from being published (which it eventually was in 1938),
Beckett was again exposed to tensions at home, an uneasy relationship with
his mother, and the panic attacks which had originally driven him to seek
the help of psychoanalysis.
As had been the case for his alter ego Belacqua in Dream of Fair to Middling
Women, Becketts want to go no matter where, anywhere (Dream, 176)
was already evident in January 1936, when the idea of a prolonged stay in
Germany was first communicated to MacGreevy (SB to TM, 29 January
[1936] [misdated 1935 by Beckett]).3 Beckett had moreover rehearsed this
sporadic exodus from the stifling atmosphere of Dublin throughout the
thirties. As early as the summer of 1930, the acceptance of a teaching post
at Trinity College Dublin was viewed by Beckett as a complication to his
planned flight and escape (SB to TM, undated [summer 1930]), in anti-
cipation of his ultimate flight from academia in December 1931 (it really
is now or never; SB to TM, 20 December 1931). During this period, with
the thought of teaching paralys[ing] Beckett (SB to TM, 25 January 1931),
Kassel in particular and Germany in general represented a relief, even after
his relationship with Peggy Sinclair had come to an end at Christmas 1929
(Knowlson 1996, 110). In his letters to MacGreevy, Beckett thus expresses
his wish to travel to Nuremberg (SB to TM, 14 November 1930), Hamburg
(SB to TM, 3 February 1931) and Leipzig (SB to TM, undated [September
1931]). In the years following his last visit to Kassel at Christmastime 1931,
Germany would remain a preferred, yet unattainable, destination, even as
London and Paris, where he resided most often when not in Dublin, offered
the company of friends and literary prospects. This is evident from his
negative comments regarding Paris as being the last place in the world
I want to go (SB to TM, undated [September 1931]), at times professing to
feeling very anti-French (SB to TM, undated [January 1933]).
Becketts incessant restlessness in the thirties is symptomatic of his
ambiguous attitude toward Dublin:
the ambience will soon be unbreathable and I will have no choice but go
away again. Not that I want to at all. A quoi bon. And where could one go?
(SB to TM, 21 November 1932)
Inevitably, every absquatulation (Dream, 30) entailed a subsequent return,

a pattern reflected in Becketts fondness for a phrase he found in Thomas
Kempiss The Imitation of Christ, the glad going out & sorrowful coming
home.4
Finding himself once again at home in Foxrock in the summer of 1936, it
thus comes as no surprise to find Beckett professing to live in hope of
getting away (SB to TM, 19 August 1936). This desire was exacerbated by
his unrequited love for an American woman, Elizabeth Stockton, and his
subsequent affair with the recently married Mary Manning Howe (Knowlson
1996, 2279). More importantly, Becketts correspondence reveals that the
frustration at not beginning the effort to work had reached unbearable
heights (SB to TM, 9 September 1936). The journey to Germany was to
inject a spark of inspiration into Becketts creative activities. Moreover, he
seems to have played with the idea of expanding his occasional literary
criticism to encompass art, which over the years had assumed an increasingly
important position in his life. He may well have been influenced by
MacGreevy, who was travelling to Munich around the same time with
similar intentions. It is difficult to ascertain how seriously Beckett took this
idea of converting his knowledge of art into a profession. Yet his application
for the position of assistant curator at the National Gallery in London in
1933 (Knowlson 1996, 173), as well as his intense study of art during his
journey through Germany, support such a supposition.
The German Comedy

Dream of Fair to Middling Women
Cultural and emotional affinities and associations are of immense importance

when analysing Becketts choice of destination for his journey. Beckett had
initially also considered travelling to Spain, and had studied its language
in a similar fashion to his study of German, but the idea was dismissed in
1936 (SB to TM, 29 January 1936 [misdated 1935]). Although becoming
increasingly restrictive to foreigners, Germany was still accessible; it is
conceivable that the political developments led Beckett to wish to explore
the country before the curtain came down. Furthermore, as both John
Pilling and Thomas Hunkeler have pointed out, Germany and its culture
were very much tied up with Becketts personal feelings and aesthetic
inclinations (Pilling 2005; Hunkeler 2000). Even the most cursory glance
through the early poetry, prose, critical essays and correspondence reveals
the extent of his encounter with German literature and philosophy. This is
markedly evident from the numerous notebooks (discussed in Chapter 4)
that Beckett kept during the first half of the thirties.
Becketts first profound encounter with German thought was through
the philosopher Schopenhauer, whom he started reading in 1930 (SB
to TM, undated [25? July 1930]). Schopenhauer furnished Beckett with a
system that, on the basis of all surviving biographical material from this
period, was remarkably coincident with his own: an essentially negative
evaluation of human existence wherein the path to any semblance of
redemption was through the artistic creative act. Becketts reading of what
he termed Schopenhauers intellectual justification of unhappiness in Die
Welt als Wille und Vorstellung (The World as Will and Idea) had a lasting effect
on both his work and his view of life (SB to TM, undated [25? July 1930]).
Beckett immediately purloined the Schopenhauerian combination of philo-
sophy and emotional utterance for his critical monograph Proust, written
in late August and early September 1930. More importantly, the discovery
instigated a persistent exploration of a distinct strand in German culture,
not only in literature and philosophy, but also in the visual arts and music.
The frustrated striving of the individual in a meaningless universe, preoc-
cupations with melancholy, solitude and loss were themes Beckett found
within this tradition, and the dark and heavy, even tragic, quality of the
German language coincided with feelings he was trying to come to terms
with on a personal level and express in his own writing. Becketts awareness
of the effect which the German language had on his emotional state is
illustrated by a (as so often self-deprecatory) passage in Dream: Scraps of
German played in his mind in the silence that ensued; grand, old, plastic
words (Dream, 191). The implication of a brooding indulgence in the self
and an immersion in German writing and language is explicit in Becketts
confession to MacGreevy that he is wallowing in . . . German (SB to TM,
11 November [1932]).
By 1932 Becketts command of the German language was already quite
good, although far from proficient. The German found in Dream suggests
he was relying on that which he had acquired during his time in Kassel,
inserting the odd word or expression he would have picked up through
conversation. Thus colloquial terminology such as quatsch [nonsense],
Sauladen [mess] or abknutschen [smother with kisses] jostle with
proverbial wisdom: Der Mench [sic] ist ein Gewohnheitstier [the human
being is a creature of habit] (Dream, 19, 82, 14 and 75). These terms
contribute to the general irreverent tone of the book, compounded by
Becketts mocking attitude towards the German language and the pedantry
it so often expresses. This is particularly evident in the fun Beckett has with
compound nouns, a German speciality, when coming up with names such
as Arschlochweh [pain-in-the-arse] or Herr Sauerwein [Mr Sourwine]
(61 and 106). The jewel in the compound crown is the Joycean expletive
Himmisacrakrzidirkenjesusmariaundjosefundbltigeskreuz! (239). There
is a linguistic playfulness (blick from this Punkt, 160) here that is also
evident in the German diaries. But more often than not the German
language, in keeping with the overall satirical intention of the novel, is
both mocked and mocking. This strategy finds its apotheosis in the The
Smeraldinas Billet Doux, culminating in the irreverent use of the German
national anthem, the Deutschlandlied: I love you ber alles in dieser
Welt, mehr als alles auf Himmel, Erde und Hlle [I love you above all else
in this world, more than everything in heaven, earth and hell] (58). Beckett
inserted a small private joke in The Smeraldinas Billet Doux, when Smerry
asks how could you ever doupt me? In his essay on Joyce, Dante . . . Vico.
Bruno..Joyce, Beckett had commended the German word Zweifel for
giving a sensuous suggestion of hesitancy, of the necessity for choice, of
static irresolution, which the English doubt failed to do (Dis, 28).
From 1930 onwards, scraps of German act as private correlative markers
for an entire stratum of emotions ranging from a sombre worldview, to
love and sexuality, to separation.5 Thomas Hunkeler has explored these
associations in Becketts use of Theodor Fontanes Effi Briest, a book which
moved Peggy Sinclair to tears.6 Fontanes novel, aptly dealing with adultery
and tragic love, reappears again in Becketts own treatment of past love in
Krapps Last Tape. Yet, as Hunkeler argues, the biographical sources within
the play can be traced to Becketts relationship with Ethna MacCarthy as

well as to that with Peggy Sinclair, so that Effi Briest invokes a general sense
of loss rather than a specific memory (Hunkeler 2000, 219).7 But it seems as
if the relationship with Peggy Sinclair, and the ultimately painful separation,
contributed to Becketts correlation between Germanys cultural heritage
and his own emotions.
When viewed in this light, it is hardly surprising that when Beckett came
to deal with his entanglement with Peggy in Dream of Fair to Middling Women
(written 19311932), the book would be permeated with German words
and phrases, as well as fragments of German literature. These instances
chiefly occur in the sections describing the Smeraldina-Rima (modelled on
Peggy) and Belacquas time with her in Vienna. Beckett acknowledged the
connection in a letter to MacGreevy by referring to his book as the German
Comedy (SB to TM, 29 May 1931). Yet the designation of the book as
comic, which it undeniably is in parts, obscures Becketts rather less light-
hearted intention in writing the novel. Becketts narrator refers to Dream as
a virgin chronicle (118; also 69), invoking the amalgamation of fact with
legendary fiction within medieval chronicles. This helps to account for
the largely autobiographical background of the events, even as they are
subjected to a rather chaotic treatment.8 As the Greek stem of the word
chronicle indicates, Dream is set within a framework which, with biograph-
ical evidence, can be clearly identified as encompassing Becketts use of
real experiences from 1928 to 1932. Indeed, James Knowlson has gone a
long way in uncovering the autobiographical sources of many of the events
described in the novel, such as Becketts visit to the dance school Peggy was
attending, Schule Hellerau-Laxenburg, south of Vienna (Knowlson 1996,
835), or the calamitous end of the affair in Kassel on New Years Eve
1929. At times Dreams narrative opens up and allows a glimpse of its auto-
biographical origin, as in the scene between the Alba (based on Ethna
MacCarthy) and Belacqua on Silver Strand. Assuming the role of the
chronicler, describing the events of a given passage of time, the narrator
(assuming the first person plural we, consensus, here and hereafter, of
me; Dream, 112)9 realises that
looking back through our notes we are aghast to find that it was Jacks
Hole; but we cannot use that, that would be quite out of place in what
threatens to come down a love passage. (189)
Although the indecorous suggestion may distract the reader, the narrative is
here self-referentially announcing its own fictional status, and simultaneously
admitting to an underlying (autobiographical, or at least extratextual)

reality.10
German Fever
Fundamentally, the writing of Dream was for Beckett, as John Pilling has
pointed out, a purging of a recent past and an even more recent present
(1997, 62). As such the book addresses painful and unhappy experiences,
not only with Peggy but also with other fair or middling women. This is
signposted by Belacquas incapacity to separate himself from his past:
certain aspects of her [the Smeraldina-Rima] abode in his heart . . . made

themselves felt from time to time in the form of a sentimental eructation
that was far from being agreeable. (Dream, 109)
Thus the self-cathartic and therapeutic aspect to the book was inscribed
into Dream, as when the narrator expresses his amazement at how every-
thing ends like a fairy tale, or can be made to; even the most unsanitary
episodes (109). The difficulty Beckett had to navigate was finding the
adequate manner of fictionalising his own unsanitary experiences, which
gave rise to an ambiguity, prevalent in the narrative attitude, between con-
cealment and revelation. The concealing impulse appears in an aside which
the narrator appears to direct at himself as much as the reader, No no
I wont say everything, I wont tell you everything (72). Yet barely two
pages later the revealing (or confessional) tendency is reinstated, as the
narrator declares, or rather insists, [w]e strive to give the capital facts of
his [Belacquas] case. . . . Facts, we cannot repeat it too often, let us have
facts, plenty of facts (74). Between these two extremes a Mr Beckett is
parenthetically introduced into the text, who helps the narrator find
the right words, such as Kleinmeisters Leidenschaftsucherei [a minor
masters passion-seeking] (thanks Mr Beckett) (69). Moreover, an instance
of Freudian Verschreiben alerts the reader to questions of who is speaking
and to the true relationship between the narrator and Belacqua. When
the reader is asked, No but surely you see now what he am? (72), the
inharmonious interplay of personal pronouns removes the differentiation
that had previously distinguished narrator (and, potentially, author) and
protagonist. Becketts ambivalent movement towards concealment and
revelation is re-enacted in his intertextual borrowings, as a large corpus of
extraneous material and literary allusions is inserted at different levels
of remove from the surface of the text. The majority of material derived
from other writers remains unacknowledged in the text, necessitating the
kind of depth-scholarship conducted by John Pilling in his Companion
to Dream (2004a). Other allusions are, however, flagrantly paraded with
references such as Who said all that? (Dream, 72), marking the presence of
an authorial subjectivity responsible for the proceedings.
Becketts strategy of concealing and revealing textual as well as personal
allusions in Dream can be illustrated by his use of St. Augustines Confessions,
commonly regarded as the first major autobiography.11 Despite tracing a
spiritual evolution through a sinful life to the moment of conversion,
Augustines book is not simply the memoir of a life. The Confessions are not
written from a satisfied vantage point achieved in life; it is the continuing
and immediate need for self-clarification that strikes the reader, to go on to
confess, not what I was, but what I am (Augustine 1961, 210). In anticipation
of Freudian concepts, it is through the present act of writing that the
spiritual path of the self is submitted to an intense scrutiny and analysis.
Beckett regarded the book as fertile ground for his habitual phrase-
hunting (SB to TM, 25 January 1931), and the Augustinian insertions
in Dream are characterised by their fragmentary nature, as phrases and
expressions are woven into the fabric of the texts. Yet there is also a sense
in which Beckett is directing the reader (at least one with the time and
resources to do so) through asides such as We stole that one. Guess
where back to the nature of the source which frequently is Augustines
confessional text (Dream, 191). Unable or unwilling to replicate Augustines
honesty and directness, and being after all ostensibly engaged in writing
fiction, the material taken from the Confessions (like that from other sources)
provided Beckett with a filter through which to distance himself from
writing about his own experiences. Like Augustine, Beckett introduces
fragments of his scattered experiences from the vast cloisters of my
memory into Dream, yet without the anticipation that they will make up a
whole or afford Belacqua any hope for salvation (Augustine 1961, 215).12
Ultimately, and despite the fever to have done with painful memories
(Dream, 195), German or otherwise, the writing of Dream did not entirely
achieve the level of cleansing which Beckett undoubtedly had hoped for.
In a letter written six months after the completion of Dream, his attachment
to Germany was still raging:
I am reading German and learning a little that way. Always when its [sic]
coming up to Xmas I get the German fever for the Tannenbumchen [little
fir trees] und Bierreisen [beer trips] through the snow. But I wont see any
of it this year, no Homer dusks or red steeples. And soon I will be tired of
the Brothers Grimms machinery. (SB to TM, 21 November [1932])13
Even as the Brother Grimms machinery threatened to turn Becketts

memories of past Christmases at Kassel with Peggy Sinclair into something
less than natural, the involuntary state of fever continued to govern an
intricate web of personal associations equating Germany with his emotional,
or rather sexual, feelings. The Homer dusks and the red steeples relate
explicitly to the poem Dortmunder, written early in 1932, which tells of a
visit to a brothel.14 In Becketts annotated copy of Echos Bones held at
Austin, the poem is appended with the words Kassel revisited, providing
a link to the implied visit paid by Belacqua in Dream (and by extension
possibly Beckett himself) to a brothel during New Years Eve 1929. In Dream
itself, a further visit to a Nuremberg brothel is equally signposted through
a set of German references. The details of this passage, such as the allusions
to the towns artistic legacy (the Haus Albrecht Drer and Adam Kraft),
derive from Becketts own short stay in Nuremberg on his way to Kassel
in the spring of 1931. On that day, Beckett had visited the castle with its
torture chamber, as well as a brothel, before spending the night in the
stations waiting room and taking the morning train. In Dream, details from
the visit to the torture chamber (such as the smoking prohibition) are used
to transmit the sexual content of the text. Thus the brothel becomes its
own kind of torture chamber, as the admonition [n]o effing smoking do
you hear me in the effing Folterzimmer [torture chamber] and the later
reference to The Cast-Iron Virgin of Nrnberg indicate (Dream, 72 and
182).15 The conflation of the two localities as torture chambers renders
the sexual details obscure, but also points to the underlying problematic
nature of such activities for Beckett. This subtext is indicated by the
diminutive dismissal of the whorchen, a German-English hybrid similar to
the later Jungfrulein (72 and 130). Moreover, in that she is a little bony
vulture of a whorchen, she is linked to Drer (drr is German for skinny),
just as the sculptors name, Adam Kraft, evokes a (now lost) power inher-
ent in the edenically pure first man. Although the passage is on the whole
rather impenetrable (I wont tell you everything, 72), the fact that it is
there at all attests to Becketts view of the book as a dump for whatever he
could not get off his chest in the ordinary way (MPTK, 125).16
It becomes clear that the associative and specific German complex
established by Beckett in his initial endeavours to come to terms with his
separation from Peggy resurfaces in subsequent purging of other kinds of
perilous garbage (Dream, 115). A therapeutic aim behind Becketts writing
is illustrated by the original title, aptly expressed in German, for the poem
Sanies I, which deals with the continuous turmoil over his unrequited love
for Ethna MacCarthy: Weg Du Einzige (Away You Only One).17 Within
Dream, as well as in the early poetry, Beckett appears to be engaged in a
vendetta against his personal ghosts through the spectre of art. Shades of
separation, loss and unhappiness are cast throughout his writing to be
examined and purged. The early writing acts like a secret, codified map to
events in Becketts life: an intricate network of references encompassing his
travels, opinions, relationships, his reading and artistic preoccupations.
Within this network it is ultimately the German discourse that engenders
Becketts most private symbolism. Prey to attacks of melancholy, reflection
and introspection, this discourse constructs an autobiographical and con-
fessional tonality, which is subsequently often disguised and buried beneath
either a layer of erudite references or self-deprecatory and humorous
strategies of textual instability. To be sure, this autobiographical layer
would remain largely indecipherable to the reader of today were it not for
the availability of biographical data. Yet at the time of writing, and despite
an urgent wish for his acquaintances and former lovers to detect their
caricaturisation, Beckett undoubtedly felt that concealment was necessary
in order to avoid causing offence. When Dream was recast for publication in
1934 as More Pricks than Kicks, Beckett softened both the satirical elements
and narcissistic manoeuvres further, although the biographical reality
underlying the fiction remained visible (Dream, 39). Evidently Beckett felt
remorse over this, as a letter of 13 July 1934 to Morris Sinclair, the brother
of Peggy (who had died the previous year), illustrates: I didnt know what
I was undertaking, peinlich [embarrassing or painful] no matter what
angle contemplated (Knowlson 1996, 183).18 Yet the boundaries between
the fictional and the biographical were from that early point ineradicably
destabilised. In his letters Beckett continued to view people in their fictional
disguises, telling MacGreevy that he [s]aw Alba [Ethna MacCarthy] and
have not the guts to be disinterested (SB to TM, 30 August 1932), and
referring to Cissie Sinclair as late as 1934 as Smeraldinas Ma (SB to TM,
18 August 1934). More importantly, Beckett had put much of himself into
his first substantial protagonist, Belacqua. In a diary note dated 20 June
1934, dealing with More Pricks than Kicks, Becketts friend and later literary
agent, George Reavey, noted
Belacqua, the hero of the stories, is himself, and the incidents are faith-
ful portraiture of [Becketts] curious psychological reactions. When
intimidated rude beyond measure is the way he sums himself up.19
Becketts desire to travel across Germany, then, had a variety of reasons

as its basis. On the one hand, he must have envisaged the trip as an
opportunity to further his knowledge of art and to enable an in-depth study
of the German language and culture. Furthermore, he must have hoped
that this exposure would yield new material for his writing. On the other
hand, Beckett wanted to re-enter a cultural space which in the past
had offered emotional intensity, both good and bad. A letter to MacGreevy
written shortly after his arrival in Hamburg in October 1936 corroborates
these two suppositions:
It is nice to be away, but when I have seen the pictures & struggled with the
language I dont think Ill be sorry to go. I begin to think that Germanys
charm is perhaps after all mainly for me a matter of associations. I feel sad
enough & often enough for that to be so. (SB to TM, 9 October 1936)
The use of the word associations here implies that Beckett was aware of the
psychological impulses behind his journey. During his reading of texts on
psychology and psychoanalysis a few years earlier Beckett had come across
the mechanisms of association, noting for example (from R. S. Woodworths
Contemporary Schools of Psychology) the Gestaltist schools opposition to
Associationism, and, interestingly in this context, Freuds use of free asso-
ciation: Free association, unable to accomplish factual reconstruction (of
secondary importance) of early events, was utilized for their emotional
recapitulation (of primary importance) (TCD MS10967/7, 7r).
Even prior to his arrival in Hamburg, Beckett expressed doubts regarding
his motives for the trip. During the one day the ship was berthed in Le
Havre, he wished he could stay where I am (SB to TM, 30 September
1936), and anticipated his arrival in Germany with trepidation: Tired
walking around. But what will Germany be, for 6 ? months, but walking
around, mainly? (GD, 30 September 1936). In many ways, Becketts pre-
diction was correct. The carefully plotted route of his journey, designed to
encompass the major cultural attractions, stands in contrast to the general
tone of internal disorientation detectable in his correspondence and the
German diaries. The journey itself, the walking around, at times assumed
the cloak of necessity, as Beckett wrote to MacGreevy from Germany: I am
very tired & often feel like turning back, but back where? (SB to TM,
9 January 1937). Any notion Beckett may have entertained that his trip was
a wandering to find home (Mu, 4) or any kind of journey from which he
could benefit was soon abandoned.
The epic caesura (Dream, 144) Beckett had sought to achieve in writing
Dream (and the poetry) had yet to materialise four years later. Rather, an
obsessive introspection which circled around old memories remained active
and troublesome. Beckett was highly conscious of the persistence of these
memories, and by revisiting Nuremberg during his journey he seems to
have actively sought to confront them. In a letter to MacGreevy he pre-
dicted the pain that would inevitably resurface, confessing that I rather
baulk at Nrnberg, of which I have the gloomiest memories (SB to TM,
16 February 1937).20 On the day of his arrival in Nuremberg, in February
1937, Beckett recalled the time six years earlier when he had been forced to
spend a night in the station waiting room on his way to Kassel: Remember
station well (why wouldnt I?) (GD, 26 February 1937).21 His preoccupa-
tion with the past and the emotional associations with Germany are
manifestly present during his stay in Nuremberg. On his first day there he
went back to the castle described in Dream to
catch a glimpse through closing for Mittagspause [lunch break] door of

torture chamber Rauchen u. Photographieren verboten [smoking and
photography prohibited]. All I wanted to see. (GD, 27 February 1937)
Becketts confrontation with the gloomiest memories reached a peak a

few days later as he retraced the experience of an evening which took place
six years earlier and which involved a lady of the night:
Go out, with vague idea of finding Hospiz [hospice] & caf . . . . Find
Sterntor Hospiz unexpectedly, in quiet dark street SW of station. Then
go to station. The photo cabinet still there, & I remember the long hall &
the third class waiting room where I spent the last night, from 3 am on.
Drink a beer in restaurant, which I remember also. On way back . . . see a
Lokal [pub] that looks like the one & go in. Seem to remember it, the
pillar near where we sat with orchestra on my right. But the space then
for dancing is occupied by tables & chairs. Why does it all unnerve me?
That was in spring 31, when still teaching in Trinity. I fled from reading
of Anna Livia in Paris & Lucia complications. (GD, 1 March 1937)
Beyond its renewed acknowledgement of the need for flight, the passage
attests to the inner turmoil of that old past ever new (Texts for Nothing
10; TFN, 41). These Nuremberg memories incited Beckett to take the
remarkable step, following the above diary entry, of compiling an overview of

his movements during the previous 14 years of his life (GD, 1 March 1937).
It crystallises Becketts inherent restlessness and acts of wandering since
October 1923, the year he went to Trinity College Dublin. His Reisefieber
[travel fever] in 1936 was once again a specifically German fever (Dream,
29; repeated 64). Beckett perceived Germany as a potential remedy for
emotional troubles, as well as an aesthetic and cultural space that could
provide inspiration for his writing. In this hope Beckett created an other
textual space: the German diaries.
Chapter 2
Becketts German Diaries
In Becketts How It Is, the compulsive need to say it how it is is matched by

the necessity of recording how it is. The narrator carries a little private
book in which he notes the hearts outpourings day by day (HII, 72).
Furthermore, there are the Krim generations of scribes keeping the record
(69). And, although it is a source for speculation in the text itself, the
account of life in the mud and of Pims journey relies on the existence of
someone who may have the means of noting the words uttered in the mud
(117). How It Is is a text that both ratifies and challenges the living process
through discourse. Not dissimilarly, Becketts diary writing is an assertion of
the scribal self.
It seems as if Beckett initially intended his diary to be nothing but a
standard travel diary, in which everyday experiences and sights were
recorded. At the same time Beckett took three artistic notebooks with
him to Germany the Whoroscope notebook (UoR MS3000), the Clare
Street notebook (UoR MS5003) and a Science and Laboratory notebook
(UoR MS5006) which he was using for German grammar and vocabulary.
Presumably in an effort to record and organise his cultural impressions
separately, Beckett bought two further notebooks three weeks into his stay
in Hamburg, entitling them Bcher [books] and Bilder [pictures] (GD,
23 October 1936). Yet this plan was quickly abandoned, the two notebooks
eventually becoming diary volumes two and three with Bilge and Tripe
respectively replacing the previous titles. How It Is contains a self-ironic
allusion to this struggle to organise material. In Part 2 the narrator refers to
the existence of three notebooks being kept according to distinct functions,
whereas before all had been noted pell-mell in the same (HII, 701). Thus
the first notebook is for the body inodorous farts stools, the second for
the mutterings verbatim no tampering very little and the third for my
comments. Unable to commit himself to such an organised separation of
material, the German diaries are instead a pell-mell, a kind of cross-generic
container, acting as a depository for personal as well as creative material.
It is worth noting here that keeping a diary was hardly a pastime for
Beckett. Beyond being a self-conscious writer, Beckett took diary writing
during these six months very seriously; he recorded the events of every
single day of his six-month trip, even though he often had to flog myself
to this (GD, 5 December 1936). Yet before turning to a discussion of the
formal and functional aspects of diary writing in general, and Becketts
individual use of the diary form in particular, a brief glance at Becketts
reading of autobiographical and biographical texts will enable us to
establish a context in which his self-writing can be comprehended.
Auto/Biographical Reading
Like most diarists before him, Beckett turned to daily writing with an
awareness of the various ways in which the diary form had been used in
the past. Indeed, an examination of his reading before 1936 reveals not
only diaries but a surprisingly large proportion of autobiographies and
biographies, as well as what one generally could term autobiographical
fiction or fictional autobiographies. Fundamentally, at the same time
Beckett wrote himself into his own books, he read himself into and through
other peoples writing. Beckett turned to books in general and literature in
particular with a motivation shared by many readers: to acquire insight into
the syndrome known as life, to find mirrors in which his own condition
would be reflected back more clearly (Mu, 38).
Becketts interest in life writing, fictional, biographical or autobiographical,
can be aligned with his own struggle to accommodate both life and art. As
he himself pointed out in one of his 1931 Trinity lectures on Gides Les faux
monnayeurs, relation between artist & material important not just material.1
Such an enquiry into the relationship between the writer and his work can
be illustrated by his comments on reading David Cecils The Stricken Deer, or
the Life of William Cowper (1929). Despite judging it [v]ery bad, Beckett
goes on to exclaim: But what a life! It depressed & terrified me. How did
he ever manage to write such bad poetry? (SB to TM, 7 August 1936). This
is a telling comment, attesting to Becketts view of life as a valid source of
artistic creation as well as echoing his statement that suffering is the main
condition of the artistic experience (PTD, 28). It is not difficult to see how
Beckett could not fail to be affected by a writer whose poetry, in Michael
Schmidts words, was a means of talking himself back from the edge,
not . . . of coaxing himself over it a writer convinced of his own guilt and
persuaded that failure and madness was his lot (1999, 364).
Becketts German Diaries 21
Becketts interest in biographies is evident from the outset of his writing

career, as the first creative notebook the Dream notebook begins, after
a single quote from Plautus, with over seventy entries from two works
concerned with Napoleons life, Lockharts The History of Napoleon Bonaparte
and the first volume of de Bourriennes edition of the Memoirs of Napoleon
(DN, 111).2 Indeed, the very symbiosis of life and work is written into
Becketts early poem Whoroscope (1930), which is essentially an artistic
transformation of various aspects of Descartess life and personality.3 The
appended notes in particular identify the biographical structure underlying
the poem, which to a large degree relies, as Francis Doherty has shown,
on J. P. Mahaffys Descartes. Becketts research on Dr Johnson similarly
reveals Becketts interest in turning biography into literature; he told Mary
Manning in December 1936 that there are 50 plays in his life (SB to MM,
13 December 1936).
More importantly, Becketts engagement with writers lives tended to
focus on their position as artists within society. His own concern with how a
balance between life and work was to be achieved, a struggle resulting in the
ambiguous manoeuvres of concealment and revelation of autobiographical
facts in his early work, led Beckett to explore the manner in which other
writers inscribed themselves into their texts. This is visible, for example, in
his notes taken from Goethes autobiography Dichtung und Wahrheit, as well
as in his reading of Rousseau. Becketts interest in the French writer was
with Rousseau the autobiographer, not the sociologist or philosopher. By
his own admission he did not read Rousseaus Du contrat social, but rather
the Confessions, the Rveries dun promeneur solitaire, the epistolary novel Julie,
ou: la nouvelle Hloise and the educational novel mile.4 This necessity to
write about the self, and the resulting tension inherent in [b]eing forced
to speak in spite of myself, I am also obliged to conceal myself, undoubt-
edly interested Beckett (Rousseau 1953, 263).
Beckett of course did not have to look far for examples of authors who
fictionalised their lives. Both Proust and Joyce played an integral part in
Becketts own formulation of a poetics of self-writing. Joyces Ulysses, for
example, incorporates incidents, people and places from Dublin as well as
aspects of Joyces own biography. And, as Bernard Benstock has pointed
out, the Shem chapter of Finnegans Wake is a mine of information about
Joyce himself, in which he can be seen once again to deal personally
as well as objectively with the real problem . . . of his own life (1965, 223
and 220). Once again, in Benstocks phrase, because from the 1904 essay
Portrait right through to the completion of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young
Man in 1914, Joyce grappled with the aesthetic and structural problems of
including his own biography in his writing. Portraits earliest conception,

Stephen Hero, was, in Joyces brother Stanislauss words,
to be almost autobiographical, and naturally as it comes from Jim, satirical.

He is putting a large number of acquaintances into it, and those Jesuits
whom he has known. I dont think they will like themselves in it. (Stanislaus
Joyce 1971, 12)
Whereas the more autobiographical Stephen Hero could always only be Joyce
as he was becoming, a Portrait by its very nature could frame a development
that had found some sort of completion. Moreover, by replacing the third-
person narration with Stephens diary at the end of the novel, Joyce
contrived to inscribe a path forward for a new Stephen.
Diary Writing
As the example of Joyces Portrait illustrates, during the first decades of the
twentieth century the diary had become one of the preferred literary forms
for many European writers. This development can be related to the decline
of realism in the late nineteenth century, together with a disenchantment
with traditional literary forms, especially the novel. Moreover, with the
emergence of an interest in psychology and its emphasis on the illogical
and mysterious workings of the unconscious, the omniscient position of the
narrator of the realistic novel came to be seen as an inadequate tool with
which to illustrate the fragmentary experience and divided nature of the
self. In this shift of focus from the external to the internal world, the diary,
with its fragmentary, self-reflexive and speculative nature, emerged as a
suitable literary form to express a discontinuous discourse. Whereas
realism scorned the diary due to its inability to paint a differentiated view
of life, its ability to establish a concise textual framework of enquiry into
the self furthered its use.
In the course of the rise in popularity of the diary, the form itself evolved.
Whereas the journaux intimes of the nineteenth century usually employed
the journal form for its suitability in betraying the sincerely depicted
private (and often scandalous) life to a public, writers such as Gide, Kafka
and Musil widened its function to include self-observation and draft writing.
In contrast to this private employment, the diary form was increasingly
introduced into works of fiction. Alexander Dblin in Berlin Alexanderplatz
and Rilke in Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge, for example, relied
on the diary to illuminate the psychology of their protagonists. As Lorna

Martens has pointed out, in its ability to portray the inner world of a privi-
leged first-person narrator, the diary form functioned similarly as a literary
device to the interior monologue or stream-of-consciousness techniques
(1985, 56).
Beckett encountered the varied use to which the diary was put in the
work of Andr Gide, whom he had lectured on at Trinity in 1931. Gide
constructed a significant part of his work around the diary, going so far as
to insert passages from his own journal into his novels. Rachel Burrowss
notes on Becketts Trinity lectures show that he was particularly interested
in Gides Les faux-monnayeurs, a book fundamentally concerned with
articulating the tension between reality and its representation, and the
self-deception to which this may give rise. Gides personal Journal betrays
ample evidence of his self-investment in his texts, with the writer going
so far as to call Si le grain ne meurt his Memoirs, and inserting part of his
diary into his fiction (Gide 1967, 193).
Gide was an important figure during Becketts apprenticeship as a writer,
and he was not loath to reapply the creditable phrase of Monsieur Gide
within his work (Dream, 46).5 Beckett also seriously considered writing about
Gide in a critical manner, suggesting a follow-up on the Proust to Chatto &
Windus in early 1932.6 He also raised the possibility with the New Statesman
of covering all that artists [Gides] vicissitudes from Andr Walter to
Oedipe (SB to TM, 18 [ August 1932]). A month later Beckett made a
desperate attempt to get something started on Gide (SB to TM, undated
[possibly 13 September 1932]), but it seems that by then his interest was
waning. Yet in his 1934 review of Leishmans translations of Rilkes poetry,
Beckett again commended Gide, in the form of the character Lafcadio
from Les Caves du Vatican, as being, together with Svevos Zeno and Valrys
Teste, superior characters to Rilkes Malte Laurids Brigge (Dis, 66). This
attests to Becketts continued respect for Gides work, as well as his aware-
ness of a particular strand of fictional autobiographies. The reference to
Valry is of particular interest in this context. In many ways Le Cycle Teste is
reminiscent of Becketts Murphy, with its emphasis on Edmond Testes reduc-
tion of all outer phenomena in order to concentrate on a self-observing
mind. The discussions of physical pain in Teste as a path to inner freedom
find a counterpart in Murphys silken restriction on the rocking chair.
Beyond being familiar with the increasingly frequent use of the diary in
fictional texts, Beckett had also read nonfictional diaries, such as Fieldings
Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon. He had, long before setting out for Germany in 1936,
tried his hand at journal writing in his spoof lecture entitled Le concentrisme,
delivered to the Modern Language Society at Trinity College Dublin, in

November 1930. During his discussion of the imaginary Jean du Chas,
Beckett quoted from the poets notebooks, establishing their authenticity
(as he would later in Malone Dies) through indications such as that of a page
torn through the anguished act of writing. Moreover, Beckett invests much
of his own biography into the figure of du Chas, not only in terms of the
same birthdate, but also in such references as ces juvniles expriences de
fivre allemande [these juvenile experiences of German fever] (Dis, 37).
Becketts most concentrated diary reading before travelling to Germany
was that of Jules Renard in 1931.7 The first reference to this reading occurs
in a letter of February of that year, although a month later Beckett confessed
to feeling tired out by Renard, yet vowed to come back to him (SB to TM,
24 February 1931 and 11 March 1931). Having annotated his copies of
Renard, Beckett subsequently transferred several quotes from the Journals
into the Dream notebook (DN, 304). Renards minute observations of
unusual details and his unexpected combination of disparate experiences
or perceptions were used by Beckett throughout his early work. As in many
other texts pilfered for creative purposes, beneath the scraps of notes there
is a sense that Beckett admired Renards unflinching attention to himself
and his surroundings. This is particularly evident in the dying pages of the
Journal, as it grows into a Sick Mans Diary. Beckett was impressed by
Renards honest observation of the decline of his own body, culminating in
his having to urinate on himself as he is unable to rise. A latent sadness
pervades Renards Journal, a preoccupation with ageing and dying, intensi-
fied by his fathers suicide. But, more importantly, Renards attitude towards
his own writing, as when he states that the fear of boredom is the only
excuse for working, struck a chord with Beckett, as did his references to
writing with scrupulous inexactness and defining his ignorance as the
main ingredient of his originality (Renard 1964, 49, 18 and 224). Further-
more, some of Renards entries strangely prefigure major concerns of
Becketts later writing. His the word that is most true, most exact, most
filled with sense, is the word nothing (192) offers a further perspective
on Becketts own meditation on the word in Murphy.
When Beckett turned to keeping his own diary, he picked up Renards
journals again. The German diaries contain a reference to him reading
a Journal & Candide, a breath of air in the dungeon (GD, 7 February
1937). Mentioning Renard in a postcard to Reavey a week later, it can be
assumed that the unidentified Journal Beckett was reading in Germany
was indeed Renards. That Beckett would go back or continue reading
Renards Journals six years after first discovering them is an index of their
importance to his own diaristic enterprise.8
In the wake of an emerging body of literary criticism investigating auto-
biographical writing since the 1960s, the diary has increasingly become the
object of critical scrutiny. However, whereas a common conception of what
defines a diary exists, scholars have failed to formulate a consistent generic
categorisation of the form that encompasses the sheer variety of structures
and contents evident in diary writing. Being in essence a private form of
writing, the diarist is at liberty to use an individual structure and scope of
content. Already the historical development of the diary shows the wide
variety of functions it has encompassed, from the historical chronicle or
annals, the private book of jottings, through religious (Puritan) confession,
romantic introspection, travel logs and self-educational observation
(Goethe), to the journal intime and therapeutic psychoanalytical recording
of the unconscious. Some diaries do not restrict themselves to any one
thematic area, paying equal attention to the recording of physical and
emotional states, political and social events, financial issues, conversations,
projects, memories, cultural experiences, travel impressions or drafts of
letters and novels. Others are dedicated to a single aspect of existence, such
as dreams, illnesses, a journey or a love affair.
As Andrew Hassam has pointed out, any convention we may describe as
a convention of the diary is either not maintained by all diaries or found in
other types of writing (1993, 11). Just as the discussion of auto-bio-graphy
has foundered on the destabilisation of every aspect of its etymology (self,
life and writing), efforts at formulating typologies of the diary, based either
on aspects of form or content, have ultimately proven inadequate. Yet
despite the fluidity of the boundaries of the diary form, it is possible to
outline two minimal generic consistencies, taking into account that diver-
gences even from these schemata may exist.9 The diary has a first-person
narrative and point of view; it is written at periodic intervals whereby a
certain number of the sections is preceded by a date corresponding to the
time of composition or the events described. Beyond this one can say that
the diary is often written daily, describing either the present or events
that have only recently occurred (usually since the last entry), and that the
diarist is writing for herself or himself. The implications of such a form
are the absence of an addressee other than the writer and the essentially
nonretrospective and fragmented narrative structure. One could add that
an overarching quality of the diary, evident from the different uses to which
it has historically been put, is its functionality.
Indeed, Becketts choice of using the journal form in September 1936,

rather than pursuing his habitual and more scholarly note-snatching,
must surely be based upon some functional intention. One of the most
striking features of Becketts diary is that he submits himself to a strongly
conventional diaristic mode, even though he is writing for himself. The
purely private nature of Becketts diaries is not only indicated by the absence
of any statement of projected publication, but is illustrated by their very
textual fabric. Grammatical or orthographic mistakes are therefore left to
stand and passages are freely crossed out. A further indication of the private
nature of the diaries is the indeterminacy in Becketts notation, in that
certain events or thoughts remain unexplained and indecipherable to any
reader but the diarist himself. This is further complicated by the use of
abbreviations or symbols. Such instruments of concealment are often
applied to matters of a delicate and private kind, and illustrate the writers
fear that the diaries may never be absolutely secret. Beyond the use of more
obvious abbreviations, Beckett only introduces one symbol (which looks
like a Y) into the diaries, most probably to denote a certain solitary sexual
activity.10 Yet, on the whole, Becketts German diaries are marked by a sin-
cerity often absent or circumscribed in other diaries; his visits to brothels
are bluntly described (and therefore not in the style of the journaux intimes).
This is not to say of course that even in such a detailed account as in
Becketts diaries, there are not omissions which are as revealing of the
diarists intention as the words on the page. Becketts failure to mention
some of the letters written from Germany to Thomas MacGreevy allows us
to infer that there are further, and surely weightier, matters that are being
concealed. In what is manifestly a private diary, these omissions not only
point to forgetfulness or a decision based on a prioritisation of notation,
but also to a possible evasion in the act of self-observation.11
Despite the secret nature of his diaries, Beckett, straying from his usual
irreverent attitude towards generic forms, chose to adopt the main formal-
istic conventions of diary writing. Not only are the events and activities of
the day structured chronologically, Beckett further upholds the illusion
that the daily entries are written on the actual day indicated by the dating.
Although most of the days entries are clearly written that same evening,
there are instances when this is not the case.12 An example of this occurs
early in the first notebook, as Beckett writes:
To bed in another room, smaller, vacated only to-day, under kolossal [colossal]
Pferdedecke [horse blanket] that woke me up sweating like Judas, and
explains German for nightmare being Alp. (GD, 9 October 1936)
The temporal delay in writing the following day, in that reference is made
to the preceding night, is contradicted here by Becketts efforts at situating
the moment of recording this passage to-day. Indeed, only rarely does he
admit to a deviation from the convention of writing entries on the same
day, and there is an entry for every day of the six months except two
from the first week, which are retrospectively described but not dated (GD,
5 October 1936). In a further passage, Beckett curiously admits to writing
his diary on the following day, yet from the perspective of the entry that
he is retrospectively recording: All above Tintenkuli [ink pen] passage,
& this also, written to-morrow afternoon in bed (GD, 16 January 1937).
However, apart from a few such isolated instances, Beckett upholds the
convention of the daily entry, which is also highlighted by his practice of
not correcting an inaccuracy in the previous days notation but doing so
in the following entry.
The German Diaries Thematic Concerns and Functions
You cannot mention everything in its proper place, you must choose, between the
things not worth mentioning and those even less so. For if you set out to mention
everything you would never be done.
(Molloy, 39)
Any attempt to discern Becketts aims in keeping a diary by focusing

on what he found worth mentioning runs into difficulties. The diaries
Beckett kept during his six-month journey through Germany strive to
mention everything. Beckett records his daily activities minutely (in a
wealth of filthy circumstance Molloy would say; Mo, 63) and a defining
feature of his journal is its cross-generic and multi-purpose nature. Unlike
most diarists, Beckett does not introduce his diary with a statement of intent
outlining the motivations behind the commencement of notations. Rather,
the journey itself provides the framework for the journal, beginning on
the day he leaves Dublin and ending on the last evening spent in Munich
before flying to Croydon.
In this respect, the German diaries are most obviously a travel diary, the
origins of which date back to antiquity. Francis Bacon, for instance, in his
essay Of Travel (1516), recommended the keeping of a diary as a practical
tool to make the journey more profitable. Becketts diaries record in detail
sites visited, impressions of local customs, political and social comments
and accounts of conversations. This aspect of the diary is even extended to

a notation of the very streets along which he walks or the number of the
tram that has carried him to a certain destination.
A second thematic area explored in Becketts diaries could most ade-
quately be described as the pathology of everyday life, which manifests
itself in the recording of the minutiae of physical existence. Beckett begins
many diary entries with an evaluation of the quality of the previous nights
sleep. This is usually coupled with the time of rising, a practice repeated at
the end of the day upon retiring. Furthermore, there are only a few instances
where Beckett fails to record where and what he has eaten at any given time
during the day, including an evaluation of the meal itself as well as the
accompanying drink, and often the cost of the entire repast. These aspects
of the diary are all present in the following diary entry: Poor night, first
cold, then anal frenzy. Called at 8 but not up till 9. Breakfast in restaurant,
honey & tiny testicular rolls (GD, 6 December 1936).13 This attention
to the habits of everyday life is extended to matters of personal hygiene
and frequency of bowel movements. Although the recording of bodily
functions, the offal of experience (PTD, 78), is rather uncommon in
modern diaries (Dali and Gide being exceptions), it represented a key
ingredient in the journals and autobiographical works of such writers as
Johnson and Rousseau.
The third main area of focus lies in the diary as artists journal. Once the
record of daily events is stripped away, what emerges is an inventory of
Becketts accumulation of artistic references and material. This is most
obvious in the vast space given over to visits to art galleries, but also extends
to his wide reading of German literature throughout the trip, and visits to
the cinema and the theatre.
Beyond these three main areas, the diary served Beckett in a practical
manner, as an agenda for telephone numbers and addresses, budget
calculations and travel itinerary. It also takes on the qualities of a scrapbook
or a book of commonplaces in that it records extracts from newspaper
articles, snippets of overheard conversations and toilet humour.
The cardinal function of diary writing is to preserve experience from the
progressive erosion of memory, to prevent forgetting. Krapps Last Tape of
course dramatises this very fixation of events, with the explicit intention of
being able to return to the past at any given moment. Both Becketts actual
diary and Krapps quasi-diary accurately reflect this desire to compile a
history of the self which Phillipe Lejeune has defined as one of the main
functions of diary writing, to build a memory out of paper, to create archives
from lived experience, to accumulate traces (2001, 107).
The value of a diary, however, is not restricted to the future. For many
diarists the immediacy of notation, the act of writing, is of prime importance.
In this sense the diary enables self-therapy, self-observation or self-analysis.
Needless to say, anyone keeping diaries of substantial length and meticulous
detail has self-reflexive tendencies, a certain need for either an emotional
outlet or the creation of a mirror in which to observe or even analyse the
self. More often than not, the diarist endeavours to overcome the frag-
mentary perception of life by fixing it on the page. Gide confessed to cling
to these pages [of his diary] as to something fixed among so many fugitive
things (80). Moreover, the succession of individuals, as Beckett conceived
a human life in Proust, could be apprehended and expressed in the rigid
frame of a chronological sequence (PTD, 19), even if it was ultimately only,
to borrow the description of Watts bed, the illusion of fixity (W, 179).
Becketts psychological investment in his diaries surely did not reach the
revelatory extremes of journaux intimes such as Amiels, parodied by the
Polish writer Gombrowicz in his diary entry Monday: Me, Tuesday: Me,
Wednesday: Me (qtd. in Vallee 1987, 187). Nevertheless, the structuring of
experiential living will have offered Beckett some assurance at a time of
both emotional and artistic uncertainty.
My Present State
I have also decided to remind myself briefly of my present state before embarking on
my stories. I think this is a mistake. It is a weakness. But I shall indulge in it.
(Malone Dies, 6)
Becketts tracing in his diary of his movements between 1923 and 1937,
discussed in the previous chapter, is the microcosmic equivalent to the
German diaries as a whole. The diaries represent a reminder of a present
state, an evaluative balance sheet compiled at a particular moment in life.
Many autobiographers feel compelled to initially render an account in situ,
as Rousseau does in The Reveries of a Solitary Walker: Unfortunately, before
setting out on this quest, I must glance rapidly at my present situation,
for this is a necessary stage on the road that leads from them to myself
(Rousseau 1979, 27).
Attesting to the vigilance of a mind always on the alert against itself
(TFN, 59), diary writing epitomises the self-reflexive and conscious
awareness of mental and physical experience. This aspect of the diary
has frequently been related to a specifically Protestant tradition, where

the absence of the Catholic practice of confession and the doctrine of
personal responsibility governs daily introspection. Gides diary writing
and Rembrandts incessant self-portraiture could, for example, be related
to this tradition, as well as writers who share certain spiritual affinities
with Protestantism, such as Kafka or Tolstoy. In this context it is worth
remembering Hugh Kenners statement that Becketts work draws on two
spiritual traditions by which history has shaped the specifically Protestant
character: the personal testimony and the issueless confrontation with
conscience (1973, 134).
However, also relevant in this context is the growing distance between
Beckett and his closest friend, Thomas MacGreevy. Throughout the first half
of the thirties, Beckett is at his most intimate when writing to his confidant.
To be sure, in 1936 their correspondence was still regular and of great
importance to Beckett, yet around this time there is a growing rift which
undoubtedly arises from their considerable differences regarding religious,
aesthetic and political questions. This change is difficult to document in
detail due to the absence of MacGreevys side of the correspondence, but a
trajectory leads from a March 1935 letter to one written in January 1938. In
the first of these Beckett dismisses MacGreevys recommendations of the
Catholic elements in Thomas Kempiss The Imitation of Christ as a solution
to his problems (SB to TM, 10 March 1935), and the second contains
Becketts first openly critical response to his friends aesthetics and politics
in the form of MacGreevys book on Jack Yeats (SB to TM, 31 January 1938).
During this period Becketts need of his friends approval, and even guid-
ance, diminished significantly. So did their contact: Let us correspond more
often (SB to TM, 23 July 1937). Although letters continue to be exchanged
up until MacGreevys death in 1967, the intimate correspondence, in its
sense of agreement, lessened. After some kind of dispute between the two
men early in 1939, Beckett admitted that he had too often called upon
MacGreevys reserves of indulgence, regretting that we seem to have lost
touch with one another (SB to TM, 11 April 1939). In any case, the writing
of a diary during a long solitary sojourn would also have been company.
As he noted while writing Company many years later, the German diaries
represented something to keep me going (company) for the duration
(SB to Jocelyn Herbert, 2 November 1977). Ultimately there is something
cathartic as well as affirmative in writing daily about ones life; it denotes a
continuous act of renewal that Beckett was seeking at the time.
More importantly, Becketts disciplined practice at daily writing and the
concomitant artistic vigilance must have mitigated the despondency he was
feeling at the perceived lack of artistic progress, especially as Murphy was

two years from publication. The German diaries offer a distinct comment
on Becketts creative situation after the completion of Murphy in June 1936,
and can be viewed as an effort against silence. It is a common occurrence
that writers either turn to, or intensify, their engagement with a diary when
other forms of writing are not forthcoming. Gide testifies to this when he
writes that he has harnessed himself to writing in his diary, as a means of
getting myself into the spirit for work (116). Beckett may well have hoped
that by writing, simply writing, he could get something new going. This is
not to say, however, that Beckett used the diary as some kind of sketchbook
or drawing board for literary projects. Unlike Musil, who uses his diary for
actual drafts, developing characters for his fictional worlds, or Kafka, who
often notes experiences in a stylised fashion that need little change before
finding their way into his stories, Becketts diary contains very few fragments
of creative writing or literary ideas. Essentially, Beckett regarded diary
writing in itself as a nonliterary exercise, clearly differentiated from his
usual creative endeavours. Despite his complaint that he found it more &
more difficult to write (SB to TM, 28 November 1936), the prolific nature
of the German diaries illustrates Becketts need to express himself. More-
over, both the diary form and diary writing correspond to three aspects of
Becketts creative and aesthetic thinking at the time of his journey through
Germany writing without style, fragmentation and writing the self all of
which influenced his further development as a writer.
The period between the completion of what is arguably Becketts most
conventional novel, Murphy, and the first steps towards Watt in February
1941 is marked by a disenchantment with what Proust calls the shortcomings
of literary convention (PTD, 11), as well as with writing itself. Becketts
position in 1936 was similar to the one Kafka found himself in when in 1909
he decided (having been invited to do so by Max Brod) to keep a diary of a
journey: But then again I believe that my trip will turn out better, that I will
apprehend better if I am relaxed by a little writing, and so try it again (qtd.
in Zilcosky 2003, 1011). John Zilcosky, basing his arguments on Max Brods
contentions in Der Prager Kreis to this effect, shows how Kafkas mature writing
grows out of the apprenticeship of his travel writing (19091912). Specifically,
Kafka focuses, in his travel diaries, on jotting down his disconnected, non-
narrative experience[s] , concentrating on the objective description of
what he sees (11). Indeed, as Peter Boerner has pointed out, the diary
form, particularly in its use in the early part of the twentieth century, invites
a declarative style and brevity through the crystallisation of experience
(1972, 43). Renard similarly conceived of his journal as a tool for achieving
style and precision of expression. Becketts method of recording can be set

beside these examples; his observations are written in a factual manner,
devoid of any attempt at interpretation, which is not to say that they are not
at times emotionally charged or expressed with feeling. The diary form
supports this tendency towards the statemental and the factual, in that the
span of time separating the experience and its notation is reduced to a
minimum. Yet even within this short distance a transformation and evaluation
takes place, both through the mental agency of the diarist and the language
employed. There is a curious illustration of this transformation in Watt,
where Sam fears he may have altered Watts story, although he was most
careful to note down all at the time, in my little notebook (108). Nevertheless,
the German diaries represent the first instance of Beckett writing without
style (Dream, 48). Writing purely for himself, with the specific aim of
describing all the myriad observations made during the course of a day
rather than developing literary drafts, he could write with a brevity and a
concision that would become characteristic of much of his post-war work.
This is illustrated in the following, characteristic, passage:
Walk on by Teich [pond], very pretty skating scene. Then on by Neue

Terrasse, past huge barrack on left, pleasant view of Japanisches Palais, as
far as Marienbrcke & back. In Brdergasse great excitement at arrival
of 2 colossal fire engines to extinguish a thin dribble of smoke from a
cellar. Schupi [Schutzpolizist; a policeman] springs forward & stops all
traffic. Walk through Schlosshof. Strikes me as seedy & buggered up.
On to Palucca. Shocked female retainer grudgingly besmirches her
person with my card & Poreps letter & bids me telephone at 8. Find
case arrived. Unpack. New room not quite such a coffin. After supper
ring up. Not available. Ring up again to-morrow at 11. Yes maam. (GD,
1 February 1937)
This is not to say that Becketts diaries lack humour, as when he declines in
an art gallery to be guided by using the word verfhrt (misled) instead of
gefhrt (led), or when he records a conversation during which the various
locations of Ufa film studios are mentioned: another somewhere (buy
more Watte [cotton wool]) else (GD, 27 February 1937 and 7 January
1937). Moreover, there are also instances where the predominantly factual
language is replaced by efforts at a more stylised composition. Beckett
tends to slip into a more ornate style of writing when he describes natural
environments. Literary passages particularly occur when Beckett observes
events by the side of rivers (see Nixon 2009a), as the following two passages
illustrate:
Ducks in dusk, taking wing from the water with the sound of consternation
& setting again with a long liquid vale, flying fiercely in pairs down the axes
of water, so different in the air than afloat. (GD, 31 December 1936)
by the brisk little canal, past Liebespaare [lovers], the ducks flying, taking
off & landing in noisy panic down the axes of water, in one stream a great
sexual or quarrelsome commotion, so that a big black muzzled hound
pauses on the bridge to attend. (GD, 7 March 1937)
The aphoristic and statemental style inherent in the kind of diary writing
that Beckett undertook is closely aligned with the fragmentary nature of the
journal. Although structured by chronology, the accretion of successive
segments (micro-texts) abolishes constraints of systematisation, narrative
thread or causality. The alogical progression of entries also enables the
diarist to express himself without worrying whether a previous or future
entry is contradicted. For Beckett, who is reputed to have said that the word
perhaps was the key to his work, the relevance of the fragmentary nature
of the diary cannot be underestimated. Already in his first novel, Dream of Fair
to Middling Women, Beckett had ironically attacked the lovely Pythagorean
chain-chant solo of cause and effect (10), and embodied that attack in the
very fragmentary structure of the work itself. Just as the diary substitutes the
discontinuous discourse for the linear or progressive order of the novel,
many of Becketts later works seem in their residual and abandoned status to
be torn from some larger narrative that can never be apprehended in its
totality. This concept of discontinuity is related to Becketts distrust of tradi-
tional autobiographical narrative (such as the memoir), with its endeavour to
synthesise characters out of their infinite fragmentation (Pascal 1960, 4).
Beckett carried the fragmentary structure of the diary into Watt, his first
major work following his trip to Germany, where the omissions within the
text (hiatus in MS.; 207) are designed to highlight both its textuality and
its inconclusiveness. Furthermore, Watt incorporates another characteristic
of the diary form, its open-endedness, which is upheld not only thematically
but also textually through the Addenda. Although it can deal with matters
of the past and envisage a future, diary writing is essentially a writing to the
moment. There is no way of predetermining what the next day will bring
and thus what will be written. Nevertheless, within the forward-looking
framework, the diary always presupposes a further entry. Thus the form
itself has no terminal point, and the final word is only imposed by external
reality. The most obvious terminus is the death of the diarist, anticipated,
for example, by Fielding in his Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon: if I should
live to finish it, a matter of no great certainty (1973, 261). The fragility of
writing, in that it is resolutely tied to the fragility of the body (or being
in general), is most fully explored in the decline in both narrator and
narrative in Malone Dies: Soon I shall be quite dead at last, and so on,
without even going on to the next page, which was blank (35).
For Beckett, the terminal point of diary writing was rather less dramatic,
imposed (as the beginning was) by the frame of the journey. Beckett seems
to have planned writing a diary during his trip, taking a new and unused
notebook with him, and it is equally probable that he envisaged terminating
writing once the journey was over. In a sense the end of the journey is not
only a place related to time and location, but also a space Beckett created
through the language of the diary. Nevertheless, despite both the linguistic
and emotional investment in the prediction of the end, there would have
been, even to Beckett himself, no guarantee that he would stop writing, so
that the diary remained potentially endless.
Indeed, in the renunciation of any form of cohesion and conclusion, the
diary epitomises Becketts preoccupations with endings and beginnings.
Thus Joyces strategy behind ending, and not ending, Portrait will have been
of particular interest to Beckett, who throughout the thirties struggled to
bring his own texts to a satisfying end. Just as diaristic writing is a continual
act of renewing the writing self, Becketts texts emphasise the impossibility of
completion, as several titles such as From an Abandoned Work or For to end yet
again indicate. From the very beginning, Beckett found it difficult to ascer-
tain where to end a text. Having submitted the essay Proust to Prentice, for
example, Beckett wrote to the Chatto editor requesting to add 5 or 6 pages
in order to develop the parallel with Dostoevski, but ultimately failing to
do so.14 Dream had also, to use the phrasing in Endgame, hesitate[d] . . . to
end (CDW, 93) before doing so with an impatient END (Dream, 241).
In what replicates his own sense of terminating certain aspects of his life
and paralleling his habit of setting forth only to return, Becketts difficulty
with bringing his individual works to a satisfactory conclusion was not easily
overcome. By the time Beckett came to write Murphy, the problem had
become endemic. In January 1936 Beckett was telling MacGreevy that
only three, four chapters remained to be written, but by May of that year
Beckett still could only envisage a first end, finally finishing it a month later
(SB to TM, 29 January, 7 May and 27 June 1936). Even then, MacGreevy
must have raised concerns with the ending of the book, to which Beckett
replied that he had envisaged the difficulty and danger of so much following
Murphys own end (SB to TM, 7 July 1936).
It seems to have taken Beckett a long time to realise that to finish it all
right would also mean to begin it again (SB to TM, 9 January 1936), and
that all he would ever write was somehow connected as Belacqua, Murphy
and all other characters would continue to surface in much of his later, even
post-war, work. His reading of Johnsons Rasselas may have contributed to
this awareness. Rasselas refuses closure precisely because final determinative
resolutions defy the real condition of life, which is one where our minds,
like our bodies, are in continuous flux (Johnson 1976, 115). Accordingly,
the last chapter of the book is entitled The conclusion, in which nothing is
concluded. There is a sense that Becketts texts are a continuous work in
progress, a writing process that is never complete.
Writing I
If Becketts diary writing afforded him some company, it was also a very
specific kind, as the late text Company demonstrates: What an addition to
company that would be! A voice in the first person singular (CIWS, 9).
Indeed, whereas critics rightly point to Watt as Becketts first serious venture
into the first-person narrative, it is the daily writing of the self inherent in
the diaries where Beckett learnt to say I.15 The diary represents a prime
textual space in which to enquire into the psychological subject and its
linguistic expression. Effectively this enquiry takes the form of a linguistic
transcription of a dialogue, or rather a dialogue with oneself. By splitting
the self into a recording I and a recorded I, a distancing perspective is
established which allows a more even observation of the self. Whereas this
mode is common to all autobiographical forms, the immediacy and the
specifically self-reflexive nature of the diary collapses this gap between the
teller and told, resulting in a self-contained act of self-writing. The diary is
the most effective form for tying writing to being. The self-referential act
of diary writing, writing to the moment, is illustrated by those instances
when the very act of writing inscribes itself into the text. This performative
inscription appears already in the second entry of the German diaries:
Tender left about 6. On board Washington about 7.15. Sail 8. Cabin to myself
(so far). Lousy table with 5 bosthoons just come on board like myself.
Didnt know we were to call at Plymouth. Tired yet dont feel like going to
bed. Very dubious at the moment about the trip. (GD, 29 September 1936)
In its chronological retrospection the text approaches the very instance

in which Beckett writes to the moment. What emerges here is not only
an act of self-writing, but also the presence of the writing self, a reciprocal
performance which can be located both spatially and temporally. It is this
immediacy of presence that Beckett developed in his later writing, from the
dramatisation of Krapps recording of himself to Malones claustrophobic
writing to the very last moment.16 Already evident in early asides, as when
the narrator in Dream confesses spirit (getting tired of that word), the
writing of the diary showed Beckett how to make the text not only self-
referential to the person writing it, but also to the actual moment, the
spatial and narrative occasion, of its composition (43).
The German diaries represent the fulcrum of a period begun with Dream
and not resolved until later texts such as Krapps Last Tape or Malone Dies,
where writing is increasingly merged with being. As we have seen, Beckett
remained at a distance from his alter ego Belacqua, a gulf established
through the wealth of secondary material and the use of irony, a method
still active in Murphy. For Beckett, writing I by submitting himself to diary
writing over a period of six months and exploring the possible use of the
journal form was a first creative step towards a writing that would more
completely eradicate the border between the autobiographical and the
fictional. At a time of emotional and intellectual disorientation, writing
daily not only allowed Beckett to artistically experiment with writing in
a new, concise style, admitting fragmentation and inconclusiveness, but also
enabled him to come to a little knowledge of himself (Dream, 184). Various
fictional diaries have attested to this quality of diary writing. Roquentin in
Sartres La Nause states that he will [k]eep a diary to see clearly (Sartre
1964, 1), an intention reflected in Rilkes Malte, who reveals at the
beginning of his journal-like notes Ich lerne sehen [I am learning to see]
(Rilke 1973, 9). This aspect is re-enacted again and again in the German
diaries, expressed, for example, when Beckett foregrounds the textuality
and temporality of his writing: write . . . this Quatsch [nonsense] to
this point (GD, 9 December 1936). It is an anticipation of the impulse
governing the utterances of Becketts later narrators: I did not want
to write, but I had to resign myself to it in the end. It is in order to know
where I have got to (MD, 33).
Chapter 3
Psychoanalysis, Quietism and Literary Waste
Trying to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.
(T. S. Eliot, East Coker, V, 1969, 182)
T. S. Eliots use of a terminology of conflict to illustrate the artists struggle

to approach the inarticulate anticipates Becketts 1966 short tribute to
Avigdor Arikha, where he refers to the siege laid to the impregnable with-
out (Dis, 152). Any metaphor of struggle would be apt to describe Becketts
personal and aesthetic experiences precisely 30 years prior to making this
statement. Expressed in terms of the short For Avigdor Arikha, Beckett
during the mid-thirties had been very much seeking a truce that would
reveal a space and the marks of what it is to be and be in face of (152).
Whereas the narrator of More Pricks than Kicks could still declare that
for Belacqua there were instances when it was not the moment for self-
examination (33), by late 1934 his creators psychological imperatives
dictated that there would be little else.
After the instability and wildness of Dream there is a movement within
Becketts work towards a truce, a personal and aesthetic equilibrium that
might counter the growing disorientation. Throughout the middle years of
the decade Becketts writing is not so much motivated by aesthetic concerns
but rather driven by psychological necessity. The German diaries represent
a new beginning within a form that has helped many writers to overcome
either a personal or an aesthetic crisis. Yet turning to this new mode of

writing, Beckett did not hope that these marks of what it is to be (Dis, 152)
could be achieved with only shabby equipment at his disposal, or that the
inarticulate could be rendered articulate.
The previous two chapters discussed Becketts struggle to accommodate
life and art in his early work, the personal and aesthetic associations
Germany held for him and the nature of the textual space in which he
decided to inscribe his 19361937 journey. In this chapter I propose to dis-
cuss the way in which Becketts work sought to address what Wordsworth
called, in The Prelude, the wavering balance of his mind (1979, 101). This
subtext is inscribed within Becketts writing and aesthetics during the thir-
ties (and beyond), enriched by borrowings from the traditions of literary
melancholia, philosophical scepticism and quietism.
Therapeutic Voodoo?
It is possible to view the German diaries as something more than just an

artistic exercise of the writing hand or an aide-mmoire. Beckett also turned
to the diary form with an awareness of its introspective quality. Indeed, it
is pertinent to view the self-exploratory nature of the diary as a logical
extension to the psychoanalytic sessions Beckett undertook with Wilfred
Bion in London from late 1933 to 1935, following the advice of his friend
Geoffrey Thompson.1 It can therefore be seen as a progression from the
talking cure, aided by an analyst, to a self-therapy exercised through a
form of writing cure.2
Beckett was driven to psychotherapy by a specific fear & a specific
complaint (SB to TM, 10 March 1935): an increasingly incapacitating spate
of anxiety attacks which manifested themselves in an internal combustion
heart (SB to TM, 31 August 1935), and states of panic that troubled him
particularly during the night.3 The trouble with my bitch of a heart (SB to
TM, 24 February 1931) had already surfaced as early as 1926 (Knowlson
1996, 64). Halfway into his therapy Beckett was obliged to accept the
whole panic as psychoneurotic (SB to TM, undated [7 August 1934]),
aware that his problems were somehow related to the savage loving of his
mother (SB to TM, 6 October 1937), whose intense demands on him had
reached unbearable levels following his fathers death in February 1933.
As Knowlson surmises, Bion probably employed reductive therapy in his
treatment of Beckett, in order to discover the dynamic links between the
symptoms and its causes in the past (Knowlson 1996, 170). In determining
Psychoanalysis, Quietism and Literary Waste 39
significant incidents from the past, both free association and dream analysis
were employed to enable a splitting-off or transference of certain aspects
of character.
Becketts comment to Morris Sinclair in January 1934, that analysis was
the only thing that interests me at the moment (Knowlson 1996, 171),
seems initially to have been matched by its benefits. During his first visit
back to Dublin in August he told MacGreevy that he felt things to be
easier with Mother also. I am more than content to take her as she is. . . .
I only begin to realise how much good the Covey [Bion] has done me.
Pains better also. (SB to TM, 18 August 1934)
As Matthew Feldman has examined in his important study, Becketts

Books (2006), Beckett began to read widely in the field of psychology and
psychoanalysis at this time, taking extensive notes in two notebooks (TCD
MS10971/7 and MS10971/8).4 Beckett viewed psychology as yet another
epistemological source that could potentially prove fruitful to his writing. It
is easy to forget that during the thirties, psychological theories in general
and psychoanalysis in particular were in part still terra incognita, inducing
much excitement in the literary (and artistic) world. Beckett was of course
very aware of this influence, discussing during his Trinity lectures both Gide
and Racine as competent psichologists [sic] and translating the Surrealist
simulations of verbal styles of insanity for This Quarter in 1932.5 Becketts
interest in mental disorders, references to which abound in his early work,
certainly needs to be set alongside a general prevalence among writers
to introduce such concerns into literary discourse. This cross-fertilisation
will have been obvious to Beckett, as when he came across psychological
explanations of Gides acte gratuit, which he had discussed during his Trinity
lectures. From Karin Stephens The Wish to Fall Ill (1933) he noted the
conception of crime as the effect, not the cause, of a sense of guilt (crime
immotiv), a specific act on which to fasten and so relieve the floating sense
of dread (TCD MS10971/7, 2v).6
As with his reading in other fields, Beckett, following the reading of
Stephen, initially turned to a work that would supply him with a general
overview of the subject, in this case R. S. Woodworths Contemporary Schools
of Psychology (1931). From this book Beckett took notes on all strands
of psychological thought, that is to say, Psychoanalysis, Behaviourism,
Purposivism, Existentialism, Gestalt Psychology and Introspectionism (which
incorporated the Klpe School). Elements of this reading invariably flowed
into Murphy, both in a serious as well as an irreverent manner. Indeed, one
could hardly expect Beckett to resist employing the splendidly named

proponent of the Klpe School, Narziss Kaspar Ach, the surname a fitting
sigh in the face of Murphys eccentricities. But Beckett also found much of
interest during his introductory journey through contemporary psychology,
not least in the Jungian notion that the tendency of energy towards an end-
state of equilibrium explains behaviour better than the causal-mechanical
explanations of Freud and Adler. A neurosis represents an attempt at a
fresh synthesis (TCD MS10971/7, 8r). Recalling Becketts dismissal of the
causal chain in Proust, his annotation to this passage also looks forward to
the idea of a truce: Cp. Gestalt concept of insights as closing a gap and
attaining an equilibrium.
Beyond Woodworths general overview, Becketts other psychological
reading during this period can be related to his own preoccupations;
his notes taken from eight further books betray an emphasis on personal
application and represent an attempt to illuminate his own perceived
problematic condition. The titles of such books as Karin Stephens The
Wish to Fall Ill or Otto Ranks The Trauma of Birth (1929) indicate as
much. The reading of the latter book appears to have been a direct result
of Becketts psychotherapy, during which (as he recounted in 1989) he
came up with [i]ntrauterine memories of feeling trapped (Knowlson
1996, 171).7 Ranks account enabled Beckett to make the connection
between these pre-natal memories and his own feelings of anxiety: Just as
all anxiety goes back to anxiety at birth (dyspnoea), so every pleasure has
as its final aim the re-establishment of the primal intrauterine pleasure
(TCD MS10971/8, 17v).8 Central to Becketts interest in the subject is the
classical dictum Optimum non nasci, aut cito mori [the best is not to be
born, but to die quickly], copied from Burtons The Anatomy of Melancholy
into the Whoroscope notebook, an idea which is refracted, in various guises,
throughout his work (86v).9 It first appears in Proust in Calderns phrasing
as Pues el delito mayor / Del hombre es haber nacido [the greatest sin
of mankind is to have been born], taken from Schopenhauers The World
as Will and Idea (PTD, 67). For Beckett, the idea merged a psychological
sentiment with an existential outlook. It was expanded when Beckett,
together with Bion, attended one of Jungs Tavistock lectures in October
1935, where the psychologist discussed the case of a girl who had never
been born properly.10
The overall emphasis of Becketts psychology notes, however, lies in
the exploration of the origins and symptoms of anxiety, from which he
had been suffering for some time. In March 1931 Beckett complained to
MacGreevy about his latest cardiac feather: fear followed by no genitive
(SB to TM, 11 March 1931). In a further attempt to better understand this

problem, Beckett turned to Freud (whom he called Freudchen) for
illumination, albeit through the filter of Ernest Joness Freudian Papers
on Psychoanalysis (1913) and the Treatment of Neuroses (1920). In a letter to
A. J. Leventhal of 7 May 1934, Beckett refers (on the basis of his reading
of Jones) to Freuds displacement upward, a neurotic device of great
popularity. Beckett, with a wry smile no doubt, commented that he must
be getting along like a jakes on fire with this tendency to displace (through
symbolism) repressed aspects of the character from the lower to the upper
part of the body.11 Becketts notes show that he struggled through the
whole of Joness Papers.12 Quoting Freuds original German throughout
rather than Joness English translations, much of the material recorded
stems from the chapter on The Pathology of Morbid Anxiety (Jones 1920,
48199). Like Rank later, Jones declares, as Beckett notes, that the entire
range of morbid anxiety phenomena stand in intimate relation to actual
birth event, which is first anxiety experience of the individual & serves
as archetype of all later manifestations (claustrophobia, compression,
suffocation, etc.) (TCD MS10971/8, 8v).
Yet having realised that fear, in Freudian terms, is a psychological shield
that protects the organism from mental processes of which it is afraid,
Beckett hesitated to remove it. In a letter to MacGreevy he hints at prefer-
ring mindlessness to the shabby depravity that would result from a
confrontation of the displacement of the original affect (SB to TM, 15 May
1935). Moreover, Becketts notes reveal that despite the serious implica-
tions of Joness conclusion that morbid anxiety means unsatisfied love, he
found it difficult to relinquish the very detached intellectual irony which
continually threatened the success of his psychotherapy. Summarising a
case reported by Jones of a woman whose piano playing acted as a substitute
for masturbation, Beckett noted Masturbation sublimating on the pianoforte
(TCD MS10971/8, 8v).
Further to Joness discussion of Freudian theories of anxiety, and connected
with his own difficulties with sleeping, Beckett showed a keen interest in the
function of dreams to satisfy the activity of unconscious mental processes
that would otherwise disturb sleep (TCD MS10971/8, 8r). Beckett further
investigated this connection within the work of Edouard Claparde. In a
letter to Leventhal of May 1934, Beckett refers to an article by Claparde
on sleep as reflex defence action, and asks his friend to return the issue of
the periodical Minotaure in which it had appeared.13 From Becketts later
comment that he had lent Brian Coffey some Minotaures we can assume
that he often read the magazine, which ranged thematically from Surrealism
and primitive art to psychology (SB to TM, 7 August 1936). Thus the issue
in which Clapardes article appeared also contained essays by Dali and
Breton, Man Ray photographs, a Horoscope de Jean-Arthur Rimbaud as
well as an early piece (Motifs du crime paranoaque) by Jacques Lacan.
Becketts interest in the mechanisms of sleep can be linked to one of his
earliest nightmares, relating to the experience of diving into the Forty-Foot
hole in Dublin at the invitation of his father (Knowlson 1996, 20). This
was surely in the back of Becketts mind as he recorded Ranks assertion
that the [d]ream of plunging into water telescopes the birth trauma
(TCD MS10971/8, 17v). Both the memory and the dream of the diving
scene are replayed with slight variations in several of Becketts works.
It first appears in the play Eleutheria, where it is enriched by a reference to
Dr Johnson recorded in one of the Human Wishes notebooks. As recounted
by Mrs Thrale, Dr Johnson angrily refused to relate the dream that
introduced the first corruption into his heart (UoR MS3461/1, 72r).14 In
Becketts first play the Glazier similarly refuses to hear Victors diving
dream, while Vladimirs DONT TELL ME! in Waiting for Godot makes the
point quite clear (CDW, 17).15
Beckett and Melancholy
The diving incident is part of an extensive autobiographical typology

underlying Becketts work, which provokes an incessant textual return to
certain memories. In conversation with James Knowlson in 1989, Beckett
referred to these images, mostly deriving from his childhood and youth,
as obsessional (Knowlson 1996, xxi).16 As in the case of the memory of
the Forty-Foot in Dublin, many of these autobiographical traces relate to
Becketts father, whose death in June 1933 represented a severe blow.
Indeed, as Phil Baker has convincingly shown, Becketts work is greatly
concerned with the subject of loss and grieving, and can be biographically
traced to the haunting memories of loved ones (14570). In discussing
Becketts reaction to this loss, privately and in his writing, it is pertinent to
invoke (as Baker has done) Freuds 1917 essay Mourning and Melancholia.17
In contrast to the person in mourning, in the melancholic the libido
responds to the loss of a love-object not by reinvestment in a new object
of desire, but by drawing itself back into the ego. As a consequence, the
existence of the lost object is psychically prolonged by an identification of
the ego with the lost object (Freud XIV, 245). This process is connected
with an original narcissistic object choice.18 The ensuing conflict between
separation and containment of the lost love-object can manifest itself in

cessation of interest in the outside world, loss of the capacity to love, inhibi-
tion of all activity, and a lowering of the self-regarding feelings to a degree
that finds utterance in self-reproaches (Freud, XIV, 244).
[T]he dead annex the quick, Beckett had predicted in Proust in 1931
(PTD, 39), and the German diaries show how three years after his fathers
death he still painfully felt his absence. As an organ was playing in the
Petrikirche in Hamburg he [b]egan thinking of Father: a me tue . . .
(GD, 19 October 1936). And after a long walk in Grnewald, on the out-
skirts of Berlin, on Christmas Day, Beckett noted in his diary: Melancholy
memories of other Xmas walks (GD, 25 December 1936). It is the walks
across the Dublin mountains with his father, particularly at Christmas,
which are invoked here. Arguably the most precious, as well as the most
painful, memories for Beckett, they were anticipated several months before
his fathers death in a comment to MacGreevy: Lovely walk this morning
with Father . . . Ill never have anyone like him (SB to TM, 23 [April 1933]).
This togetherness with his father was subsequently etched in Becketts
memory, as the following comments from letters spanning twenty years
illustrate:
I thought of a Xmas morning not long ago standing at the back of the
Scalp with Father, hearing singing coming from the Glencullen Chapel.
(SB to TM, 1 January 1935)
At night, when I cant sleep, I do the old walks again and stand beside him
[Becketts father] again one Xmas morning in the fields near Glencullen,
listening to the chapel bells. (SB to Susan Manning, 21 May 1955)
The similarity in tone and the precision with which the moment is captured
in these two passages reflects the repeated projection, with only slight
variation, of these memories into fictional form. As Beckett talks about a
walk in the countryside surrounding Ussy (two days after Christmas), the
real walk was elsewhere, on a screen inside (SB to Pamela Mitchell,
27 December 1954). The persistent return of these memories explains
why Beckett disliked going back to Dublin and specifically the Dublin
mountains, frequently expressing his relief at getting away, out of their
clutches (SB to Pamela Mitchell, 30 March 1968).
Yet, importantly, and however painful these memories proved to be for
Beckett, there is also a distinct sense in which the remembering moment
is one of consolation, or even happiness. During his stay in Berlin at the
end of 1936, Beckett could also note after a walk in the outskirts feel most
happily melancholy (GD, 7 November 1936). Indeed, just as Belacqua was
crowned in gloom in Dream (9), Beckett understood melancholia to be a
mood rather than a disorder, a distinction undoubtedly derived from his
reading. As Jennifer Radden points out, the new, or at least sharpened
association of depression with loss and self-loathing that emerges from
[Freuds] Mourning and Melancholia [differs from] earlier accounts of a
simple, almost moodlike subjectivity of nebulous fear and sorrow (Radden
2000, 289). A letter Beckett wrote in 1931, and thus before his fathers
death, highlights his melancholy disposition as being independent
from the experience of loss: walking, the mind has a most pleasant &
melancholy limpness, is a carrefour [crossroads] of memories, memories
of childhood mostly, moulin larmes [mill of tears] (SB to TM,
8 November 1931).
As so often in the 1930s, Beckett turned to books to seek literary
equivalents of his own emotional preoccupations. Thus Robert Burtons
The Anatomy of Melancholy introduced him to a corpus of writing drawn
from the melancholic tradition.19 Here he will have learnt of the physical
symptoms arising from the humours, and appreciated the metaphysical
implications of a sentiment such as His heart taketh no rest in the night,
which Burton took from the Book of Ecclesiastes (2:23).20 Julia Kristevas
statement (in Black Sun) that in Aristotles Problemata melancholia was
coextensive with mans anxiety in being is surely also pertinent to Beckett
(1989, 7).21 Aware of the melancholic tradition, and not averse to seeing
himself as part of it, Beckett could apologise to MacGreevy for this futile
and not even melancholy letter (SB to TM, 11 March 1931).
Burtons discussion of melancholy as containing feelings of solitude,
sadness and fear without cause may have offered a kind of positive emo-
tional intensity as expressed in Miltons Il Penseroso, but, on the other
hand, did little to remove Becketts paralysing symptoms. After the initial
prospect of relief there is a marked decrease in Becketts conviction that
the analysis with Bion could bring about any kind of improvement or
solution. By January 1935, Beckett acknowledged that the analysis is
going to turn out a failure (SB to TM, 1 January 1935). More precisely, and
paradoxically, Becketts comments indicate that any possible solution would
in fact be worse than the actual problem: how lost I would be bereft of
my incapacitation (SB to TM, 14 February [1935]). Similarly, Belacqua in
Ding-Dong also had cause to wonder whether the remedy were not rather
more disagreeable than the complaint (MPTK, 31).
Nevertheless, Beckett continued his therapeutic course for another ten

months, lacking the courage to break it off in the face of Bions insistence
that more work was needed to free him from his neuroses. Although
Beckett valued the insights into his own unconscious that the analysis
offered, he did not subscribe to the solutions that the psychoanalytic system
advocated. By the time Beckett came to read Ranks The Trauma of Birth,
his patience with over-interpretation had given way to frustration, so that
the previously committed note-taking is now interspersed with humorous
asides: Inestimable advantage of man over woman, consisting in his
being able partially to back into the mother by means of the penis which
stands ha ! ha ! for the child (TCD MS 10971/8, 18r). His overriding
belief that the unconscious was impregnable would not, and perhaps
could not, have been abolished by what Murphy calls the therapeutic
voodoo (133). With the internal combustion heart as bad as ever (SB
to TM, 31 August [1935]), Beckett in the winter of 1935 decided to discon-
tinue his therapeutic sessions with Bion. A letter to MacGreevy in January
1936 forcibly states that the whole enterprise had done nothing to improve
his relations with his mother or to remove the nocturnal anxiety attacks.
This letter also contains a strong condemnation, surely inflected by a
sense of frustration, of the irrelevance and even dangerous nature of
psychoanalytic therapy:
As I write, think, move, speak, praise & blame, I see myself living up to the
specimen that these 2 years have taught me I am. The word is not out
before I am blushing for my automatism. (SB to TM, 16 January 1936)22
Nevertheless, Beckett may have turned away from psychoanalysis as a system

what Murphy calls complacent scientific conceptualism but not necessarily
from some of its methods (111). In conversation with Knowlson, Beckett
indicated that he had kept some kind of psychoanalytic journal, stating that
he used to go back to my digs and write notes on what had happened, on
what Id come up with (Knowlson 1996, 177). It is not impossible that Bion
encouraged Beckett to pursue such a practice, as he had kept one during
service in the First World War. What is certain is that Bion asked Beckett
to keep a record of his dreams which could be used during therapy to
shed light on unconscious mental processes.23 Such dream diaries formed
an important part of psychoanalysis. Having paid such intense attention to
his dreams (and having dreamed up two dreams for Dream), one could
expect Beckett to have continued the practice during his trip to Germany.
Only two dreams, however, are recorded during the six months that he kept
a diary, a vivid tooth dream, and another frightful of a man getting a
torpedo in the guts, and then being the only one of the crew to recover
(GD, 1 October 1936 and 13 February 1937).
Yet Beckett must have felt that there was some value in using a personal
notebook into which he could deposit psychological preoccupations. His
desire to continue some form of self-therapy is suggested by his response to
a letter received while in Germany from Geoffrey Thompson, who relayed
a message from Bion
deploring any interruption of treatment, opining a total cure if I had

stayed a little longer, & trusting to see me again. NIX ZU SAGEN. Oder
zu viel [NOTHING TO SAY. Or too much]. (GD, 8 December 1936)
Beckett already began to express what had hitherto remained unsaid in the
Clare Street Notebook, which he had bought in Dublin in July 1936. Much
of this notebook shows Beckett practising his German, as the translations,
for example of the poem Cascando (only just written) and Johnsons
letter to Lord Chesterfield, illustrate. Yet there is a series of August entries
which deviate from Becketts previous practice of notation: most entries are
clearly dated and several short pieces written in German deal with Becketts
psychological concerns. Thus on the 11 August 1936 Beckett notes the
recurrence of feelings of anxiety, psychosomatically resulting in physical
pain. The following deliberation illustrates Becketts own explanation of
the problem:
Wie durchsichtig klar kommt mir dieser Mechanismus heute vor, dessen
Prinzip heisst: Lieber um Etwas Angst haben, als um Nichts. Im ersten Fall
wird nur ein Teil, im zweiten das Ganze bedroht, von dem Ungeheuren,
welches zum Wesen des Unbegreiflichen, fast drfte man des Unbegren-
zten sagen, unzertrennlich gehrt, nicht zu reden. . . . Wenn eine solche
Angst zu steigen anfngt, muss ein Grund schleunigst dafr erfunden
werden. Da es keinem gegnnt wird, mit ihr in ihrer absoluten Grund-
losigkeit leben zu knnen. So mag der Neurotische, d.h. Jedermann, mit
den grssten Ernst u. mit aller Ehrfurcht behaupten, dass zwischen Gott
im Himmel u. Schmerz im Bauch der Unterschied bloss minimal ist. Da
beide von einer Quelle herrhren u. zum einen Zweck dienen: Angst in
Furcht zu verwandeln.
[How translucent this mechanism seems to me now, the principle of

which is: better to be afraid of something than of nothing. In the first case
only a part, in the second the whole is threatened, not to mention the
monstrous quality which inseparably belongs to the incomprehensible,
one could even say the boundless. . . . When such an anxiety begins to
grow a reason must quickly be found, as no one has the ability to live with
it in its utter absence of reason. Thus the neurotic, i.e. Everyman, may
declare with great seriousness and in all awe that there is merely a min-
imal difference between God in heaven and a pain in the stomach. Since
both emanate from one source and serve one purpose: to transform
anxiety into fear.] (UoR MS5003, 3r4r)
The relevance of this passage lies in the very act of Beckett committing such
self-revealing sentiments to paper, and, furthermore, doing so in German.
Both the Clare Street Notebook and the German diaries attest to Becketts
dedication to a form of writing that could accommodate a self-therapeutic,
or at least a self-analytical, impulse. In focusing on the recovery of material
repressed by the subjects conscious discourse, precisely through discourse,
the psychoanalytical act naturally favours the spontaneous and periodic
notation of the diary. In fact, the diary can replace the analyst as the recipi-
ent in an act of transference as conceptualised by Freud (see Besanon
1987). Jacques Lacan has further equated the creative capacity of language
with a therapeutic function in the formulation of the past through dis-
course, and within a narrative.24 In what is effectively a written talking cure,
the stable framework of the diary represents a space, a site in which a pro-
jection of inner processes and general preoccupations of the self can be
situated. The disassociation thus achieved from troubling material provides
a cathartic effect while enabling a confrontation of that very material
refined by distance.
To be sure, Beckett distrusted any suggestions that a true self could be
recovered through either therapeutic or artistic processes. Nor was this dis-
covery desirable, as the vritable artiste reste toujours demi innocent de
lui-mme [the true artist is always partly ignorant of himself].25 Moreover, in
his essay on Proust, Beckett denies the possibility of introspection for the same
reason as Auguste Comte had before him: any attendance to experience mod-
ifies that same experience.26 Yet Beckett gleaned more from the emphasis on
discourse in Freudian psychoanalysis than from its discovery techniques. The
factual accuracy of the recollected material is secondary to the imaginative
representation of emotions and memories fashioned in the present.
The Necessity of Writing:

Beckett and Literary Bookkeeping
The therapeutic value of autobiographical writing was of course recognised

before the advent of psychoanalysis. Long before doctors and therapists
urged such diverse writers as Theodor Fontane or Simone de Beauvoir to
keep a diary, St. Augustine wrote his Confessions in an attempt to heal spiritual
infirmities. Pertinent to Becketts own insistent return to such memories
in his work, writers such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau and W. B. Yeats turned
to autobiographical writing to banish haunting childhood experiences.
This act of writing out, the necessity of release through discourse, is
operative in Beckett in passages that confront autobiographical material
within fictional investments. Thus Dream represents a series of surrogate
goodbyes (Da tagte es; SP, 31) and can be aligned with the project
announced in The Calmative: Ill try and tell myself another story, to try
and calm myself (ECEF, 19). And the therapeutic value of writing is under-
lined by Becketts statement that he composed Watt to get away from war
and occupation (qtd. in Fletcher 1967, 58). Referring to the book as
an exercise to keep [his] hand in (qtd. in Harvey 1970, 381), Watts urge
to encompass an irrational universe in exhaustive details closely relates
to Becketts attempts in the German diaries (and other personal, artistic
notebooks of the thirties) to counteract threatening disorientation through
an obsession with order. Expressive of an intense desire to accumulate
knowledge, this energy of organisation manifests itself most strikingly in the
endless lists of painters in the diaries, with biographical details meticulously
recorded. Beckett himself felt this energy to be misguided; in a diary entry
describing an evening spent with the art historian Will Grohmann, Beckett
expressed his envy of the beautifully applied energy of these people (GD,
2 February 1937). He contrasts Grohmanns exactness of documentation
and authenticity of vocation with the little trouble I give myself, this
absurd diary with its lists of pictures, serves no purpose, is only the act
of an obsessional neurotic. This dismissive evaluation of the diary is
further evident from the comment this mode begins to be not only
wearisome but flagrantly futile (GD, 6 January 1937). In his Whoroscope
notebook he recorded an apt word while in Germany: Detailkrankheit
[detail-illness] (35r).
Yet the chronological attention to the detailed mechanics of the day
reveals a drive to control the living experience. As Christine Downing and
Paul Ricoeur have argued, there is a correlation between the temporal
structure of narrative (particularly in the autobiographical text) and the
inscribed concept of the self, which would suggest that in the case of the
German diaries a structured investment was favoured over an associative
one.27 Kafka illustrates this interrelatedness between self and writing. Like a
shipwreck victim adrift in a sea of confusion, Kafka clings to his diary as if
his existence depended on it: Ich werde das Tagebuch nicht mehr verlassen.
Hier muss ich mich festhalten, denn nur hier kann ich es [I will no longer
abandon the diary. It is here I must cling onto, as it is only here that I can]
(entry for 16 December 1910; 1983, 22). Indeed, this kind of existential
need to write has also been expressed by Beckett: Writing was for me that last
ditch that or leave (SB to Kay Boyle, 21 August 1971). Becketts feelings of
obligation to have to write the diary I have to flog myself to this is
closer to Kafka than, for example, to Gide (GD, 5 December 1936).
Interestingly, in referring to Kafkas fiction, Beckett stated his amazement
that the form is not shaken by the experience it conveys (SB to Ruby Cohn,
17 January 1962). But it was precisely such a stable form that Beckett him-
self sought in his diary to weather a period in his life marked by uneasy
shifts of experience. Kafkas great achievement, which was also the source
of his turmoil, was to go a long way in eradicating the border between self
and text. Becketts own struggle with this line of demarcation is at the root
of his early work, disclosed by the shifting impulses to conceal and reveal.
Like Beckett, Kafka frequently attests to states of anxiety, with attendant
hypochondriac and psychosomatic pressures, that necessitate writing; he
thus records a great urge to write my utterly fearful state out of me, and just
as it comes out of the depth to inscribe it into the depth of the paper. . . .
This is not an artistic urge (entry for December 1911; 1983, 136). At the
same time as recognising the therapeutic effect of writing, both Kafka and
Beckett share a distrust of the notion that utterances equal clarifications
or even solutions. Thus Becketts German diaries elicit an awareness that
the self is liable to displace or, worse, falsify emotional reality. Rather than
dredging up some grand confessional from his soul or attempt any kind of
interpretative evaluation, Beckett tends to sum up his general psychological
state of the day in a simple sentence. Thus on the 11 February 1937 we
read the sober evaluation: Blind dazed painless mood all day.28 Kafka
similarly distrusted the belief that the inner and outer incoherence could
be clarified:
Hatred toward active self-observation. Explanations of the soul, such as:

Yesterday I was like this, because of that, today I am like this, and because
of that. It is not true, not because of this nor because of that and thus also
not like this or like that. (1983, 248)
On the whole, scholars have hesitated in setting Becketts project alongside

Kafkas, partly because it is difficult to assess to what extent Beckett was
familiar with Kafkas work. Indeed, where Becketts reading of Kafkas
fiction and his diary after 1945 can be documented, there is no evidence
that he did such reading during the 1930s. To my mind, the only possible
contact could have occurred in the pages of transition, which contained
work by both authors. Its editor, Eugene Jolas, was an admirer of Kafka, and
transition 11 (1928) carries the first English translation of a Kafka text, Das
Urteil (translated as The Sentence). Further translations from Kafkas
work appeared in transition, and it is likely that Beckett would have read at
least some of these texts, particularly those appearing in issues that carried
his own pieces. Thus three short Kafka stories from Beim Bau der Chinesischen
Mauer were published alongside Becketts Sedendo et Quisciendo[sic] in
transition 21 (1932), and Kafkas Metamorphosis was printed in three instal-
ments in issues 257, in the last of which Becketts review of Denis Devlins
poetry appeared.
Whatever the level of Becketts exposure to Kafkas writing, the two
share, as we have noted, a similar scepticism towards facile systemisation
of experience and the possibility of Seelendeutungen [explanations of the
soul]. The lack of certainty resulting from this scepticism produces a
quietist tendency in both, which can only draw from an unentrinnbare
Verpflichtung zur Selbstbeobachtung [inescapable obligation towards
self-observation] (entry for November 1921, Kafka 1983, 402), the same
self-awareness Beckett posited as an artistic necessity in his 1934 essay
on Recent Irish Poetry (Dis, 71). As Kafka further explains in several
letters to Felice Bauer (to whom he was twice engaged): My relationship
to writing and my relationship to people is unchangeable. . . . What I
need for my writing is seclusion, not like a hermit, that would not
be enough, but like a dead person.29 Beckett in 1936 was still a step away
from this extreme, but he evinces a growing acceptance that the artist must
necessarily lead a solitary existence. On a personal level, as illustrated by a
diary entry made in Berlin in 1936, Beckett emphasised [h]ow I ADORE
solitude (GD, 31 December 1936) and commented on the absurd beauty
of being alone (GD, 6 November 1936), explaining to his new acquaint-
ance Gnter Albrecht that since his departure from Hamburg he had
felt lonely, but auf eine so freundliche Weise, dass es mir nicht einmal
eingefallen ist, nach dem zu suchen, was man Anschluss nennt [in such
a friendly way that it has not even occurred to me to seek what one calls
connection .30
Becketts Quietism
It was the very isolationism inherent in his wilful seclusion in Berlin

which Beckett, in a highly revealing letter to MacGreevy dated 10 March
1935, had posited as part of the problem that led him to psychotherapy.
Responding to MacGreevys suggestion, no doubt well intended, to turn
to Thomas Kempiss Imitation of Christ for guidance, Beckett stated that
this was one of the very texts that he had twisted . . . into a programme
of self-sufficiency:
An abject self-referring quietism indeed . . . but the only kind that I, who
seem never to have had the least faculty or disposition for the supernatural,
could elicit from the text, and then only by means of a substitution of
terms very different from the one you propose. I mean that I replaced the
plenitude that he calls God, not by goodness, but by a pleroma only to
be sought among my own feathers or entrails.31
Rejecting the primary transcendental elemental of Kempiss ethics, Beckett

could not understand how the secondary factors in the Imitation, goodness
& disinterestedness could remove the sweats & shudders & panics & rages
& rigors & heart burstings.32 Beckett proceeds to explain that the initial
specific fear & complaint was the least important symptom of a diseased
condition that could be traced to his pre-history, a bubble on the puddle,
whereby the fatuous torments which I had treasured as denoting the
superior man were all part of the same pathology:
For years I was unhappy, consciously & deliberately ever since I left school
& went into T.C.D., so that I isolated myself more & more, undertook less
& less & lent myself to a crescendo of disparagement of others & myself.
But in all that there was nothing that struck me as morbid. The misery &
solitude & apathy & the sneers were the elements of an index of superiority
& guaranteed the feeling of arrogant otherness.
Bions psychotherapy seemingly focused on this index of superiority,

noticeable in Becketts acrimonious comments on fellow (usually Irish)
artists, as a problem which needed addressing. During his first return to
Dublin after starting treatment, Beckett was thus trying hard to find people
nice & have them find me so, with more success than formerly (SB to TM,
18 August 1934). Beckett carried his preoccupation at this time into his
reading of Rousseau. Having earlier been alert to the madness & the
distortion in the Reveries of a Solitary Walker (SB to TM, 5 December 1932),
Beckett in September 1934 declared Rousseau an authentically tragic
figure (SB to TM, undated [16 September 1934]). Although he was a
champion of the right to be alone, Beckett in this letter locates Rousseaus
unhappiness not only in societys denial of that right, but also in his
infantile aspect, afraid of the dark, of his constitution. Thus Rousseau
would always fall for a show of tenderness, a fact Beckett adduces from
the admission in the Reveries that Mon plus grand malheur fut toujours
de ne pouvoir rsister aux caresses [My greatest misfortune has always been
my inability to resist caresses] (SB to TM, undated [16 September 1934]).
That this tension between solitude and human warmth had a personal
application for Beckett can be exemplified by his use of Rousseaus ter-
minology in a 1932 letter to MacGreevy: Father real. Mother comico-real.
My need for anaesthetic of caress comico-real (SB to TM, 30 August 1932).
The conscious struggle to integrate into society in a more amenable
fashion is very evident during his trip to Germany. A surprising ingredient
of the German diaries lies in Becketts extreme sociability over long stretches
of time, even if it was frequently punctuated by retreats into solitude. In this
heightened situation of exile and marginality, Beckett evaluates individuals
and groups of people in relation to his own outlook. Although the result
is mostly negative, Beckett does at times manage to find society that is con-
genial to him. Following an evening with the art historian Will Grohmann and
his wife, he states: Feel happy with these kind of people (GD, 11 February
1937). Conversely, however, a letter written by Gnter Albrecht to Axel
Kaun offers a glimpse of how Beckett appeared to other people during his
time in Germany:
Er [Beckett] ist ein Mensch, der berhaupt nur noch die Atmosphre der
Stdte, Bilder & Plastiken, allenfalls noch einige historische & literarische
Kuriositten geniesst, betrachtet und bespttelt. Dadurch kommt es, dass
er sehr viel von dem, was anderen wichtig & lieb erscheint hat absterben
lassen & sich berall & nirgends zu Hause findet. Darber hinaus aber ist
er sehr scharfsichtig, objektiv & berhaupt recht klug und intelligent.
[He (Beckett) is a man who only enjoys, observes and scoffs at the
atmosphere of towns, paintings and sculptures, and perhaps a few his-
torical and literary curiosities. As a result he has let many things that are
important and dear to others become numb within himself, and finds
himself at home everywhere and nowhere. Beyond this however he is very
perceptive, objective and generally very clever and intelligent].33
Yet even as he managed to dampen the scoffing part of his character,

Beckett did not renege upon his fundamental belief, as stated in a discus-
sion of Hebbels Gyges und sein Ring, in the universal antithesis between
the individual & collective (GD, 12 January 1937). To state it in the terms
of his letter discussing Kempiss The Imitation of Christ, Beckett decided that
isolationism, even if it meant accepting the related physical symptoms, was
better than the disinterestedness that any cure entailed. Becketts belief
that the solitary state is the irrevocable fate of human beings, particularly
pronounced in the artist, was not easily shaken. And art is the apotheosis
of solitude, Proust postulates (64).
Indeed, the essay on Proust, written in 1930, shows Beckett first cultivating
the trope of the solitary artist, whereby his own sense of wilful seclusion
conveniently corresponded to the image of Proust preferring the quiet
of his room to the bustle of the street (SB to TM, 25 January 1931). In an
accentuation of the introspective quality of the artistic experience, Beckett
located the only possible spiritual development . . . in the sense of depth:
The only fertile research is excavatory, immersive, a contraction of
the spirit, a descent (PTD, 645). This concern with depth suggests the
psychoanalytical thrust into the unconscious, with the risk that what may
be hidden there may well prove to be distressing. There is an exchange
between Arsene and the narrator(s), in the second notebook of Watt, in
which satire uneasily coexists with an authentic emotion encapsulated in
a reference to Greystones, where Becketts father was buried:
Never mind that now cried Arsene. Dig! Delve! Deeper! Deeper!
The Cambrian! The uterine! The pre-uterine!
The pre-uterine we said. No. That reminds us of the rocks at
Greystones.34
Moreover, suffering is identified in Proust as the main condition of the

artistic experience (28), and the entire work is founded upon a matrix of
pessimism filtered through Schopenhauer. Beckett was highly conscious
of where he was taking Proust. Even before he had started writing the
essay (late August 1930), an entry dated 15 July 1930 in George Reaveys
diary, presumably made after the two friends had met, illustrates this:
Sam. Beckett Proust & Pessimism.35 It was around this time that Beckett
first read Schopenhauer:
An intellectual justification of unhappiness the greatest that has ever

been attempted is worth the examination of one who is interested in
Leopardi and Proust rather than in Carducci and Barrs. (SB to TM,
undated [25? July 1930])
Attentive to the darkest passages in Schopenhauer (Dream, 62), Beckett

introduced this aesthetic of unhappiness into Proust. If the book represented
a distorted steamrolled equivalent of some aspect of confusion of aspects
of myself (SB to TM, 11 March 1931; my emphasis), then his later admission
that he had possibly overstated Prousts pessimism also implies that he
invested the essay with his own negativity (Pilling 1976, 24). And having
defined his interest in Leopardi by way of Schopenhauers unhappiness,
the Italian artisan de ses malheurs was engaged to further enrich the essays
pessimistic flavour.36 The importance of Leopardi to early Beckett is
exemplified by his attachment to the poem A se stesso (To Himself).
A single unlined sheet of paper survives on which Beckett had copied out
the poem (he also cites it in Dream, 62), which includes lines that expressed
feelings close to Becketts temperament:
Omai disprezza
Te, la natura, il brutto
Poter che, nascoso, a commun danno impera,
E linfinita vanit del tutto.
[Now despise
Yourself, nature, the sinister
Power that, secretly, commands our common ruin,
And the infinite vanity of everything]. (TCD MS10971/9)
However, it is Schopenhauer who has the last word in an essay in which he

is omnipresent: defunctus.37 Referring to the life of the body on earth as
a pensum, this single word represents the culmination of all that goes
before, and, more importantly, acts as an aesthetic marker from which
much of Becketts work unravels (PTD, 93). Nearly 70 years later, in 1979,
Beckett returned to this sentence from dear Arthur (TCD 10967, 252v)
and noted it in his Sottisier notebook:
Das Leben ist ein Pensum zum Abarbeiten: in diesem Sinne ist defunctus
ein schner Ausdruck [Life is a pensum to be worked off: in this sense
defunctus is a fine expression]. (UoR MS2901, 13r)38
This concept of life as something to be endured, compounded by

Schopenhauers renunciation of the will, leads Beckett to adopt a kind
of a quietist aesthetic.39
By 1934, Beckett was foregrounding quietist attitudes in his critical writing,

discussing Prousts originality as arising out of the conflict between interven-
tion and quietism in Proust in Pieces, and entitling his review of MacGreevys
poems Humanistic Quietism (Dis, 68).40 The latter piece appears to derive
much of its terminology and the images of light and clarity from Becketts
reading of Thomas Manns Buddenbrooks in the spring of 1934:
Theres a good passage in Buddenbrooks where Mann speaks of happi-

ness, success etc., as analogous with light from a star, its foyer abolished
when it most bright, & that brightness its own knell. So please God it is
with unhappiness, if it can be bright, & with the bells rung in the distant
heart. . . . Its a basis for quietism anyhow, if basis be needed. (SB to
A. J. Leventhal, 7 May 1934)
Basis perhaps not, but rather an elaboration. Possibly inspired by his

reading of the Imitation of Christ in the spring of 1935, Beckett proposed to
introduce quietism into the writing of Murphy, as the outline to the work in
the Whoroscope notebook suggests.41 In order to pursue this angle as well as
to get Murphy moving again after a period of stagnation, Beckett planned in
January 1936 to go to TCD in search of Geulincx (SB to TM, 9 January
[1936], misdated 1935). Although admitting that my Geulincx could only
be a literary fantasia, Beckett made a considerable effort to penetrate the
philosophers world, taking notes from the Latin original of the Ethica.42
Becketts transcriptions from Geulincxs Ethica focused on the fourth of the
Four Cardinal Virtues discussed, Humilitas:
The divisions of Humility are twofold: Inspection of Oneself, and

Contempt of Oneself. As to the former, it is nothing other than the
celebrated saying of the Ancients, know thyself. (TCD MS10971/6, 7v)43
The combination of the inspectio sui and the despectio sui produces Geulincxs
fundamental ethical axiom, which Beckett had already mentioned in his
philosophy notes: Ubi nihil vales, ibi nihil velis [Where you are worth
nothing, there you should want nothing] (TCD MS10967, 189v).
Beckett appears to have connected his reading of Geulincx with Thomas
Kempis, signing off a letter to Arland Ussher, immediately after discussing
Geulincx, with Humiliter, Simpliciter, Fideliter [meekly, simply, truly]
taken from The Imitation of Christ.44 Indeed, as Chris Ackerley has shown, in
Becketts mind the two writers were reconciled in their renunciation of the
will and affirmation of humility (Ackerley 2000, 87).45 From the perspective
granted by Becketts previous reading of Schopenhauer, it is not difficult to

understand his attraction to the quietism these texts transmitted.46 Thus,
for example, Thomas Kempiss He who knows the secret of enduring
will enjoy the greatest peace (emphasised by being placed in a box in the
Dream notebook, item 587) glossed Schopenhauers pensum. But having
no disposition for the supernatural, as he told MacGreevy in his discussion
of The Imitation, Beckett removed the origin of the self-effacement, the
contempt for self, as deriving from the human worthlessness before
God, in order to arrive at the self-referring quietism. This removal of
the transcendental application of the quietist position did nothing to
diminish the value of the Imitation or the guignol world of the Ethica,
which nevertheless offered an aesthetic and an ethic by which to exist within
a meaningless universe.47
Geulincxs axiom also provided Beckett with one of the two poles between
which Murphy had to navigate:
I suddenly see that Murphy is break down between his: Ubu nihil vales ibi
nihil velis (position) [where you are worth nothing, you will wish for
nothing] & Malrauxs Il est difficile celui qui vit hors du monde de ne pas
rechercher les siens (negation). [It is difficult for someone who lives out-
side the world not to seek out his own]. (SB to TM, 16 January 1936)48
To set up the conflict between the two positions, Beckett had to abridge
Malrauxs sentence, which in the English translation reads Solitude, too,
after the event though it is hard for one living outside the world of men
not to seek out his fellows (Malraux 1961, 21920). The sentiment is that
of Chen, a political activist, who had previously similarly remarked that
solitude was necessary before a political act. Unsurprisingly, Beckett removes
the references to the committed man, thus obscuring a complexity that
pertains to his own thinking at both this and a later time. For Beckett, the
artist is as committed as the political activist, although the investment of
energy is directed inwards rather than outwards. Yet abridging Malrauxs
sentence enabled Beckett to express more accurately his own struggle,
conducted partially through psychoanalysis, with the acquisition of a self-
effacing, solitary and humble life. In the Dream notebook he emphasised a
second sentence from The Imitation, To desire no comfort from any creature
is a sign of great purity (DN, item 588), yet felt his apartness rather pain-
fully at times while in Germany: I am utterly alone (no group even of my
own kind) (GD, 2 February 1937).
Dereliction, Wastes and Words
The German diaries reveal how much Beckett was struggling to endure
life, feeling no desire except the old velleity towards painless release from
the fragile habit of getting up, dressing, moving, eating, undressing, going
to bed (GD, 7 March 1937). Beckett was also failing to keep God out of the
equation, and there is a genuine sense of frustration with having to put
up with various physical torments. In January 1937, in Berlin, Becketts con-
siderable discomfort caused by an anal cyst provokes a scornful response:
Gods velleities be done (GD, 8 January 1937), and, a day later, Gods
whim be done. This anticipates Morans version of the Lords Prayer,
his pretty quietist Pater, in Molloy, where God is similarly posited as
either absent or not having the best interests of his human subjects at
heart: Our Father who art no more in heaven than on earth or in hell,
I neither want nor desire that thy name be hallowed, thou knowest best
what suits thee (175).
Yet it was precisely the prayers which largely attracted Beckett to
Dr Johnson. Beckett referred MacGreevy to the Prayers & Meditations
to substantiate his view of the spiritually self conscious and tragic
Johnson, completely at sea in [his] solitude and disclosing a need to
suffer or necessity of suffering (SB to TM, 4 August 1937). Beckett invested
much emotional and artistic energy into writing (and not writing) the
biographical play, Human Wishes, about Johnson between 1937 and 1940
(see Chapter 7). Samuel Johnson represented a further link in Becketts
melancholy and quietist chain of references, illustrated by Mrs Thrales
sketch of the writer: Where there is nothing to be done, said Johnson,
something must be endured (qtd. in Birkbeck Hill, 1897, I, 210). Sharing
a love for Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy, Beckett seems to have identified
with Johnson on several levels, in particular with the sincerity and con-
tent of Johnsons periodic confessions.49 On Easter Day, 1776, Johnson
thus notes:
My reigning sin, to which perhaps many others are appendant, is waste

of time, and general sluggishness, to which I was always inclined, and in
part of my life have been almost compelled by morbid melancholy and
disturbance of mind. (qtd. in Birkbeck Hill, 1897, I, 74)
This is not far removed from Becketts own emotional distress while in
Germany, where the Not a thought, not an emotion except the old clenched
feeling of hate, suspicion & worthlessness & hideousness (GD, 7 March 1937)
leads to an extreme outpouring of mental pain:
Apathetic & melancholy. Nothing now & nothing ahead but age &
ugliness & nothing past but grief & remorse. (GD, 13 March 1937)
This period in Becketts life marks his growing acceptance of the psycho-
logical tensions and physical disorders governing his condition. As this
chapter has shown, this is traceable in his adoption of a secular quietism as
well as his preference of incapacitation over an automatism induced by
psychoanalysis. The point is succinctly expressed in the diaries, in a passage
reminiscent of a diary entry in Kafka revealing how the diary represents
the organisation of such a life:
Perhaps I am this equal to the relatively trifling act of organisation that is

all that is needed to turn this dereliction, profoundly felt, into literature.
Spes unica [Only hope]. (GD, 2 February 1937)
The sentence amounts to a kind of statement of poetics, one moreover that

incorporates Becketts thinking up to this point. It is hardly coincidental
that Becketts use of dereliction here echoes the Great Dereliction in
Dream, where it refers to Dean Inges description of St. Theresas abandon-
ment by God (6 and 185).50 In the long March 1935 letter to MacGreevy
discussing Thomas Kempis, Beckett already referred to this dereliction
when remarking that his condition did not allow any philosophical or
ethical or Christlike imitative pentimenti:
If the heart still bubbles it is because the puddle has not been drained,
and the fact of its bubbling more fiercely than ever is perhaps open to
receive consolation from the waste that splutters most when the bath is
nearly empty. (SB to TM, 10 March 1935)
Becketts terminology derives partly from his reading of psychoanalytic

literature, and his notes from Joness Treatment of Neuroses, for example,
refer to the notion of draining neurotic material (TCD MS10971/8, 11r).51
Yet there is also an echo of the theory, put forth by Timothie Bright in
A Treatise of Melancholy (1586), which describes a darknes & clouds of
melancholie vapours rising from that pudle of the splene (qtd. in Radden
2000, 122). Becketts waste is thus refracted, variously, into a description of
a psychological condition and a metaphor for the created texts. Accordingly,
the literary products created out of a sense of dereliction are persistently

equated with human waste and emissions by Beckett; he thus refers to
my Proust turd or promises Reavey to excavate for a poem for you one
of these dies diarrhoeae.52
Although Beckett wondered in 1932 whether a garden is more frighten-
ing than a waste, he was driven to psychoanalysis in an effort to clear up his
problems (SB to TM, 18 October [1932]). As he broke the analysis off late
in 1935, he did so with an awareness similar to the one expressed by Rilke:
Die Psychoanalyse ist eine zu grndliche Hilfe fr mich, sie hilft ein fr
allemal, sie rumt auf, und mich aufgerumt zu finden eines Tages, wre
vielleicht noch aussichtsloser als die Unordnung [Psychoanalysis is too
thorough a help for me, it helps once and for all, it clears out, and to find
myself cleared out one day would perhaps be even more hopeless than the
disorder].53 Following his return to Dublin in 1936, Beckett felt that the
only plane on which I feel my defeat not proven is the literary waste (SB to
TM, 16 January [1936]).
Chapter 4
Beckett Reading German Literature
As discussed in the first chapter, Becketts attraction to Germany was rooted

in an intricate assemblage of personal and aesthetic experiences, originating
in his relationship with Peggy Sinclair and their subsequent separation.
The earliest written manifestation of what for brevity could be termed
the German associative complex occurs with Becketts appropriation of
Schopenhauers pessimism in the 1931 essay Proust. It marks the beginning
of a consistent use of German as both language and trope. An examination
of Becketts Auseinandersetzung [engagement] with German culture in the
thirties reveals that he found in its literature, philosophy and music a
sombre and tragic quality reflecting, yet also helping to shape, his own
worldview. In Dream, Belacqua had also been sensitive to the German
language as [s]craps of German played in his mind in the silence that
ensued; grand, old, plastic words (Dream, 191). Indeed, the material
evidence of Becketts reading of German literature in his notebooks and
correspondence reveals that the scraps of German continuing to surface
in his work issue from an extensive scribal activity only recently recognised
by scholars. Moreover, in the silence that ensued between acts of writing,
Becketts reading of German literature proved to be a creative stimulus as
well as an influence on his developing poetics.
Despite the frequent use of German vocabulary in his correspondence
and the references in Dream to Hlderlin (139), Grillparzer (60) and
Goethe (59 and 80), there is no evidence that Becketts knowledge of
German literature at this point was anything but sketchy. Indeed, with
the possible exception of his reading of unidentified texts in the winter of
1932, it seems as if Beckett prior to 1934 had read few German books in
the original.1 The probable source of the German fragments incorporated
in the early poems and prose is Schuberts Lieder, with which Beckett was
familiar from an early date (Knowlson 1996, 98).2 Thus the majority (but,
to be sure, not all) of Becketts German references are taken from texts
set to music by Schubert. It is significant that Goethes appearance in the
Beckett Reading German Literature 61
postwar story, First Love, is by way of a song: I did not know the song, I had
never heard it before and shall never hear it again. It had something to
do with lemon trees, or orange trees, I forget (ECEF, 72). The song that
the prostitute Lulu (or Anna) sings for the narrator is Mignons Song
from Goethes Wilhelm Meister, one of Schuberts most well-known settings.3
It is indicative of Becketts approach to German literature through music.
Indeed, Becketts more intense and focused study of German literature and
language only began in earnest in the early months of 1934 following
another painful separation, the death of his father in June 1933, and culmi-
nated during his tour of Germany from September 1936 to March 1937.
As the list of books sent home in the Whoroscope notebook indicates,
Beckett had already bought and partly read over 20 books in German by
December 1936, just two months into his trip.4
German Literary Histories
Two notebooks (UoR MS5002 and MS5006) from early 1934, when he was
staying at Paultons Square in London, show Beckett assiduously improving
his German vocabulary and writing skills. In an essay written in order to
practise recently acquired words, the programme of study is clearly set
out: Aber die Lektre deutscher Bcher, scheint von allen mglichen
Methoden die beste zu sein, um einen reichen Wortschatz zu erlangen [But
the reading of German books seems to be the best of all possible methods
to acquire a rich vocabulary] (UoR MS5002, 6r). The first step towards
accomplishing this task was to prepare the ground by reading and taking
exhaustive handwritten notes from the first edition of J. G. Robertsons
A History of German Literature, published in 1902.5 The choice of Robertsons
History reflects both Becketts systematic procedure (already evident in his
reading of an English literary history) and his general tendency to rely on
the Trinity College Dublin syllabus to guide him in his studies. Although he
had not taken German as an undergraduate, Beckett must have consulted
his Dublin University Calendar, which lists Robertsons History as the standard
introductory work.
Becketts notes on German literary history, filling the first 71 pages in a
notebook held at Trinity College Dublin as MS10971/1, were taken purely
with the acquisition of knowledge in mind. Beckett covered all of Robertsons
historical survey with the exception of the opening section on the Old High
German Period, and his notes replicate Robertsons structural devices such
as the table of contents, subdivision headings and keywords. Summarising
the main developments, Becketts notes meticulously record the life dates,
salient biographical features and major works (at times with bibliographic
reference) of a large portion of authors mentioned in Robertsons book.
Beckett generally favoured introductory books which were factual rather
than interpretative and which paid attention to the biographical and social
conditions of individual writers, as his comments on various literary his-
tories while in Germany in 1936 demonstrate. He thus rejected Wilhelm
Scherers comprehensive Geschichte der deutschen Literatur to be alas defi-
cient in dates (GD, 25 October 1936), but took note of Werner Mahrholzs
Deutsche Literatur der Gegenwart, which aroused his interest in that it was
composed 1932 (i.e. before Machtuebernahme = 1933), knapp & von der
Hhe [brief and from a distance], elements that in Becketts mind were
favourable indicators of quality. He later tried to obtain this book but was
told that it was not to be had, one of many instances of Nazi censorship
(GD, 2 November 1936). Beckett clarified his position regarding the kind
of book he was after when rejecting Friedrich Stieves Abriss der deutschen
Geschichte von 17921935 in a conversation with Axel Kaun: What I want
is the straws, flotsam, etc., names, dates, births and deaths, because that
is all I can know (GD, 15 January 1937). This diary entry also discloses
Becketts interest in the biographical and social circumstances within which
the writer moves: So I want the old fashioned history book of reference,
not the fashionable monde romanc that explains copious[ly] why e.g.
Luther was inevitable without telling me anything about Luther, where
he went next, what he lived on, what he died of, etc.. Both Robertsons
History and Karl Heinemanns Die deutsche Dichtung (1910), which he bought
in Germany (GD, 22 October 1936), fulfilled these vital criteria, frequently
presenting the personal pressures and concerns underlying the creative
process.6
Although there are no personal observations in Becketts notes from
Robertsons History, the passages transcribed and the measure of detail
given to individual authors and works provide an insight into Becketts
sensitivity to certain themes and authors at this time. The two periods of
German literature eliciting special interest from Beckett are the Middle
High German period (10501350 for Robertson) and the classical period
around Goethe. However, there is a decreasing attention to detail observable
in the notes as Beckett progressed in his reading of Robertson. During the
first few pages Beckett went as far as to complement Robertson by turning
to further secondary material, incorporating, for example, passages from
the Encyclopaedia Britannica entry on the Nibelungenlied.
Becketts reading of Robertsons book is difficult to date with precision,

yet it seems likely that he read it in the spring of 1934, as various terms and
quotes from Robertson find their way into Becketts own writing from this
time onwards.7 Both the handwritten nature of the notes and the fact that
he renewed his readers ticket in February 1934 suggest that he read the
book in the British Library in London.8 This dating is corroborated by the
poem Da tagte es, which is alluded to in a letter to Leventhal in May 1934.9
The poem is annotated in Becketts copy of Echos Bones at the Harry
Ransom Center with Walther von der Vogelweide?. It is conceivable that
Beckett composed the poem around the same time as he was reading
Robertsons History, based as it is on Walther von der Vogelweides poem
Nemt, frowe disen kranz, and specifically the lines d taget ez und muose
ich wachen [it was dawn and I had to wake]. Although not extant in his
notebook, Beckett would have come across this poem in Robertson, who
quotes the very passage Beckett uses (125).10 Indeed, considering the
absence of transcription, he may not specifically have had Vogelweide in
mind, but rather the generic theme of the inevitability of loss in the Tagelieder.
His notes from Robertson, for example, also refer to Heinrich von
Morungen as the writer of a famous Tagelied with each verse closing:
da tagte es (TCD MS10971/1, 7v.). Reflecting his use of the troubadour
tradition of Provenal literature in other poems of Echos Bones, the medi-
eval Minnesnger proved an enabling instance as Beckett formulated his
own feelings of separation, now deepened by his fathers death.11 When
he sent Da tagte es to Leventhal on 7 August 1935, Beckett noted its
indiscriminate application to death-bed and whoral [foras?].
Becketts transcriptions from those literary examples given by Robertson
tend to relate to the themes of death, melancholy and separation, as, for
example, in a passage from the Nibelungenlied taken from the Encyclopaedia
Britannica:
In sorrow now was ended the Kings high holiday

As ever joy in sorrow ends, & must end always (TCD MS10971/1, 3v)
Beckett also transcribed the melancholy and brooding lines of Walther von
der Vogelweides Spruch opening Ich saz f eine Steine, which would later
variously resurface in his texts:
Ich saz f eine Steine

und dahte bein mit beine;
dar f sast ich den ellenbogen;

ich hete in mne hant gesmogen
daz kinne und ein mn Wange
[I sat upon a stone,
One leg across the other thrown,
One hand I propped my elbow in,
And in the other hand my chin
And half my cheek was hidden]. (TCD MS10971/1, 8r)12
Beckett was also able to draw on his freshly gained knowledge of German
literary history in the critical reviews he wrote during 1934. In accordance
with his usual practice of employing his most recent reading in his writing,
Beckett drew on Robertson in book reviews even when they were not explic-
itly concerned with German literature. Thus his introduction to Middle
High German literature enabled him to invoke the Meistergesang in his
1934 discussion of MacGreevys poems, entitled Humanistic Quietism
(Dis, 68). The pedantry and socially engaging singing contests evoked by
the Meistergesang in this essay is contrasted with MacGreevys essentially
solitary act of quietist poetry that turns self-absorption into light (69).
German literature is also harnessed in Becketts attack in Recent Irish
Poetry (The Bookman, August 1934) on the Victorian Gael, where Sir
Samuel Ferguson and Standish OGrady are dismissed as an Irish Romantic
Arnim-Brentano combination, with a reference to Des Knaben Wunderhorn
(18061808) compounding the Ossianic mixture (70 and 77).
Becketts reading of Robertson further served to substantiate his dismissal
of Eduard Mrikes Mozart on the Way to Prague in a review published in
March 1934 in the Spectator. With notes on the Swabian romantic poets of
the nineteenth century to hand, Beckett contrived to set Mrikes book
not only in the context of his other works, but also in relationship with his
Minerva, Uhland (Dis, 61).13 Whereas a working knowledge of Mrikes
could be feigned with the help of Robertson, Beckett must have read
Uhland at an earlier date. In the short story Echos Bones (completed
November 1933), as Belacqua was abroad at this hour of the lowest vitality,
portions of a poem by Uhland came into his mind (EB, 4). Ludwig Uhland
partly comes to Belacquas mind because he is hardly familiar to English
readers, but once again it is possible that Beckett is thinking of the
poem Frhlingsglaube, made famous by Schuberts setting. Similar to
the Tagelieds, Uhlands poem evokes an ambiguous response to the necessity
of regeneration: Nun muss sich alles, alles wenden [Now everything must
change, must change].
Beckett and Goethe
It is plausible to suggest that Beckett first read Goethe in Schuberts

settings, although he would have needed little prompting to get to know
the most important author of German literature through other sources.
Becketts engagement with Goethe in the 1930s was profound; in all of
Becketts notebooks of the thirties, no literary writer, German or otherwise,
is accorded as much space. Beckett must already have dipped into rather
than, as later, systematically read Goethes poetry and prose, from which
allusions to, and quotes from, appear in the early work. Reference to Goethe
first appears in a 29 May 1931 letter to MacGreevy, in the very sentence
following Becketts mention of Dream as the German comedy. In this letter
Beckett confessed that he only knew a few shocking lines here & there. He
went on to illustrate this negative judgement with a quotation from Goethes
Die Leiden des jungen Werther:
Was ich weiss kann jeder wissen,

mein Herz hab ich allein. !!
[What I know everybody can know,

my heart is mine alone.]14
Becketts dismissal of the intoxicated dentist Goethe at this early stage is in

keeping with the mocking tone voiced through the use of an excessively
sentimental strand of German romanticism in Dream.15 In his letter to
MacGreevy, Beckett had thus criticised the use of that blabby word Herz in
the lines from Werther. This criticism is incorporated in Smerrys love letter
to Belacqua in form of a quote from Faust, taken from Gretchens song at
the spinning-wheel: Mein Ruh ist hin mein Herz ist schwer ich finde Sie
nimmer und nimmer mehr [My peace is fled, / My heart is sore; / I shall
find it never, / Ah! nevermore.] (Dream, 59; Goethe 1926, 116).16
Yet the impulse governing Becketts reading of Goethe is more complex
than this simple furnishing of satirical material suggests. It seems that
already at this early point Beckett began to find, particularly in Goethes
poetry, a further reflection of a particular mood. As so often in Becketts
early work, the fragmentary allusions or quotations making their way into
his work stand as a shorthand for the entire grid of contextual meaning
from which the piece of text is taken. This is the case with Dreams incorp-
oration of Goethes Wandrers Nachtlied II:
ber allen Gipfeln

Ist Ruh,
In allen Wipfeln
Sprest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vgelein schweigen im Walde. Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.
[Now stillness covers
All the hill-tops;
In all the tree-tops
Hardly a breath stirs.
The birds in the forest
Have finished their song.
Wait: you too shall rest
Before long.] (Goethe 1992, 236; 1999, 35)
Coming across this poem at a time when the hope of attaining rest seemed
anything but attainable, Becketts attraction to the poem derives from its
different use of the word Ruh than in the line from Faust. In Wandrers
Nachtlied, the invoked peace is at once metaphysical and solitary, the
promise of rest, in sleep or death, quietly anticipated. Yet in keeping with
Dreams dismissive and at times misogynistic tone, Beckett amended the
sixth line of the poem to the Bitchlein . . . schweigen niemals im Wald
[the little bitches . . . are never silent in the forest] (Dream, 80).17 Further
references to the line are woven into the already densely packed fabric of
Dream, yet signposted as it were by reference to German equivalents, as in
the oblique passage where Belacqua leads a fairly small fleshy lipped
maiden I might have said Jungfrau [virgin] into the wood I might have said
Wald [wood] (72). When Beckett used the same line, imaginatively recast,
some years later in his 1937 letter to Kaun, it was to register a linguistic
unsettledness: Denn im Walde der Symbole, die keine sind, schweigen die
Vglein der Deutung, die keine ist, nie [For in the forest of symbols, which
arent any, the little birds of interpretation, which isnt any, are never silent]
(Dis, 53; trans. 172).18
Becketts engagement with Goethe increased during 1934, reaching

an apotheosis in the following two years. This intense course of study was
anticipated by a brief quotation (bist du nicht willig) from Goethes poem
Der Erlknig (possibly via Schubert) in the story Echos Bones, written
in November 1933 (EB, 24). In 1934, a year that, beyond critical reviews,
proved to be rather lean in terms of creative writing, Goethes poetry
provided Beckett with sparks to ignite his own writing. Around the same
time as Walter von der Vogelweide facilitated Da tagte es, Goethe and
Schillers Xenien poems served as a model for the short poem Gnome, first
published in the JulySeptember issue of The Dublin Magazine 1934:
Spend the years of learning squandering

Courage for the years of wandering
Through a world politely turning
From the loutishness of learning. (SP, 9)
The satirical content of Goethe and Schillers Xenien poems (1796), written
in distiches and themselves modelled on Martial, loses its sting in Beckett.19
Self-critically it is the squandering / Courage that is attacked rather than
the institutions that convey the loutishness of learning. The poem con-
tains a subtle admission that an intertextual writing strategy has wasted
much courage, particularly as erudition fails in making sense of the world.
Furthermore, the lack of courage to embrace the Wanderjahre, and by
extension the concomitant emotional associations, crops up time and time
again in Becketts letters to MacGreevy, from his hope for the courage to
break away in 1931 (SB to TM, 25 January 1931) through to the admission
(early in 1936) that my travel-courage is so gone that the collapse is more
than likely (SB to TM, 16 January [1936]).
The poem The Vulture, probably written early in 1935, further illustrates
Becketts conflict during these years. Here the prone who must / soon take
up their life and walk are mocked by an artistic hunger that can only be
resolved through the digestive act of internalisation (SP, 13). As Becketts
annotated copy of Echos Bones demonstrates, The Vulture was inspired by
Goethes Die Harzreise im Winter, from which the images of journeying
and artistic creation are taken.20 Significantly, both Gnome and The
Vulture, which derive their impetus from Goethe, consciously refrain from
showing the loutishness of learning that encumbers most of the other
poems collected in Echos Bones, and indeed virtually all of the work before
Watt. With Goethe proving to be such a significant influence on his work,
in 1935 and 1936 Beckett moved to substantiate what was previously only
a superficial knowledge of Goethes prose texts. Having noted the main

stations of Goethes life in his reading of Robertson, in early 1935 Beckett
turned to reading Dichtung und Wahrheit; Aus meinem Leben. Becketts
transcriptions from Goethes autobiography, contained in the same note-
book as the material from Robertson, run to over 40 pages and are only
outdone in sheer length by the German notes on Faust. The transcriptions
show Becketts by-now comfortable use of the German language as he fault-
lessly alters tenses when summarising or altering quotes. By March 1935 he
had read more than half of the 700-odd pages, telling MacGreevy that
I find parts of it absorbing, for example the literary picture during his
Leipzig phase. The early years in Frankfurt, long description of Crowning
of King of Empire etc., are dull. What an awful shit of a Father he had.
(SB to TM, 10 March [1935])
Becketts notes on Dichtung reflect this judgement, as they carefully trace

Goethes student years in Leipzig and his growing awareness of the literary
scene. Yet the autobiography is essentially the portrait of a young artist,
and many of the notes taken from the book concern the exposition of
becoming in the interplay of self and world, and the writing practices
and the psychological pressures from which Goethes work issues. Beckett
thus copied out Goethes early artistic resolution:
Und so begann diejenige Richtung[,] von der ich mein ganzes Leben ber
nicht abweichen konnte, nmlich dasjenige was mich erfreute oder qulte,
oder sonst beschftigte, in ein Bild, ein Gedicht zu verwandeln und darber
mit mir selbst abzuschliessen, um sowohl meine Begriffe von den ussern
Dingen zu berichtigen, als mich im Innern desshalb zu beruhigen.
[And thus began that tendency from which I could not deviate my whole
life through; namely, the tendency to turn into an image, into a poem,
everything that delighted or troubled me, or otherwise occupied me, and
to come to some certain understanding with myself upon it, that I might
both rectify my conceptions of external things, and set my mind at rest
about them]. (TCD MS10971/1, 54v55r; Goethe 1977, 31112; Goethe
1891, I, 240)
For Goethe, the self-projection governing his impulses towards expression

was necessitated by a desire for understanding as well as the therapeutic act
of writing. A few lines on from the passage quoted above, Goethe claims
that all of his works are but Bruchstcke einer grossen Konfession [fragments
of a great confession], which Dichtung und Wahrheit is to make complete
(Goethe 1977, 312). In his conversations with Eckermann, Goethe drew
attention to the notion that his works were largely autobiographical in
origin: Es ist kein Strich in den Wahlverwandschaften, den ich nicht selbst
erlebt habe; aber kein Strich so, wie er erlebt worden [There is not, in the
Affinities, a single line that I myself have not experienced, but no line is
presented as it was experienced] (Robertson, 441).21
Beckett may well have read Die Wahlverwandschaften at some point, as he
quoted a line (Es wandelt niemand ungestraft unter Palmen [Nobody
walks unpunished under palm trees]) from the book in the 1934 Recent
Irish Poetry essay (Dis, 76).22 Although Goethe did keep the personal
elements out of sight in the Wahlverwandschaften, the book did incorporate
autobiographical techniques in the form of fictional letters and diary entries.
Goethes comments on the manner in which he inscribed his personal
experiences in his work would have interested Beckett, who, as we have
seen, struggled in Dream and the early poetry to find a form that could both
conceal and reveal the autobiographical pressures, more often than not
rooted in a sense of separation, governing composition. In a passage
Beckett transcribed from Dichtung und Wahrheit, Goethe explains a similar
tendency to overcome his feelings of separation from loved ones (in this
case from Friederika Bion) through his writing:
Aber zu der Zeit, als der Schmerz ber Friederikens Lage mich beng-
stigte, such[te?] ich, nach meiner alten Art, abermals Hlfe bei der Dich-
tkunst. Ich setzte die hergebrachte poetische Beichte wieder fort, um
durch diese selbstqulerische Btzung [Bssung] einer inneren Absolu-
tion wrdig zu werden.
[At the time when I was pained by my grief at Fredericas situation, I

again, after my old fashion, sought aid from poetry. I again continued the
poetical confession which I had commenced, that by this self-tormenting
penance I might be worthy of an internal absolution]. (TCD MS10971/1,
60r; Goethe 1977, 571; Goethe 1891, I, 453)
Undoubtedly motivated by his own struggle at self-writing, Beckett pursued

the biographical nature of Goethes writing into the circumstances in which
Die Leiden des jungen Werther was written. By his own admission in Dichtung
und Wahrheit, Werther enabled Goethe to overcome the despair caused by
the separation from Charlotte Buff and to cure subsequent suicidal leanings
(TCD MS10971/1, 64v65r).
Nevertheless, eschewing intimate revelations within manoeuvres of self-
discovery or justification, Dichtung und Wahrheit is predominantly aimed
at fulfilling the desire expressed by his contemporaries to shed light on
the circumstances behind artistic creation. As an entry in Goethes diary
clarifies, [a]nyone writing confessions is in peril of becoming lamentable,
a sentiment shared by Beckett (qtd. in Weintraub 1978, 345). Thus Goethes
Wandrers Sturmlied is a more intimate depiction of his mood following
the separation from Friederike Brion than the recollection included in
Dichtung und Wahrheit:
Es waren peinliche Tage, deren Erinnerung mir nicht geblieben ist

[Those were painful days, the memory of which has not remained with
me]. (TCD MS10971/1, 59r; Goethe 1977, 547; Goethe 1891, I, 433)
Becketts interest in Dichtung und Wahrheit undoubtedly stemmed from

Goethes fusion of the two terms of the title. For Goethe, Dichtung did not
stand in contrast to Wahrheit, using the word to denote the expression of
a higher truth through poetry rather than poetic or fictional invention as
such. Indeed, Goethes aim of achieving Ironie im hheren Sinne by
merging poetic truth and objective truth resurfaces in Becketts notes
on Fritz Mauthners Beitrge zu einer Kritik der Sprache (1923), taken in the
summer of 1938.23 In terms strikingly similar to those employed by Beckett
in the 1937 German letter to Axel Kaun, and echoing Becketts adum-
bration of a Nominalist irony, Mauthner discusses Goethes ironic use of
language in Dichtung:
in seiner [Goethes] bewunderungswrdigen Prosa scheint er sich wirklich

mehr als irgend ein anderer Schriftsteller vor und nach ihm ber
alle mglichen Grenzen der Sprache zu erheben, weil er die Worte in
einer unnachahmlichen Weise gewissermassen ironisch gebraucht, das
heisst mit der deutlich verratenen Klage darber, dass er einfach dem
Sprachgebrauche folgen msse. Nirgends ist selbst bei ihm dieser Stil so
ausgebildet wie in Dichtung und Wahrheit.
[But in his (Goethes) admirable prose he appears, more than any writer
before or after him, to rise above all possible boundaries of language,
because he uses words to a certain extent ironically, in an inimitable way,
that is to say with the clearly betrayed complaint that he must simply
follow linguistic usage. Nowhere does he himself use this style in such a
developed form as in Poetry and Truth]. (WN, 52r)
This interest in Goethes style of writing, by way of Mauthner, reflects

Becketts different approach to the German writer from 1935 onwards.
Whereas previously Beckett had used Goethe as inspiration and as a textual
source for his work, his reading of Dichtung und Wahrheit (and subsequently
Faust) contributed to his developing poetics. Accordingly, and despite the
large volume of notes taken from Dichtung, very little of this reading was
explicitly integrated into Becketts writing. This absence is emphasised by
the lack of entries in the Whoroscope notebook, the container for a great deal
of material later incorporated in Murphy.
Yet whereas the more emotional Dream includes much German, the
intellectual Murphy only refers explicitly to Goethe in passing. Indeed,
having finished reading Dichtung in the summer of 1935, Becketts mind
turned to the writing of Murphy in August 1935. As Pilling has shown (1997,
1278), Becketts writing of the novel progressed relatively steadily until
January 1936, after which for three months all the sense and impulse seem
to have collapsed (SB to TM, 29 January [1936]). Consequently, Beckett
seems to have been reading wildly all over the place, including Goethes
two plays Torquato Tasso and Iphigenia in Taurus in March 1936 (SB to TM,
25 March 1936). His judgement in both cases was not flattering: [S]ome
good rhetoric from the former was transcribed into the German note-
book, but on the whole he thought anything more disgusting would be
hard to devise (SB to TM, 8 March 1936). Nevertheless, having finished
Murphy at the end of June 1936, and with his plans to go to Germany for
a long period beginning to take shape, Beckett returned to Goethe by
beginning to read Faust in early August.
Beckett Reading Goethes Faust
With the trip to Germany just over a month away, Becketts remark that he
has been working at German and reading Faust indicates that he was
expanding his knowledge of the German language as much as penetrating
into Goethes masterpiece (TM, undated [19 August 1936]).24 Neverthe-
less, Becketts comments to MacGreevy and the extensive transcriptions in
two notebooks (UoR MS5004 and MS5005), taken from the first two parts
as well as from Robert Petschs introduction, illuminate both his attitude
towards Goethes writing and his own creative thinking at this time.25
As Dirk Van Hulle illustrates in his perceptive study of Becketts Faust

notes (2006), the reading of Faust does not appear to have been under-
taken with any immediate artistic use in view.
Van Hulles observation is corroborated by the fact that there are only
three small fragments, with no source given and translated into English in
order to obscure their origin, in the Whoroscope notebook (WN, 34r and
35r).26 The only quotation to resurface in Becketts work is Die Erde hat
mich wieder [the earth has got me again], which appears parodied in the
Addenda to Watt as Die Merde hat mich wieder.27 The line is taken from
Part I of Faust, where Faust, having decided to leave the world by taking
poison, decides to remain alive on hearing bells and a choir of angels
and other creatures.28 Becketts attraction to Goethes sentence, beyond
its suitability for a pun, probably stemmed from the fact that it restated
Schopenhauers view of life on earth as a pensum to be endured. On
another level, an allusion to the Walpurgisnachtstraum of Faust in a
letter to MacGreevy testifies to Becketts continuing association of German
literature with sexuality. At about this time and in anticipation of his trip
to Germany, he alluded to the Walpurgisnachtstraum in [p]lease God the
Junge Hexe [Young Witch] will be there, the derbes Leibchen [lusty body]
white [naked] on a horse (SB to TM, undated [19 August 1936]).29
Yet, on the whole, Beckett thought there was a surprising amount
of irrelevance in Faust, partly because Goethe couldnt bear to shorten
anything (SB to TM, 7 August 1936). The statement reflects Becketts
own shifting poetics towards a brevity and directness of utterance, evident
in the poem Cascando written a month earlier, in July 1936. Beckett
similarly inveighs against Schillers Maria Stuart on reading it in Germany:
Why must one always find something to say (GD, 6 January 1937). Indeed,
the increasing impatience with the inessential seems to have dominated
Becketts further reading of Faust, leaving an
impression of something very fragmentary, often irrelevant & too

concrete, that perhaps Part 2 will correct. Auerbachs Cellar, the Witches
kitchen and Walpurgisnacht, for example, little more than sites &
atmospheres, swamping the corresponding mental conditions. (SB to
TM, 19 August 1936)
Already during his reading of Torquato Tasso some months previously he had
referred to Goethe as a machine mots in expressing the inessential.30
If he wants to state a personal position, as seems to be the case here,

why cant he do so directly, even if only with the directness of the
Wahlverwandtschaften, without soliciting precedents from among

the installed, whereby he is condoned & they falsified? (SB to TM,
8 March 1936)
This is an intriguing statement considering that Becketts poetics during the

thirties is itself largely based on an evasion of stating a personal position
through soliciting precedents.31 It is an index of Becketts growing
disavowal of erudition, strangely paralleled by Fausts renouncement of
traditional learning in favour of magic.
Becketts response to Goethes Faust was ultimately ambiguous. Yet at the
same time it contributed in a significant way to his understanding of the idea
of onwardness, of going on, or not going on, both textually and personally.
Becketts main criticism of Faust lies in his feeling that the on and up is so
tiresome . . . the determined optimism la Beethoven (SB to TM, undated
[19 August 1936]). As Van Hulle argues, Beckett is here directly taking his
cue from Petschs introduction, which comments on the fact that Faust . . .
stetig aufwrts streben muss [must always strive upward].32 Becketts distrust
of this Faustian, and, according to Petsch, Goethean, Vorwrtsstreben is fur-
ther clarified in a German diary passage written after he had read Walter
Bauers Die Notwendige Reise in January 1937, where he distances himself
from the heroic, the nosce te ipsum, that these Germans see as a journey:
Das notwendige Bleiben [the necessary staying-put] is more like it. That
is also in the figure of Murphy in the chair, surrender to the thongs of
self, a simple materialisation of self-bondage, acceptance of which is the
fundamental unheroic. (GD, 18 January 1937)33
Becketts preoccupation with this tension between movement and standing

still reappears in the 1938 essay on Denis Devlins Intercessions, published in
transition, in which Beckett quotes the Faustian line Unbefriedigt jeden
Augenblick (Dis, 91). As this line occurs in the last act of Part Two and
therefore later than where Becketts Faust extracts leave off, it is possible
that he had in the interim continued reading the book. Yet he may also
have returned to his notes on Robertsons History of German Literature, where
Fausts words are transcribed:
Im Weiterschreiten find er Qual und Glck,

Er! unbefriedigt jeden Augenblick.
[In onward-striding find his bale, his bliss,
He, that each moment uncontented is]. (TCD MS10971/1, 35r; Faust ll.
114512; Goethe 1926, 403)
The paradoxical nature of going on as necessary yet ultimately useless,

simultaneously joyful and painful, is clarified in the August 1936 letter to
MacGreevy, where Beckett stated that in his reading of Faust he could
understand the keep on keeping on as a social prophylactic, but not at all
as a light in the autological darkness (SB to TM, undated [19 August
1936]). Murphy had of course enjoyed the vicarious autology (Mu, 118)
offered to him by the presence of Mr Endon just as much as the darkness of
the third zone of his mind.34
Beckett further explored the tension between the social prophylactic and
the autological darkness in the Faustian carnival scene at the beginning of
Part 2, during which the Viktoriagruppe appears (UoR MS5005, 7r8r).
Viktoria, the Gttin aller Ttigkeiten [goddess of all activity], is paraded
on the back of a colossal elephant, led by the figure of Wisdom. Chained
to the side of the animal are the enemies of all healthy ambition, Fear
and Hope (Faust II. 540770). Having already noted that for Goethe the
meaning of life consisted of unablssige[s] Ttigsein u. Tchtigsein [being
unceasingly active and diligent], the importance of the issue is illustrated
by Becketts notation of Victoria Gruppe into his Clare Street notebook,
before writing a meditation, in German, on the true nature of the world
(UoR MS5004, 17r18r, and UoR MS5003, 17r).
Quiet Internal Peace: Quietism in German Literature
Against the background of Faustian ambition and Mephistophelian negation,

Beckett reshaped and enriched his poetics of stillness and humility.35 To be
sure, Goethes Vorwrtsstreben was never likely to unhinge a sentiment
inherent in Becketts writing from the beginning. Beckett had after all
borrowed Belacqua from Dante because of his ethic of renunciation and
slothfulness: Frate landar su [sic] che porta? [Oh brother, what is the use
of going up?] (DN, 42). As the title of the text in which Belacqua makes
his first appearance, the quality of Sedendo et Quiescendo [sitting still]
was of prime importance. The same attitude explains Becketts attraction to
the melancholy and ponderous atmosphere of Walther von der Vogelweide
sitting on his stone.
Such a lack of incentive for motion Beckett also found in the Austrian
writer Grillparzer, who understood, as Beckett noted from Robertsons
History of German Literature, des Innern stiller Frieden [quiet internal
peace] to be a profoundly heroic act, the ultimate renunciation of ambi-
tion (TCD MS10971/1, 42v). In his reading of Robertson, Beckett was
particularly attentive to the work of Grillparzer, whose various disappoint-

ments in life and unstable temperament induced long periods of
suffering and despair. He noted Grillparzers pessimistic attitude towards
life, which he only endured through a Weltanschauung of renunciation.
Grillparzers sentiment is illustrated in a line from the collection of
lyric poetry entitled Tristia ex Ponto, which anticipates Becketts use of
the Faustian sollst entbehren (Mo, 114) in Morans advice to his son: Des
Menschen ewges Loos, es heisst Entbehren [The eternal lot of mankind
is called renunciation].36 Beckett proceeded to read the Austrian writer
in some depth immediately after finishing Murphy at the end of June 1936:
I am reading Grillparzer, but not the best of him (Hero & Leander), only
the Jason-Medea trilogy, of which third part at least is magnificent (SB to
TM, 7 July 1936). Both this comment and the Robertson notes indicate that
Beckett had already previously read, or more likely browsed, Grillparzers
version of the Hero and Leander story, Des Meeres und der Liebe Wellen.
His early familiarity is illustrated by the inclusion of the line Der Tag wird
kommen und die stille Nacht in Dream (60), and further underlined
by the absence of any transcription from the passage in his reading of
Robertson. In his notes from the History of German Literature, Beckett
declares Heros tragic Totenklage, lamenting the death of Leander, to
be superb:
Nie wieder dich zu sehn, im Leben nie!

Der du einhergingst im Gewand der Nacht
Und Licht mir strahltest in die dunkle Seele,
Aufblhen machtest alles, was hold und gut,
Du fort von hier an einsam dunklen Ort,
Und nimmer sieht mein lechzend Aug dich wieder?
Der Tag wird kommen und die stille Nacht,
Der Lenz, der Herbst, des langen Sommers Freuden,
Du aber nie, Leander, hrst du? nie!
Nie, nimmer, nimmer, nie!
[Never to see you again in life, never!

You who went forth in the mantle of the night
And shone light into my dark soul,
Made everything blossom that was fair and good,
You away from here at a lonely dark place,
And my yearning eye never to see you again?
The day will come and the silent night,
Spring, Autumn, the long joys of summer,

But never you, Leander, do you hear? never!
Never, nevermore, nevermore, never!] (Robertson, 535)37
In July 1936 Beckett read Grillparzers Ein treuer Diener seines Herrn and
the trilogy Das Goldene Vliess, transcribing passages from both works into
the notebook containing his notes from Robertson and Dichtung und
Wahrheit. This reading corresponds to his overall interest in the quietist
and pessimistic tradition, as indicated in his note of Robertsons descrip-
tion of Ein treuer Diener as embodying Kantian idea of self-effacing duty
(TCD MS10971/1, 42v).
Grillparzer was not the only German author in whom Beckett found this
mode of self-denial and humility. During his reading of Dichtung und Wahrheit
a year earlier he recorded Goethes attraction to Spinozas grenzenlose
Uneigenntzigkeit [boundless selflessness] (TCD MS10971/1, 66r).38 Sig-
nificantly, Beckett encountered this reference to self-effacement precisely
at the time when he was preoccupied with his own self-referring quietism
as illustrated in the long letter to MacGreevy discussing Thomas Kempiss
The Imitation of Christ (SB to TM, 10 March [1935]). Indeed, Beckett intro-
duces this same letter which also contains the first mention of Becketts
reading of Dichtung with an allusion to Goethes autobiographical work.
By declaring himself to be touched at your bothering your head about my
old Grillen, he directly refers to Goethes frequent use in Dichtung of the
word to denote his moodiness and troubles.39
Moreover, Becketts equation of self-effacement with self-sufficiency is
informed by his deep attachment to Goethes poem Prometheus (as well
as Johnsons letter to Lord Chesterfield). The last stanza of the poem seems
particularly pertinent to Beckett as a young writer, creating characters and
works out of a self struggling to be independent. Beckett typed out the
poem (following his notes on Dichtung), which represents an assertion of
both artistic and spiritual independence, in his notebook (TCD MS10971/1,
72r72v). Beckett further traced the compositional background to the
poem, which revealed a different Goethe from the public figure entrenched
in the cultural and political happenings of his time. The impulses behind
Prometheus, as recorded by Beckett from Dichtung und Wahrheit, are
reminiscent of his own solitary artistic quest: Ich fhlte recht gut, dass sich
etwas Bedeutendes nur produciren [produzieren] lasse, wenn man sich
isoliere. Meine Sachen . . . waren Kinder der Einsamkeit [I clearly felt that
a creation of importance could be produced only when its author isolated
himself. My productions . . . were children of solitude] (10971/1, 67r;
Goethe 1977, 6979; Goethe 1891, II, 38.). Goethes attraction to the figure
of Prometheus in Dichtung can be set beside his attachment to three
other rebellious mythological figures, Ixion, Tantalus and Sisyphus, whom
he describes as his saints (Goethe 1977, 700). Beckett appears to have been
similarly interested in this fraternity of futility, as he noted short descrip-
tions of these three characters in the Whoroscope notebook (31r33r).40
Representing the striving towards independence as well as the meaning-
lessness of life, Beckett explicitly invoked Ixion and Tantalus in the meta-
physical considerations preventing Murphy from taking up any activity
for money (Mu, 16).
Beckett and German Literature During

the 19361937 Trip
Beckett remained, following his intense course of study prior to his journey,
attentive to Goethe while in Germany in 19361937, noting in his diary
such details as the discovery of a new portrait or the performance of
Iphigenie to mark the 150th anniversary of Goethes arrival in Rome.41 But
having indulged in the persuasive presence of Goethe in Weimar, Beckett
grew tired of him, which culminated in a diary entry from Leipzig, when,
having noted the multitude of small passages with old shops that Goethe
loved, he finished with [b]last Goethe (GD, 27 January 1937). While
Goethes star was slightly waning for him, Beckett set about rectifying his
relative ignorance of Schillers work. He thus read Schillers Maria Stuart
prior to attending a performance of the play in Berlin, but was moved to
condemn Mortimers conversion speech as something that could only have
come from the miserable Protestant idea of Roman Catholicism as a welter
of the fine arts (GD, 6 January 1937).42 Beckett further resented the acts of
rationalisation in the play, arguing that Maria Stuarts failure to confess to
her crime (allowing Darnley to be murdered) removed the sting of the play
by establishing a sentimental ending of serene obscurity:
Altogether a very creamy work, homognis, with the Euripidean

intentions insufficiently immediate. The Oedipan Destiny, whose
implements are every act of evasion, is made petty by such rationalistic
comment as Marys [sic] in the last act, when she tacks the penalty for a
crime she has not committed on to a crime she has committed (Darnleys
murder). So that the play does not end in a last act of understanding, as
in Racine, but in self-solace. (GD, 8 January 1937)
Becketts description of the performance itself is quite extensive, and

testifies to his growing interest in the staging of plays and the practicalities
of stagecraft.
Becketts exposure to German drama continued in Berlin a week later,
where he attended a performance of Friedrich Hebbels Gyges und sein Ring.
As Beckett wrote to MacGreevy, Hebbel is the dramatist pigeonhole, but it
is as a poet that he counts (SB to TM, 18 January 1937).43 Beckett discerned
that the poetical play can never come off as play, nor when played as poetry
either, because the words obscure the action & are obscured by it (GD,
12 January 1937). As in his comments on Maria Stuart, Beckett held Racine
as a contrasting instance against which the failure of the poetical play is
measured:
Racine never elaborates the expression in this sense, never stands by

the word in this sense, and therefore his plays are not poetical, i.e.
undramatic, in this sense. (GD, 12 January 1937)
Nevertheless, while the dramatic aspects of Gyges und sein Ring failed to
convince Beckett, he was attracted to its poetic qualities and what he called
the [f]ine weigthy intellectual writing, with lovely figures (images) (GD,
10 January 1937). Beckett appears to have found many weighty lines in
Hebbel, who, especially in the poetry written before the plays, expressed his
belief that suffering is the fundamental force of life. Once again, Becketts
association of German literature with separation and death is evident in the
lines from the play noted in the diary, such as das Leben ist zu kurz, als
das der Mensch sich drin den Tod auch nur verdienen knnte [Life is too
short that man could therein even earn death]. And, after purchasing a
complete edition of the poems, Beckett continued to read Hebbel in the
coming years, copying, for example, the epigrammatic Die Veilchen into
his Whoroscope notebook in either 1937 or 1938 (65v).
Although Becketts reading and visits to the theatre were usually deter-
mined by availability or dependent on recommendations and books lent
to him, two authors he seems actively to have sought out were Gotthold
Ephraim Lessing and Gottfried Keller.44 During his visit to Brunswick he
bought Lessings six-volume complete works, and went to the Augusta
Bibliothek, where Lessing had been librarian, to inspect the Wolfenbtteler
Fragmente. Reading the first fragment, Beckett noted it appeared to be a
first sketch for Nathan der Weise, with its plea for reason within religion.
Whereas Becketts attraction to Lessing can be understood, his motivation
to buy and (attempt to) read Kellers Erziehungsroman Der Grne Heinrich,
written 1855 and revised 24 years later, is more difficult to explain. The
book charts the tension of the artist trying to come to terms with the absence
of God by turning the eye of truth on himself. In its first edition, Keller
obscured the autobiographical nature of the book, only to reveal this in the
later edition by inserting the first person narrative throughout. Becketts
reading of the book began enthusiastically enough, only to be confounded by
the heavy and slow style of the opening, which he compared to a champion
for the London-Brighton walk (GD, 28 December 1936). Nevertheless, the
reading at this point was made endurable by images and scenes that
appealed to his emotions, of which his comment on the [l]ovely picture of
his father in the green suit is indicative (GD, 28 December 1936). Beckett
was impressed by the story of the unfortunate girl, Meretlein, who under
the suspicion of being a witch was given into the rather rough care of the
local parish priest. Her story ends abruptly when she dies out in the cold,
not without showing further signs of possession by getting out of her coffin
and wandering off into the night. As Beckett notes, this moving story is
exquisitely introduced through her portrait, with childs skull and rose,
which had been painted as an invitation to penance for her parents (GD,
29 December 1936).45 However, following these early joys, Becketts reading
of the book quickly came to a standstill, too much praying and too
slow & correct signalling his inability or unwillingness to continue (GD,
29 December 1936 and 14 January 1937). Returning to it on six further
occasions over the following two months, its slowness anaesthetised his
critical faculty, and it is unlikely that he ever finished it.46
Beckett and Friedrich Hlderlin
Becketts lifelong love of German classical literature originated in his

extended reading of the 1930s. Anne Atik in her memoir of Beckett, for
example, relates his admiration for Goethe and Heinrich Heine (2001, 62
and 67). He could recite large portions of Matthias Claudius, using the
image of Death, or Freund Hain, as a ghostly image threatening Krapp.
Indeed, fragments of German literature, in particular passages from Goethe,
resurface or, rather, linger on under the textual surface. Thus the mixed
choir from Goethes Faust appears in Watt (26), also heard (or I am greatly
deceived) by Malone, where the reference is underlined by the possibility
that it is Easter Week (MD, 34). Furthermore, in his correspondence
Beckett often uses German quotations to describe his emotional state and
events in his life: Alle Schuld rcht sich auf Erde[n] [The debt all guilt
exacts from mortal men] he tells Ruby Cohn in 1981 as he prepares to go

Stuttgart for the television production of Quadrat I and II, quoting Goethes
Lied des Harfners (Beckett, letter to Ruby Cohn, 24 May 1981). Another
writer whom Beckett never tired of quoting was Hlderlin.
Becketts study of German literature in the 1930s culminated in his
reading of Friedrich Hlderlin in 1938 and 1939. His encounter with the
great German writer followed a typical pattern: the use of a fragment in
the early work, the notation of biographical and literary details from
Robertsons History of German Literature, and finally a concentrated reading
of the primary texts. And once again, Becketts notation of the first two
and a half lines of Mnemosyne (Third Version) in the Dream notebook
(DN, item 1087), unacknowledged and with no obvious source, seems to
have been made with scant awareness of the larger context of Hlderlins
writing. It is strange that Beckett omits the second half of the third line in
his notebook, transcribing only
Reif, sind, in Feuer getaucht, gekochet

Die Frcht und auf der Erde geprfet und ein Gesetz ist
Das alles hin[eingeht, Schlangen gleich
[Ripe are, dipped in fire, cooked

The fruits and tried on the earth and it is law,
that all must (enter in, like serpents)]
Yet when Beckett came to use the third line in Dream, he complemented
it in accordance with the complete line, alles hineingeht[,] Schlangen
gleich (Dream, 138). The opening lines of Mnemosyne, hinting at death
as well as mortal life, can be set beside Becketts attention to Fausts Die
Erde hat mich wieder. Moreover, the ripe and rotten imagery is one
that crops up again and again in Becketts writing, as in his evaluation of
language as only ripe, then falls behind (GD, 11 March 1937).
After noting the details of Hlderlins life (his insanity from 1802 onwards)
and work (its passion for Greece and melancholy nature) from Robertson
(TCD MS10971/1, 31v), Beckett proceeded to purchase (or he received)
an edition of Hlderlins complete works. His personal copy, preserved in the
Beckett Archive at the University of Reading, contains various annotations,
and carries the inscription 24/12/37.47 The underlined passages show
Beckett still susceptible to expressions of nostalgia and melancholy, mark-
ing for example the line Wohin knnt ich mir entfliehen, htt ich nicht die
lieben Tage meiner Jugend? [Whither could I flee from myself if I had not
the sweet days of my youth?] from Hyperion (Hlderlin 1930, 441; 1965, 31)
or the poem Ehemals und Jetzt (Then and Now):
In jngren Tagen war ich des Morgens froh,

Des Abends weint ich; jetzt, das ich lter bin,
Beginn ich zweifelnd meinen Tag, doch
Heilig und heiter ist mir sein Ende.
[In younger days each morning I rose with joy,

To weep at nightfall; now, in my later years,
Though doubting I begin my day, yet
Always its end is serene and holy]. (Hlderlin 1930, 88; 1967, 41)
Further annotations establish echoes with other passages from German lit-
erature. Thus two lines Beckett marked from the first book of Hyperion
relate to Goethes Wandrers Nachtlied: da ich wandelt unter herrlichen
Entwrfen, wie in weiter Wldernacht [when I roved among beautiful pro-
jects as through the night of a vast forest] (Hlderlin 1930, 442; 1967, 31),
and Hyperions answer to Alabandas question why he had become so
monosyllabic: In den heissen Zonen, . . . nher der Sonne, singen ja auch
die Vgel nicht. [In the tropical regions, nearer the sun, . . . the birds do
not sing either] (Hlderlin 1930, 454; 1967, 43). Evidence of Becketts
reading of Hlderlin can be found in his 1938 writing: the late poem Der
Spaziergang is quoted in the critical review Intercessions by Denis Devlin,
published AprilMay 1938 in transition (Dis, 94), and the same poem also
inspired Becketts own poem Dieppe.
Furthermore, Beckett admired the poem Hyperions Schicksalslied
(1789), taken from the second book of Hyperion. The poem, with its anti-
thetical relation between the gods, imperceptible to fate (schicksallos),
and the mortal human beings helplessness at the hands of fate, naturally
appealed to Beckett, who had already admired a similar thematic exposition
in Goethes Prometheus. Beckett used the closing stanza, albeit in an
extremely fractured manner, towards the end of Watt (207):
Doch uns ist gegeben

Auf keiner Sttte zu ruhen
Es schwinden, es fallen
Die leidenden Menschen
Blindlings von einer
Stunde zur andern,
Wie Wasser von Klippe

Zu Klippe geworfen,
Jahrelang ins Ungewisse hinab.
[But we are fated
To find no foothold, no rest
And suffering mortals
Dwindle and fall
Headlong from one
Hour to the next,
Hurled like water
From ledge to ledge
Downward for years to the vague abyss]. (Robertson, 410; Hlderlin
1967, 79)
Beckett had originally copied this stanza from Robertson into his notebook,
but when he came to use it in Watt, he prolonged the mortal torment by
replacing Jahrelang with the endless endlos (TCD MS10971/1, 31v).
In terms of his own developing poetics, Beckett read Hlderlin at a suit-
able time. Charles Juliet related Becketts admiration for the mad poems,
but also the opinion that there are whole pages that mean little to him
(Juliet 1995, 167). These late poems, marked by fragmentation and, simul-
taneously, obscurity and inspired insight, were indeed written by Hlderlin
at a time when he had lost his sanity. Crucially, Beckett started reading
Hlderlin at the precise moment when he himself was moving towards a
more complete integration of utterance and self, a more immediate and
unadorned style of writing that admitted incoherence and unknowing. In a
sense, Hlderlin replaced Goethe as a writer from whom Beckett could
learn. In the July 1937 letter to Axel Kaun, Beckett had tellingly remarked
that Goethe was the kind of writer that pursued a strategy of Lieber NICHTS
zu schreiben, als nicht zu schreiben [better to write NOTHING than not
write at all] (Dis, 52; trans. 170).48 This opinion undoubtedly grew out of
his earlier criticism of the amount of irrelevance in Faust. In contrast,
Hlderlin, as Beckett told Patrick Bowles in 1955,
ended in something of this kind of failure. His only successes are the
points where his poems go on, falter, stammer, and then admit failure,
and are abandoned. At such points he was most successful. When he tried
to abandon the spurious magnificence. (Bowles 1994, 31)
With respect to the time at which it was made, the comment has a bearing
on the Trilogy, but also on the impact Hlderlin had on Beckett in 19389.
Indeed, Becketts initial attraction to Hyperion and poems written before the
German writer retired to his tower at Tbingen gradually made way to a
focus on the terrific fragments of the Sptzeit [late period].49 Anticipated
by the fragmented transcription from Mnemosyne (Third Version) in the
Dream notebook, Becketts expression of the incoherent nature of self and
world, within a creative form that admitted fragmentation, spaces and
silence, is formulated at this time.50 His incomplete rendition of the last
stanza of Hyperions Schicksalslied in Watt is thus all the more fitting.
Throughout the 1930s, Beckett had been creatively inspired and person-
ally attracted to German literature. A long passage from Hyperion which
Beckett marked in his copy of Hlderlin crystallises this profound
influence in its quietist attitude, melancholy movement and poetic beauty.
Beckett marked the entire passage with pencil and appended at the top of
the page Nox animae:
Es gibt ein Vergessen alles Daseins, ein Verstummen unsers Wesens,

wo uns ist, als htten wir alles gefunden. Es gibt ein Verstummen, ein
Vergessen alles Daseins, wo uns ist, als htten wir alles verloren, eine
Nacht unsrer Seele, wo kein Schimmer eines Sterns, wo nicht einmal ein
faules Holz uns leuchtet. Ich war nun ruhig geworden. Nun trieb mich
nichts mehr auf um Mitternacht. Nun sengt ich mich in meiner eigenen
Flamme nicht mehr.
[There is a forgetting of all existence, a silencing of our being, when we

feel as if we had found everything. There is a silencing, a forgetting of all
existence, when we feel as if we had lost everything, a night of our soul, in
which no glimmer from a star nor even a rotting log gives us light. I had
now become quiet. Now nothing drove me up around midnight. Now
I no longer scorched myself in my own flame]. (Hlderlin 1930, 4667;
my translation)
Chapter 5
Beckett, Nazi Culture and Contemporary

German Literature
Mge man leise reden, es ist ein Sterbender im Zimmer. Die sterbende deutsche
Kultur, sie hat im Innern Deutschlands nicht einmal mehr Katakomben zur
Verfgung.
[You should talk quietly, theres a dying man in the room. Dying German
culture within Germany itself it no longer has even catacombs at its disposal].
(Ernst Bloch, Gauklerfest unterm Galgen, 1937 [1962, 80])
When Beckett arrived in Germany in September 1936, he entered a country

in which the spheres of literature and the visual arts had been firmly sub-
jugated by politics. The National Socialists had in the three years they had
been in power effectively eradicated the autonomy of art and turned it into
a vehicle of propaganda. The marginalisation and repression of modern
art, poignantly described by Ernst Bloch in the summer of 1937, was
witnessed by Beckett during his journey. Becketts German diaries remain
one of the few (and, more importantly, unpublished) texts written by
foreigners recording the political situation in Nazi Germany in 19361937,
and thus assume the status of historical documents. Although the diaries
themselves can hardly be termed political, the tense atmosphere permeat-
ing the country can be felt within their pages. Minute observations of the
reality on the streets, accounts of conversations and of radio speeches
invoke an air of menace and constriction. Nowhere is this more noticeable
than in Becketts often frustrated efforts to gain access to modern art
collections or in his notations on banned authors. Indeed, a glance at the
nature of the books available to Beckett in his endeavour to read contem-
porary literature is a measure of the success of Nazi cultural policies.
Prior to 1936, the only modern German literature Beckett seems to have
read is Thomas Manns Buddenbrooks and a selection of Rilkes poetry.
Beckett, Nazi Culture and Contemporary German Literature 85
Yet during his six-month trip to Germany, between October 1936 and March
1937, Beckett read more than ten contemporary novels. Although this
reading left no discernible traces in Becketts work, largely because he
dismissed most of the books he read as being inadequate for one reason
or another, it did contribute to his understanding of the shape his own
writing was to take. In order to discuss Becketts relationship with early-
twentieth-century German literature, a general exposition of the cultural
situation during his visit is necessary, particularly considering its import-
ance to subsequent events in Germany, Europe and Becketts own life.
Nazi Germany in 19361937
Travelling to Germany with a basic understanding of the situation there,

Beckett actively sought to gain an insight into the cultural and political
changes wrought by the National Socialists since his last visit in 1932.1
Inquisitive about his environment, he took the time to keep up with the
main political events reported in German newspapers and on the radio.
Beckett thus records listening to an [i]nterminable harangue by Goering
on Vierjahresplan [Four Year Plan] relayed from Berlin.2 Sehr volkstmlich.
Kolonien, Rohstoffe, Fettwaren [Very traditional. Colonies, raw materials,
fats] (GD, 28 October 1936), and shows even more endurance when
he listens
like a fool to 2 hours of Hitler & an hour of Goering (opening of

Reichstag, Goering reelected President, laws controlling 4 years plan
extended for another 4[)], the usual from A. H. with announcement of
a 20 yr. plan for development of Berlin, reply to Eden consisting mainly
in repeated assertion that Germanys policy is not one of isolation;
then Goering announces foundation of 3 yearly cultural prices [sic] of
100,000 ? RM & prohibition imposed on any Germans to accept a Nobel
Prize! (GD, 30 January 1937)3
Despite the indication of boredom inherent in the description of these

interminable harangues, Beckett rarely evaluates or comments explicitly
upon events happening around him. Becketts observational tone rather
resembles Christopher Isherwoods enterprise, who in Goodbye to Berlin
(1939) remarked I am a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording
(1969, 7). Yet Becketts camera is remarkable for its wide lens; his sensitive
observations noted in the German diaries offer a privileged insight into the
range of opinion within society and on the street regarding the political
and cultural situation.4 Thus the enthusiasm for National Socialist ideals is
recorded in equal measure to cultural prohibitions and personal persecu-
tions enacted by the regime. There are many observations of the reality on
the streets the Winterhilfswerk, Eintopfsonntag, the brief reference to
[p]hotographers outside Jewish shops (GD, 21 January 1937) and a church
inscription on which Grss Gott has been replaced by Heil Hitler (GD,
5 March 1937). These observations are complemented by Becketts nota-
tion of conversations with those supporting the new Germany: in Munich,
a typesetter expresses his admiration for the Fhrer and shows him the
place where the insurgent Nazis were shot on 9 November 1923 (GD,
5 March 1937); a fellow guest at his pension propounds Germanys right
to colonies; and in Leipzig he hears that the Pelz [fur] trade has gone to
hell because of Jews (GD, 28 January 1937). Indeed, the Nazi sentiments
were drilled into Beckett from all sides so that he was in a position to
discern that a Little waiter reels out the NS Evangile with only one or two
errors & omissions (GD, 28 January 1937). Becketts correlation between
Nazi discourse and biblical truth appears several times in the pages of his
diaries: the art collector Ida Bienert starts with the Nazi litany; in Erfurt
Beckett has to suffer the NS Gospel from the waiter; and in Berlin an
appallingly Nazi man reels off the entire Gospel, as conceived for interior
& exterior (GD, 3 March 1937).
Beckett also experienced a more direct exposure to Nazi ideology.
For example, in Munich he saw Karl Antons propaganda film against
bolshevism, Weisse Sklaven, which after 1940 was shown under the title Rote
Bestien (GD, 21 March 1937). This film was a response to Goebbelss
1934 demand for a National Socialist Battleship Potemkin. Interestingly,
considering Becketts application to Eisenstein in Moscow to join his film
school, the Russian filmmaker responded to Goebbels in an open letter, in
which he stated that National Socialism and truth are incompatible, and
accused Nazis of having no idea how to create art.
Furthermore, early in his stay in Hamburg, Beckett attended a charity
event for Germans in Spain, at which he was treated to SS Blasekapelle
[brass band], bit of documentary film (Moskau droht [Moscow threatens]),
speech from one Lorenz (I stretched out the wrong arm to Horst Wessel &
Haydn), then more blasts from the Kapelle (GD, 11 October 1936).5 The
humorous reference here to the use of the wrong arm to salute exemplifies
Becketts tendency to subtly undermine or satirise National Socialism rather
than to condemn it outright. This is illustrated by his reference to the irony
inherent in the fact that Horst Wessel was whelped, not least suckled in
the Judenstrasse in Berlin (GD, 19 December 1936). And noting one of

Hitlers aphorisms inscribed on the Haus der deutschen Kunst in Munich,
Kein Volk lebt lnger als die Dokumente seiner Kultur [No people lives
longer than its documents], Beckett wryly comments [p]leasant possibilities
of application (GD, 10 March 1937).6 Becketts textual subversion of
Nazism is most noticeable in the notebook where he recorded quotations
by the leading figures of the regime. Here we find material such as Hitlers
statement, made in a radio broadcast celebrating the tenth anniversary of
the establishment of the Berlin Gau, that Nationalsozialist ist man nicht
vom Tage der Geburt an [One is not born a National Socialist] (UoR
MS5006, 52v). Yet the previous entry in the notebook is, like others made
around this time, a German proverb: Mit dem ist nicht gut Kirschen essen
[It is not good to eat cherries with him], that is to say, he is not friendly.
Becketts refusal of Nazi discourse through this (most probably unconscious)
interweaving of political statements and jokes or proverbs eventually anti-
cipates an end to the regime. Under a quotation from Goebbels, Beckett
noted the saying: Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei [Everything
has an ending, only the sausage has two].
Yet at other times Becketts distaste for the new Weltanschauung is expressed
more clearly, as in his relationship with his German conversation partner
Claudia Asher, who had been assigned to him through the Akademische
Auslandsstelle in Hamburg; having listened to her talk of national soul, of
unity & might of her country on several occasions (GD, 19 November
1936), he at one point remarked that [h]er Kraft durch Freude conver-
sation kills me (GD, 1 November 1936).7 There are also numerous
references to people being appallingly Nazi (GD, 20 December 1936),
and in conversation with the bookseller Axel Kaun he clearly asserted
the expressions historical necessity & Germanic destiny start the vomit
moving upwards (GD, 15 January 1937).
Yet, on the whole, the German diaries reveal Becketts reticence in
expressing outright opinions about the political situation. In his diaries,
Beckett tended to record the accounts of repressive measures by the
authorities in a measured tone, stating what he had heard rather than
commenting upon it. In his descriptions of the conversations he had
during his stay, his diaries reveal him to have been quiet when the discus-
sion became embroiled in politics. Naturally Beckett was also aware of the
atmosphere of surveillance in which utterances of political opposition to
the regime were not taken lightly. Keeping a low profile must have seemed
most expedient, especially as a foreigner. The delicate nature of the situ-
ation was brought home to Beckett by the art collector Margaritha Durrieu,
who hint[ed] how unpleasant it could be for her & Frau Fera if I published
disparagements of Germany (GD, 2 December 1936).
Becketts visit to Germany coincided with an intensification of what Watt
termed the Kulturkampf (W, 162). Indeed, the Watt notebooks contain
various hidden references to the Nazi regime. In a letter to George Reavey,
Beckett referred to hearing Adolf the Peacemaker on the wireless last
night (27 September 1938), which is echoed in the second Watt notebook:
Cheeks still wet with weeping for the Peacemaker. Shadows falling over a
large portion of the inhabited globe (39r). In the autumn of 1936, the
outward tolerance presented to the world during the Olympic Games of that
year was being replaced by more aggressive policies. The Nazis stepped up
their campaign against decadent art, imposing stringent measures against
literary publications. As Beckett wrote to his friend Thomas MacGreevy,
the campaign against Art-Bolshevism is only just beginning (SB to TM,
28 November 1936 [misdated by Beckett 1937]).
The Nazis had not hesitated to impose their own cultural agenda imme-
diately after assuming power, and moved quickly to cleanse the academies
of unwanted writers under the Gleichschaltung. By April 1933, legislation
had been passed that excluded non-Aryan and politically divergent authors
from the Preussische Akademie der Knste; by the end of the next month
a number of writers resigned (including Thomas Mann and Alfred Dblin),
and 15 of the original 31 members of the Prussian Academy had been
removed. All remaining members were forced to sign a declaration of
loyalty to the regime (i.e. abstinence from criticism), and were joined
by new members sympathetic to the National Socialist cause. On 11 May
1933, the union of booksellers (Brsenverein der Deutschen Buchhndler)
advocated Nazi cultural policy by publishing a list of authors who were no
longer to be distributed by its members (see Schnell 1976, 25). These black
lists not only had consequences for the banned authors seizure of works,
removal from state libraries, loss of livelihood but also for booksellers,
who faced fines and exclusion from distributors catalogues should they sell
prohibited books. Having cleansed the academies of unwanted writers, the
Nazis tightened their control over all published material in November 1933
by founding the Reichskulturkammer, designed to act as a controlling
institution in that membership was compulsory for any person wanting to
work in their cultural field.
It is not surprising that under the circumstances those authors who were
deemed non-Aryan or undesirable for political or other reasons went into
exile to pursue their writing. Yet to equate the writers who remained and
continued to publish within the boundaries set by the National Socialists

with fascist authors does not represent the complexity of the situation. It is
important to remember that many German writers had been writing liter-
ature, such as that characterised as Heimatliteratur, long before the Nazis
came to power, but which incorporated elements of that Lebensanschauung
they came to celebrate. Many of these authors, who were sympathetic to
certain facets of National Socialism but distrustful of others, came to see
their status as being one of internal exile. This literature, which has come
to be known as Innere Emigration, represents a shady area, debated to this
day as representing either collaboration or ineffective resistance. For the
purposes of our discussion it is merely important to recognise that this
literature represented at the time what we could term popular literature,
in that it fundamentally expressed beliefs and attitudes shared by a large
proportion of the German population, the brgerlich, or middle class.
It is apposite here to remember that Beckett had of course himself experi-
enced censorship, although much less restrictive, in his native Ireland,
where his collection of short stories, More Pricks than Kicks, was banned.
It cannot have escaped Becketts attention that had he himself published
in Germany, his inclusion on a black list would have been assured. His
unshakeable aversion to limitations on artistic freedom was voiced in a con-
demnation of the Irish Censorship Act he had written in 1934 (Censorship
in the Saorstat; Dis, 848). Now in Germany, Beckett remarked upon the
divisive separation of cultural works on either side of 1933 after a visit to the
bookshop Boysens in Hamburg: Everything in way of history of literature,
art, m.[music], prior to Machtbernahme [assumption of power], disparaged
(GD, 22 October 1936). Beckett was thus sensitive to the cultural implica-
tions of the Nazi policies, aware of the fact that any book that had been
published after they had come to power would be biased, and realised that
when the author is in retirement, I know I am on the right thing (GD,
24 February 1937).
Much of Becketts information regarding the literary situation in Germany
came from two young booksellers and friends, Axel Kaun and Gnter
Albrecht.8 He clearly felt at ease with these two men, who possessed a more
liberal outlook, underlined by his description of Albrecht as not at all a
Hitler Jngling [youth] (GD, 6 November 1936).9 Beckett thus endorsed
Axel Kauns measured analysis of the new Germany as one half sentimental
demagogies and one half the brilliant obscurantics of Dr G. [Goebbels],
and further noted that Kaun deplores the failure of the Jews in exile
to establish a spiritual criticism & the futility of their protest against the
inessential (GD, 11 January 1937). Becketts endeavours to understand the

situation in Germany is evident from a letter written by Albrecht to Kaun:
Wie ich Dir frher schon einmal schrieb, sieht er [Beckett] eben alles
nur an intellektuellen Masstben & unsere Not in Deutschland wird er
nicht ganz verstehen, soviel Mhe er sich auch in der Erforschung von
Erscheinungen & Menschen geben mag.
[As I have already written to you, he only measures everything according
to intellectual standards and he will never quite be able to understand
our distress here in Germany, however much effort he may invest in
exploring appearances and people].10
It is through Axel Kaun that Beckett learnt that Thomas Mann was now (in
last fortnight) definitely banned, & his German citizenship taken away,
because of articles in Baseler Zeitung (GD, 11 January 1937).11 Thomas
Mann and the controversial work Joseph und seine Brder frequently formed
the centre of Becketts recorded discussions.12 Professor Diederich, for
example, who was acquainted with Mann, told Beckett that Buddenbrooks
was entirely Schlsselroman in that Mann himself [is] the child that dies
(GD, 25 October 1937). Yet in contrast to his brother, Heinrich, who had
been censored for his satirical treatments of Germany, as had Stefan Zweig
and Franz Werfel for other reasons, books by Thomas Mann could still be
bought in Germany at the time of Becketts visit. Nevertheless, Beckett does
not seem to have had the urge to follow up his reading of Thomas Mann
after Buddenbrooks, although the inside cover of one of his diary notebooks
gives the titles of Manns series of four novels, Joseph und seine Brder. Like
the absence of Thomas Mann in Becketts 19361937 reading list, literature
by German authors one would expect him to have been attracted to is also
conspicuously missing. The diaries do not contain any references to Bertolt
Brecht, for instance.
Becketts exclusion of exiled authors is contrasted with the comprehens-
ive overview given in the diaries to writers judged acceptable by the Nazis,
itself a barometer of the success of the ideological and cultural programme
of National Socialism. Although not always by his own volition, Beckett
became acquainted with many authors who were acceptable to the regime
or were the main proponents of Nazi literature. For example, his descrip-
tion of works inspected at a book exhibition in Hamburgs Kunsthalle
includes most of the prominent authors of the National Socialist regime:
Friedrich Griese, Hans Friedrich Blunck, Gerhard Schumann, Hans Heyse,
and Hans Grimm, whose novel Volk ohne Raum was one of the earliest books
to conform to Nazi ideology and thus very influential. As Beckett noted at

one point, the shift in literary sensibilities meant that Manns world can
no longer rival Grimms (Volk ohne Raum) (GD, 22 November 1936).
Furthermore, public readings during a book festival in Hamburg and a
series of lectures promoting Volkhafte Dichtung der Zeit in Berlin made
Beckett aware of the instrumentalisation of art. Unable to attend any of
the lectures, and thus failing to hear what he frequently termed the NS
Gospel, Beckett nevertheless copied some phrases from a newspaper
following a Hamburg lecture by Gerhard Schumann into his diary:
Die heilige[n] Begriffe: Fhrer, Bewegung, Blut u. Boden, Freiheit

u. Ehre drfen nicht dem Geschwtz der Verwandlungsknst[l]er
berlassen werden, die mit der Weltanschauung des NS ein Geschft
zu machen suchen.
[The holy terms: Fhrer, Movement, Blood and Soil, Freedom and
Honour must not be given over to the babble of the fraudsters who seek
to make a business out of the worldview of National Socialism]. (GD,
28 October 1936)13
The only book of overt nationalistic persuasion that Beckett actually

purchased during his trip was Hans Pferdmengess Deutschlands Leben
(1930), which explicitly propounds Germanys destiny of superiority.
Beckett, who had bought the book following several recommendations,
quickly discerned that it seems NS Kimmwasser [bilge] (GD, 4 November
1936). And presumably guided by his reading of the philosopher before
his departure, Beckett also bought the Spinoza novel Amor Dei (1908) by
Erwin Guido Kolbenheyer, later a vociferous supporter of the Nazi regime.
However, most books that Beckett bought and read belong to that wide
category of popular literature appealing to an educated middle-class
readership. This is hardly surprising considering the cultural circumstances,
as Beckett based his reading on both publishers lists and almanacs (which
by 1936 would have been devoid of undesirable literature), and the
recommendations of people he met. The majority of people Beckett
encountered and conversed with including many active in the visual arts
were of bourgeois orientation. Although conversations with art historians
and other intellectuals touched on international writers such as Proust or
Ibsen, or German authors such as Rilke or Stefan George, most people
admired a literature that was essentially nationalist and realistic in its
eschewal of experimentation. Most of these writers, such as Ernst Wiechert,
Hans Carossa and Paul Alverdes, are little discussed today, but were highly
influential and popular in the 1930s, expressing beliefs and attitudes shared
by a large proportion of the German population. Becketts awareness of
the divide between healthy German writing and foreign decadence is
illustrated by his comment following his reading of a PhD thesis by
Irma Tiedtke on Proust: But there is something magnificent in doing a
doctorate in 1936 with a work on not merely an exquisite, but a non-
Aryan (SB to TM, 28 November 1936).
The complex situation of the writer working within an oppressive cultural
sphere is exemplified by the literary magazine Das Innere Reich, founded in
1934 by Paul Alverdes and Benno von Mechow who were under duress to
declare their support of National Socialist cultural policies.14 Designed as a
conservative monthly publication with a target audience of the educated
middle class, an overview of contributors between 1934 and 1939 shows the
efforts made by the journal to guarantee an image of allegiance to the
regime while giving voice to opinions ranging from passive acceptance and
doubt to faintly discernible rejection. When Beckett arrived in Germany in
October 1936, his first entry in the Science and Laboratory notebook,
which he had been using for German vocabulary, records the prohibition
of Das Innere Reich following its publication of an essay by Rudolf Thiel, who
had portrayed Frederick the Great with less honour than was deemed
appropriate (UoR MS5006, 13v; entry is dated 12 October 1936). Beckett
proceeded to buy the November 1936 issue, which included, as he noted,
a promise to be good in future by the editors that secured the journals
survival (GD, 12 November 1936). Nevertheless, Das Innere Reich remained
a vehicle for non-Nazi writers to publish works that did not openly support
the aims of Hitlers Germany. Rejecting all direct reference to the events
of the day, the journal retreated into an aesthetic distance, although still
occasionally engaging in what Walter Benjamin in 1936 termed the
aestheticising of war.15 Beckett was reminded of the journal during his
reading of Hlderlin in 1938, as he annotated in his personal copy a
passage from Hyperion with the words fit for Das I.R. [Innere Reich] the
passage in question being Von ihren Taten nhren die Shne der Sonne
sich; sie leben vom Sieg; mit eignem Geist ermuntern sie sich, und ihre
Kraft ist ihre Freude [The sons of the sun nourish themselves from their
deeds; they live on victory; their own spirit rouses them, and their strength
is their joy] (Hlderlin 1930, 453).
Towards the end of his German trip, Beckett met the journals editor,
Paul Alverdes. His impression was of a [p]leasant sturdy little man with
strong face (GD, 30 March 1937). During their conversations, Alverdes
related to Beckett the precise ambiguity at the heart of the position of the
conservative writer in Nazi Germany. Referring to the disagreeable elements

within National Socialism, he confessed his hope of stranglehold being
broken from inside Partei [Party] itself, but also his belief of Goebbels
entire competence to judge what is good & what not (GD, 31 March 1937).
Alverdes proceeded to invite Beckett to contribute an English letter on
contemporary lyric to a future English number of Das Innere Reich, which
was also to contain translations from Yeats but ultimately never appeared
(GD, 30 March 1937).
Beckett and Contemporary German Fiction
Becketts reading of Alverdes during his journey represented one of the few
rewarding moments of his efforts to acquaint himself with contemporary
German fiction. Early on in his stay, Beckett read Die Pfeiferstube, based on
Alverdess wartime experience of suffering a throat wound which hospital-
ised him in 1915. Although often classified as a war novel, the book largely
ignores external events to concentrate on the brotherhood of three soldiers
convalescing from throat wounds, and their friendship with an English
soldier suffering from the same injury. Beckett thought the book excellent,
but, as always attentive to how authors finished their books, thought the
kiss of peace at end a mistake (GD, 14 November 1936).16
The autobiographical element at the root of Alverdess fiction can also
be observed in the fiction of two other modern authors Beckett read in
Germany, Hans Carossa and Ernst Wiechert. This is particularly the case
with Carossa, a practising doctor as well as an author, whose work consis-
tently eradicates the border between fiction and recollection.17 Carossa,
whose frame of reference is Goethe, endeavoured to follow the model of
the Wahlverwandschaftens series of elective affinities, or inner relationships
between people that determine the individuals growth. Beckett first read
Carossas Geheimnisse des reifen Lebens, published in 1936, on the recom-
mendation of Axel Kaun (GD, 15 January 1937). Carossa explores the
psychology of human relationships in diary form, and the book had con-
tained some merit in Becketts opinion, as he noted in his own diary: Lovely
passages, especially cadences, but terribly slow & too highly wrought (GD,
28 February 1937). Beckett was, judging by his diary entries, attracted to the
wistful tone of the narrator, an older man slightly out of touch with the
changes occurring around him and with a nostalgic bent towards the world
as it once was. Although usually dismissive of sentimental narration, certain
passages nonetheless clearly appealed to Beckett, such as the story of the
dying schoolmaster who sets his pupils an impossible equation with the
advice that there are infinite solutions. Despite finding the book ultimately
tedious, the praise Carossa received one evening during a discussion led
Beckett to read two further books by the author in the final weeks of his
sojourn: Fhrung und Geleit, another book of memoirs which Beckett judged
poor, feeling bored to extinction by war section (GD, 23 and 24 March
1937), and the incredibly rotten Der Arzt Gion (GD, 27 March 1937).
Where Carossa appealed to the middle-class reader, with his emphasis
on humanistic values derived from Goethe, Ernst Wiecherts prose admits
a mythological element drawn from the East Prussian forests of his home-
land. Although Wiechert would later spend some time in Buchenwald for
his protest against the imprisonment of Martin Niemller, at the time of
Becketts journey he had not yet fallen from grace, and was admired for the
patriotic stance based on his wartime experiences that was visible in his
books. At an early stage, Beckett read Wiecherts Das Spiel vom deutschen
Bettelmann at the instigation of Frulein Schn, a fellow guest at his pension
in Hamburg. From the outset of his trip, Beckett seems to have viewed
the entirety of contemporary German nationalism and its accompanying
cultural manifestations with scepticism, defining the book as sentimental
sententiousness and tendentiousness (GD, 20 October 1936). During
subsequent discussions with Frulein Schn revolving around Wiechert,
Beckett responded to her efforts to convert him to the new German
Lebensanschauung by stating that I intend to buy entire works of
Schopenhauer (GD, 24 October 1936). Although Beckett proceeded
to read Wiecherts Hirtennovelle and to buy Der Todeskandidat, the negative
evaluations in the diaries and the complete lack of reference to Carossa
or Wiechert in his otherwise detailed correspondence with MacGreevy
show how little Beckett took from this reading, except for an improvement
in his German reading skills. Indeed, only one line from any of the con-
temporary German books he read appears in his artistic notebooks, namely
Wiecherts expression Des Tods mde Hand in the Whoroscope notebook
(GD, 20 October 1936; WN, 34r).18
Considering the wide gulf, both in terms of subject and form, separating
Becketts own prose fiction, be it Dream of Fair to Middling Women or Murphy,
from the contemporary texts he was reading in Germany, it is hardly
surprising Beckett found little to write home about. Confronted with
sentimental utterances of heroism, elegies of landscape and romantic
nostalgia, his response to the traditionalism inherent in the works can
only be compared with his own condemnation of the Irish antiquarians,
delivering with the altitudinous complacency of the Victorian Gael the
Ossianic goods (Dis, 70). The reasons for Becketts impatience with Irish
literature as stated in the 1934 essay Recent Irish Poetry is not unlike his
rejection of much of modern German literature, in particular the falsity of
the cut-and-dried sanctity and loveliness (71). In a letter written to Gnter
Albrecht (30 March 1937), Beckett referred to Carossas complete flight
into style, and delivered an implicit condemnation of the lack of sincerity
and substance. That Beckett often measured books by sincerity is further
evident in his reading of Georg Brittings collection of short stories,
Die Kleine Welt am Strom, in which he found an [a]dmirable atmosphere
which was genuinely pathetic. Trodden with shame & compassion (GD,
30 March 1937).
Necessary and Unnecessary Journeys
With Murphy completed by the summer of 1936, Becketts travels through

Germany in many ways mirrored his own continuing progression and
journey as a writer. Even if his confrontation with contemporary German
literature did not furnish him with material that could be incorporated into
any new creative enterprise, as his reading had done, for example, in the
writing of Murphy, it did offer him a kind of negative knowledge, of how
not to proceed. Moreover, his reading of what he describes in a letter to
Mary Manning Howe as belated German romantic novels, namely Walter
Bauers Notwendige Reise and Hermann Hesses Demian, gave him a further
angle from which to approach various aesthetic concerns (SB to MM,
18 January 1937). Becketts discussion of these two novels in his diary gives
a rare insight into his creative thinking.
Becketts initial response to Hesses Demian (1919) was positive, as he
deemed it so far as I have read very astute, elegant & entertaining (GD,
18 January 1937). There are several passages in the first half of the book
which possibly explain this evaluation. The protagonist Emil Sinclair, for
example, prefers the damned thief to the saved, as he shows more character
and sincerity by not grovelling at the prospect of death. Moreover, he
possesses sentiments that are reminiscent of Becketts own professed
emotions, a turning away from the world and a similar love of the solitary
pleasures of walking:
Ich gefiel mir in der Rolle, bertrieb sie noch, und grollte mich in
eine Einsamkeit hinein, die nach aussen bestndig wie mnnlichste
Weltverachtung aussah, whrend ich heimlich oft verzehrenden Anfllen
von Wehmut und Verzweiflung unterlag. . . . . Ich hatte mir angewhnt,

bei jedem Wetter kleine, denkerische Spaziergnge zu machen, auf
denen ich oft eine Art von Wonne genoss, eine Wonne voll Melancholie,
Weltverachtung und Selbstverachtung.
[I enjoyed myself in the part, exaggerated it even, and worked myself

into a solitude which outwardly appeared consistently as the manliest
contempt for the world, while I secretly often suffered from bouts of
melancholy and desperation . . . I had got in the habit of taking small,
thoughtful walks in every weather, during which I enjoyed a kind of bliss,
a bliss filled with melancholy, contempt for the world and contempt for
myself]. (Hesse 1977, 689; my translation)
However close such a passage, with its contradictory feelings, may be to

Becketts emotional statements in his letter to MacGreevy of 10 March 1935,
the second half of the book pleased him less.19 The main reason for this
was the books structure, which frames the autobiographical story of Emil
Sinclairs youth. In an extended discussion of the formal aspects of the
book, Beckett felt it is dishonest throughout, not because it is a transcript,
but because it gives itself out as a transcript (GD, 18 January 1937).20
Applied to Becketts own writing, this statement looks both forwards and
backwards. Beyond once again emphasising the theme of sincerity, there
is an echo here of Becketts own notes written towards Murphy in the
Whoroscope notebook, where an entry comments this is the prologue. But
call it not so (5r). Becketts criticism of Demians structural device of
presenting itself as a transcript or as a found document looks forward
to his own postwar work. The text of Watt similarly purports to be a
manuscript, through references to unintelligible parts of the manuscript,
and the implication in Malone Dies is similarly that the text we are reading
is the one Malone is writing in bed. The discussion is in keeping with
Becketts overall concern with literary self-representation and the relation-
ship between fiction and autobiography.
But, in accordance with Becketts 1937 admonition, Watt or Malone Dies
do not give themselves out as transcripts but rather fulfil (unlike the
earlier Dream) a further criteria expressed in the discussion of Demian:
Never define a book, the critic has merely then to elaborate the contrary.
Never for a second betray awareness of reader & critic. . . . Even the title
must not give a direction. Thus Damian [sic] a good title, & Notwendige
Reise a bad one, because all I need then prove is that it was not in the
least necessary. It is impossible to controvert Murphy. (GD, 18 January
1937; Becketts emphasis)
Becketts ruminations anticipate his use of what he termed labels or names

as titles for his novels, and in his diary entry he goes on to illustrate just
why the title of Walter Bauers Notwendige Reise [Necessary Journey] is
inadequate. We have already encountered Becketts thoughts on Bauers
book in connection with his distrust of the Faustian Vorwrtsstreben:
The inevitable business of course about the journey to self. . . . I fear he

will find not himself in the end, but God, as Bauer wir [us]. Journey
anyway the wrong figure. How can we travel to that from which one can-
not move away. Das notwendige Bleiben [the necessary staying put] is
more like it. (GD, 18 January 1937)
The negation of any satisfactory realisation of any kind of metaphysical or

psychological journey incorporates Becketts criticism of the psychoanalyt-
ical recovery of the hidden self as well as the transcendental application
of Thomas Kempiss The Imitation of Christ. Yet it also contains a newly
acquired knowledge in the new planes of justification for the figure
of Murphy being tied to the chair (SB to MM, 18 January 1937). Beckett
proceeds to reassert his commitment to a quietist, even resigned, position:
That is also in the figure of Murphy in the chair, surrender to the thongs
of self, a simple materialisation of self-bondage, acceptance of which is the
fundamental unheroic. This is contrasted by the heroic attitude, what
these Germans see as a journey, that is to say the attitude that strives to
acknowledge at least the possibility of escape, if not necessarily the fact
(GD, 18 January 1937).
Significantly, Becketts thoughts on the necessity of staying put coincide
with his growing realisation that his own journey through Germany was
turning out to be a failure. But there is a shift in emphasis in Becketts own
view of Murphy, from what an early note in the Whoroscope notebook calls
the [d]ynamist ethic of the main character to the essential stasis visible in
Becketts thoughts on Murphy in the chair (WN, 1r). Indeed, it is precisely
the lack of motion or the denial of transcending a present state, of being
still and not still stirring, which Becketts characters progressively aim to
achieve. The trope of the journey remains central to Becketts postwar work,
but is negated. Thus in Molloy, for example, the symbolic epic journey is
unmasked as circularity without purpose, and in later texts the journey itself
is abolished only to be finally replaced by the static images of his theatre
and prose fiction.
Becketts reading of modern German literature was not restricted to
novels. Besides Rainer Maria Rilke (an encounter which will be discussed in
Chapter 7), Beckett read Hugo von Hofmannsthals poetic drama Der Tor
und der Tod. He condemned the thought of the piece, which records the
dialogue between a man who realises he has never properly lived and Death,
as crass (GD, 23 November 1936). Nevertheless, Beckett transcribed two
passages into his diary, of which one in particular appears to have touched
an emotional chord:
Ich hab mich so an Knstliches verloren,

Dass ich die Sonne sah aus toten Augen,
Und nicht mehr hrte, als durch tote Ohren:
Stets schleppte ich den rtselhaften Fluch,
Wie ganz bewusst, wie vllig unbewusst,
Mit kleinem Leid u.[und] schaler Lust
Mein Leben zu erleben wie ein Buch,
Das man zur Hlft noch nicht u.[und] halb nicht mehr begreift,
Und hinter dem der Sinn erst nach Lebendigem schweift
[I have lost myself to artifice so much
That I saw the sun through dead eyes,
And did not hear but through dead ears:
Always dragging along the mysterious curse,
Completely conscious, completely unconscious,
With minor pain and stale joy,
To experience my life like a book,
Partly not yet intelligible, partly no longer so,
Solely beyond which the mind roams for life]. (GD, 23 November 1936)
The entire passage seems to express Becketts own desire to break away
from the artificial and move towards an authenticity of feeling. It reflects
Becketts growing realisation that he had to move away from viewing his
own experiences through the lens of literature and to reanimate, give
shape, to the vitality of immediate experience.
If Hofmannsthal did little on the whole to impress Beckett, Georg Trakl,
a volume of whose poetry he bought towards the end of his stay, was more
to his liking (GD, 3 March 1937). He must have read Trakl the following
week, for during a conversation one evening he brought up Trakl, and
commented in his diary how lovely the poem Winterabend was (GD,
11 March 1937). Beckett must have continued to be occupied with Trakl
on his return to Ireland. In his letter to Axel Kaun dated July 1937 he
asks whether an English edition of Trakl is in existence. It is possible that
Beckett viewed a translation of Trakl as an alternative to the Ringelnatz
selection he had just turned down. Indeed, the importance of the aesthetic
programme formulated in the Kaun letter obscures Becketts ostensible
reason for writing it in the first place. Having been hired by Rowohlt-Verlag
in February 1937, Kaun tried to interest Beckett in translating a selection of
Joachim Ringelnatzs poetry into English, to be published by Faber. Beckett
ultimately turned the job down, in the event unsurprisingly considering
his adumbration of a literature of the unword in the same letter, citing
disgust with Ringelnatzs rhyming fury (Dis, 171).21 Nevertheless, the
project attests to Becketts confidence regarding his knowledge of the
German language. Yet finally, and to his mothers disappointment, Beckett
did not convert his German trip into anything of commercial value. His
failure to do so is encapsulated by his response to his familys enquiry
into why his diary could not be used in the manner of Lafcadio Hearn, a
nineteenth-century Irish writer who settled in, and wrote about, Japan:
Why dont I submit my Lafcadio Hernia to Irishmans Diary? Why [?] is
it customary to keep ones fly buttoned? (GD, 4 January 1937).22
Chapter 6
Playing the Scales of Literature:

Becketts Notesnatching
This discovery, which constituted the sole literary satisfaction of a long and patient
life was made during the brief period accorded by James to a consideration of the
celebrated passages of the more celebrated works of the most celebrated authors; a
period which, after deduction of its numerous intermissions, cannot have fallen
much short of 18 calendar months.
(Samuel Beckett, Watt notebook 1, 31r)
With his literary discovery of a text by Leopardi during his brief period of
literary pursuit, James takes his place in a long series of retired or former
scholars making their appearance in Becketts work. Beckett may or may
not have been thinking of his own time spent with celebrated authors
during his time as a student at Trinity College Dublin in this passage from
the Watt notebooks. But Molloys recollection of the days when I thought
I would be well advised to educate myself reflects Becketts own movements
during the 1930s, a decade in which the acquisition of knowledge was very
much at the forefront of his mind (Mo, 86). The extant notebooks of the
thirties, now enriched by those made available to scholars by Trinity in 2002,
further reveal Becketts committed pursuit of material that would serve his
writing as well as fulfil what seemed an unquenchable need to know and to
understand.
The increasing suspicion among critics that Becketts writing is intrinsically
connected with his reading has, with such painstaking annotative work
as Chris Ackerleys Demented Particulars: The Annotated Murphy (1997
1998), John Pillings Companion to Dream (2004a) and his edition of the
Dream notebook (Beckett 1999), been substantiated beyond doubt. Indeed,
Pillings assertion that Dream simply could not have existed without the
books which, and in which, Beckett had been reading can be expanded to
include most of Becketts writing up to and including Murphy (Pilling 1998,
Becketts Notesnatching 101
21). Moreover, it appears as if, especially in the early thirties, Beckett felt
uncomfortable with his dependence on material deriving from other
writers, and struggled to find a way in which to express himself without rely-
ing on things borrowed or stolen. In many ways these years are dominated
by Becketts struggle with secondary material how to acquire it and, once
acquired, what to do with it only gradually replaced by a struggle against
any form of knowledge whatsoever. This is reflected in the notebooks
themselves, or, rather, the manner in which Beckett takes notes from
his reading. Indeed, there is a correlation between Becketts note-taking
strategies and the texts which they serve. As such, these notebooks reveal
the sources and impetuses underlying Becketts writing, but, significantly,
also illustrate Becketts developing poetics.
Treasury of Nutshell Phrases
In 1929, the first year in which Beckett saw publication, the separation
between academic writing and creative writing seemed easy to maintain, as
the difference between his essay on Joyce (Dante . . . Vico.Bruno..Joyce)
and the short story Assumption illustrates. In an essay on Carducci,
probably written as an undergraduate, Beckett clearly outlined the dangers
of blurring the borders between the two approaches:
Carducci, with all his erudition and complicated metres, was not a poet.
His work is stamped with a desperate self conscious effort. He is an
elephant jumping ponderously through a hoop. The highest poetry has
been written in simple language and with a simply constructed system.
The French realised this, and the verses of Ronsard, Racine, Rimbaud,
and Baudelaire are the verses of men who knew what they wanted to
say, what they could not help saying, and who said it with that direct and
inevitable simplicity of language . . . Carducci produced poetry by sheer
force of intellect. (TCD MS10965, 15v16r)
However, Beckett had to admit at an early stage that more often than not
his intellect was writing much of his poetry, a fact ostensibly visible in
Whoroscope. This elicited a rather disheartened comment in Casket of
Pralinen for a Daughter of a Dissipated Mandarin (published in 1931 in
the European Caravan), where the speaker confesses I am ashamed / of all
clumsy artistry (Harvey 1970, 281). By its own admission, the poem is
inclined to be rather too self-conscious, thus committing the very crime
Beckett detected in Carducci. The extent to which the early poetry

relied on extraneous material can be measured by Becketts comment
to Lawrence Harvey in the 1960s regarding the early poem Yoke of
Liberty: all the images in it are my own (Harvey 1970, 314); and by
Sen Lawlors exhaustive studies of the allusions and intertextual references
in Becketts early poetry (Lawlor 2008).
At the same time, Beckett was trying his utmost to shun erudition and
the academic apparatus in his essay Proust, undoubtedly guided by what he
perceived as his subjects anti-intellectualism (PTD, 85). Nevertheless,
the essay relies on extraneous material to a large extent. Yet Beckett was
at pains to tell MacGreevy that it isnt scholarly & primo secundo enough
for publication (SB to TM, undated [17 September 1930]). By failing to
acknowledge the use of phrases and ideas borrowed from elsewhere, the
essay dismissed the wide reading and thus the very academic discourse
on which it depended. In part this unscholarly approach stemmed
from Becketts growing dissatisfaction with his teaching at Trinity, stating
categorically in a letter to MacGreevy of 11 March 1931: I dont want to be
a professor. With this in mind, Beckett would hardly have been pleased
had he been able to read Chatto & Winduss readers report on Proust: as
soon as he starts explaining him [Proust] he drops into a complicated,
rather technical kind of prose, which reminds one of the proverbial
Teutonic professor.1
Fundamentally, Becketts use of Schopenhauer as a filter through which
to approach Proust had a critical impact on his creative writing. By internal-
ising Schopenhauers thought, itself expressive of his own temperament,
Becketts writing would henceforth include a philosophical layer that was
in any event not inimical to simple or direct expression. Beckett also
encountered in Schopenhauer an attitude towards secondary material that
he would increasingly make his own, commending the Aphorismen zur Leb-
ensweisheitfor its originality and guarantee of wide reading transformed,
something he also found in Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy (SB to TM,
25 August 1930). Thus the very fabric of Dream depends on Becketts
wide reading, the text at times approaching the status of pastiche with its
extensive use of quotations and allusions. In 1931 and 1932 Beckett was
reading mainly with Dream in mind, phrase-hunting for any material that
could somehow be incorporated into the text (SB to TM, 25 January 1931).
So much so, in fact, that reading the Odyssey free of all pilfering velleities
in September 1931 formed a surprising exception (SB to TM, undated [late
September 1931]), even if Homer ultimately still turned up in Dream like
everything else. The inextricable connection between reading, note-taking
and writing is emphasised by Becketts comment in a letter to MacGreevy

that I cant write anything at all, cant imagine even the shape of a
sentence, nor take notes (SB to TM, 8 November 1931).2
The accretive and cumulative method of composition underlying Dream
attests to Joyces influence.3 Moreover, Joyces example is also evident in the
nature of Becketts notes themselves, which tend to be short, fragmented
and, moreover, unsourced. Beckett not only rendered his sources anonymous
but also principally relied on secondary literature, as if to legitimise borrow-
ing material that had, as it were, already been borrowed. Corresponding to
Belacquas statement in Yellow that he had read the phrase somewhere
and liked it and made it his own (MPTK, 152), the appropriation of this
material is often achieved through the misquotation from sources as much
as the use of the tag and the ready-made (Dream, 47). Yet however enabling
his reading proved to be during the writing of Dream, Becketts letters to
MacGreevy also reveal an underlying sense of guilt at being soiled, too, by
the old demon of notesnatching (SB to TM, undated [early August 1931]).
More importantly, Beckett was aware that the sheer volume of butin verbal
[verbal booty] he was amassing was threatening to strangle anything Im
likely to want to say (SB to TM, 8 November 1931). Precisely what it was
that he wanted to say was probably not even quite clear to Beckett himself,
but in keeping with the overall autobiographical tenor of the book, the very
tension between any intended message and the extraneous material was
inscribed into the text.
This is particularly evident in the obscure passage dealing with Belacquas
visit to a brothel (described by way of the torture chamber) and a possible
sexual (whether active or passive by way of voyeurism) encounter in a wood.
During the course of this revelatory passage the narrator interrupts himself
to wonder did I do well to leave my notes at home, in 39 [Becketts address
at TCD] under the east wind (Dream, 72). Unable to use his notes, the
narrator is obliged to continue what we were saying before once again
holding back by emphasising I wont tell you everything. Yet revelation
ultimately proves stronger than concealment in this passage, despite the
lingering doubt inherent in Oh did I do well to leave my notes at home
(Dream, 72).4 It thus seems as if the erudite layer of references acted as a
shield or a filter through which autobiographical and potentially intimate
material could be expressed, or at least saved from sentimental disclosure.
There is a curious counterpart to this strategy in Gide, who similarly urges
himself to read Stendhal, Swift and the Encyclopaedia in order to dry up
my heart there is enough possibility of tears in my soul to irrigate
thirty books.5 Amazed by the amount of tears and twilight in this book
(Dream, 149), Beckett pursued this technique of channelling his emotions

through a close correlation between reading and writing, seemingly
unwilling to unleash the full force of his thoughts and emotions directly
onto the page.
Reading Wildly
In the four years following the completion of Dream in the summer of

1932, Beckett intensified his already firmly established routine of note-
snatching. The surviving notebooks that he kept before his trip to
Germany in 1936 can be roughly divided into two categories.
On the one hand there is the successor to the Dream notebook, the Whoro-
scope notebook, kept roughly between 1932 and 1938 with a similar intent
to collate material that would feed into the process of writing. The entries
made in this notebook up until 1936 resemble those in the earlier note-
book in that much of the material is unsourced, usually only consisting of
single words, a phrase or a short passage, and these often transformed
during notation. To borrow Rousseaus comment in the Reveries, Beckett
was keeping a record of my readings without trying to reduce them to a
system (Rousseau 1979, 33). Beckett grafted notes from both notebooks
into his writing, ticking them off as he went along, although in the case of
the Whoroscope notebook this was only done (for Murphy) in the case of the
section at the back of the book designated For Interpolation (see Pilling
2006b). These notes on Restoration drama and the University Wits, kept
for inclusion in Murphy, derive from a systematic reading procedure, despite
their fragmented and often unsourced appearance in the notebook. Beyond
outlining the major works of the University Wits in a separate notebook
(TCD MS10971/3), Beckett in his notes taken from a book on English
literary history (TCD MS10970) ticked off (in a different pen) works from
which the quotations in the Whoroscope For Interpolation section are taken,
such as Marlowes Tamburlaine or Thomas Dekkers Old Fortunatus (see
Pilling 2004b).
Yet, unlike the Dream notebook, and with the exception of the draft
outline to Murphy and the For Interpolation section, the Whoroscope
notebook contains a wealth of miscellaneous material which Beckett could
only have envisaged using at some unspecified future point in time. Apart
from the Mauthner notes contained there, Beckett continued to use the
Whoroscope notebook in a largely non-syntagmatic manner until 1938.
This can be related to Becketts inauguration in 1935 of a new method of
notesnatching from specifically literary texts. The excerpts taken from

Goethes Dichtung und Wahrheit in March (SB to TM, 10 March [1935]),
and, to a lesser degree, from Rabelais in September (SB to TM, undated
[late September 1935]) of that year witness a move from noting merely
short quotations to longer transcriptions, a shift visible in the Faust notes
and culminating in the material collated towards the writing of the play on
Dr Johnson, Human Wishes.
On the other hand there exists a large corpus of thematic transcriptions,
taken specifically with the acquisition of knowledge or with an eye on personal
application (the two went hand in hand) rather than with any compositional
process in mind.6 These extensive notes, including, for example, over
200 pages on philosophy, witness Beckett harnessing knowledge by read-
ing introductory works such as Robertsons History of German Literature,
Windelbands A History of Philosophy and Woodworths Contemporary Schools
of Psychology. From these sources, often acknowledged, Beckett excerpted
in chronological order long passages, often verbatim. The only personal
intervention occurs when Beckett summarises and he mostly endeavours to
maintain the structural integrity of the original. On the whole, these notes
exemplify Becketts academic approach to his reading long after his depar-
ture from, or rather desertion of, Trinity in late 1931. This is underlined by
his notation of bibliographic details of potential further reading. Frequently
relying on the syllabuses of Trinity to guide him in his reading, as was
probably the case with Robertson, Beckett also spent a lot of time doing
research in various libraries. He thus read Plato, Aristotle and the Gnostics
in the British Museum in July or August 1932 (SB to TM, 4 August 1932),
and explored the work of Geulincx in Trinity College Library in 1936.
Considering this large bulk of material, it is not surprising that Murphy
turned out to be a rather more cerebral affair than Dream had been. To be
sure, Dream also relies on erudite and recondite references, but they are
thrown at the text as much as incorporated into it, and the book as a whole
is written from the belly, so to speak. Murphy, on the other hand, although
at pains to undermine any system of rational coherence, depends more
fully on a conscious amalgam of philosophical thought, psychological
termini and literary history. Thus the loose jottings and literary quotations
are grafted onto the surface of the text, whereas the more conceptual
material deriving from Becketts philosophical, psychological and other
reading function both on the surface as well as at a deeper textual level.
At the same time, the urge to conceal the borrowings remained very much
an issue. As the outline to Murphy in the Whoroscope notebook emphasised,
keep whole Dantesque analogy out of sight (2r).
Despite the obvious differences between the two books, Murphy depended
on extraneous material as much as Dream had done. This is particularly
evident during Becketts struggle, lasting several months, to finish the book.
During an entire series of letters, written after his return to Dublin from
London in December 1935, potential progress is linked with the endeavour
to settle into a room with all my books (SB to TM, 31 December 1935).
With no visible improvement forthcoming, Beckett resorted in March 1936,
as he often did during such periods, to reading wildly all over the place,
citing in this same letter, Goethes Iphigenia & then Racines to remove the
taste, Chesterfield, Boccaccio, Fischart, Ariosto & Pope (SB to TM, 25 March
1936). His reading of Geulincx in that same month, again coupled with
extended note-taking, initiated the final push towards bringing Murphy to a
close in June 1936.
With Murphy finally off his chest and with the German trip drawing closer,
Beckett started a new notebook. The Clare Street notebook, which is
inscribed 13/7/36, was kept with the distinct aim to record all things
German, and is exclusively written in that language. Beyond a few lists
of vocabulary, it contains various smaller passages dealing with personal
matters as well as translations of the poem Cascando, Samuel Johnsons
letter to Lord Chesterfield and an adaptation of the Rinaldo and Angelica
story from Ariostos Orlando Furioso (reprinted in Dittrich et al. 2006). With
several entries dated, the Clare Street notebook can be regarded as a
generic predecessor to the German diaries. Although guided by practical
considerations, Becketts departure from his habitual strategy of note-
taking results in a synthesis of autobiographical experiences and artistic
material. Significantly, Beckett was, during this period, not reading with an
eye on any immediate creative enterprise, as the long transcriptions from
Goethes Faust illustrate.
Beckett took three notebooks with him to Germany in September 1936,
the Whoroscope notebook, the Clare Street notebook and a vocabulary
book, all designed to act once again as artistic receptacles to be filled with
material for incorporation into future writing. Although all three note-
books contain material inscribed during the journey, at times repetitiously,
Beckett proceeded to concentrate on using the German diaries as a recept-
acle for all kinds of note-taking. With no definite creative idea in mind, the
endless lists of paintings and the daily structure imposed on experience by
diary writing were presumably designed to counter Becketts overriding
feelings of personal and artistic uncertainty.
The meticulous cross-referencing, discussions about attributions and
detailed documentation of the paintings seen in Germany show that
Becketts mind was still functioning along scholarly lines, even if such an
attitude had acquired the nature of a reflex. This did not hinder him from
continuing to disparage the tedious academic distinctions he encountered
in Irma Tiedtkes thesis on Proust, Symbole und Bilder im Werke Marcel Prousts,
discovering [c]lassification, definitions + paradigms, but never a whiff of
Proust as ARTIST (GD, 20 and 28 November 1936).7 It explains Becketts
fondness for the line Zitto! Zitto! das nur das Publikum nichts merke!
[Hush! Hush! as long as the public notices nothing] (WN, 83). Taken from
Schopenhauers ber die Vierfache Wurzel des Satzes vom zureichenden Grunde,
the phrase encapsulates Schopenhauers attack on the German philosophical
community for ignoring his work.8 That Beckett enjoyed satirising academia,
especially of the German variety, is further evident from his play on the
word Gelehrte [scholars], changing it in his review of Devlins poems
(1938) to Geleerte [emptied out people] (Dis, 91).9
Fundamentally, the German diaries reflect Becketts efforts at this time to
move away from erudition towards a poetics based more directly on the
emotional dimension of the self. This shift is mirrored in the personal tone
and lack of overt learnedness of the poem Cascando (written July 1936) as
well as the creative impulses arising in Germany. Becketts difficulties in
implementing any such new aesthetic direction towards impoverishment,
minimalism and self-writing are evident in the renewed reliance after the
German trip on an academic approach to creative writing. Beckett filled
three large notebooks with material drawn from a variety of sources during
his work (between summer 1937 and 1940) towards the play on Samuel
Johnson, Human Wishes, the step backwards undoubtedly borne out of a
sense of desperation at the lack of new writing. During this time of lasting
disorientation, particularly following his return to Dublin in April 1937,
academia probably seemed at least some kind of solution, as Becketts
application for an Italian Lectureship in Cape Town suggests: I applied last
week for the Lectureship in Italian at Cape Town . . . I am really indifferent
about where I go and what I do, since I dont seem to be able or to want
to write any more, or let us be modest and say for the moment (SB to TM,
4 August 1937). Such a move would however hardly have been an enticing
one to Beckett, particularly considering his condemnation of T. S. Eliots
essay on Dante in the same letter as insufferably condescending, restrained
& professorial.
Remnants of Learning
In January 1896, Jules Renard recorded in his journal that to take notes is
to play the scales of literature (1964, 80). Even as Becketts notesnatching
was replaced after the Second World War by draft and production note-
books, with only the occasional fragment recorded here and there from his
reading, he continued to listen to and use the extensive material recorded
during the 1930s.10 Responding to a query by Alan Schneider regarding the
Old Greek in Endgame, Beckett elucidated the reference from memory,
but also stated I cant find my notes on the pre-Socratics, a comment
revealing the lasting value of those hours spent transcribing in the thirties.11
The late text All Strange Away also refers to the existence of these philosophy
notes, and describes them accurately when referring to ancient Greek
philosophers ejaculated with place of origin when possible suggesting
pursuit of knowledge at some period (TFN, 78).
Beckett transferred his habit of looking back through our notes to his
characters (Dream, 189). One such instance occurs in a passage from Malone
Dies, when the rain falling on Macmann is described as pelting down on
his palms, also called the hollows of the hands, or the flats, it all depends
(MD, 70). Besides the more obvious reference in the same book to his
journey to Germany in the allusion to Tiepolos ceiling in Wrzburg (63),
the indecision pertaining to the proper term for the anatomy of the hand
comes from Becketts reading of a collection of commemorative essays on
Rilke in 1937 (see Buchheit 1931, 82). Dismissing most of the essays in his
diary as bilge, he does however comment on Gides contribution,
a dry account of Rilkes distress anlsslich [on the occasion of] his translation
of Enfant Prodigue on finding in Grimms dictionary no proper word
for palm of hand, or rather anlsslich his translation of Michelangelos
Sonnets. Handrcken [back of the hand] gibts [exists] (but hardly
in English!) but for palm only Handflche [flats of the hand] or
the archaic Handteller [hollow of the hand] which he rejects. (GD,
12 February 1937)
Without dismissing the possibility that Beckett may have remembered

this anecdote, it seems more probable that he referred back to the diary
(as well as to the Whoroscope notebook) for material when he came to
writing Malone Dies.12
Malone is one among many Beckett characters who have enjoyed some
kind of education, and can remember fragments of past learning. Thus
Belacqua in the short story Echos Bones is able to quote rags of Latin
flogged into [him] at school, as befits a Master of Arts (EB, 1314).
Murphy was also an erstwhile scholar, of theology, and moreover one of
the elect, who require everything to remind them of something else
(Mu, 42). Molloy had probably been the most tenacious in his intellectual
enquiries:
Yes, I once took an interest in astronomy, I dont deny it. Then it was
geology that killed a few years for me. The next pain in the balls was
anthropology and the other disciplines, such as psychiatry, that are
connected with it, disconnected, then connected again, according to
the latest discoveries . . . In the end it was magic that had the honour of
my ruins, and still today, when I walk there, I find its vestiges. (Mo, 378)
Molloys choice of magic over more traditional fields of learning is of course

reminiscent of the wandering scholar, Faust. Beckett later in life looked
back on the 1930s, with its intense note-taking enterprise, as a period
during which he thought he had to equip myself intellectually (Juliet
1995, 150). Yet even as his reliance on any such knowledge collapsed,
remnants of his erudition could never be entirely eradicated from his
writing as he continued to rely on dear scraps recorded somewhere
(HII, 20). As Mephistopheles tells Faust: Dir steckt der Doktor noch im
Leib [There sticks . . . / The Doctor in thy carcase yet] (UoR MS5004, 43r;
Faust, I. 3277; Goethe 1926, 113).
Chapter 7
Becketts Journal of a Melancholic and

Other Writing
Whey of Words
The completion of Murphy in late June 1936, after a long struggle to find an
adequate ending, was accompanied by an audible sigh of relief. I am very
tired, of it & words generally Beckett remarked to MacGreevy (SB to TM,
27 June 1936), a feeling that would see him working without much of an
idea of where he was headed until Watt began to emerge in early 1941.
Beckett inscribed this disenchantment with the basic tools of his trade
words in the poem Cascando, written less than a month after Murphy
had been brought to a close. This July 1936 poem reflects Becketts move
towards the spontaneous combustion of the spirit advocated four years
earlier (SB to TM, 18 October [1932]). In the opening lines of Cascando,
why not merely the despaired of / occasion / of wordshed, Beckett affirms
the legitimacy of admitting an unadulterated emotional statement into his
art (SP, 35). This first overtly personal poem, the occasion of wordshed
lying in giving vent to his unrequited feelings of love for Betty Farley
Stockton, represents something of a watershed in Becketts writing, both
artistically and personally. Cascando is essentially an emotional utterance,
unencumbered by the erudition that had previously cast a distancing veil
over both the occasion and emotional content of his writing.1 Written at
a time when Becketts thinking revolved nearly exclusively around all
things German, the poems emotional directness and absence of recondite
references reflects those previously influenced by German literature, such
as Da tagte es.
During his reading of Dichtung und Wahrheit in 1935, Beckett had
transcribed Goethes definition of the occasional poem, the Gelegenheitsge-
dicht, as the chteste aller Dichtarten [most genuine of all kinds of poetry]
(TCD MS10971/1, 56v). Indeed, Cascando includes several echoes of
Goethes autobiography. Thus Beckett had recorded in his notebook
Becketts Journal of a Melancholic 111
Goethes description of how the noise of writing with an ink pen rather
than a pencil mich zerstreute u. ein kleines Produkt in der Geburt erstickte
[disoriented me and aborted a little conception at its birth] (TCD
MS10971/1, 68r). This reflects Becketts own question is it not better abort
than be barren, and the poems notion of the presence of past loves and
past separations also finds a correlative passage in Becketts notes from
Dichtung und Wahrheit:
Nichts aber veranlasst mehr diesen Lebensberdruss [berdruss], als

die Wiederkehr der Liebe. Die erste Liebe, sagt man mit Recht, sei die
einzige: denn in der zweiten und durch die zweite geht schon der hch-
ste Sinn der Liebe verloren. Der Begriff des Ewigen und Unendlichen,
der sie eigentlich hebt und trgt, ist zerstrt, sie erscheint vergnglich wie
alles Wiederkehrende.
[Nothing occasions this weariness (of life) more than the return of love.
The first love, it is rightly said, is the only one, for with the second, and by
the second, the highest sense of love is already lost. The conception of
the eternal and the infinite, which elevates and supports it, is destroyed,
and it appears transient like everything else that recurs]. (TCD MS10971/1,
63r63v; Goethe 1891, I, 503)2
The tone of Goethes passage strikingly encapsulates the weary movement

of Becketts poem. At the same time, however, Cascando achieves, despite
the bones the old loves still being present, a sense of cautious hope of
renewal, of moving on, of being able to love again (SP, 35). Yet while the
validity of the fragile hope in renewal is explored, the language in which it
is expressed is examined and found wanting. Reminiscent of the reference
to the blabby word Herz [heart] several years before (SB to TM, 29 May
1931), the poems stale words anticipate Becketts increasing preoccupa-
tion with the inadequacy of language (SP, 36). This in turn leads Beckett to
comment in his July 1937 letter to Axel Kaun, suitably written in German,
on how it was getting immer schwieriger, ja sinnloser, ein offizielles Eng-
lisch zu schreiben [more and more difficult, even senseless, for me to write
an official English] (Dis, 52, 171).
In the months leading up to his trip to Germany, Beckett initially sought
to solve this problem of the unalterable / whey of words (SP, 36) by
making an early foray into a foreign language. In Becketts own translation
of Cascando into German, the spurned love of the English version is
replaced by a focus on words. The shortened lines and the insertion of
punctuation in the German version, made on the 18 August 1936 (the

same day Beckett finished reading the first part of Faust), give the poem a
more clear-cut structure.3 Moreover, whereas the English version pinpoints
the problem of communication in the temporal space of saying again,
Becketts German translation shifts the emphasis to language itself. As
Thomas Hunkeler has pointed out in his excellent discussion of the
German translation of Cascando (2000, 356), Beckett replaces saying
again, which occurs three times in the English version, with a single Sie
wiederholen [They repeat], followed by the more explicit Die alten Worte
[the old words], Die grauen Worte [the grey words] and Die schalen
Worte [the stale/empty words]. The insistent concentration on the word
is further emphasised in section 3, where it appears again with the
attributes faul [lazy] and schal [empty/stale]. Indeed, the repeated
use of the word Worte combined with adjectives of failure intensifies the
sense of the impossibility of communication.
Feeling Nothing: The Ohlsdorf Cemetery
Becketts impending departure for Germany at the end of September 1936

must have appeared to him as a possibility to reverse the trickle down
hill smothering any effort to work (SB to TM, 9 September [1936]).
If Germany and German writing had in the past enabled a satisfying outlet
for personal experiences, then a prolonged exposure could potentially
offer a new creative impetus.
Beckett seemed receptive to instances of creative stimulus during his first
few weeks in Hamburg. Encouraged by the writing of Cascando, a poem
with which he seemed unusually content, it was poetry that preoccupied
him during the early part of his trip.4 His visit to the graveyard in Ohlsdorf
on the outskirts of Hamburg offered an initial favourable occasion.
He spent a long time walking among the graves, the atmosphere stirring
something within him. Becketts diary entry describing his visit betrays a
more literary style, emphasising his statement that I thought a poem would
be there (GD, 25 October 1936). Having referred to the place as being
[a]live with graves, he tried to capture the mood of the cemetery:
Strange banners on the newly earthed. One bedraggled crape fillet all on
its own. Yellow leaves & red berries. Young poplars of incredible delicacy,
almost bare of leaves, sheathed in their branches. Dull golden larches &
glaucus pines. Heather on graves (but in bunches), roses . . . One Liebespaar
[loving couple]. Fish in pond being fed. Swans. A [erasure] small old
man sidles determinedly into a nook, [erasure] behind a yew hedge,
facing a piece deau, [erasure] with the air of a regular weekend mourner,
a Leidtragender Trostsuchend [erasure] und findender [sufferer/bereaved
seeking and finding consolation]. (GD, 25 October 1936)
Regardless of its concise and abbreviated tone, Becketts efforts at some-

thing more than simple notation are illustrated by the large number of
erasures in the passage. Yet despite being reminded of something by
the noise of my steps in the leaves, Beckett left without having found the
desired creative inspiration. Becketts comments in his diary equate this
failure to capitalise on what seemed a promising experience with an absence
of emotional sensitivity: I feel nothing (GD, 25 October 1936). Having
vowed to return to the cemetery, sensing a [b]ig poem, with a little pains,
Ohlsdorf remained in Becketts mind in the following weeks.
But the next time Beckett mentioned the Ohlsdorf cemetery in his diary,
he had replaced the idea of writing a poem with an outline for an article:
Must try & [write] article on Friedhof [cemetery]. With special ref.[erence]
to giant Crematorium (GD, 30 October 1936). This shift may have been
precipitated by his receipt of a copy of the Irish Times, which his mother sent
him throughout his trip, the day after his visit to the cemetery. Beckett felt
that her sending him the newspaper was designed to stimulate me into
feuilletons (GD, 26 October 1936). In a desperate effort to counter the
absence of feeling and of spontaneous creativity, Beckett resorted to the old
strategy of reading in order to write. He proceeded to read two accounts of
the cemetery in the main library, the Staatsbibliothek, taking extensive
notes5 and subsequently stating his intention in a diary entry: Another long
visit there & then perhaps an article. Tone: cold elegiac. Code Napolon.
Precise placings of preposterous Tatsachen [facts] (GD, 5 November 1936).
Becketts notes are indeed a mass of preposterous facts concerning the
cemetery: the wildlife to be found there, the technical data of the cremator-
ium, the history of its construction and the amount of dead in the various
sections, all conspiring to present a cold (if not stiff) account of the
location. This elegiac tone is underlined by the reference to Napoleons
1804 Code Civil, granting personal freedom, legislative equality, private
property and civil marriage, and recalls Becketts notes taken on Napoleon
in the Dream notebook.6 Beckett must have thought of the Code Civil
on noting that the cemetery is nonsectarian and admits Jews (an unusual
situation), and that the individual plot owner must subordinate his grave
design to the general consensus. More important here, however, is the
reference to the Code Civil, to which Stendhal compared his dry style of
writing. As John Pilling has shown (1996, 5662), Beckett was very inter-
ested in Stendhal in the early 1930s, having first encountered Le rouge et
le noir at Trinity. Beckett returned to reading Stendhal at precisely those
moments when he was struggling with his own writing. There is a reference
to Le rouge et le noir in a letter of late 1931 to MacGreevy in which he refers
to his problems with keeping Dream going: I started yet again & soon saw
no reason to continue (SB to TM, 20 December 1931). Beckett similarly
read or re-read Stendhal in April 1935, at a time when he was trying
to make a start on Murphy (SB to TM, 26 April 1935). In this 1935 letter,
Beckett even raises the proposition that Stendhals autobiography, La vie
de Henri Brulard, might be an idea for a translation.7 It is thus possible
that, faced once again with a creative impasse, Stendhal may well have
preoccupied Beckett due to his tendency to inscribe himself into his texts
while obscuring that inscription by writing in a dry style. In his 1931 Trinity
lectures Beckett had commented that Stendhal used encyclopediatic [sic]
machinery [yet was] not really interested in illumination of it.8
The emphasis on a nonlyrical use of the Ohlsdorf cemetery, established
by way of Stendhal and enabled through the shift from poem to article,
suggests that Beckett was finding it difficult to write something as personal
as Cascando, that last echo of feeling (SB to TM, 18 January 1937). Yet
Becketts repeated use of the word feeling in reference to his writing
marks a new insistence. He expressed this during his first visit to Ohlsdorf,
stating that he had walked among the graves dully without ad quem
[towards which] & without feeling (GD, 25 October 1936).9 This lack of
both purpose and emotional sensitivity repeated itself during his second
visit, and in the evening, having felt stupid and melancholy in the after-
noon, he located his failure to be inspired in a [p]aralysed sensibility,
feebly flogging piggish sensibility (GD, 9 November 1936). It was precisely
this act of flogging that Beckett wished to avoid in his attempt to build
on Cascando. As a diary entry made following a discussing of his German
translation of Cascando with the art historian Rosa Schapire clarifies,
Becketts thinking was revolving around how to synthesise the creative life
with the personal life:
New lights on poem since Sundays disquisition [15 November 1936]:

consternation at inability to write poem swallowed up in consternation
at inability to love. Intractable dichotomy of artist & man. Too much
love for a good poem, too much poem for a good love. Etc. etc. (GD,
17 November 1936)
Beckett only succeeded at writing about the Ohlsdorf cemetery several

years later in a passage in First Love:
I infinitely preferred Ohlsdorf, particularly the Linne section, on Prussian

soil, with its nine hundred acres of corpses packed tight, though I
knew no one there, except by reputation, the wild animal collector
Hagenbeck. . . . Coaches ply to and fro, crammed with widows, widowers,
orphans and the like. Groves, grottoes, artificial lakes with swans, offer
consolation to the inconsolable. It was December, I had never felt so
cold, the eel soup lay heavy on my stomach, I was afraid Id die, I turned
aside to vomit, I envied them. (ECEF, 623)
Although it had not been December and he had not eaten eel soup that day
(yet eel soup did lay heavy on his stomach the day 14 October 1936 he
ate it in conjunction with plums), Beckett clearly returned to the diaries
when writing this passage, as most of the details mentioned in First Love
correspond to his diary entries.10
Paternosters and Poetry
Becketts failure to capitalise on his visits to Ohlsdorf resulted in a period of

hectic sociability, as if he were trying to escape feeling speechless & blank
(GD, 14 November 1936).11 In late November, however, the poetic vein
stirred once more as he noted Write a poem about Paternoster. Heraclitus,
etc. (GD, 27 November 1936). Although it is impossible to make any
assumptions concerning the style this poem was to have, the thematic
sketch treads familiar territory, approaching poetic statement by way of
allusion rather than direct emotionality. Beckett had already drawn on his
reading of philosophy to introduce Heraclitus into the story Yellow as the
lachrymose philosopher, who, moreover, was obscure at the same time
(MPTK, 155).12
Beckett had come across Heraclitus again when in early 1936, in his
search for a way to get Murphy moving again, he had immersed himself in
Geulincxs Ethics in the library of Trinity College Dublin. Possibly around
this time he took a single page of notes from R. P. Gredts Elementia philo-
sophia aristotelico-thomistica, which set Heraclitus at the beginning of the
nominalist strain of thought (TCD MS10971/6, 37r). But mentioning
Heraclitus in the same breath as the Lords Prayer could only result in
the playing out of an antithesis, with irony not far away. In his later work,
Beckett employed the prayer to evoke the absence of God or to illustrate

the redundancy of such supplications, as in Hamms utterance of the
opening line of the Lords Prayer in Endgame (CDW, 119), or the broken
paternosters of Enough (TFN, 95).13 But in his early work there is a
more searching and wistful sense of appeal. This is most evident in the
poem Serena I, where the line ah father father that art in heaven stands
prominently separated from the surrounding lines and evokes a heartfelt
and melancholy sense of questioning.
By projecting a poem referring to the Paternoster, Beckett was searching
for a way to creatively transform a theory which he had been entertaining
for some time. As early as 1934, in his review Humanistic Quietism on
MacGreevys poems, he had stated that [a]ll poetry, as discriminated from
the various paradigms of prosody, is prayer, and that this prayer is an
act of recognition (Dis, 68). Beckett expanded on this idea the following
year, stating all poems are prayers, of Dives and Lazarus one flesh (SB to
TM, 8 September 1935). The source of this is identified in the Whoroscope
notebook as being Luke XVI, where the Dives-Lazarus relationship (with
Leibnizs help) brings prayer and poetry together.14 The equation of poetry
and prayer was very much on Becketts mind in Germany, notably just ten
days before reminding himself to write the Paternoster poem. Invited by
Rosa Schapire to describe his response to her portrait painted by Karl
Schmidt-Rottluff, he launched into a
mixed dissertation, twine object-subject round stem of art as prayer.

New figure occurs as I speak. The art (picture) that is a prayer sets
up prayer, releases prayer in onlooker, i.e. Priest: Lord have mercy
upon us. People: Christ have mercy upon us. What is name of this art?
(GD, 17 November 1936)15
The supplication spoken at morning and evening prayer, Lord have mercy
upon us, is another line of the liturgy that Beckett was fond of inserting
into his work, a vain cry for redemption in the face of suffering. The poem
Sanies II, for example, ends with the alternating lines Christ have mercy
upon us and Lord have mercy upon us, whereby the previous plea
to Becky for forgiveness is broadened into a more profound supplication
(SP, 24). That such mercy is not forthcoming is illustrated when Vladimirs
ejaculation in Waiting for Godot Christ have mercy on us! is tellingly
met with resounding silence (CDW, 96). Paralysed by merciful providence,
as Watt tells us (W, 85), Beckett after his trip to Germany continued to
relate poetry with prayer, as his original title Prire for the French poem
musique de lindiffrence of 1938 indicates.
Yet while in Germany, none of these poetic ideas, it appears, generated
any writing. Late December, on observing elderly women quite gone in the
legs on the steps of the Pergamon Museum, Beckett noted: Poem: Fallen
arches on the altar of Pergamon. (GD, 26 December 1936). This light-
hearted approach did produce some doggerel later on during the trip, as
Beckett visited a courtyard in Nuremberg and observed the treatment of
the thieves in a Crucifixion by Adam Kraft (GD, 2 March 1937):
I wish I were an old man

or an old woman
half & half
or an old hermaphrodite
if hermaphrodites live to be old
only old old as a crutch
with a room off the big yard
of the Holy Ghost Spital in Nrnberg
When the sun shines at midday on Adam Krafts
Big black stone Christ Crucified
But not on the repentant thief
Nor the unrepentant.
A further instance of Becketts gerontophilia (SB to TM, 8 September

[1935]), the poem, however unthinkingly dashed off, attests to Becketts tend-
ency to focus on the thieves rather than the central figure of Christ: Thieves in
shadow. Unrepentant wears a moustache & is treated with sympathy (GD,
2 March 1937). This in turn prefigures Becketts frequent use of the idea
that while one of the thieves was damned, the other was saved, amounting to
what Waiting for Godot calls a reasonable percentage (CDW, 13).
A more substantial poetic effort is registered in the diary in early February
during Becketts stay in Dresden. Possibly inspired by his thoughts on the
necessary, or rather, unnecessary, journey during his reading of Walter
Bauers Die Notwendige Reise a month earlier, Beckett noted two and half
lines of poetry in his diary (GD, 7 February 1937):
Always elsewhere
In body also
The dew falls & the rain from . . .
The same month, he wrote to MacGreevy:
I have neither written anything nor wanted to, except for a short hour,
when the frail sense of beginning life behind the eyes, that is the best
of all experiences, came again for the first time since Cascando, and
produced 2 lines and a half. (SB to TM, 16 February 1937)16
Beckett is here referring back to a poetic aesthetic first formulated several

years earlier, which advocated unsighted writing that would draw on the
interior world rather than external experience (SB to TM, 13 [September
1932]). Yet sitting in a Weinstube in Dresden, Beckett abandoned the poem;
despite having the mood he could not find a name for place that rain
falls from (GD, 7 February 1937). The missing word seemed to be retro-
spectively inserted in a line in Mercier and Camier, The rain was falling
gently, as from the fine rose of a watering pot (MC, 25).17 And, as if to make
sure the ghost of missing words was banished, emphasised in Molloy (26):
Then in my eyes and in my head a fine rain begins to fall, as from a rose,
highly important.
Although only two and a half lines survive, the fragment and Becketts
comments to MacGreevy indicate that this was, as Cascando had been, a
poem that was to favour emotionality over erudition. It is indicative of
Becketts increasing move towards a simplicity and directness of approach,
achieved through an employment of short lines and simple diction. The-
matically, this poetic fragment points towards a larger concern in Becketts
writing. With a nod towards Rimbauds Je est un autre (and his visionary
poetry), the lines Always elsewhere / In body also express the alienation
of self or the projection of self into an other.
More importantly, the poem exemplifies Becketts feelings of disori-
entation, compounded by the realisation that Germany was yet another
elsewhere rather than a potential source of creative and personal stability.
It marks a further moment of recognition, intimated in the lack of ad
quem [toward which] in the Ohlsdorf cemetery, on the path to The
Unnamables I was never elsewhere, here is my only elsewhere (Un, 121).
Yet even with the question of home or belonging resolved, or rather
unresolved, Beckett made no progress with the poem. Following his return
to Dublin he noted on the back cover of the second Human Wishes
notebooks (UoR MS3461/2), dating from May/June 1937, the two lines:
As the sky, as the sea

The dew falls and the rain from
Beckett was still struggling to find a form to accommodate the simplicity of

utterance he wished to achieve, and exchanging the more intimate image
of displacement with an unusually conventional metaphoric opening did
little to encourage the poem to grow.
With the poems failing to come out, and his professed tired[ness] with
words generally anything but diminished, Becketts attention in Germany
turned to the visual arts as a possible remedy for speechlessness. He thus
sought to apply pictorial techniques and visual solutions to the problems
he perceived in his writing. There are several instances, discussed in more
detail in the following chapter, where Beckett draws on the visual arts
for writing. Beyond the doggerel inspired by the Kraft Crucifixion in
Nuremberg, a sculpture by Riemenschneider depicting three saints elicited
the word Poem (GD, 26 February 1937).
Beckett and Rilke
[R]eluctant to change his state yet impatient to do so, to cite Watt (83),
Becketts move towards a more personal textual investment appears to have
been thwarted during this period by the very absence of the feelings he was
seeking to express. Nevertheless, a new creative work, conceived around
the same time as his efforts at a poetic treatment of the Ohlsdorf cemetery
were failing, illustrates Becketts dedication to self-writing. One evening in
Hamburg at the end of October 1936 he read Rainer Maria Rilkes Die Weise
von Liebe und Tod des Cornets Christoph Rilke, judging it to be precious in the
manner of St. J. Perses Anabase (GD, 31 October 1936), a book he had
five years previously deemed to be bad Claudel, with abominable colour
(SB to TM, 11 March 1931).18 Beckett discovered phrases that were either
russites [successes] or blunders, and he proceeded to copy passages to
illustrate both sentiments into his diary. One sentence of Rilke in particular
moved him: Wie hinter hundert Tren ist dieser Grosse Schlaf, den zwei
Menschen gemeinsam leben [haben]; so gemeinsam wie eine Mutter oder
einen Tod [As if behind a hundred doors is this Great Sleep that two people
share; share as one mother or one death]; moved him moreover to such a
degree that he answered in German: Immer schlft man allein, d.h., die
Nacht erklrt den Tag und besttigt ihn [One always sleeps alone, that is to
say, the night declares the day and confirms it] (GD, 31 October 1936).
Becketts reading of Rilke must have inspired, or at least coincided with, his
preoccupations with a new creative idea, as he subsequently noted in his
diary: More & more preoccupied with Journal of a Melancholic.
There is a sense in which the work of Rainer Maria Rilke stimulated

Becketts creative nerve, even as Beckett here refutes the German poet by
emphasising the irreversible solitude of the individual. Yet it appears as if
Rilkes work enabled Beckett to better understand his own feelings about
solitude and the monadic existence of the human being. He thus noted the
bibliographic details of Rilkes letters in his diary after Axel Kaun read out
a passage in which Rilke criticises the painter Paula Modersohn-Becker for
not respecting & loving the latest Einsamkeit [solitude] of his wife as she
had the first. He personally stands full of confidence, trust, loving esteem
& respect etc., before her latest Temple of solitude, waiting for the doors
to open. It appears that the highest reciprocal act of two creatures in
love is to wait for the doors of their solitudes to open & engulf them. (GD,
15 January 1937)19
The subject was clearly important to Beckett, as he proceeded to dismiss

this characterisation of solitude by declaring that the monad, that is to say
the individual, must stand alone in solitude as it was absurd to conceive
[of] a chain of solitudes successively liquidated (GD, 15 January 1937).20
Beckett had already been attentive to Rilkes attitude towards solitude
in his 1934 review of J. B. Leishmans translations (Dis, 667). In 1934,
Becketts reading of Rilke elicited an ambiguous response. Attacking what
he saw by turns as breathless petulance, a turmoil of self-deception and
naif discontent, it is difficult not to suspect that Becketts disavowal of
Rilkes enterprise in fact stems from a similarity of concern as well as
from the discovery of echoes of his own earlier fiction and poetry. After
all, Becketts own feelings of petulance pervade his first novel, Dream.
Furthermore, the turmoil of self-deception discovered in Rilke, as well as
the overstatement of the solitude which he cannot make his element,
anticipates the letter written to MacGreevy in March 1935, in which Beckett
admits that, in part, those problems causing him to seek psychoanalysis
arose from a sense of otherness deliberately cultivated through solitude
and indifference (SB to TM, 10 March 1935). Once Becketts personal
rejection of Rilke in his review is set aside, what remains is an evaluation
of the German poets fidgets, described as a disorder which may very
well give rise . . . to poetry of a high order. The problem, however, in
Becketts view, was that Rilkes fidgets were expressed transcendentally,
a fallacy which, according to Beckett, could be found in German liter-
ature generally: But why call the fidgets God, Ego, Orpheus and the rest?
(Dis, 66).
Despite Becketts ambivalent attitude towards Rilkes writing, it is

significant that the reading of the Cornet provoked Becketts admission
of being [m]ore & more preoccupied with Journal of a Melancholic (GD,
31 October 1936). In this diary entry, Beckett went on to specify:
Find something rueful for im dritten Reich [in the Third Reich]. The
beautiful girl in Konditorei [coffee and pastry shop] with tapeworm
lovingly described. Then: Fortunate tapeworm! A scrap of dialogue:
Du siehst so komisch aus. Nicht halb so komisch, wie es mich innen
qult. [You look so strange Not half so strange as I am tormented
inwardly].21
Beckett is here referring back to a visit to a Konditorei on Hammerpark

with Dr Reichert, where he must have overheard a conversation involving a
tapeworm (GD, 21 October 1936). Moreover, it appears that Beckett had
quite a clear idea of what he was trying to achieve with this project, as he
noted in his diary J.o.a.M. [Journal of a Melancholic] As good as written, as
bad as written, I mean the pleasure is from this evening irrevocably (GD,
31 October 1936). Nevertheless, despite phrases rattling like machine gun
fire in my skull, the Journal of a Melancholic disappears from the pages
of the diary for two months.
The Journal of a Melancholic
In late November Beckett wrote in his diary that he had now reached the
stage that I can scarcely put 2 words together (GD, 30 November 1936).
Yet the mysterious Journal had not gone away. Shortly after Christmas
(Becketts favourite time for writing), Beckett commented in his diary
[f]iddle with Konditorei scene in Hamm, implying that since the last
reference to the Journal in October he had at least thought about, and
probably even worked on, this new creative enterprise (GD, 28 December
1936).22 Although no actual material relating to the Journal of a
Melancholic seems to have survived, comments in his diary entry for the
28 December 1936 allow some insight into Becketts intentions regarding
the structure and tone of the work.
These notes reveal that the new work was to be written, similar to the
projected Ohlsdorf article, in a factual yet direct mode: simple elegance &
absence of comment, apart from what the transitions contain. Irony so
slight & quickly left that it may be ignored (GD3, 28 December 1936).23
The admonition to keep irony slight points towards the Nominalist

irony formulated in the Kaun letter as finding a method by which we can
represent this mocking attitude towards the word, through words (Dis,
172). Yet it is probably more fruitful to compare Becketts reference to
irony in Germany with his review An Imaginative Work! on Jack Yeatss The
Amaranthers, published in the JulySeptember 1936 issue of the Dublin
Magazine (Dis, 8990). Here he writes that the irony is Ariostesque, as
slight and as fitful and struck from the same impact, between the reality
of the imagined and reminiscence of its elements (89).24
The relationship between reality and imagination, and the nature of
reminiscence, is central to Becketts preoccupations in his outline of the
Journal of a Melancholic. As the diary entry of October indicates (find
something rueful for im Dritten Reich), Beckett appears to have intended
to write against the social and political background of the Germany
he was witnessing firsthand, yet in terms that betrayed an absence of
comment: No social or political criticism whatever, apart from what
the fact as stated implies (GD, 28 December 1936). This suggests that
Beckett was thinking of drawing upon his own experiences, and, more
importantly, of using his diary, which already represented the kind of
writing embraced by the Journal outline, as a sourcebook. The autobio-
graphical nature of the Journal, already manifest in its (generic) title, is
further propounded by Becketts emphasis, Not Diary but Recollections, so
as to cover retreat & give an opportunity for evaluation thro the forgotten
& the not (GD, 28 December 1936).
This comment looks back to Becketts conflicting desires to conceal and
reveal in Dream. Moreover, his distinction between diary and recollection
here is of significance, and points towards a conflict between his personal
and artistic aims. Whereas the persistent need for self-therapeutic writing,
or at least self-inspection, is evident in the concept of the evaluation thro
the forgotten & the not, the intimate nature of a diary was never likely to
satisfy Becketts desire for an artistic transformation of experience.25 As
Beckett acknowledged in the essay La peinture des van Velde ou le Monde
et le Pantalon, written shortly after the Second World War, Avec les mots
on ne fait que se raconter . . . Et jusque dans le confessional on se trahit
[With words one cannot help but tell of oneself . . . And it is precisely in the
confessional that you betray yourself] (Dis, 119). Recollections would
safeguard from such confessions by projecting them into the past, which
diary writing by its nature is unable to do. The synthesis of fact and fiction
offered a solution, one that was to be achieved not only through what
Malone calls a hiatus in my recollections (MD, 7) but also, as Beckett notes
regarding the Journal, through a strategy of invent[ing] without scruple

(GD, 28 December 1936). This fictionalisation of autobiographical mater-
ial could manifestly enable Beckett to tell a story in the likeness of my
life, as the narrator in The End puts it (ECEF, 57). And it is surely not
a coincidence that Beckett returns to working on the Journal of a
Melancholic precisely at Christmas. As we have seen, this was always a time
when Beckett remembered his father most acutely and painfully, as his
reference to Melancholy memories of other Xmas walks on Christmas
Day illustrates (GD3, 25 December 1936).
Becketts notes towards the Journal are most interesting for their
references to imagery and techniques drawn from the visual arts and music,
and anticipate the value assigned to these two art forms in the Kaun letter
of July 1937. Undoubtedly stemming from the amount of time Beckett
spent studying paintings in the art galleries in Germany, his invocation here
also anticipates the striking visual images later projected onto the stage:
Prose stanzas, keen pale colours, miniature school of Ferrara. Behind

they should stand for moods; when the mood recurs use the same colours;
reinforce the recurrence with phrase echoes. Strophe & antistrophe
of fiasco, of the few moods of which the ground fiasco is capable. (GD,
28 December 1936)26
This passage reads like an uncanny prediction of the direction Becketts

post-war writing was to take. The marked emphasis on a rigid structural
control, exercised through the coordination of verbal patterns of repetition
and antithesis with musical echoes and symbolic colour imagery, is emblem-
atic of the new direction Beckett was taking in his work.27 Strophe and
antistrophe, as concepts of versification, further link the projected
piece with the forms of an ode, as together with the epode they form
its structure (Keatss Ode to a Nightingale, for example, builds on the
ancient odestrophe).
Becketts reference to the miniature school of Ferrara, although some-
what nebulous, is of particular interest. As he had yet to come into any
substantial contact with the main representatives, such as Cosimo Tura or
Ercole dei Roberti of the Ferrara School in Germany at the time of writing,
one must assume that Beckett was thinking back to paintings he had seen
in Londons National Gallery. It is thus likely that he was thinking of
Dosso Dossi (c.14901542), who worked at the court at Ferrara. From 1515
onwards, Dosso painted cabinet pictures, in which he dismissed conventions
in order to experiment with colour and technique. As a result, these small
paintings are characterised by an arbitrariness and disharmony in their

expression of an emotional intensity. Beckett would have been familiar with
such a cabinet picture, the Lamentation over the Body of Christ (c. 1517), from
his frequent visits to the National Gallery in London. Moreover, while in
Ferrara, Dossi closely collaborated with the poet Ariosto in devising court
entertainment. Beckett, who invoked Ariosto in his reference to the slight
irony in his review of Jack Yeats and the Journal of a Melancholic, had
been reading Orlando Furioso during the summer of 1936, and would thus
have come across Ariostos praise of Dossi in Canto 33.28 Beckett generally
admired miniature painting, particularly by Dutch landscape artists or the
German Adam Elsheimer (GD, 18 December 1936). Moreover, as he was
outlining his Journal, Beckett may also have been thinking of the Indian
miniatures he had seen two days earlier and the catalogue he had subse-
quently purchased and read (GD, 26 December 1936).29
Having outlined the direction he wanted the Journal of a Melancholic
to take, Beckett continued to work on it over the following few days.
However, his comment on New Years Day, write a little more in Hamm
pastry books [referring back to the Konditorei], not much good, indic-
ates that the enterprise was beginning to flounder (GD, 1 January 1937).
On the following day he wrote a little more Hamm interior, which he now
referred to as Bandwurm [tapeworm], and added Keep it not kranky
an instance of Beckett urging himself to resist the temptation of being
Beckett (GD, 2 January 1937). His description of the work at this point as
Hamm interior, as well as the scraps of dialogue recorded in the diary,
suggests a possible dramatic content of the piece, played out within
the microcosmic framework, a cabinet picture, of a tight structure. The
Journal of a Melancholic is last mentioned on the 2 January 1937, and
thereafter sinks out of sight.
Nevertheless, although Beckett failed to write the journal of a melancholic
man, the basic concept foreshadows later texts such as Krapps Last Tape or
Malone Dies. Both texts explore the boundaries between fact and fiction and
accommodate Becketts desire to provide an evaluation thro the forgotten
& the not (GD, 28 December 1936). Both Krapp and Malone are diarists,
historians of their lives, recording distillations of experiences and memories.
Krapps psychological state can be said to resemble that of a melancholic,
a man living in solitude and haunted by a past beyond revision and
redemption. His obsessive and meticulous nature is underlined by his
pedantic cataloguing of his life and his persistent constipation. Without
stretching the analogy too far, Krapp is a distant echo of Beckett the
diarist in Germany, keeping a pillar to post account (SB to MM,

13 December 1936).
Human Wishes
Even as the evidence in the diaries suggests that he was working on the
Journal of a Melancholic during the first months of his stay in Germany,
Beckett felt frustrated by the overall lack of progress in his writing. He told
Mary Manning Howe in December 1936 that he had written nothing
connected since I left home, nor disconnected, adding [a]nd not the
ghost of a book beginning (SB to MM, 13 December 1936). The despond-
ent mood displayed in this letter reflects his diary entry of the same day,
in which he wonders What is to become of me? (GD, 13 December 1936).
Yet the same letter also marks Becketts growing preoccupation with the
figure of Dr Johnson, which ultimately led him to pen part of a first act
of the play Human Wishes in 1940:
[t]here are 50 plays in [Johnsons] life. . . . I often thought what a

good subject was there, perhaps only one long act. What interested me
especially was the breakdown of Johnson as soon as Thrale disappeared.
(SB to MM, 13 December 1936)
There is no evidence that Beckett was actually reading Johnson during his
trip, but his use of the past tense here suggests that a potential work
on Johnson had been on his mind for some time. Indeed, as the German
translation of the letter to Lord Chesterfield in August 1936 shows, Beckett
had been engaged with Johnson during the summer before his departure
(UoR MS5003, 11v13r).30
Given the differences between the outline to the Journal of a Melancholic
in the German diaries and the comments Beckett made on the Johnson
project, it seems unlikely that the two are identical. The advocating of prose
stanzas, the form of recollection and the stated time frame of the Third
Reich sharply sets the Journal apart from an eighteenth-century play
on Dr Johnson. However, the proximity in time and certain thematic and
structural correspondences suggest that the two pieces were somehow
bound together in Becketts thinking. Thus, for example, the outline to the
Journal of a Melancholic projects and Human Wishes employs frequent
repetition and silences, and both contain a slight irony.31 Furthermore,
the dramatic nature of Human Wishes reflects Becketts growing interest in
theatre during his trip, and finds a counterpart in the dialogues of the
Journal. Becketts interest in drama, and in particular period drama,
at this time is underlined by his pastiche translation in August 1936
of Ariostos Orlando Furioso in the Clare Street notebook, entitled
Mittelalterliches Dreieck [Medieval Triangle], as well as his comments
in the diary on Hebbels Gyges und sein Ring and Schillers Maria Stuart.32
Moreover, Becketts references to a sharply delineated space in Hamm
interior anticipate the drawing-room atmosphere of the Johnson entour-
age at Bolt Court.
On his return to Dublin in early April 1937, Beckett immediately began
to document a fantasy of the late Samuel Johnson LL.D. in the National
Library, undoubtedly relieved to be able to break the shock of my aimless
presence in the house again as Murphy had still not found a publisher
(SB to TM, 22 May 1937 and 25 March 1937). He proceeded to extensively
research Dr Johnson and his circle, filling three notebooks, probably
before the year was out, with material drawn from primary and secondary
sources (UoR MS3461/13).33 Becketts intense note-taking shows just how
desperate he had become to get something going again. It also represents
a reaction against his inability while in Germany to creatively draw on his
own emotions. Indeed, by thinking of his Johnson project as a fantasy
which could be documented with biographical material, Beckett contin-
ued his efforts at finding a way to synthesise fact and fiction.34 His initial
intent was to dramatise the relationship between Johnson and Mrs Thrale,
particularly following the death of Mr Thrale in 1781 and her subsequent
remarriage to the Italian music teacher, Piozzi. From the outset, however, it
was Johnsons psychological situation that interested Beckett (SB to MM,
13 December 1936). At first this emphasis manifested itself in Becketts
belief that Johnson was impotent, which resulted in the despair of the lover
with nothing to love with (SB to TM, 26 April 1937).35 Becketts interest in
impotence had already been visible in the aspermatic colossus Lord Gall
in the short story Echos Bones (12), whose problems in this respect may
well have been taken from Stendhals Armance.36 Significantly, Becketts
focus on Johnsons impotence came at a time when his own creative
endeavours were anything but fruitful, and also coincides with his
move towards a writing of impoverishment.37
Yet as both his correspondence and the Human Wishes notes reveal,
Becketts intention to write a play based on amatory speculations regarding
Johnson and Hester Thrale was gradually subsumed by an interest in
Johnsons character, in particular his intellectual and psychological
pessimism, as well as his fear of insanity and death.38 Becketts interest in

the private rather than the public Johnson is evident in his comment to
Mary Manning that it
isnt Boswells wit & wisdom machine that means anything to me, but the
miseries that he never talked of, being unwilling or unable to do so. The
horror of annihilation, the horror of madness, the horrified love of
Mrs Thrale, the whole mental monster ridden swamp that after hours
of silence could only give some ghastly bubble like Lord have mercy
upon us. The background of the Prayers & Meditations. (SB to MM,
11 July 1937)
It is significant that Becketts concentration here is on Johnsons fragile

humanity rather than the inhuman machine of intelligence, and on the
desperate plea for mercy. Fundamentally it appears as if Beckett found a
kindred spirit in Dr Johnson, and there is a sense in which Beckett was
investigating his own psychological situation through Johnson as much as
working on a new text. Indeed, Becketts attraction to, and perhaps even
identification with, Samuel Johnson largely derived from a shared view of
the human condition. Thus Beckett declared that being spiritually self
conscious, Johnson was worth putting down as part of the whole of which
oneself is part (SB to TM, 4 August 1937). In the same letter (to MacGreevy),
Beckett clarified this statement by pointing to the fact that
there can hardly have been many so completely at sea in their solitude as
he was or so horribly aware of it not even Cowper. . . . [Mrs Thrale] had
none of that need to suffer or necessity of suffering that he had. (SB to
TM, 4 August 1937)39
These expressions of suffering and solitude Beckett primarily found

in Johnsons Prayers and Meditations, to which he repeatedly refers in his let-
ters. Johnsons unflinching self-scrutiny and confessions of melancholy
must have struck a chord with Beckett. After all, he had only just returned
from Germany where he had kept a diary, experienced solitude and tried to
write a Journal of a Melancholic. Thus both Johnson and Beckett admired
Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy and thought about composing a work on
this temperament: This day it came into my mind to write the history of my
melancholy. On this I purpose to deliberate. I know not whether it may not
too much disturb me. (Johnson 1897, I, 48).40
Johnson throughout his life suffered from what he called his morbid
melancholy and disturbance of mind, and his letters frequently advise his
friends not to give in to this affliction, a greater evil than poverty or pain.41
In a diary entry of January 1766 Johnson further vowed [t]o write the
History of Memory, stating later of the recollection of childhood that
[t]his species of pleasure is always melancholy.42 In Krapps Last Tape,
Beckett drew on Johnsons habit of composing suitable Prayers and
Meditations on specific days in the calendar New Years Day, March 28
(the day on which his wife, Elizabeth, Tetty, died); Good Friday, Easter
Day and 18 September, his own birthday. Thus Krapp also reviews the past
year on his birthday and formulates resolutions (CDW, 218).
Becketts diary writing can of course also be aligned with Johnsons
various personal and introspective writings in the form of journals, travel
diaries, meditations and prayers. There are similarities in the structure and
manner of Johnson and Beckett, such as brevity of notation and an absence
of evaluation. It seems Johnson was content to record such matters as the
hour of rising, meals taken, people met and expenses. Both Johnson and
Beckett use symbols to denote certain events pertaining to bodily functions.
In Johnsons case, the microscopic attention to his body culminates in his
Sick Mans Journal, kept as a medical record of his illness and the medica-
tions he used during the last year of his life. In the second notebook towards
the writing of Human Wishes, Beckett recorded roughly eight pages of details
regarding Johnsons various illnesses and physical ailments. As Lionel Kelly
has pointed out, Becketts interest in the implied relationship between
physical illness and intellectual despair . . . reflects on his own circumstances
throughout the thirties (1992, 31).43
There is a correspondence between the sentiments expressed in Johnsons
Prayers and Meditations as well as his letters and Becketts own evaluation
of his situation and self in the German diaries, particularly when the two
writers refer to their feelings of sadness, inertia and worthless endeavour.
In a letter to Hester Thrale, Johnson confessed
I can now look back upon threescore and four years, in which little has
been done, and little has been enjoyed; a life diversified by misery, spent
part in the sluggishness of penury, and part under the violence of pain,
in gloomy discontent or importunate distress. But perhaps I am better
than I should have been if I had been less afflicted. With this I will try to
be content.44
There are several occasions in his diary when Beckett notes similar com-
plaints, as when he admits to feeling pathologically indolent & limp &
opinionless & consternated (GD, 2 February 1937). Furthermore, as the

quoted passage from Johnson illustrates, Beckett will have encountered in
Johnson yet another figure who accepted the irredeemably painful nature
of existing in an essentially meaningless universe and in fearful anticipation
of death. As Beckett remarked to Joseph Hone, Johnson was
reproached by his clerical friend, [Jeremy] Taylor, for holding the

opinion that an eternity of torment was preferable to annihilation.
He must have had the vision of positive annihilation. Of how many can
as much be said.45
A passage written in German dating from August 1936 in the Clare Street
notebook conveys Becketts similar belief in absolute finality:
So wie es dir bisher gegangen ist, so wird es auch ferner hin gehen,
bis dein Ich in die dir so bekannten Bestandteile zersetzt worden ist.
Denn vom Tode brauchst du gar nichts anders als diese Absonderung,
weder etwas besseres, noch etwas schlimmeres, zu erwarten.
[You will remain the same as you have previously been, until your I is
decomposed into those parts you know so well. Indeed, you should not
expect from death anything but this separation, nothing better, nothing
worse]. (UoR MS5003, 9v)
Both Johnson and Beckett repeatedly pronounced on what Johnson termed

the vacuity of life.46 Beckett found an expression of this in the Book of
Ecclesiastes, which forms a subtext underlying much of his writing during
the 1930s. The tone is set by the opening sentence of Murphy, which refers
back to the main theme of Ecclesiastes, that of the transience and futility of
human endeavour: I have seen all the works that are done under the sun;
and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit (1.14). By abridging the
title of Johnsons poem, The Vanity of Human Wishes, for his own play,
Beckett not only deepens Johnsons reference to Ecclesiastes but also draws
attention to the theme of vanity (Lwe 1999, 200). The sense of the word
vanity is succinctly expressed in its Hebrew translation hbel, meaning
vapour, that which is insubstantial, fleeting and amounting to nothing.47
How It Is succinctly expresses this transient nature of life: my life as nothing
man a vapour (HII, 69).
In June 1937, two months after commencing his work on Human Wishes,
Beckett told MacGreevy that I know the whole thing pretty well now and
could start anytime (SB to TM, 5 June 1937 [misdated by Beckett 1936]).
That he continued to do research instead of write suggests that Beckett

was deriving a personal rather than a literary value from his encounter
with Johnson. By August, Beckett was admitting that the Johnson thing
has gone away to be dyed . . . for nothing had been degraded to paper (SB
to GR, 4 August 1937). Nevertheless, with acts of intellection . . . going
on about it somewhere, Beckett felt that the Johnson blasphemy formed
part of his larger creative project, believing that with time he would see
how it coincides with the Pricks, Bones and Murphy, fundamentally and
fundamentally with all I shall ever write or ever want to write (SB to MM,
undated [but written between 1022 December 1937]). As a consequence
Dr Johnson was back in [his] consciousness in August 1938 or 1939 (SB
to TM, undated [5 August 1938?]), although it was not until 21 April 1940
that Beckett could tell Reavey that he had written half of a first act of
Johnson.
Later in life, when looking back at the time I spent on that red herring
(SB to MM, 2 January 1959), Beckett told Ruby Cohn that he gave up . . .
chiefly but not only because of language difficulty (SB to Ruby Cohn,
27 June 1965).48 Cohns own view of the reason why the play remained
unwritten however is perhaps more accurate, believing that Beckett may
have realized that he was outlining a biography of Johnson . . . rather than
a scenario for a play (Cohn 1980, 1589).
The period between 1936 and 1938 was marked by Becketts attempts to
find my positions (SB to TM, undated [20 or 25 April 1937]). Having
chipped away some of the erudition that had encumbered the expression
of his emotions, the Journal of a Melancholic ultimately proved yet another
abortive effort. With Human Wishes, Beckett returned to safer ground by
adopting a more systematic and academic approach in the collation of
material. Yet it appears that this also produced a feeling of dissatisfaction, as
if the sheer volume of material disabled Beckett from writing about what
essentially were rather haunting subjects of solitude, melancholia and
the difficulties of earthly existence. Nevertheless, with its emphasis on
strategies of self-inspection, Becketts own German diaries, the Journal of a
Melancholic and to a lesser degree the Human Wishes project establish the
image of the solitary writer established in subsequent work. On the loose
sheets inserted at the beginning of the first Watt notebook, there is a note
which epitomises the thematic core of this development: X is a man,
70 years old, ignorant, alone, at evening, in his room, in bed, having
pains, listening, remembering. Indeed, in the draft notebooks of Watt the
character Quin keeps a journal, and the diaristic impulse survives in the
existence of Arthurs journal. Arthurs journal entry given in the Addenda
to Watt is thus based on Johnsons Prayers and Meditations, with its reference
to what Beckett in a 1937 letter to MacGreevy had termed the ghastly
bubble of Johnsons Lord have mercy upon us. After Arthur goes back to
the house, he writes in his journal: Took a turn in the garden. Thanked
God for a small mercy. Made merry with the hardy laurel. Bestowed alms on
an old man formerly employed by Knott family (W, 222).
Yet it was only in the post-war work that Beckett truly realised his self-
writing project. Ultimately, as he described his struggle to write Human
Wishes, Beckett in the 1930s kept pushing it back, like material into a dye,
and it was only with time that the right textual tone of (self-)observation
and (self-)notation emerged (SB to TM, 23 July 1937).
Chapter 8
Talking Pictures:
Beckett and the Visual Arts
I wish you were to talk pictures.

(SB to TM, 8 February [1935])
Any reader glancing at the German diaries could be forgiven for thinking that
they were written by an art critic, and not a creative writer. The descriptive
detail and the sheer volume of notes that Beckett took on the paintings
he saw in German art galleries testify to his passionate interest in the visual
arts, an interest that extended to sculpture and architecture. Becketts
Winterreise through Germany was also explicitly a Bildungsreise, and there is
a distinct sense that by the mid-1930s Beckett had begun to view art as
a viable alternative during phases when he struggled with writing and
publication. Yet it was precisely at such times that the encounter with art
enabled Beckett to clarify, shape and formulate his aesthetic preoccupations,
and thus to find new approaches to his writing. This can be illustrated by
the sheer weight of aesthetic formulations contained in the pages of the
German diaries, kept at a time when Beckett was struggling to see the way
in which his writing was to proceed. It is important to remember that
Becketts most succinct aesthetic declarations, both before and after World
War II, were mainly made in the context of discussions of art, whether in
his personal correspondence with Thomas MacGreevy or Georges Duthuit,
or in published pieces of art criticism.
The importance of the visual arts to Becketts writing has been long rec-
ognised by scholars, but it was not until the publication of James Knowlsons
biography in 1996 that the influence was empirically substantiated, an
influence Knowlson subsequently discussed further in Images of Beckett
(2003).1 A number of more theoretically oriented studies have appeared,
though a definitive account of Becketts interest in the visual arts in the
1930s and his subsequent use of this knowledge in his work is still
outstanding.2 In this chapter I propose to discuss Becketts immersion
Beckett and the Visual Arts 133
in the visual arts by tracing his aesthetic judgements within the German
diaries, in order to illuminate the creative influence this exposure had
on his writing.
Knowlson shows that Becketts introduction to art occurred as early as
1926, when he began visiting the National Gallery in Dublin (Knowlson
1996, 57). This interest was undoubtedly further developed during his
visits to his uncle, Boss Sinclair, a collector of modern art, in Kassel (see
Knowlson 2005), and through his friendships with the painter Jack B. Yeats
and with Thomas MacGreevy, whose interest in painting would later lead
him to become the director of Dublins National Gallery. From the outset
of his career, Beckett littered his work with references to painters and their
work as well as visual techniques. In his early texts, this was mainly done
to introduce a further erudite layer beyond the literary one, in order to
clarify or obscure descriptions and concepts. Both Dream of Fair to Middling
Women and More Pricks than Kicks contain numerous such visual analogies,
mostly based on paintings Beckett saw in Dublin, such as the description
of the Albas eyes that went as black as sloes, they went as big and black as
El Greco painted (Dream, 174).3
By October 1933, just as Chatto & Windus agreed to publish More Pricks
than Kicks, Becketts interest in the visual arts had become large enough for
him to apply for a job as assistant curator at the National Gallery in London
(SB to TM, 9 October 1933). It was most likely during that year that Beckett
also read and took notes from R. H. Wilenskis An Introduction to Dutch Art,
which had been recommended to him by MacGreevy.4 As in the case of
other note-taking enterprises of this period, Beckett transcribed verbatim
lengthy passages from this book into a notebook, now at the Beckett Inter-
national Foundation in Reading (UoR MS5001). Tracing the development
of Dutch art from Cornelis of Haarlem to Jan Vermeer of Delft, Beckett
took detailed notes pertaining to the biography and craft of all major Dutch
painters. His well-known interest in spotlight painting is reflected in these
notes, as the origin of the technique and its sophistication by painters such
as the German Adam Elsheimer is duly recorded (UoR MS5001, 4r). This
notebook, the only extant one dedicated purely to the visual arts, also
contains lists of paintings from visits that Beckett paid to various art
galleries in London (Hampton Court, Wallace Collection, Victoria & Albert
Museum), Dublin (National Gallery) and France (Louvre and Muse
Cond at Chantilly) in 1934 and 1935.5 These notes confirm Knowlsons
statement that Becketts admiration at this stage was mainly for Dutch
and Flemish painting, and in particular the seventeenth-century Masters
(Knowlson 1996, 57). Becketts notes on the National Gallery in Dublin as
well as the Wallace and Victoria & Albert collections in London concentrate
exclusively on their Dutch and Flemish holdings. Furthermore, the note-

book also contains a list of those collections containing the major works by
Hieronymus Bosch, taken from a German book (UoR MS5001, 22r22v).6
Although Becketts attention at this point is mainly directed at Dutch and
Flemish painting, the notebook also contains notes on Albrecht Drer
and other artists of sixteenth-century Nuremberg, such as Adam Kraft and
Peter Vischer (UoR MS5001, 23r26r).7 It is possible that Beckett took
an interest in these artists following his very brief stay in Nuremberg in
the spring of 1931, references to which found their way into Dream with
allusions to the Albrecht Drer Haus and Adam Kraft (71).
Knowlson has aptly termed Becketts 19361937 trip to Germany an
artistic pilgrimage (2002, 74), and the German diaries reveal that Beckett
spent a great deal of time in art museums and galleries, or visiting churches
and cathedrals. Yet there is also the sense that Beckett was consciously
undertaking an educational trip, perhaps with a view to expanding his
knowledge for future employment. At times he refers to the painful duty of
having to study paintings from periods he otherwise disliked, as evidenced
by his comments on German Romantic painting of the nineteenth century
(GD, 28 December 1936).8 Undoubtedly, Becketts decision to travel to
Germany at this time can largely be explained by his desire to view the vast
collections before the political skies darkened further. As he wrote to
MacGreevy merely two weeks into his stay in Hamburg, Beckett felt that
when I have seen the pictures & struggled into the language I dont think
Ill be sorry to go (SB to TM, 9 October 1936). By the time of his trip,
Becketts knowledge of painting was already very substantial, allowing him
to compare painters and paintings across collections, to disagree with
the professional attributions of paintings made in catalogues and to
complain about the state of individual paintings. Yet although Beckett was
very familiar with the Old Masters and to an extent with French modern
painting, his trip also allowed him to study the relatively unknown territory
of German Modernism.
Struggling to See: Beckett and Modern German Art
As discussed in Chapter 5, by the time Beckett arrived in Hamburg in

October 1936, the cultural cleansing of degenerate art had already reached
alarming levels. As early as April 1933, the Nazis had set about removing
artists and art historians who were considered modern or racially impure
from their posts in galleries, museums and academies. Artists such as
Kandinsky, Schwitters and Klee, the latter one of the more famous artists to
have been dismissed from his post, went into exile and were soon followed
by others. Initially artists labelled as degenerate were forbidden to exhibit,
and subsequently had their work confiscated from public galleries (see
Hneke 2006).
The prohibitions imposed on modern art meant that Becketts
endeavours to study German Modernism were often thwarted. While he
was in Germany, the Nazis stepped up their campaign against decadent
art, and on 30 October 1936, the first of the large museums, the National-
galerie in Berlin, was forced to close its contemporary rooms in the
Kronprinzenpalais. This was followed in November by a ban on contem-
porary art criticism. Becketts diaries and letters recount his frustrated efforts
to gain access to closed wings of the public galleries, and his realisation that
all the modern pictures are in the cellars (SB to MM, 13 December 1936).9
Nevertheless, Beckett did manage to view numerous contemporary artworks
before the final curtain came down. On 30 June 1937, Goebbels issued a
decree giving a commission the authority to visit all major museums and
confiscate work from 1910 onwards that offend the German national
sentiment, destroy or distort the natural form, or are characterised by a
lack of adequate manual or artistic skills, to be shown in an exhibition of
degenerate art (qtd. in Barron and Dube 1997, 19). This indictment
encompassed virtually all twentieth-century art, whether abstract or repres-
entational, from Expressionism to Surrealism, and all non-Aryan work.
Three months after Beckets departure from Germany, the infamous
exhibition Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art), which aimed to present
the shameful decadence of modern artists and to expose dangerous crim-
inals to the indignation of the public, opened in Munich on 19 July 1937.10
Parallel to this, the exhibition Grosse Deutsche Kunstaustellung with
Nazi-approved art opened on the preceding day, also in Munich, in the
Haus der Deutschen Kunst. Becketts response on reading an announce-
ment of the approved exhibition which stated that the period of Nolde,
the Brcke, Marc etc has been berwunden [overcome], is indicative of
his attitude towards cultural repression: Soon I shall really begin to puke.
Or go home (GD, 15 January 1937). The Entartete Kunst exhibition
was only the start of a wider pillage of modern art; by 1938 approximately
16,000 works by some 1,200 artists had been confiscated, of which most
were subsequently sold abroad for hard currency or destroyed.
When Beckett wrote the essay La peinture des van Velde ou le monde
et le pantalon shortly after the Second World War, he implicitly invoked
the censoring of art that he had witnessed during his stay in Germany.
In the first half of the essay, Beckett spends considerable time denying
the value of any art criticism, arguing that it is incapable of expressing
or evaluating an artwork. In this essay, which is littered with references to
people he had met and paintings he had seen in Germany, Beckett also
refers to the imposition of established cultural opinions:
Ne vous approchez pas de lart abstrait. Cest fabriqu par une bande
descrocs et dincapables. Ils ne sauraient faire autre chose. Ils ne savent
pas dessiner.
[Do not approach abstract art. It is produced by a gang of criminals and
incapables. They would not know how to do anything else. They do not
know how to draw]. (Dis, 120)
This parodies the Nazi denouncement of modern art as degenerate, a

notion to which Beckett further alludes by stating peinture dformation
est le refuge de tous les rats [painting which distorts is the refuge of all
failures] (120). Beckett also refers directly to the suppression of the artist,
who had to belong to a Nazi academy in order to work: Il lui sera peut-tre
bientt interdit dexposer, voire de travailler, sil ne peut justifier de tant
dannes dacadmie [It may soon be forbidden for him to exhibit, even to
work, if he cannot justify so many years of academy] (121).
Whereas the Entartete Kunst exhibition of 1937 was the culmination of
the cultural cleansing programme of the Nazis, already from 1933 onwards
antimodernist exhibitions had been established (see Barron 1991, 83ff.).
Beckett visited such a Schreckenskammer des Entarteten (Chamber of
Horrors of Degenerate Art) in the Moritzburg in Halle in January 1937,
as his obligatory entry in the visitors book confirms (Figure 1).11 The
Schreckenskammer in Halle, which opened in November 1935, was a
permanent rather than a temporary installation, drawing on its own mod-
ern art collection assembled by the discredited director, Max Sauerlandt
(whose widow Beckett met). The majority of the pictures in the Halle
Sonderausstellung were transferred directly into Munichs Entartete
Kunst exhibition in July 1937, and were subsequently sold abroad or
destroyed. It was in this excellent collection that Beckett saw numerous
paintings by the main representatives of German Expressionism, such as
Franz Marcs Tierschicksal (The Fate of the Animals, 1913). Representing
an impending apocalypse, this painting, with horses screaming in
pandemonium, swine calm, Reh [deer] rearing up under falling tree,
was a culmination of Marcs depiction of suffering as a consuming force
Figure 1 Visitors Book to the Schreckenskammer, Moritzburg, Halle, 1937;

courtesy of the Moritzburg, Halle.
in life.12 Beckett gives a fascinating glimpse into the general attitude towards
the degenerate paintings in this special exhibition by recording the
comments of the custodian, a charming old bearded Diener [servant]
(GD, 23 January 1937). Thus the Diener is very trouble[d] by some
perspectives that are not alas in Nature in Lionel Feininger, Klee who
draws like a child and Noldes miserable thinking evident in the painting
Judas before the High Priests with its dreadful caricature of the Sheeny that
pleases the Diener.
Beckett was also able to see modern art outside such restricted exhibitions,
as certain galleries had not yet removed contemporary art from public dis-
play. Indeed, Becketts diaries testify to inconsistencies in National Socialist
cultural policies in 19361937, which were mainly due to the debate between
Goebbels and Rosenberg over what constituted degenerate art. He thus
commented on the fact that while he was able to view drawings from
Schmidt-Rottluff and Kirchner in the Zeichnungssammlung [drawings col-
lection] of the Kronprinzenpalais in Berlin, he was unable to see paintings
by the same artists in the main collection (GD, 19 December 1936). In a
letter to Gnther Albrecht, Beckett memorably refers to this collection of
drawings as a place wo man die Giftmischer im Intimsten ihres Schaffens
geniessen darf [where one can enjoy the mixers of poison at their most
intimate creativity].13 Beckett was particularly attentive to the fate of Max
Liebermann, whose status as either degenerate or healthily German was
heavily debated by the Nazi cultural authorities. Whereas Liebermanns

paintings had been removed from the public eye in the Kunsthalle in
Hamburg, his work could still be seen in the Nationalgalerie in Berlin,
much to Becketts surprise: On ground floor so astonished at finding . . .
5 pictures by Liebermann . . . that I leave (GD, 23 December 1936).
Becketts note that a further sixth picture, a portrait, is missing, elucidates
a general policy in Nazi condemnations of modern art: figure painting
tended to be banned while landscapes were generally deemed acceptable.14
Liebermanns status within Nazi Germany was brought home to Beckett by
a man in a small pub in Staffelstein after he had visisted the Wohlfahrtskirche
Vierzehnheiligen: On my mentioning Liebermann [the man] delivers a
terrific harangue against Jews, than whom Germany has no other enemy
(GD, 22 February 1937). Becketts awareness of the situation is further
captured when he records walking past Jdischer Friedhof (a desolation,
cf. [Jacob] Ruysdaels Judenkirchhof [16531655; Jewish Cemetery] in
Zwinger [Gallery in Dresden], which I wonder if by now burnt) (GD,
15 October 1936).
German Expressionism
Whereas access to public collections was severely restricted, modern art

could still be viewed in private collections, where alone living art is to be
seen as Beckett told MacGreevy (SB to TM, 28 November 1936). One of
the most fascinating aspects of Becketts German trip is the degree to which
he managed to make contact with, and was welcomed by, a wide circle of
artists and art historians. Many of these were the very representatives and
defenders of German Modernism that the Nazis were driving out of public
institutions.15 It was through these people that Beckett received first-hand
accounts of the cultural repression and personal persecutions ordered by
the Nazi regime, being informed, for example, of impending prohibitions
of art books: Hear that Barlach & Nolde books are to be banned next year.
I.e. buy Nolde quick (GD, 10 November 1936).16
In Hamburg, society ladies and art collectors, Margaritha Durrieu
and Helene Fera, introduced Beckett to what he termed an energetic
underground of painters, including Willem Grimm, Karl Ballmer and Karl
Kluth (SB to TM, 28 November 1936 [misdated by Beckett 1937]).17 In a
letter to MacGreevy he observed that they are all more or less suppressed,
i.e. cannot exhibit publicly and dare sell only with precaution (SB to TM,
28 November 1936 [misdated by Beckett 1937]). Yet he also admired the
apolitical attitude of these Hamburg artists, who are all profoundly

serious and therefore only a very little disturbed by the official attitude
towards them. The persecutions to which these painters were subject was
exemplified by the case of the Jewish painter Gretchen Wohlwill, who
informed Beckett that she was excluded from all professional activities
and could have a closed exhibition to which only Jews may be invited (GD,
24 November 1936). Becketts interest in the plight of the artist in Nazi
Germany is revealed by the fact that he copied out the official commun-
ication Wohlwill had received from the authorities.
Wohlwills position as a Jewish painter in Germany in 1936 was mirrored
by that of the art historian and Schmidt-Rottluff specialist, Rosa Schapire,
who (as Beckett noted in his diary) stoically [r]eveals she is fortunate[ly]
not of pure Aryan descent, & therefore cannot publish nor give public
lectures (GD, 15 November 1936). She also enabled Beckett to gain access
to the Magazin of the Hamburger Kunsthalle, a cellar room to which
works by Expressionists had been banished (GD, 19 November 1936; see
Mhling 2003). Schapires art criticism would later be exhibited in the
Degenerate Art exhibition in Munich in 1937, a fate similarly suffered
by Will Grohmann, another eminent art historian whom Beckett met.
Grohmann had published various monographs on artists such as Klee and
Kandinsky, and despite enforced retirement like all others of his kidney
(SB to TM, 16 February 1937), was unwilling to think of exile. As Beckett
noted, Grohmann argued that
it is more interesting to stay than to go, even if it were feasible to go. They
cant control thoughts. Length of regime impossible to estimate, depends
mostly on economic outshot. If it breaks down it is fitting for him &
his kind to be on the spot, to go under or become active again. (GD,
2 February 1937)18
It was through people such as Grohmann that Beckett was able to see many
private collections of modern art, not only in Hamburg but across Germany,
which allowed him to gain a greater appreciation of Expressionist painting
in particular. In Halle he was thus able to see the Weise collection of works
predominantly by Ernst Ludwig Kirchner. And Gnther Franke, who
continued to show degenerate art in his Graphisches Kabinett in Munich,
allowed Beckett to view his Max Beckmann collection (GD, 15 March 1937);
Beckett had previously admired the painters excellent colour sense in the
Kunstverein Rabenstrasse in Hamburg (GD, 13 November 1936).19 Yet argu-
ably the most important private art collection that Beckett saw in Germany,
beside that of the late Max Sauerlandt in Hamburg, was that of Ida Bienert
in Dresden. Despite the fact that, as Beckett points out, Ida Bienert was
supportive of the new regime, she feared the seizure of her modern art
collection. She thus gave Beckett the catalogue of her collection on
condition that I show it to nobody in Germany (GD, 15 February 1937),
her reticence no doubt also stemming from the fact that the discredited
art historian Will Grohmann had compiled the catalogue.20
Beckett admired many of the Expressionist paintings he saw in public as
well as in private collections throughout Germany. At first he tended
to limit himself to descriptions and evaluations of the technical aspects,
such as the use of colour or the overall composition, of paintings. But as
his knowledge deepened, Beckett was able to declare Kirchner to be the
most important artist of the early Expressionist group Die Brcke (GD,
2 Febuary 1937). In giving expression to emotional atmospheres or states
of mind, Kirchner used what he himself referred to as natures primordial
hieroglyphs, and set these into simplified yet distorted forms. Again, it was
the stylistic elements that Beckett emphasised in his praise for Kirchner,
admiring his incredible line & sureness of taste & fineness of colour (GD,
19 January 1937). Attracted to the immediacy of emotive expression within
form and colour, Beckett similarly emphasised and praised the directness of
Otto Mllers landscapes.
Beckett did not, however, merely admire Expressionist paintings for their
technique, but was on occasion also drawn to their intensely evocative
psychologies. This is evident in his response to Noldes Christus und die
Kinder (Christ and the Children, 1910):
clot of yellow infants, long green back of Christ (David?) leading to black
& beards of Apostles. Lovely eyes of child held in His arms. Feel at once
on terms with the picture, & that I want to spend a long time before it, &
play it over & over like the record of a quartet. (GD, 19 November 1936)
Beckett also admired the artistic and emotional statements of Edvard

Munch. He was particularly impressed by the painting Mdchen auf der
Brcke (Three Women Standing on a Bridge, c. 1900), which he was able to see
in the private collection of Heinrich C. Hudtwalcker in Hamburg. One
of several paintings Munch painted of the theme, Beckett judged it the
best Munch I have seen (GD, 22 November 1936).21 Beckett was also
impressed by an exquisite Munch painting, which he terms Einsamkeit
(GD, 20 January 1937).22 Commenting on the painting on two different
occasions, the pale unlimited motionless emptiness of sea and the figure
of the woman on the shore reminded him of a line from Racines Phdre:
Elle mourt aux bords . . . (GD, 19 December 1936).23 Becketts sensitivity
to the psychological expression of moods reappears in his comments on a
painting by Max Beckmann, where he states that the head & shoulders of
Ulysses beautifully felt & painted (GD, 15 March 1937).
Becketts interest in German Expressionism was not limited to paintings,
but extended to the plastic work of Ernst Barlach, whom he appears to have
particularly admired. Beckett bought Carl Dietrich Carlss book on Ernst
Barlach in the Zeichner des Volkes series, which included 85 illustrations
and discussed all areas of the Germans work graphic, plastic and literary
(GD, 4 November 1936).24 Becketts thoughts on Barlach led him to note
[h]is name X Maillol in Murphy? (GD1, 4 November 1936), resulting in
one of the few changes Beckett made to the original typescript of Murphy.
The German sculptor thus appears in the reference to the Pergamene
Barlach (Mu, 148), setting up a contrast between the dreadful machine of
the Pergamon Altar and Barlachs intensely emotional portrayals of human
suffering (GD, 26 December 1936). Beckett subsequently showed immense
interest in this artists pieces whenever he saw them, commenting for
example on the wood sculpture Sterben (Dying) that it had the right smile
on the dead (GD, 16 March 1937). As with the early Roman sculpture
Beckett admired during his trip to Germany, Barlachs figures strikingly
recall Becketts characters in his late stage and television plays. Towards
the end of his trip, Beckett ordered several of Barlachs plays. He also
endeavoured to purchase the monograph Zeichnungen von Ernst Barlach,
which had been published in November 1935 by Piper but banned and
confiscated in March 1936.25 With the help of Eggers-Kestner, Beckett tried
to obtain the book from the publisher Reinhard Piper directly. Yet when
Beckett phoned Piper, the reply was negative, and, moreover, uttered in a
very terrified tone (letter to Gnter Albrecht, 30 March 1937). Piper, who
had been censored by Goebbels on several occasions, expressed his fear
that Beckett would be searched at the border.
Dutch and Flemish Painting
If Becketts engagement with modern art was not already extensive, his study
of the Old Masters in the German galleries certainly was. Commenting on
literally hundreds of paintings, the German diaries offer a unique insight
into Becketts aesthetics, revealing his attraction to specific themes as
much as to individual painters. As James Knowlson has discussed (2009),
the highlights of any visit to an art gallery for Beckett were the seventeenth-
century Dutch and Flemish paintings, which he valued both for the
attention to minute detail as well as their overall mood.
In accordance with Molloys confession that [h]omo mensura cant do
without staffage (Mo, 63), Becketts diary entries contain minute details,
brief narrative images reminiscent of Dutch paintings: Then through
Rathaus, with little girl pissing beside the Apollo Brunnen (GD, 2 March
1937). There are numerous occasions within the diaries where Beckett
describes his surroundings in terms of images derived from the paintings
he was seeing daily. Thus New Years Eve festivities are held in an
atmosphere of van Brueghel the Younger (GD, 31 December 1936).
Furthermore, Becketts style of writing in the diaries at times approaches
the quality of painterly prose: Suddenly with mist fallingly wonderful red
light like an extension of the leaves that a group of women are raking
together, against the grey nant of the Jungfernsee (GD, 12 January 1937).
Often comprehending his surroundings in visual terms, Beckett at one
point describes the view from the Elbhhen across Hamburg as very dim &
Van Goyen (GD, 6 November 1936).
Describing this view with reference to Van Goyen illustrates that, contrary
to Malones dictum but to hell with all this fucking scenery (MD, 108),
Beckett was susceptible to the stillness and evocative moods of Dutch
landscape painting. As he expressed with regard to Philips Wouwermann,
Beckett held particularly the lyrical landscapes in high esteem, the
solitary riders & resting scenes (GD, 5 February 1937). Yet Beckett was
also aware, as he stated when discussing a Lievens painting, of the frontier
of sentiment & sentimentality (GD, 6 December 1936). Dismissing (in a
Munch painting) the feeling inclined to be overstated into the senti-
mental, Beckett preferred pictures which retained an element of reticence
(GD, 20 January 1937). This is illustrated by his comments on Kaspar David
Friedrichs Zwei Mnner den Mond betrachtend (Two Men Observing the Moon,
1819), an acknowledged visual influence on Waiting for Godot: Pleasant
predilection for 2 tiny languid men in his landscapes, as in the little moon
landscape, that is the only kind of romantic still tolerable, the bmolis [the
minor key] (GD, 14 February 1937).26 This view corresponds to Becketts
evaluation of literary Romanticism, as his remarks on the crouching brood-
ing quality in Keats show:
I like him the best of them all, because he doesnt beat his fists on the table.
I like that awful sweetness and thick soft damp green sickness. And weari-
ness: Take into the air my quiet breath. (SB to TM, undated [1930])27
Becketts sympathy with this quiet melancholy was closely connected with
his growing emphasis on artistic ignorance and honesty of expression over
competence, as stated in a letter to MacGreevy written from Germany:
impatience with the immensely competent bullies and browbeaters and
highwaymen and naggers, the Rembrandts & Halses and Titians and
Rubenses, the Tarquins of art (SB to TM, 18 January 1937). Accordingly,
Beckett spends comparably little time studying these acknowledged
masters, telling MacGreevy that he had not looked at Rubens because
I take him for granted, like the wonders of modern science (SB to TM,
25 March 1937). Beckett infinitely preferred the more melancholy
landscapes of painters such as van Goyen, Elsheimer and, in particular,
Brouwer, dear Brouwer (GD, 5 February 1937). The last of these had
arguably by this point in time become Becketts favourite painter, both
for his landscapes and low-life peasant scenes.28 The Flemish painter
Brouwer represented the very antithesis of the competent artist in that
he was a talented Taugenichts [good-for-nothing] & no more (SB to TM,
18 January 1937). Moreover, Brouwers paintings incorporated the two
aspects of Dutch painting that impressed Beckett, the minor key depiction
of landscapes and the minute details that implied distinct narratives; it is
often the figure in the background that catches his attention rather than
the main theme of the painting.
This emphasis on artistic ignorance or incompetence often guides Becketts
evaluations of the paintings he sees, so that Cranach is disgusting . . . at his
best, whereas Giorgiones Self-Portrait (Figure 2; c.1510) is praised for its
profound reticence (GD, 6 December 1936). Giorgiones Self-Portrait,
which he saw in the Herzog-Anton-Ulrich Museum in Brunswick, had a pro-
found effect on Beckett, and he spent a long time studying the expression
at once intense & patient, anguished & strong (GD, 8 December 1936).
His admiration for the Venetian painter, who subordinated subject-matter
to the evocation of moods, was already visible in his essay on Proust, which
refers to the breathless passion of a Giorgione youth (PTD, 91). Further-
more, in his 1934 essay on MacGreevy, who also admired Giorgione, Beckett
referred to the rapt Giorgionesque elucidations in his friends poetry
(Dis, 69). Beckett returned to look at Giorgiones Self-Portrait again two days
after first seeing it, formulating his further impressions in terms reminis-
cent of the emphasis on the antithetical movement in the Journal of a
Melancholic: antithesis of mind & sense, knitted brows, anguished eyes
(GD, 9 December 1936).29 Importantly, seeing the Giorgione Portrait of a
Young Man (15051506) in reproduction prior to his trip, Beckett had
pointed towards the reticence he subsequently detected in the Self-Portrait
Figure 2 Giorgione: Self-Portrait, c. 1510, Herzog Anton Ulrich-Museum

Braunschweig, Kunstmuseum des Landes Niedersachsen.
in Brunswick: all its unsaid must be his (SB to TM, 9 January 1936
[misdated 1935]).30 Indeed, the same system of evaluation is evident
in Becketts response to modern art. His comment that he preferred
the stillness & the unsaid of [Willem] Grimm & [Karl] Ballmer (GD,
26 November 1936) as opposed to Bargheers enormous competence
(GD, 26 November 1936) and Schmidt-Rottluffs programmatic monu-
mentalism (GD, 19 December 1936), represents a visual counterpart to the
quietist attitude that led him from Schopenhauer, Grillparzer and Goethe
via Thomas Kempis to Geulincx.
Turning Pictures into Literature
Im afraid I couldnt write about pictures at all. I used never to be happy with a
picture till it was literature, but now that need is gone.
(SB to TM, 28 November 1936)
There are several moments in his letters to MacGreevy when Beckett points
to the impossibility and ineffectiveness of writing about the pictures that he
is discovering in German art galleries. This negation of verbally transmitting

a visual experience anticipates Becketts postwar writings on art, especially
the essay La peinture des van Velde ou le monde et le pantalon, in which
the very premise of art criticisms capability of offering insight into the
art of painting is denied any validity. On another level, there is a shift in
emphasis in Becketts evaluation of different kinds of artistic expression.
Whereas before literature had remained his primary concern, into which
pictures had to be transformed, from late 1936 onwards there is a sense of
equity between the two creative practices. On a more immediate level, and
contrary to his statement to MacGreevy in the letter of 28 November 1936
quoted above, in his diaries and letters Beckett continued to transform
paintings into a more literary kind of writing. He explicitly understood
that paintings were readable texts, which both transmitted and absorbed
an entire array of interpretative possibilities. Throughout the diaries bear
witness to Becketts dialogue with paintings and painters, often couched in
terms of exploration or analytical challenge. Both with regard to paintings,
but also during his intense study of thirteenth- to sixteenth-century
German sculpture, Beckett continually displays his urge to write narratives
and psychologies into what he sees. Fundamentally, Beckett believed that
any artistic enterprise had to admit elements of uncertainty rather than
simplify complexities or, as he put it, how can one see anything simple &
whole (GD, 26 March 37).
Becketts interpretation of the paintings he saw was often guided by
psychological considerations. This is evident from Becketts comparison of
two paintings by Vermeer, when he says that the Herr und Dame beim Wein
(Lady and Gentleman drinking Wine, 1658) in Berlin was better painted
than the Brunswick picture [The Procuress, 1656] but less interesting psy-
chologically (GD, 5 January 1937). His attraction to the disturbed vision of
Hieronymus Bosch, evident from the notes he took on the location of
the painters major works, is underlined by his comments on Dierick Bouts
the Elders painting Resurrection in Munich (c.14501460): [i]nteresting
type for Christ, approaching Boschian, half idiot, half cunning (GD,
9 March 1937). His remark that the painting portrayed a remoteness
almost of schizophrenia is typical of Becketts close reading of the facial
expressions and gestures of pictorial figures.
Despite his professed preference for Dutch and Flemish painting,
Becketts psychological readings of paintings occur when he is discussing
the Italian Masters. His scrutiny of these paintings often results in the
composition of small dramas, shrewdly observed fragments of narrative,
as in his comments on Mantegnas Holy Family (14851490) in the
Gemldegalerie of Dresden:
Wonderful Child & Joseph, looking not blessed but accursed, outrageously
capsized in his domestic & professional life. Sitting as far away as the cell
permits the Christ Child looks decapitated. (GD, 13 February 1937)
Becketts awareness of the literary potential of visual images is clear in his

striking discussion of the magnificent St. Sebastian by Antonello da
Messina in Dresden (Figure 3; 14751476). Indeed, the painting inspired
Beckett to such a degree that while looking at it he felt a poem beginning,
but was disturbed by a noisy guide with a party screaming about Raphael
(GD, 17 February 1937). The elements of aggression usually inherent in
Figure 3 Antonello da Messina: St. Sebastian, c. 147576, Gemldegalerie Alte

Meister, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden.
depictions of Sebastian are removed in Antonellos picture with the absence

of the archers, and the martyr is portrayed in a detached and even
sculptural manner. In his initial description of the painting, Beckett
concentrated on reading the activities of the figures featured behind the
martyred Sebastian: Soldier snoring middle left. Women staring from
balcony. . . . Men chatting & going about their business. It is good to be
alive, he noted in his diary (GD, 1 February 1937).31 A letter written eleven
years later on 27 July 1948 to Georges Duthuit illuminates the importance
Beckett attached to this particular painting:
Espace pur force de mathmatique . . . et le lapid [sic] expos,

sexposant, ladmiration des courtisans prenant lair dominical au
balcon, tout a envahi, mang par lhumain. Devant une telle oeuvre,
une telle victoire sur la ralit du dsordre, sur la petitesse du coeur et de
lesprit, on manque se pendre.
[Pure space created by mathematics . . . and the stoned [martyr] exposed,

exposing himself, to the admiration of the courtesans with their Sunday
air on the balcony, all this invaded, eaten by the human. Faced with such
a work, such a victory over the reality of chaos, of the smallness of heart
and spirit, we nearly hang ourselves]. (qtd. in Labrusse 1990, 674)
Leaving aside Becketts eye for symmetry, which was to influence his own
stage images, the importance of this letter lies in its reference to the human-
ity pervading Antonellos St. Sebastian. Time and again Becketts comments
favour honest pictorial expression, even at the expense of technical mas-
tery. He thus remarks how irritating [the] natural piety of Angelico is in
contrast to the humane painting of Masaccio (GD, 20 December 1936;
Becketts emphasis).32 Becketts impatience with artistic competence at the
expense of emotional depth extended to other famous painters such
as Cranach, in whom one can only appreciate a technique important in
history of painting (GD, 6 December 1936). Beckett tended to dismiss
most of the many German artists whose works he saw in the galleries and
museums, but there were also pleasant surprises, such as the [t]iny wretched
crucified Christ by Konrad Witz (GD, 21 January; Christus am Kreuz, [Christ
on Cross], 144550) and the paintings by Gabriel Mleskircher.33
Yet Becketts main focus in terms of German art was on Albrecht Drer,
and his admiration for the artist, on whom he had previously taken notes,
was undiminished while in Germany.34 He spent a lot of time studying both
the Dresden Altarpiece (1496) in Dresden and the Four Apostles (The Four Holy
Men, 1526) in Munichs Alte Pinakothek. He took copious notes on the Four
Apostles, and traced the interrelationship in a chart between the four figures
through the symbolic and psychological interpretation according to medi-
eval theories of the temperaments. He also admired Drers portraits of
Jakob Muffels and Hieronymus Holzschuher, in which Drer similarly tried
to capture his friends characters as a type of temperament rather than
portraying them in realistic likeness. Beckett also spent a long time studying
the work of Matthias Grnewald, and copied a list of the locations of his
work into his diary (GD, 18 February 1937).35 Once again, Becketts sensitiv-
ity to the psychological elements contained in paintings can be illustrated
by his comments on Grnewalds Sts. Erasmus and Mauritius (15201524).
Although it immediately says very little, it is
Gradually full of psychologies & derisions. Remoteness, contempt, suspi-

cion of Erasmus, social & devout prepossessions in conflict! Splendid old
priest on white side, aghast at the visitors appearance. Sinister black
retainer. Atmosphere of conspiracy, treachery. (GD, undated [probably
9 March 1937])
Still LIFE: Beckett and German Ecclesiastical Sculpture
As James Knowlson argues, many of Becketts theatrical images can be seen

as a reworking of visual imagery that was derived from, or inspired by, the
Old Masters (2002, 75). This is also the case with sculpture, as Becketts
later drama undoubtedly owes much to the plastic arts in its stonelike
quality. When Male Figure in Ghost Trio lifts his head to look at the camera,
his face evokes a chiselled stone sculpture, which is further stressed by
the sculptural elements inherent in the pose of the figure, the structural
composition of the scene and the use of the colour grey. In the late drama
and television plays, the linear and geometric composition of stage and
scene reformulate the Renaissance notion of a tableau vivant.36 Beckett
referred to such tableau vivant, or living pictures, depicting motionless
scenes of living beings, in Murphy (106). The concept was important to
Becketts poetics, as reflected in his description of Van Goghs Pears as still
LIFE (GD, 14 February 1937), a striking anticipation of his depictions of
life that still stirred though almost still.37 In his notebook for the Schiller
Theater production of Waiting for Godot, Beckett adapted such tableaux,
referring to them as Wartestellen (moments of stillness), instances of
frozen waiting which provided a visual structure to the play (Knowlson
and McMillan 1993, 91 and 3978).
At times Becketts passion for the paintings he sees in German art galleries
is rivalled in the diaries by the intensity with which he describes the archi-
tecture, sculptures and portals of German churches and cathedrals. During
the months of January and February 1937, Beckett made veritable pilgrimages
to further his knowledge of thirteenth- to sixteenth-century German sculp-
ture (see Knowlson 2008). In planning his trip, Beckett had at an early stage
decided to visit some of the most important examples of early Romanesque
sculpture in the Harz region, which first took him to the incredibly beautiful
Hildesheim (SB to TM, 22 December 1936). Yet it was only when he arrived
in Naumburg and visited its cathedral that his interest was fully engaged.
Beckett must have spent a long time studying sculptured figures, endeav-
ouring to unravel the symbolism and to cross-reference styles. In this
context, his knowledge of the Christian liturgy undoubtedly helped him
understand the historical differences in imaging Christian iconography.
This is exemplified by the way he describes his impression of the wonderful
screen of the west choir in the Naumburger Dom. The screen, crafted by
the Master of Naumburg and his workshop, illustrates scenes from the
Passion. The life-size figures communicate immense suffering, yet in a
human rather than transcendent manner. Beckett is sensitive to this, judg-
ing the screen to be not only [v]ery architectonic but also psychological,
not religious, analysing the figures, such as Christ carrying the Cross with
diligence, in this light (GD, 26 January 1937).38 He perceived the 12 large
statues of the founders and patrons, which are placed within the west choir,
to be indescribable. Once more, Beckett is attentive to facial expressions
and physical comportment of the figures, commenting on Hermanns
almost abject attitude as being a wilful contrast to the prodigious mascu-
linity of Ekkehardt opposite (Figure 4; GD, 26 January 1937). Following
his visit to the Naumburger Dom, Beckett became increasingly interested in
the debate revolving around the uncertain attributions of the Naumburger
Meisters work in the various cathedrals of Saxony, reading widely on the
subject. He pursued the problem in the cathedral in Meissen, where
his diary entries record his efforts to spot similarities and differences in the
styles of the figures that would shed light on their creator (GD, 12 February
1937). On his way to Bamberg, Beckett stopped off at Freiberg to see
the Goldne Pforte (Golden Portal) in the cathedral, a symbolic vision of
heavenly paradise which Beckett felt to be far more sober, stern & grave
than the Naumburg & Meissen figures (GD, 19 February 1937).
Becketts stay in Bamberg itself was dominated by sculptural study. He
went to the Kaiserdom, with its astonishing array of sculptural decoration,
on four separate occasions. Here Beckett was also intent on comparing
the various figures of the different screens and portals in an attempt to
Figure 4 Naumburger Master: Hermann and Reglindis, 1937, West Screen,

Naumburg Cathedral; courtesy of Deutsche Fotothek.
understand shifting historical and stylistical patterns. He spent much time

looking at the Frstenportal, with its depiction of the Last Judgement.
Inside the cathedral, Beckett was particularly impressed by the figures of
the prophets and the apostles in the eastern choir screens, known as
the Georgenchor. As with his study of the Old Masters, Beckett was always
sensitive to gesture within sculpture, and invested a psychological inter-
pretation into his reading of the figures:
Both prophets & apostles stern, tense & remote. Perhaps essence of style
in the Ecclesia & Synagogue, still & withdrawn to the point almost of
petrifaction. (Petrified statue is good). Annunciation wonderfully gentle
& tender, with intent angel almost on tiptoe and right hand caressing
gesture. (GD, 20 February 1937)
Beckett continued to study sculpture in Nuremberg, where many pieces by

the sixteenth-century artists Veit Stoss and Tilman Riemenschneider were
located. Yet Beckett was disappointed with what he saw in Nuremberg,
referring once again to his distaste for the accomplished artist. He com-
mented that the great Nrnberg period is for me now a conspiracy, where
all that remained after the technique is the vision of the sturdy burgher full
of the sense of his worth & the mysteries of his trade (SB to TM, 7 March
1937).39 What emerges from the evaluations recorded in the diaries is
(once again) a dislike for overwrought artistry and a preference for more
humane expressions in figures. This is exemplified by his comments on the
superb Pergenstrfferisches Grabmal by Adam Kraft in the Nuremberg
Frauenkirche, with its beautifully absorbed Madonna (GD, 1 March 1937).
The clarity in structure in this funerary relief admits a psychological
expression that is obliterated in the heavier and more ornate pieces such as
Krafts tomb of St. Sebald in the Sebaldus Church (a machine) or his
Ciborium (another machine). And, as in his discussions of paintings,
Beckett continually displays his urge to write narratives into the sculptures
he sees, as is exemplified in his response to the superb Annunciation by
the Erminoldmeister in the cathedral of Regensburg:
More lyrical. Angel with delighted look of an express messenger from

Irish Hospitals Trust. Mary . . . incredulous, flattered, happy, astonished
as though by someone bursting in without knocking & interrupting
her reading, all written on a surface of doom only to an eye of such
permanent [biliosity?] as mine. She has not had time to think it over. Has
Gabriel spoken? Does she take him merely merely! for an admirer.
And so on. (GD, 3 March 1937)
Many years passed before Beckett found a medium in which to express

his passion for ecclesiastical sculpture. Within the television plays he was
able to portray figures whose rigidity suggested timelessness. The frozen,
stonelike poses of characters such as the seated Male Figure in Ghost Trio or
Joe in Eh Joe are contrasted as in the figures he had seen in the cathedrals
in Germany with facial expressions rendering a psychological state beyond
words. This rigidity is also introduced into the scene itself, as depicted in
the table of Ohio Impromptu. The sculptural effect of the dramatic works is
often produced by the white and grey colouration of the characters faces.
Through the medium of television, the three-dimensional approach

afforded by close-ups relies more on the visualisation of a sculptural piece
than the single (frontal) view necessitated by a stage or a canvas.
Self-Portraiture
Confronted with the arts on a near-daily basis in Germany, Becketts

tendency to turn his visual experiences into verbal narratives coexists
with a reciprocal movement. There are several instances in which Beckett
comprehended his own reality and emotions in pictorial terms. He thus
described himself in a letter of November 1936 to Mary Manning Howe as
an anaesthetised Sebastian affecting to choke back his cries (SB to MM,
14 November 1936). This projection of self into the lineaments of another
is most pronounced in a passage written with Brueghels painting Die
hollndischen Sprichwrter (The Dutch Proverbs, 1559) in Berlin in mind:
I am the pretty young man, shall I never learn to cease thinking of myself
as young, as [in] Brueghels Proverbs, der durch die Finger seht. Was
sehe ich durch die Finger. Mich, mit bergehenden Augen [the one that
looks through his fingers. What do I see through the fingers. Myself, with
crying eyes]. (GD, 18 December 1937)40
Brueghels painting, of which there are numerous imitations, contains over

a hundred Flemish and Dutch proverbs, which have over the centuries been
variously defined and interpreted. In his diary entry Beckett is assuming the
position of the man in the window (second from the top) of the farmhouse,
looking through his fingers. Since the 1960s, commentators have inter-
preted this gesture to represent the proverb He looks through his fingers,
as denoting either tolerance or shiftiness, in the sense of deliberately ignor-
ing something.41 Yet when Beckett saw the painting, the portrayed proverb
was generally defined as He who cannot see through his fingers will not
do well in the world (Fraenger 1923, 142).42 This is undoubtedly the
interpretation of the proverb that struck Beckett: the portrayal of the world-
weary man, seated like von der Vogelweide or Belacqua, alienated from the
external world. Becketts diary comment testifies to an unusually frank
moment of self-awareness and, moreover, an acknowledgment of unhappi-
ness. Yet it is also possible that Beckett in his diary entry is seeing himself
refracted through two figures, the one seeing through his fingers in the
farmhouse, and the other he perceives (in the bottom right-hand corner of
the painting) trying to scoop up spilt porridge: irreversible catastrophe.
The abolition of the boundaries between Becketts own experiences and
pictorial representation extended to include his acquaintances, as paint-
ings frequently reminded him of people he knew, seeing, for example, a
blonde Ethna when young in Botticellis Portrait of a Young Woman (studio,
after 1480; GD2, 16 December 1936).43 At times it seems as if Beckett was
unable to hinder the intensity of emotional associations from flowing into
his reading of paintings. As he came across Arnold Bcklins Der Knstler
und seine Frau (Self-Portrait with Wife, 18631864) in the Nationalgalerie in
Berlin, he immediately felt that the artist looks astonishingly like Father,
and endeavoured to purchase a reproduction of it for his mother (GD,
21 December 1936).
Becketts interest in self-representation and self-interpretation led him to
heightened awareness of self-portraiture. Closely related to autobiographical
writing, painters through the ages have endeavoured to probe into the
mysteries of their own selves by painting themselves. Rembrandt is famous
for having completed more than 50 self-portraits. Aware that no single self-
portrait, statically bound to a specific moment of time, could capture the
essence of experience, Rembrandts series of self-portraits achieves the
status of a visual autobiography. Becketts attitude towards Rembrandt was
ambiguous. Together with Rubens and Titian, Rembrandt represented,
in Becketts eyes, the competent Master rather than the psychologically
challenging painter. The 28 Rembrandt paintings in the Kaiser-Friedrich
Museum in Berlin left him bored and impatient with the implications that
dont come off, and wondering whether it was possible at least to admire,
something, the handiwork? (GD, 5 January 1937). The failed implications
that Beckett perceived in Rembrandts paintings in 1936 were an integral part
of Belacquas artistic vision in Dream. Having proclaimed that the experience
of my reader shall be between the phrases, in the silence, communicated
by the intervals, not the terms, of the statement, between the flowers that
cannot coexist, the antithetical (Dream, 138), Becketts early protagonist
and part alter ego Belacqua illustrates this by alluding to Rembrandt:
I think now . . . of the dehiscing, the dynamic dcousu [disconnected],

of a Rembrandt, the implication lurking behind the pictorial pretext
threatening to invade pigment and oscuro [darkness]; I think of the
Selbstbildnis [Self-Portrait], in the toque and the golden chain, of his
portrait of his brother, of the cute little Saint Matthew angel that I swear
van Ryn never saw the day he painted. (138)44
Yet by 1936 the oscuro, the dark quality of Rembrandts paintings, had no
more secrets to disclose. Following his dismissal of Rembrandts implica-
tions in the German diaries, Beckett wrote the line E loscuro veramente
troppo pi oscuroche non lo voleva [And the dark is truly much darker
than one wants] (GD, 5 January 1937).
Becketts comments on the individual paintings reveal that he did indeed
admire Rembrandts skill, but would still give the lot for the little Brouwer
herd sitting on the road blowing the shawm (GD, 5 January 1937). This is
a telling statement, one that favours Brouwers melancholy vision over what,
at another point, Beckett terms Rembrandts hyper excellent painting
(GD, 6 December 1936). The only Rembrandt noted with unqualified
praise (magnificent) is, tellingly, the Dresden Self-Portrait with a Sketchbook
(1657), which shows the aged painter with a heavy, pensive look. Becketts
comment, that all light on hand, reinforces the paintings implication of
the artist who suffers within the creative act (GD, 10 February 1937).45
Subjects and Objects, or Solitude and Incommensurability
Self-portraiture contributed to one of the most important developments in

Becketts poetics, observable in two remarkable letters to MacGreevy
describing his responses to Czannes work. Beckett had already alluded
to Czanne in Dream as being very strong on architectonics, although
one suspects that his knowledge of Czannes work at this time was rather
negligible (178). However, two letters written to MacGreevy, dating from
September 1934, reveal a more profound study of Czanne. Discussing
the painting Montagne Sainte-Victoire (Figure 5; 19051906) in the Tate
Gallery, Beckett argues that whereas the anthropomorphized reality as
portrayed by Dutch painting had become insufficient, Czanne seems
to have been the first to see landscape & state it as material of a strictly
peculiar order, incommensurable with all human expressions whatsoever
(SB to TM, 8 September 1934).46 The problematic subject-object relation
lying at the heart of Becketts interpretation of Czanne occurs immedi-
ately after the publication of the essay Recent Irish Poetry, in which the
rupture in this relation forms the measuring stick by which contemporary
writers are judged (Dis, 70).
The awareness of this rupture, the impossibility of communicating the
reality of the external, or even the internal world, corresponds to the
unsaid he detected in Grimm and Ballmer two years later. Ballmer, an
advocate of the anthroposophist teachings of Rudolf Steiner, was the one
Figure 5 Paul Czanne: Montagne Sainte-Victoire, 190506, watercolour on paper,

Tate, London; Tate, London, 2010.
painter Beckett met in Germany who had the most profound impact on his
thinking. Beckett, it appears, admired Ballmer for his work as much as his
personality, noting that the Swiss artist was [m]ild, lost almost to point of
apathy & indifference (GD, 26 November 1936). Becketts interest in this
painter was such that he spent considerable effort trying to understand
Ballmers Aber Herr Heidegger! and the manuscript of Deutschtum und Chris-
tentum (GD, 20 March 1937).47 Although there was much that interested
Beckett in the former book, he ultimately deemed both too Steinerisch for
the non-initiate.48 In his essay La peinture des van Velde ou le monde et le
pantalon, Beckett referred to Ballmer and his writings:
Quand Sauerlandt se prononce . . . sur le cas du grand peintre inconnu

quest Ballmer, ou cela retombe-t-il? Das geht mich nicht an, disait Ballmer,
que les crits de Herr Heidegger faisaient cruellement souffrir.
[When Sauerlandt pronounces . . . on the case of the great unknown

painter that is Ballmer, where does that leave us? That does not concern me,
Ballmer would say, that the writings of Mr Heidegger would make one
suffer cruelly]. (Dis, 118)
Beckett is here misusing Ballmers words, despite relying on his diary and
quoting his words verbatim. Ballmer had stated his disinterest when Beckett
mentioned Sauerlandts comments on his work (GD, 26 November 1936).

Beckett had noted Sauerlandts opinion that Ballmer was one of the most
important avant-garde painters in Die Kunst der letzten dreissig Jahre (1935),
but felt that the critics passage on Ballmer strikes me as quatsch (GD,
27 November 1936). Becketts own response to the Germany painter is
evident from a diary entry describing his visit to Ballmer in his Hamburg
studio in November 1936, where he saw the painting Kopf in Rot (Figure 6;
Female Head, c.1930):
Wonderful red Frauenkopf, skull earth sea & sky, I think of Monadologie
& my Vulture. Would not occur to me to call this painting abstract.
A metaphysical concrete. Not Nature convention, but its source, fountain
of Erscheinung [phenomenon]. Fully a posteriori painting. Object not
exploited to illustrate an idea, as in say [Fernand] Lger or [Willi]
Baumeister, but primary. The communication exhausted by the optical
experience that is its motive & content. Anything further is by the
way. Thus Leibniz, monadologie, Vulture, are by the way. Extraordinary
stillness. (GD, 26 November 1936)
Figure 6 Karl Ballmer: Head in Red, c. 193031, tempera and oil on plywood;
courtesy of the Aargauer Kunsthaus, Aarau.
Similar to the incommensurability between landscape and subject located

in Czanne, Beckett found a lack of communication in Ballmers painting
that resembled the isolated nature of the monad. More importantly, Ballmer
did not seek to express appearances but rather the essence of objects. This
reduction of pictorial content to the primary is exemplified in Ballmers
painting by a tendency of objects and figures to disappear into space,
generating a kind of threshold between what can and what cannot be visua-
lised or represented, or Becketts said and unsaid. It amounts to what
Beckett in his essay on the van Velde termed un mtier qui insinue plus
quil naffirme [a skill which insinuates more than it states] (Dis, 130).
Becketts notion that in Ballmer the object was not exploited to illustrate
an idea is anticipated in his discussion of Czanne, where nature is
similarly rooted in a space separate from the one occupied by the painter.
He extended this lack of relation between the artist and the world to
encompass the artists alienation from his own self, arguing that Czanne
had the sense of his incommensurability not only with life of such a
different order as landscape, but even with life of his own order, even with
the life one feels looking at the self-portrait in the Tate . . . operative in
himself (SB to TM, undated [16 September 1934]). Becketts sensitivity to
Czannes self-portrait occurs at a time when he was in psychoanalysis, and
there is a hint in his observations that, beyond its theoretical implications,
the irredeemable solitude governing human existence was of personal
interest to Beckett.49 This is particularly visible in his view, again formulated
against the background of Czannes self-portrait, that [e]ven the portrait
beginning to be dehumanized as the individual feels himself more & more
hermetic & alone & his neighbour a coagulum as alien as a protoplast or
God, incapable of loving or hating anyone but himself or of being loved or
hated by anyone but himself (SB to TM, 8 September 1934).
Beckett returned to this alienation, representing one of the most important
subjects in his thinking throughout the 1930s, when discussing the paintings
of Jack B. Yeats in a letter of 14 August 1937, which offered a kind of petrified
insight into ones ultimate hard irreducible inorganic singleness, handled
with the dispassionate acceptance that is beyond tragedy.50 In this same letter,
written to his aunt Cissie Sinclair (herself an accomplished painter), Beckett
also drew attention to the impassable immensity between two people, and
the stillness of Yeatss pictures. In a letter written to MacGreevy the same
day as the one to Cissie Sinclair, Beckett rephrases these thoughts, but also
continues the discussion of Czanne from three years earlier:
What I feel he gets so well, dispassionately, not tragically like Watteau,

is the heterogeneity of nature & the human denizens, the unalterable
alienness of the 2 phenomena, the 2 solitudes, or the solitude & the lone-
liness, the loneliness in solitude, the impassable immensity between the
solitude that cannot quicken to loneliness & the loneliness that cannot
lapse into solitude. There is nothing of the kind in Constable, the land-
scape shelters or threatens or serves or destroys, his nature is really
infected with spirit, ultimately as humanised & romantic as Turners was
& Claudes was not & Czannes was not. (SB to TM, 14 August 1937)
Visuals and Verbals
Becketts intensified study of the visual arts (and in particular of Czanne)

during the years 1934 and 1935 coincides with a period that in terms
of creative writing proved to be rather shallow. Beyond the publication of
various reviews in 1934 and Echos Bones in November 1935, which included
poems written some years previously, Beckett could point to little substan-
tial writing during this time. Indeed, the correspondence with MacGreevy
shows that Becketts thinking revolved around the aesthetic implications of
writing rather than the practical process of composition. From September
1934 onwards, these more theoretical pronouncements largely derive,
as we have seen, from Becketts encounter with painting. This makes the
contention that the writing of Murphy essentially originated in Becketts
encounter with art less surprising. It can be illustrated by the fragment
Lightning Calculation, which ultimately formed part of Murphy (UoR
MS2902). Beckett refers to this new short story in a letter of 29 January
1935 to MacGreevy, only a short time after discussing Czanne in his letters
to MacGreevy of September 1934. The short typescript describes the move-
ments of one Quigley, who is writing a book called The Pathetic Fallacy
from Avercamp to Campendonck. The title of Quigleys book can be related to
Becketts receipt of a book on Heinrich Campendonk from Nancy Sinclair,
which he found very interesting (SB to TM, 1 January 1935). Further-
more, the pathetic fallacy directly relates back to Becketts criticism of
anthropomorphism in the Czanne letters, the itch to animise or invest
landscape with human qualities: What I feel in Czanne is precisely the
absence of a rapport that was all right for Rosa and Ruysdael for whom the
animising mode was valid (SB to TM, 8 September 1934).51
Quigleys undertaking is not without its problems, as he is both troubled
by the fact that he cannot remember the name of Hobbemas celebrated
avenue and that the golden Cuyp sky which he now evoked, in order to
make sure that it contained the flight of birds so important to his thesis, did
not present itself with sufficient detail to set his mind at ease.52 Quigley
only manages to find some kind of resolution to these problems when he
stops off at the Lyons teahouse on the way to the National Gallery. In a
scene that reappears in Murphy, Quigley devotes considerable energy to
calculating the various ways in which he can eat his five assorted biscuits.
As a consequence, Quigley began to be engrossed by the biscuits, and
therefore no longer troubled by Hobbema and his avenue and Cuyp and
his birds. The entire episode can be seen as a fictional manifestation of
Becketts aesthetic concerns as imparted to MacGreevy in the September
1934 letters. Ultimately, in the eating of the biscuits, Quigley is favouring
mathematics, or Czannes architectonics, over Dutch landscapability,
illustrating Becketts dismissal of Cuyps cows as irrelevant (SB to TM,
8 September 1934).
Nevertheless, as Pilling argues, Murphy is not a book strong on architecton-
ics (1997, 133). In part this is because, in Lightning Calculation, Quigley
finds it difficult to write his book without reneging on his infatuation with
the work of Hercules Seg[h]ers. Although not a formalistic artist either,
the Dutch artist Seghers is equally not an animising painter. Indeed, as
Beckett noted in February 1937 when he inspected two coloured engravings
in the Print Room of the Zwinger Gallery in Dresden, Seghers was a [v]ery
modern talent (GD, 9 February 1937).53 Hercules Seghers (1580/90
1633/38) was indeed an innovative and experimental artist, few of whose
paintings survive today. Seghers, by all accounts a drunken, destitute and
unappreciated artist, represents the very kind of unhappy creative spirit
to whom Beckett tended to be attracted. Influenced by one of Becketts
favourite painters, Adam Elsheimer, Segherss work usually depicts wild
and fantastic mountainous scenes, with jagged cliffs and desolate valleys
invoking at once an emotional intensity as well as a haunting, melancholy
quiet. Segherss etchings, which Beckett admired in Dresden, are particularly
ahead of their time, as he experimented with different coloured inks and
often printed on dyed or coloured paper. A further diary entry on Seghers
clarifies Becketts perception of Segherss modernity: Two Hercules
Seghers . . . both flat landscapes with view of Rhenen, one formerly given
to Van Goyen, but the tone is already much more piercing, & less stylised
than V.G.s (GD, 2 January 1937; Figure 7). Importantly, in September
1934 Beckett had defined Van Goyen as one of the painters who anthropo-
morphized landscape (SB to TM, 8 September 1934). Dismissive of the
sentimental expression of anthropomorphism, yet unable to achieve the
cold architectonics of Czanne, Beckett ultimately sought a middle ground
that the innovative yet emotive Seghers could supply.
Figure 7 Hercules Seghers: View of Rhenen, c. 162530, oil on oak, Gemldegalerie

Berlin; bpk / Gemldegalerie, SMB / Jrg P. Anders.
Whereas Becketts engagement with the visual arts represented an aesthetic

inspiration that allowed him to start working on Murphy, his more profound
study of paintings in Germany in 19361937 did not have the same effect.
To be sure, the trip provoked a further development in his poetics, as
exemplified by his thinking towards the Journal of a Melancholic. There is,
furthermore, a curious postscript to Becketts study of art in Germany in the
Watt notebooks, contained in the passage that eventually became the section
dealing with the painting on the wall of Erskines room:54
But as he meditated on the wall, the narrow white-washed wall with its
church calendar before which, seated, he meditated, there came, and
stayed, and went, now faint, now clear, images of images, Kaspar David
Friedrichs Men and Moon, a coloured engraving of ? [in typescript, page
351: Hercules Seghers] in the Zwinger ? An Elsheimer pen drawing
hanging one Christmas on a screen, Watt could not remember on loan
from where, in the Kaiser Friedrich; and that as to where they were now,
they might be anywhere now, burnt, or in a lumber-room, or sent away
[Becketts question marks]. (Watt notebook 4, 2v3r)55
These images of images represent a kind of visual fulcrum of the previous

years: the bmolis or minor key of Friedrich, the modern talent of
Seghers, as well as the melancholy landscape of Elsheimer, all make an

appearance here.56 The passage also makes explicit reference to the tragic
fate of thousands of paintings under the Nazi regime, as witnessed by
Beckett and recorded in the German diaries: sent or sold abroad, burnt or
locked away in cellars. If such explicit references, both to painters and to
his journey through Germany, were ultimately cut from the final Watt, it was
in keeping with Becketts general movement towards removing any erudite
or overtly autobiographical allusions from his work. Nevertheless, as a
further passage from the Watt notebooks succinctly summarises, Becketts
knowledge of art stood him in good stead, and inspired his writing:
It was here that Watts great knowledge of painting, ancient & modern,
stood him in good stead and that he reaped the rewards of the many
weary hours . . . spent walking up and down in private and public collec-
tions, and turning the pages of illustrated catalogues, and in putting in an
appearance at exhibitions, and in [dropping?] in on painters in their
studios, and in turning the pages of works of critics of art, and in listening
to the noise of the conversation of lovers of art. (Watt notebook 3,
90r91r)
Having throughout the 1930s discussed his writing in terms of seeing,

Beckett continued to seek a creative way forward within the field of the
visual arts. Ultimately, and as he wrote of Giacometti, Beckett struggled to
come to terms with the integration of visual experience into writing, of
wanting to render what he sees, which is perhaps not as wise as all that
when one knows how to see like him.57
Chapter 9
Clarifiers and Obscurantists:

Towards a New Aesthetic
At a dinner party in Dresden on 18 February 1937, following a lecture by

Fyodor Stepun on the Russian writer Andrey Biely, Samuel Beckett was
asked by a fellow guest, [w]as wollen sie am meisten gestalten [what is it
that you want to create most], to which he replied: [l]ight in the monad
(GD, 18 February 1937).1 Beyond its philosophical and creative implications,
Becketts expression light in the monad offers an apt description of
the German diaries. Recording daily events during his six-month journey
through Germany from October 1936 to March 1937, the diaries not only
illuminate the monadic (and nomadic) Beckett, but also shed light on a
complicated, and in some ways elusive, stage in his artistic and aesthetic
development.
As Terence McQueeny has pointed out, Beckett probably first encountered
Leibnitzian monadology in J. Lewis McIntyres Giordano Bruno (1903),
which Beckett read in 1929 on the way to writing the Exagmination essay
on Joyce (1977, 15). To answer his own question in Dream, What would
Leibnitz say? (179), Beckett proceeded to read the Monadology in
December 1933, finding the German philosopher a great cod, but full
of splendid little pictures (SB to TM, 6 December 1933).2 These little
pictures, the elementary units of being forming a microcosm, proved to
be a persuasive element in Becketts philosophical and personal outlook.
Thus the concept of the monad, whether Leibnitzian or other, is visible in
the large hollow sphere that is Murphys mind, and lies behind Becketts
descriptions of the pads at the Magdalen Mental Mercyseat: The
compartment was windowless, like a monad. . . . [Murphy] had never been
able to imagine a more creditable representation of what he kept on
calling, indefatigably, the little world (Mu, 114).
The degree to which Beckett absorbed the monadic theory, particularly
what Watt calls its windowlessness, is evident from a number of passages in
the German diaries, where he draws on it during various conversations (129).
Clarifiers and Obscurantists 163
When he refutes Rilkes belief that the doors of Paula Modersohn-Beckers

solitude will open and engulf them, he does so by recourse to monadism:
I say Die Monade ist doch Fensterlos [But the monad is windowless] . Refer-
ring to the elemental independence and noncommunicability of the
monad, Beckett went on to note in his diary the absurdity of conceiving a
chain of solitudes successively liquidated (GD, 15 January 1937). Indeed,
during this same conversation with Axel Kaun, Beckett also proceeds to
stutter out my distortions of Spinoza & Leibniz. Spinoza was very much on
his mind during his journey through Germany, Beckett having been intro-
duced to the philosopher by Brian Coffey.3 Beckett told MacGreevy in a
letter of September 1936, shortly before his departure for Germany, that
Coffey had lent him Brunschwicgs Spinoza et les contemporains, the
Ethica in the Classiques Garnier with Latin en regard (SB to TM,
19 September 1936). Something in Spinoza must have impressed Beckett,
as in the same letter he tells his friend that his reading gave him a glimpse
of Spinoza as a solution & a salvation. In order to firm this up, Beckett took
Brunschwicgs book with him to Germany, although it is not mentioned in
the diaries before it was sent back to Dublin in December 1936 with other
books listed in the Whoroscope notebook (17v). Brunschwicg appears to have
given Beckett some kind of insight, which remains undisclosed in the diary
pages: [I] propound the Spinoza formulation solution congruence as the
Hauptsache [main thing] (GD, 18 February 1937).4 This is an important
statement, drawing attention as it does to Becketts preoccupations during
his trip to Germany. The matrix of references here reveals the extent to
which this phase was a transitional one in Becketts philosophical and
aesthetic development. To be sure, many of Becketts recorded thoughts
in the diaries reaffirm or substantiate established views. Yet, as I hope
to show in this chapter, during the journey to Germany and during the
subsequent period immediately after his return to Dublin, Beckett began
to see more clearly the path his writing was to take, even if it would be a
number of years before he could convert this knowledge into something
more (creatively) tangible.
It would be misleading to assume that it was, in the words of Enough, a
matter of all that goes before forget (TFN, 93). Indeed, one could argue
that Becketts aesthetics were already formulated or at least intimated
in his early essays on Joyce (1929) and Proust (1931), and in particular in
Dream, and that all that followed were variations on the same set of themes.
Becketts problem during the 1930s seems to have been caused by his
difficulty in turning his reading into a workable philosophical credo that
not only allowed him to make sense of his own existential experience, but
could also be expressed in his work. In the main the struggle was one of
accommodation; distrustful of any one system, Beckett tended to adopt
certain aspects of individual authors or thinkers while dismissing other
parts. More often than not, once a basic set of reference points had been
established, it was a matter of how to reshape and combine them, which
resulted, more often than not, in sideways rather than forward steps.
Truce for a Space (Behind the Veil)
Becketts understanding of the monad as an isolated microcosm underlies

one of the most persistent themes in his aesthetic pronouncements, the
rupture of the lines of communication between subject and object (Dis,
70). As noted in the previous chapter, following his treatment of this topic
in his 1934 essay, Recent Irish Poetry, Beckett expanded this absence of
relation in his discussion of Czanne in letters to MacGreevy to encompass
the artists incommensurability . . . even with life of his own order (SB to
TM, 16 September [1934]). If he continued to talk bilge . . . about relation
of subject & object in modern art in Germany in 1936, it was partly because
the issue remained pertinent, and unresolved (GD, 1 November 1936).
Moreover, as he acknowledged during his reading of texts by the painter
Franz Marc, it was not the relation between subject & object that was under
scrutiny, but the alienation (my nomansland) (GD, 19 November 1936).5
In the essay on Irish poetry Beckett had used the same word no-mans-
land to denote the space that intervenes between [the artist] and the
world of objects (Dis, 70). The notion of spaces or gaps and the nature of
thresholds delineating absences runs like a thread through Becketts aes-
thetic thinking in the thirties. On a basic textual level Beckett experimented
with such gaps in Watt, which is presented as an incomplete manuscript:
He could not see the stands, the grand, the members, the peoples,
so ? when empty with their white and red, for they were too far off
(23). Beckett had already used this device during the writing of the German
diaries in instances when he could not remember something: Slush even
worse than in that day on way to Cashel (GD, 22 February 1937).6
The first substantial formulation of such an art of spaces occurs within
Belacquas emphasis on silences in Dream. In what reads like an aesthetic
programme, one which remarkably introduces a whole range of themes
that will preoccupy Beckett throughout the decade, Belacqua outlines the
book he envisages writing:
The experience of my reader shall be between the phrases, in the silence,

communicated by the intervals, not the terms, of the statement, between
the flowers that cannot coexist, the antithetical (nothing so simple as

antithetical) seasons of words, his experience shall be the menace, the
miracle, the memory, of an unspeakable trajectory. . . . I think of his
[Beethovens] earlier compositions where into the body of the musical
statement he incorporates a punctuation of dehiscence, flottements, the
coherence gone to pieces. (Dream, 1389)
It seems valid to view Belacquas pronouncements here as representative of

Becketts own aesthetic thinking at the time of writing (1932), despite, or
more precisely, because of the ironic inflection in which they are phrased,
as nonfictional utterances corroborate much of the content. Leaving aside
the emphasis on incoherence and the repeated use of the word statement,
to which we shall return, it is the use of Beethovens vespertine composi-
tions eaten away with terrible silences that concern us here (Dream, 138).
Beckett himself bridged the unspeakable trajectory by returning to
Beethovens pauses in his correspondence in the following years. Following
a lecture on the plastic arts of the Geometric Period (eighth to sixth cen-
tury BC) in Germany, Beckett interpreted the intervals filled with fishbones
on a love vase as the dread of empty space (GD, 12 November 1936).
A few months earlier, in July 1936, he complained to MacGreevy that in
Thorns of Thunder, an English selection of Eluards poetry, no attempt seems
to have been made to translate the pauses, comparing this failure to
Beethoven played strictly to time (SB to TM, 17 July [1936]). Beethovens
Seventh Symphony (the dearest of the nine; SB to TM, 19 October 1958)
is again invoked in the July 1937 letter to Axel Kaun, written in German, in
which Becketts dissatisfaction with language finds its most pronounced
expression:
Gibt es irgendeinen Grund, warum jene frchterlich willkrliche

Materialitt der Wortflche nicht aufgelst werden sollte, wie z.B. die
von grossen schwarzen Pausen gefressene Tonflche in der siebten
Symphonie von Beethoven, so dass wir sie ganze Seiten durch nicht
anders wahrnehmen knnen als etwa einen schwindelnden unergrndli-
che Schlnde von Stillschweigen verknpfenden Pfad von Lauten?
[Is there any reason why that terribly willed materiality of the word
surface should not be capable of being dissolved, like for example the
sound surface, torn by enormous black pauses, of Beethovens Seventh
Symphony, so that through whole pages we can perceive nothing but a
giddy path of sounds linking unfathomable abysses of silence?]. (Dis, 53;
trans. 172 [translation amended])7
Whereas certain arguments put forth in this letter reflect long-held beliefs,
such as the importance of Beethovens pauses, others can be traced back to
the more immediate past and the pages of the German diaries. The need
for a Literatur des Unworts [literature of the unword] is explicitly connected
to the Unnatur des Wortes, the unnatural and therefore artificial aspect of
language (Dis, 534; trans. 1723).8 Beckett does not specify why this
Unnatur, mysteriously translated as vicious nature in Disjecta, does not
underlie the other arts, specifically music and painting. Yet it seems as if,
particularly towards the end of his German trip, Beckett vented his frustra-
tion with language to anyone who would listen, although his criticism did
not find many supporters. Thus Eggers-Kestner wont hear of possibility
of words inadequacy (GD, 26 March 1937) and the painter Edgar Ende
[d]oesnt agree that communication is impossible (GD, 31 March 1937).9
The eagerness with which Beckett pursued the linguistic question in 1937
seems partly to stem from insights gleaned from a discussion with the art
critic Will Grohmann in Dresden in February of that year. According to
Becketts diary entry, Grohmann was interested in Ulysses because of its for
him connections with art of antitheses, or antimonies, of Klee & Picasso,
except that in them it is simultaneous & in J.[oyce] (because written)
sequential. Shades of Lessing (GD, 11 February 1937).
It is difficult to ascertain whether Beckett or Grohmann introduced
Lessing into the discussion, but Beckett had some knowledge of Lessings
Laokoon, a reference to which appears in Murphy (129). In Laokoon, Lessing
expounds a distinction similar to the one discussed between Grohmann
and Beckett, except that he replaces music with painting:
Der Dichter, der die Elemente der Schnheit nur nacheinander zeigen
knnte, enthlt sich daher der Schilderung krperlicher Schnheit,
als Schnheit, gnzlich. Er fhlt es, da diese Elemente, nacheinander
geordnet, unmglich die Wirkung haben knnen, die sie, nebeneinander
geordnet, haben. . . .
[The poet, who can only show the elements of beauty in succession
therefore completely withholds from the description of physical beauty,
as beauty. He feels that these elements, arranged in succession, cannot
possibly attain the effect they would have when placed side by side].
(Part 1, Section XX; Lessing 1959, II, 902)10
Beckett drew on his knowledge of Joyces Ulysses as he adopted Grohmanns

distinction between the sequential and the simultaneous when the
question of language arose during a conversation with Eggers-Kestner in

Munich:
The dissonance that has become principle & that the word cannot
express, because literature can no more escape from chronologies to
simultaneities, from nebeneinander [sequential] to miteinander [simul-
taneous], that [sic] the human voice can sing chords. As I talk & listen
realise suddenly how Work in Progress is the only possible development
from Ulysses, the heroic attempt to make literature accomplish what
belongs to music the miteinander & the simultaneous. Ulysses falsifies
the unconscious, or the monologue intrieur, in so far as it is obliged to
express it as a teleology. (GD, 26 March 1937)11
Beyond offering the first instance in which Beckett refers to the heroism
underlying Joyces work, this passage shows just how far Beckett had
manoeuvred himself into a corner.12 Unable to conceive of a way of
following on from Murphy and hampered by linguistic doubts, it is not
surprising that Becketts attention during 1936 and 1937 was drawn to
the other creative arts as offering possible solutions. This, as we have
seen, induces Beckett to see his Journal of a Melancholic in terms of
techniques derived from the visual arts and from music, in order to escape
or circumvent the restrictions imposed by the chronology of language. Yet
the emphasis on repetition and antithesis still did not resolve the problem
of the materiality of the word surface referred to in the Kaun letter.
However, by July 1937 Beckett had, despite his doubts, retained or reaf-
firmed something akin to a belief in writing. Unable to abolish language, a
method had to be found by which it could be revealed as a mask (Dis, 171).
In order to do this, Beckett suggested that what was needed was to reach
behind or through language: Ein Loch nach dem andern in ihr zu bohren,
bis das Dahinterkauernde, sei es etwas oder nichts, durchzusickern anfngt
[bore one hole after another in it, until what lurks behind it be it some-
thing or nothing begins to seep through] (52; trans. 172). There is an
echo of Goethes Dichtung und Wahrheit in this dismantling of language.
Becketts comment that Sprache da am besten gebraucht wird, wo sie am
tchtigsten missbraucht wird [language is most efficiently used where it is
being most efficiently misused] (52; trans. 172) recalls Goethes statement,
transcribed by Beckett in his German notebook, that Schreiben ist ein
Missbrauch der Sprache [writing is a misuse of language], in the sense that
it is subordinate to the immediacy of speech (TCD MS10971/1, 57r).
Furthermore, the figure Beckett adopted to express this effort of reach-

ing beyond, of getting behind words, was one that resurfaces repeatedly in
his writing:
Und immer mehr wie ein Schleier kommt mir meine Sprache vor, den
man zerreissen muss, um an die dahinterliegenden Dinge (oder das
dahinterliegende Nichts) zu kommen. [And more and more my own
language appears to me like a veil that must be torn apart in order to
get at the things (or the Nothingness) behind it]. (Dis, 52; trans. 171)13
Echoes of this veil can be heard throughout Becketts critical and creative
writing of the 1930s, even as its nature and use is variously interpreted.
In Proust Beckett refers to habit as a screen to spare its victims the spectacle
of reality, appearing when it is opposed by a phenomenon that it cannot
reduce to the condition of a comfortable and familiar concept (PTD, 21).
As John Pilling has shown, Proust in A la recherche du temps perdu frequently
asserts that there is a screen between the self and the world, and it is
possible that this is where Beckett originally found the image (1977, 18
and 26).
Beckett derived the image of the screen, another basis for the rupture
between subject and object, from his reading of Schopenhauers The World
as Will and Idea in July and August 1930, which he used when writing
Proust (SB to TM, undated [25? July 1930]). A central argument in
Schopenhauers World as Will and Idea is that the world of phenomena is
illusory, obscuring a deeper reality, the thing-in-itself:
But the sight of the uncultured individual is clouded, as the Hindus say,
by the veil of My. He sees not the thing-in-itself but the phenomenon in
time and space, the principium individuationis, and in the other forms
of the principle of sufficient reason. And in this form of his limited
knowledge he sees not the inner nature of things, which is one, but its
phenomena as separated, disunited, innumerable, very different, and
indeed opposed. (WWI, Book 4, 63; 454)14
The only possibility of overcoming the delusions and illusion of the world
of phenomena is through artistic contemplation and suffering, leading to a
higher level of understanding or knowledge:
It is one and the same will that lives and appears in them all, but whose
phenomena fight against each other and destroy each other. In one
individual it appears powerfully, in another more weakly; in one more

subject to reason, and softened by the light of knowledge, in another
less so, till at last, in some single case, this knowledge, purified and
heightened by suffering itself, reaches the point at which the phenom-
enon, the veil of Maya, no longer deceives it. It sees through the form
of the phenomenon, the principium individuationis. The egoism which
rests on this perishes with it, so that now the motives that were so powerful
before have lost their might, and instead of them the complete know-
ledge of the nature of the world, which has a quieting effect on the will,
produces resignation, the surrender not merely of life, but of the very
will to live. (327)
The reason for this quieting effect lies in the nature of true reality. Thus
when the veil is lifted, the individual knows the whole, comprehends its
nature, and finds that it consists in a constant passing away, vain striving,
inward conflict, and continual suffering (489).
Beckett was undoubtedly familiar with the extended passage (from
Book 3, 51) quoted above, as it is located in the same section from which
he lifted, without acknowledgement, Calderns lines on the sin of having
been born quoted in Proust (67). He seems to have been particularly attent-
ive to this third book of The World as Will and Idea dealing with The Object
of Art, allusions to which can be found in his critical essay on Proust.15
Thus for example the references to the Proustian stasis as contemplative, a
pure act of understanding, will-less, the amabilis insania and the holder
Wahnsinn derive from this section (PTD, 91; WWI, Book 3, 36, 246).16 Yet
the importance of Schopenhauer to Beckett, and especially the reading of
the passages on the veil of Maya, the manner in which it is lifted and the
affect it has on the individual who sees through it, reaches far beyond
the early critical essay, and profoundly affects his personal and aesthetic
thinking.17 Thus Schopenhauers differentiation between perceiving dis-
united parts of the world of phenomena and perceiving the whole of
the true nature of the world underlies Becketts comments on the tragic
Dr Johnson, who is worth putting down as part of the whole of which
oneself is part (SB to TM, 4 August 1937).18 This division into micro- and
macrocosm is also visible in the short essay he writes in German on his
feelings of fear in the Clare Street notebook: better to be afraid of
something than of nothing. In the first case only a part, in the second the
whole, is threatened by the monstrous quality which inseparably belongs to
the incomprehensible, one could even say the boundless (UoR MS5003, 3r).
Furthermore, Schopenhauer can be presumed to be the source of Becketts
quietism, which he went on to develop through his reading of authors such

as Thomas Kempis and Geulincx.
The importance of Schopenhauers veil of deception is exemplified by a
further entry in the Clare Street notebook made in August 1936, a year
before he employed it in his language criticism in the Kaun letter. Even as
Beckett is ostensibly practising his German, the passage is highly revealing
as to his aesthetic concerns at this time:
Es gibt Augenblicke, wo der Hoffnungsschleier endgltig weggerissen

wird und die pltzlich befreiten Augen ihre Welt anblicken, wie sie ist,
wie sie sein muss. Es dauert leider nicht lange, die Wahrnehmung geht
schnell vorber, ein so unverbittliches Licht knnen die Augen nur auf
kurze Zeit ertragen, das Hutchen der Hoffnung bildet sich von neuem,
man kehrt in die Welt der Phnomene zurck.
Die Hoffnung ist des Geistes Star, der nicht zu stechen ist, ehe er ganz
faulreif wird. Es reift nicht jeder Star, es bringt gar mancher Mensch im
Dunst der Hoffnung sein ganzes Leben zu. Und wenn der Star auch fr
den Augenblick geheilt worden sein mag, so bildet er sich fast immer
bald von neuem, so auch die Hoffnung.
[There are moments when the veil of hope is finally torn apart and the
suddenly liberated eyes see their world, as it is, as it must be. Alas, it does
not last long, the revelation quickly passes, the eyes can only bear such
pitiless light for a short while, the membrane of hope grows again and
one returns to the world of phenomena.
Hope is the cataract of the spirit, which cannot be pierced until it is
completely ripe for decay. Not every cataract ripens, and many a human
being can even spend his whole life within the mist of hope. And if the
cataract may have been healed for the moment, it almost always forms
itself again immediately, as does the hope]. (UoR MS5003, 17r18r)19
Essentially, Beckett is here paraphrasing the Schopenhauerian act of achiev-

ing a state of being where the veil of Maya is torn aside to reveal the authentic
world, the deeper level of reality. This reality, however, is disclosed to be one
of such suffering that hope imposes itself again to shield the individual.20
There are echoes of this pitiless light, induced by absolute knowledge, in
Becketts description of the intolerable brightness in Proust (70).
Yet the subsequent paragraph of the Clare Street notebook passage,
which contains a further reference to the whole and the part, asserts
Becketts need to reach this enlightened state, however difficult it may be to

achieve, and moreover, sustain:
Die Hoffnung ist die erste Lebensbedingung, der Instinkt dem es zu

verdanken ist, dass das Menschengeschlecht nicht schon seit langem
Zugrunde gegangen ist. Zu verdanken! Soll man denn wirklich als
Ursatz annehmen, das Leben sei mit der Selbstkenntnis dermassen
unvertrglich, der steten klaren Selbstkenntnis deren Stimme gelassen
behauptet: So bist du, so bleibst du. So wie es dir bisher gegangen ist, so
wird es auch ferner hin gehen, bis dein Ich in die dir so bekannten
Bestandteile zersetzt worden ist.
[Hope is the elementary condition of life, the instinct that the human
race has to thank for not dying out long ago. To thank! Should one really
accept as a basic premise the assertion that life is utterly incompatible
with self-awareness, the self-awareness whose voice serenely asserts: This
is who you are, this is what you will remain. As you have been previously
is how you will always be, until your self has been decomposed into the
parts that are so familiar to you]. (UoR MS5003, 18r)21
In this short exposition, Beckett goes on to sketch out a vision of com-

plete annihilation, the belief in which was something that had impressed
him during his reading of Samuel Johnson in 1937.
Becketts passage in the Clare Street notebook on the veil of hope, and
the pitiless light of that which it hides, also echoes a passage (which I have
already mentioned in Chapter 3) in Thomas Manns Buddenbrooks, which
Beckett had been reading in 1934. In a letter to Leventhal, Beckett referred
to a good passage in the book where happiness is described as being
analogous with light from a star. He goes on to express his wish that the
same brightness pertains to unhappiness, which would represent a basis
for quietism (SB to A. J. Leventhal, 7 May 1934).22 In this passage, Thomas
Buddenbrooks suddenly has an epiphanic moment in which he realises the
meaninglessness and pain of life on earth, and sees death as a release:
Und siehe da: pltzlich war es, als wenn die Finsternis vor seinen Augen
zerrisse, wie wenn die samtne Wand der Nacht sich klaffend teilte und
eine unermesslich tiefe, eine ewige Fernsicht von Licht enthllte
[And behold: suddenly it was as though the darkness was torn from before
his eyes, as if the whole wall of the night parted wide and disclosed an
immeasurably deep, a boundless view of light]. (Mann 1965, 447)
It is significant that Buddenbrooks has this moment of clarification following

his reading of Schopenhauers chapter On Death and its relation to the
indestructibility of our true nature in the Parerga and Paralipomena. Just as
in Becketts description of how the glare of the true perception of reality
cannot be maintained, Buddenbrooks vision is terminated by the return of
the veil of darkness:
Und bei dieser Frage schlug die Nacht wieder vor seinen Augen zusammen.
Er sah, er wusste und verstand wieder nicht das geringste mehr und liess
sich tiefer in die Kissen zurcksinken, gnzlich geblendet und ermattet
von dem bisschen Wahrheit, das er soeben hatte erschauen drfen.
[But with this question night descended again before his eyes. He saw, he
knew and understood not the least thing anymore and let himself sink
back deeper into the pillows, completely blinded and exhausted from the
little truth he was allowed to see]. (Mann 1965, 447)
It was around this time, in August 1936, shortly before his departure for
Germany, that Beckett began to see more clearly that it was this zone beyond
the veil that his writing had to engage with. Indeed, the personal manifesto
in the 1936 notebook and the poetic statement in the 1937 letter to Kaun are
indistinguishable, joined by the common thread of the veil. This suggestion
is underlined by Becketts repeated use of the image that only when some-
thing is ripe can it be removed, in the Clare Street notebook entry applied
to the cataract, yet during the trip to Germany used to describe the nature
of language: Every language only ripe, then falls behind, i.e. once congruent
with its provocation, then ecclipsed [sic] (GD, 11 March 1937).
Liberated Eyes
Invariably, the veil and the task of getting behind it entailed an act of vision,
as Becketts emphasis on the difference between liberated eyes and the
cataract in the Clare Street notebook entry illustrates. This focus on see-
ing partly explains his alertness to the optical relation between the painter
and his material during his visits to German galleries. In his evaluation of
Ballmers Kopf in Rot, for example, Beckett deduces its metaphysical
concrete[ness] from the fact that the communication [is] exhausted by
the optical experience that is its motive & content (GD, 26 November
1936). The relationship between perception and the creative act had
been taxing Beckett since the beginning of the 1930s as he struggled to

formulate a kind of poetics of the eye. He had opened Dream with the invita-
tion to Behold Belacqua, only subsequently to obscure the very grounds by
which the reader could apprehend his protagonist. Becketts early thinking
about poetic vision was heavily influenced by his reading of Rimbaud
during his time as a lecturer at Trinity. Beckett had also translated Rimbauds
Le Bateau ivre into English in May 1932, and alluded to the poem in the
short story Echos Bones when Belacqua closed his eyes, intending to
have a vision (EB, 19). Yet feeling marooned and finding the boat gone,
Belacqua is forced to open his eyes again, possibly Becketts roundabout
way of referring to the fact that his translation was never published by This
Quarter. In any case, nearly all of Becketts allusions to the Infernal One,
the Ailing Seer in Dream and the early poetry are concerned with vision
(137). As John Pilling has shown, Rimbauds eye-suicide (the act of
rubbing ones eyes until stars appear) in the poem Les potes de sept
ans particularly appealed to Beckett (Pilling 2000, 20).23 Furthermore, the
incoherence of the early, pre-1932, poetry can be related to Rimbauds
drglement de tous les sens as much as to the work of that other ailing
seer, James Joyce. Beckett was familiar with Rimbauds famous so-called
Lettre du Voyant (letter of 15 May 1871 to Paul Dmeny) advocating quil
faut tre voyant, se faire voyant [that one must be a seer, make oneself a
seer] through a disordering of all the senses (Rimbaud 1997, 11).24
Beckett himself described his own poetry in terms of disordered perception
when he submitted his latest hallucinations to Samuel Putnams New
Review in June 1932.25
Becketts adherence to a different way of seeing at this time is expressed
in his first sustained ruminations on the relationship between seeing
and writing, voiced (somewhat obscurely) by Belacqua the aesthete, who
expostulates that [p]oetry is not concerned with normal vision, where
word and image coincide (Dream, 170). On the basis of this, he goes on to
argue that the image is either in front or behind the verbal retina, thereby
creating longsighted or shortsighted poetry.26 In the former, favoured
by Belacqua, the word is prolonged by the emotion, whereas in the latter
the emotion is gathered into and closed by the word (170). Yet Dream
also raises another spectre, where it is no longer a matter of how to see but
what to see, or whether to see at all. Within Belacquas trine nature his
third being is described as the dark gulf, when the glare of the will and
the hammerstrokes of the brain . . . were expunged (Dream, 1201). This
marsh of sloth is the kind of will-less state described by Schopenhauer,
where the self, quieted, is released from any impetus, although the pitiless
light is replaced by a perceptual gloom:
the mind at last its own asylum, disinterested, indifferent, its miserable
erethisms and discriminations and futile sallies suppressed . . . the glare of
understanding switched off. The lids of the hard aching mind close, there
is suddenly gloom in the mind; not sleep, not yet, nor dream, with its sweats
and terrors, but a waking ultra-cerebral obscurity, thronged with grey angels;
there is nothing of him left but the umbra of grave and womb. (44)
It is through the agency of the lid a kind of veil that Belacqua moves
from the first two parts of his trine being to the third; he can thus [open]
wide the lids of the mind and let in the glare or [force] the lids of the little
brain down against the flaring bric--brac (63 and 123).27 When Belacqua
is forced back into the world at the beginning of the story Echos Bones,
his awakening is similarly expressed through the lifting of his lids, the
opening of his eyes: he found himself fighting in vain against the hideous
torpor and the grit and glare of his lids on the eyeballs so long lapped in
gloom (EB, 2).
If the lid, be it of the eyes, mind or brain, shelters the self from outer
reality, it also enables a kind of inner vision. Beckett alluded to this mode
of seeing (and writing) in one of his lectures at Trinity College Dublin in
19301931. Referring to the Symbolists, he stated that [t]his cult of the
unique personal point of view is symptomatic of the extent to which they
found themselves out of touch with their fellows and thrown inward upon
the selves of their own imagination: Rimbaud. In a long letter to MacGreevy
dated 18 October 1932, Beckett told his friend that the poetry he wanted to
write would draw on his interior world and not be fashioned of extraneous
material. It would possess something he found in Homer, Dante and Racine,
and sometimes in Rimbaud: the integrity of the eyelids coming down
before the brain stroms of grit in the wind (SB to TM, 18 October 1932).
Echoing both in sentiment and also in terminology the perceptual comments
in Dream (such as the eyelids over grit; 187), this letter is representative of
Becketts increasing tendency at the end of 1932 to equate writing with
the absence of sight.28 He thus referred to a new poem, Serena I in a
September letter to MacGreevy as a blank unsighted kind of thing (SB to
TM, 13 [September 1932]).29 Yet the lack of external sight did not preclude
inner perception, indeed the eyelids had to come down in order for
another kind of vision to take place, an act of self-perception drawing on a
deeper reality located within the self. Beckett succinctly referred to this
perceptual difference several years later in a letter to his aunt Cissie Sinclair:
or one can close the eyes and see the unfailing things.30 Becketts endeavour
to write from behind closed eyes was unabated during his German trip,
although his efforts were, more often than not, failing rather than fruitful.
The two and a half lines of poetry beginning always elsewhere were self-
confessedly the result of the frail sense of beginning life behind the eyes,
that is the best of all experiences (SB to TM, 16 February 1937).31 Moreover,
having abandoned the poem by spit[ting] in its eye, Beckett referred back
to Rimbauds eye-suicide when noting in his diary [a]nother little suicide
(GD, 7 February 1937).32 The problem seemed to be the failure of the eyelids
to come down, the expression of emotion encumbered by outside forces.
As the young aesthetician Lucien specified in his French letter to
Belacqua, referring to his piece Cnest au Plican, it was not only with
des yeux clos [que] le pome se fait [with closed eyes the poem is made],
but more precisely au fond des yeux clos [in the depths of closed eyes]
(Dream, 21). Just as the only possible spiritual development is in the sense
of depth, the artist who does not deal in surfaces must engage in the
labours of poetical excavation (PTD, 64 and 29). From the very beginning,
Becketts poetics were directed at exploring the hidden realms of living
experience rather than the surface nature of outer reality. His TCD lectures
on the modern French novel were dismissive of writing that attempted to
represent reality but shirked from its complexity.33 The essay on Proust
gave Beckett the opportunity to voice his contempt for the realists and
naturalists worshipping the offal of experience who are moreover content
to transcribe the surface (78). Becketts fundamental critique is one
deriving from a sense of authenticity: to describe merely the surface results
in the erection of a faade, a static representation of life incommensur-
able with lifes uncertainties and shifting realities. Becketts remark in Proust
that the observer infects the observed with his own mobility (17) indicates
just how much he believed in the absence of a coherent reality. It also
explains Becketts comments on Dostoevsky in a letter to MacGreevy of
May 1931, where he draws his friends attention to the movement & the
transitions in (a French translation of) The Possessed No one moves about
like Dostoievski (SB to TM, 29 May 1931).
Fidgets
In From an Abandoned Work, written 19541955, the narrator muses, Oh

but those awful fidgets I have always had I would have lived my life in a big
echoing room with a big old pendulum clock, just listening and dozing
(TFN, 64). There are echoes here of Becketts admission after his return to
Dublin in 1930 after his first stay in Paris that he was unable to think of
anything I want to do except to sit in an armchair and listen for the gong
(SB to TM, undated [19 September 1930]). As previously mentioned,
Becketts restless movements in the thirties were a necessity rather than a
desire. Yet during that early part of his life an inherent restlessness was
also equated in Becketts mind with the figure of the artist and the creative
process itself. In Becketts terminology the need for motion was expressed
by his reference to the itch to write (SB to TM, 4 August 1932) and in
particular through the word fidgets. These fidgets appear, for example,
in a remark made in Dresden in February 1937 regarding Rembrandts
Samson Putting Forth His Riddles at the Wedding Feast (1638), where he
describes Delilah as occupying a state that would have pleased Murphy:
timeless & still, between the fidgets of body (nuzzling & fuzzling on her
right) & the fidgets of the mind (Samson propounding the riddle on
her left) (GD, 2 February 1937). More specifically, the fidgets represent
the artistic process of creation, as sketched in a passage in Dream:
The ecstatic mind, the mind achieving creation, take ours for example,
rises to the shaftheads of its statement, its recondite relations of emergal,
from a labour and a weariness of deep castings that brook no schema.
The mind suddenly entombed, then active in an anger and a rhapsody of
energy, in a scurrying and plunging towards exitus, such is the ultimate
mode and factor of the creative integrity, its proton, incommunicable,
but there, insistent, invisible rat, fidgeting behind the astral incoherence
of the art surface. (Dream, 1617)34
The fidgets of the mind described here as somehow underpinning artistic

creation reappear in Becketts 1934 review of J. B. Leishmans translations
of Rainer Maria Rilke, where the German poets fidgets are described as a
disorder which may very well give rise . . . to poetry of a high order (Dis, 67).
Yet Beckett tellingly distinguishes Gide from Rilke in his discussion, although
he also changes his ground without ceasing. Rilkes mistake, in Becketts
eyes, is to call the fidgets God, Ego, Orpheus and the rest. Gide, on the
other hand, is commended in Becketts TCD lectures for preserving
integrity of incoherence in Edouards Journal des faux-monnayeurs.35
Becketts struggle in the early thirties is defined by the question of how
to accommodate a view of reality as fundamentally chaotic in his writing.
In aesthetic terms the task was easily approached, as Beckett did with the
help of Schopenhauer in Proust, adopting the philosophers definition of

the artistic procedure as the contemplation of the world independently of
the principle of reason (87). The task for the artist is specified as the
non-logical statement of phenomena in the order and exactitude of their
perception, before they have been distorted into intelligibility (86). This
seems to have been the impetus behind the disruption of novelistic para-
meters in Dream, where the reader is deliberately manoeuvred into a position
of bafflement. Yet, as Beckett himself recognised, there is something wilful
about the attack on rationality in the book; a textual self-consciousness that
repeatedly glances at its creator to make sure it is fulfilling the task. In a
sense Becketts creative dilemma was dramatised in the passage where the
Mandarin accused Belacqua of shifting his ground, as he appears to
demand a stable architecture of sentiment when previously he had stated
that the reality of the individual . . . is an incoherent reality and must be
expressed incoherently (Dream, 101).36
Becketts quest for a way to express incoherent reality led him in the
mid-1930s to a profound study of the irrational whether psychological,
literary or philosophical in his reading. Yet Murphy, the culmination
of much of this reading, still contained a large degree of order, perhaps
necessitated by Becketts need for publication, the need to get the book
OUT (SB to GR, 27 December 1936). Although concepts of irrationality
pervade the book, the overall impression is once again one of artificial
disorder, assembled in an edifice of allusive material. Following the comple-
tion of Murphy and during the trip to Germany, Beckett seemed to realise
that a new approach was necessary. Thus Becketts notation of an aphorism
by the painter Franz Marc Alles Knstlerische ist alogisch [everything
artistic is non-logical] (GD, 19 November 1936) reflects Becketts increas-
ingly emphatic commitment to irrationality (Pilling 1997, 153). To be sure,
the seeds of this belief had been sown several years previously, but from
around the beginning of 1937 onwards the message is delivered with more
conviction, even vehemence. Becketts diary account of a conversation with
Axel Kaun in Berlin is representative of his renewed emphasis on what
really mattered. Provoked by his realisation that Stieves Abriss der deutschen
Geschichte von 17921935 was not the reference book on German history he
was seeking, Beckett clarified,
What I want is precisely a Nachschlagewerk [reference book], as I cant

read history like a novel. I say I am not interested in a unification of
the historical chaos any more than I am in the clarification of the indi-
vidual chaos, & still less in the anthropomorphisation of the inhuman
necessities that provoke the chaos. What I want is the straws, flotsam, etc.,
names, dates, births & deaths, because that is all I can know. . . . I say the
background & the causes are an inhuman & incomprehensible machinery
& venture to wonder what kind of appetite it is that can be appeased by
the modern animism that consists in rationalising them. Rationalism is
the last form of animism. Whereas the pure incoherence of times & men
& places is at least amusing. Schicksal [Fate] = Zufall [Chance], for all
human purposes. (GD, 15 January 1937)
This passage is illuminating in several crucial ways. For one thing, Beckett
renews his attack on anthropomorphism as a falsification of essential inco-
herence, and reasserts an emphasis on the incomprehensible machinery,
which had determined outer reality in Murphy and resurfaces as the
pre-established arbitrary in Watt (114).37 More generally, the sentiments
expressed here reflect Becketts distrust of the political and historical
assertions encountered in Nazi Germany. In no sense could Beckett
reconcile his belief in the historical chaos with any notion of Germanic
destiny.38 James McNaughton has persuasively argued that Beckett
fashions his German diaries as a counterexample to cause-and-effect
rationality, establishing a private protest against the type of history he
detests (2005, 102). However, as McNaughton goes on to acknowledge,
Beckett was aware of the fact that the diary, while a political act of a kind,
lacks the rational judgments and audience that might make it meaningful.
At the same time, Becketts thinking about historical narratives is some-
how linked to his personal feelings of disorientation. Following several
failed manoeuvres at trying to clarify his own chaos, and written at a
time when the absence of direction (What is to become of me?; GD,
13 December 1936) was making itself felt most intensely, Beckett could
not but believe in pure incoherence. As a consequence the emphasis on
the straws and the flotsam of existence contributed to the forging of a
new poetics. This in part explains Becketts interest in nominalist thinkers,
who, as he recorded in a notebook, in contrast to realists or conceptualists,
deny concepts and . . . preach that the term universal does not corres-
pond in ones mind to a universal concept, but to a group of individuals
already established.39 Further evident in Becketts adumbration of a
Nominalist irony in his letter to Kaun, the monadic and incommensurable
element at the root of such a theory stressed the importance of those
very particulars the straws and flotsam that Beckett held up against
attempts at unification and clarification.40 Fundamentally, Becketts
thinking at this time represents an elaboration of what he had, as early as
1929 in the essay on Joyces Work in Progress, defined as the statement of the
particular (Dis, 29).41
Becketts aversion to the reduction of complexity to comforting clarity is
well-known, as his dispensing of aspirin to those seeking explanations of his
plays shows. Hamm as stated, Clov as stated, together as stated was the
(rather unhelpful) advice he gave to Alan Schneider when preparing the
American production of Endgame.42 To my knowledge, only John Pilling (in
his Companion to Dream; 2004a, 46 and 299) has discussed what he calls
Becketts aesthetics of statement. As Pilling notes, the words to state or
statement recur surprisingly often in Becketts writing during the early
thirties. Naturally enough the word is frequently employed in its functional
sense of to express. But more often than not the term is employed when
the sentence calls for a different word. More specifically, it tends to occur in
sentences proclaiming aesthetic programmes or an aesthetic pronounce-
ment. Two passages from Dream where Belacqua makes aesthetic or creative
declarations illustrate this usage. The first passage is when Belacqua out-
lines the book he will write: the readers experience will be communicated
by the intervals, not the terms, of the statement, and his proposal to state
silences is compared to the punctuation of dehiscence in Beethovens
musical statement of the Seventh Symphony (Dream, 1389). Similarly,
and just before launching into his short- and longsighted theory of poetry,
Belacqua tells the Alba that he has achieved a statement more ample, that
is to say, he has written a poem better than those she had previously read
(170). In fact, in Dream Beckett is throughout concerned with the statement
of Belacqua (186; my emphasis).43
At least two dozen more examples could be cited of this tendency to
encompass a creative or aesthetic reference within the word statement.
It is difficult to give a specific definition of the signification the term
effectively had for Beckett, yet its frequent conjunction with adjectives
urging a lack of embellishment is suggestive: Gides Les Faux-Monnayeurs
contains objective statement of characters, in Racine Berenice & Tithius
[sic] [are] coldly stated and in Dream white music is an impassive state-
ment of itself drawn across the strata and symbols (Dream, 181).44 This last
line reappears in the 1931 poem Alba as a statement of itself drawn across
the tempest of emblems (SP, 19). In both cases, the statement of itself
indicates a hermeticism rendering the symbols and emblems redundant;
in the poem, significantly, no unveiling is subsequently necessary.45 In this
sense, Becketts statement aspires to the early comment on Joyce: His
writing is not about something; it is that something itself (Dis, 27). Fundamen-
tally, the word stands for Becketts agreement with Prousts contempt for
the literature that describes (PTD, 78). His insistent avoidance of any
kind of circumscription is evident when the narrator in Dream announces,
in particular we had planned . . . to make a long rapturous statement of his
hands (133). There is an element of finality in this sentence, as if a description
of Belacquas hands would be false. Fundamentally it was once again a
matter of integrity, and Beckett applied this distinction to what he wanted
his own poetry to be: a statement and not a description of heat in the spirit
to compensate for pus in the spirit (SB to TM, 18 October [1932]).
Becketts dismissal of descriptive discourse can be set beside his thoughts
of writing without style. Thus Dream cites Racine and Malherbe as examples
of authors who write without style . . . they give you the phrase, the sparkle,
the precious margaret, with Belacqua (or his author) going on to acknow-
ledge, somewhat ruefully, that [p]erhaps only the French language can
give you the thing you want (Dream, 48). The early intimation that a change
of language was necessary would have been reinforced by Becketts struggle
to abandon stylistic excursions, despite Lord Galls vehement interjection,
in the Echos Bones story, to [c]ut out the style . . . how often must I tell
you? (EB, 15).46 The speaker of the poem Serena I similarly can curse the
day . . . / . . . / I was not born Defoe (SP, 26), being unable to emulate
Defoes factual writing.47 Wishing to mirror Defoes attempts at historical
authenticity in books such as A Journal of the Plague Year, a work he later
in life remembered being haunted by (Atik 2001, 47), Beckett strove to
imbue Dream with facts, facts, plenty of facts (32). Yet as we saw in the
opening chapter, not only his received medium, the English language, but
also a plethora of personal tensions threatened to undermine any notional
factuality. Having invested Murphy with arguably too many facts or mater-
ial not his own, writing in a statemental manner was once again uppermost
in Becketts mind during his trip to Germany. Thus at one point Beckett
complains that the [w]orst of this diary is that I am led into finding
opinions (GD, 20 February 1937). Frequently he urges himself to record
only the essential, urging himself at one point to [b]e less beastly circum-
stantial (GD, 1 February 1937). Mr Kelly in Murphy uses the same sentence
when admonishing Celia for relating the circumstances surrounding her
meeting with Murphy instead of the demented particulars of the man
himself (Get up to your man!; 11). The emphasis on stating the essential
corresponds with Becketts belief, noted in his diary: I boost the possibility
of stylelessness in French, the pure communication (GD, 11 March 1937).
Becketts writing projects outlined during his trip reflect this concern, with
the article on the Ohlsdorf cemetery deriving from [p]recise placings of
preposterous Tatsachen [facts] (GD, 5 November 1936) and the Journal

of a Melancholic revealing an absence of comment: No social or political
criticism whatever, apart from what the fact as stated implies (GD,
28 December 1936).
In 1931, Beckett had declared that the artistic statement [is] extracture
of essential real.48 The material evidence suggests that by the end of 1936
Beckett had realised, or rather had reshaped an earlier belief, that he had
to state the straws, flotsam and the pure incoherence of existence,
because that is all I can know (GD, 15 January 1937). It represents an
anticipation of his comments related to (or paraphrased by) Tom Driver,
that a new form must be found that admits the chaos and does not try to
say that the chaos is really something else as it is not a mess you can make
sense of (Federman and Graver 1979, 219). Perhaps more importantly,
however, it marks the beginning of a growing emphasis on, and acceptance
of, personal and artistic uncertainty, as all I can know effectively means
and everything else I cant and dont know. Becketts aesthetics of
ignorance and unknowing is moreover closely connected with his criti-
cism of language, as comments made in a 1958 letter to Leventhal, in
which he discusses Italian influences on his work, illustrates. Here Beckett
points toa line from a Petrarch sonnet, Chi puo dire com egli arde in
picciol foco [he who can express his ardour finds himself in a small fire],
as an interesting approach, from the technical view to his writing,
connecting it moreover with the third of Gorgias of Leontinis three
propositions:
1. Nothing is.
2. If anything is, it cannot be known.
3. If anything is, and can be known, it cannot be expressed in speech.
(Letter to A.J. Leventhal, 21 April 1958) 49
Becketts assertions of pursuing, in contrast to Joyce, a poetics of unknowing,

of incompetence, are well-documented. Shortly before his death in 1989 he
told Knowlson:
I realised that Joyce had gone as far as one could in the direction of
knowing more, [being] in control of ones material. He was always
adding to it; you only have to look at his proofs to see that. I realised that
my own way was in impoverishment, in lack of knowledge and in taking
away, in subtracting rather than adding. (Knowlson 1996, 352)50
Despite various strategies designed to invoke an absence of authorial and

narrational control in Dream and Murphy, both books were, in their reliance
on external material, anything but impoverished. Even if the allusive layer
and the imported textual fragments were themselves somewhat disabled,
the resulting literary product was in many ways a paean to knowledge, albeit
derivative knowledge. The gradual disavowal of writing through a filter of
erudition stems to a large part from the recognition that art could not make
the pure incoherence any more coherent, just as it could not quieten
tensions brought about by experiential living. The 1938 review of Denis
Devlins Intercessions gave Beckett the first opportunity to formulate the
aesthetic and personal questions that had preoccupied him since the com-
pletion of Murphy two years previously. As I have emphasised, this period is
marked by Becketts thinking about how to write rather than acts of writing
themselves. Indeed, there had in fact been so much thinking that Beckett
confided to MacGreevy in July 1937 that he look[ed] forward to getting a
lot off my chest apropos Deniss poems (SB to TM, 7 July 1937). In the
Devlin review he emphatically asserts that art has nothing to do with clarity,
does not dabble in the clear, and does not make clear (Dis, 94). Yet as if
to legitimise an art that fails in the face of that which it cannot explain,
Beckett goes on to insist that Art has always been this pure interrogation,
rhetorical question less the rhetoric (91). Even if the pure interrogation
fails to penetrate the equally pure incoherence, the demand to do so is
undeniable. In his German diaries Beckett phrased this need as the rage
to answer? (GD, 20 March 1937). Already in Rachel Burrows lecture notes
we witness Beckett describing Gides creative enterprise as interrogative not
conclusive because he, as we noted previously, preserv[ed] integrity of
incoherence.51 Unlike Corneille and Balzac, Gide (together with Racine)
refuses to abdicate as a critic, and thus as interrogator.52 This refusal to
surrender to facile rationalisations remained of interest to Beckett, and he
detected it once again in a Czanne painting depicting a path in a wood
(Bienert collection, Dresden), thinking it at last the reassertion of painting
as criticism, i.e. art (GD, 7 February 1937).
Ingenious Fibres / That Suffer Honestly
In a 1961 interview with Gabriel dAubarde Beckett disclosed that in 1946

he became aware of his own folly and begin to write the things I feel
(qtd. in Federman and Graver 1979, 217). In 1973, in conversation with the
writer Charles Juliet, he specified, [u]p to that point, I had thought I could
rely on knowledge. That I had to equip myself intellectually. That day, it all
collapsed (Juliet 1995, 150). Two years later, in 1975, he specified that
up to 1946 I always wanted to know, in order to be able to act. Then I

realized that I was going about things the wrong way. But perhaps there
are only wrong ways. All the same, you have to find the wrong way that
suits you. (Juliet 1995, 156)
It is conceivable that, with the intervening years, Beckett had forgotten

the precise nature of the wrong ways prior to 1946. With the advantage
of hindsight and various personal papers and manuscripts to hand, the
turning-point of 1946 is in fact rather the culmination of a development
during which there were other important moments of insight. Perhaps
Becketts insistence on this date stems from an awareness that it represented
the first time he was actually able to creatively act upon his own sense of
what effectively did and what did not matter.
The origin of the unspeakable trajectory which culminates in the
writing of Molloy can be traced (to go no further) back to Proust. As noted
previously in this chapter, Becketts discussion of Proust incorporates a
condemnation of rational discourse and intellectualism. The creative enter-
prise is explicitly deemed to be an imaginative expression of the inner world
as Beckett defines the work of art as neither created nor chosen, but
discovered, uncovered, excavated (PTD, 84). Beckett was only too aware
that his own piece of auto(bio)graphical fiction, Dream, was anything but
uncovered, but rather hidden under multiple layers of erudite borrowings.
A trace of self-reproach with regard to the demon of notesnatching is
evident in the book itself (SB to TM, undated [early August 1931]), as the
Alba, having read one of Belacquas poems, tells him (in her soft ruined
voice) that [i]t is clever, too clever, it amused me, it pleased me, it is good,
but you will get over all that (Dream, 78). But, as the Dream notebook was
shortly afterward replaced by the Whoroscope notebook, Beckett showed no
signs of abandoning a habit proving to be both serviceable and, in view of
the personal material flowing into his work, perhaps ultimately unavoidable.
Nevertheless, at the same time Beckett wished for a somewhat more natural
mode of composition whereby spontaneous composition would render any
willed creation unnecessary, being aware of fidgeting about, scribbling bad
spirals . . . instead of simply waiting until the thing happens (Dream, 124).
Even as fidgets produced good poetry, as it did with Rilke, Beckett could
also envisage a different kind of modus operandi. As he wrote to MacGreevy
in September 1931, his wish was for a nice quiet life punctuated with
involuntary exonerations (Albas) (SB to TM, undated [12? September

1931]). Indeed, as an entry in the Dream notebook specifies involuntary
seminal exoneration, taken from Garniers Onanisme seul et deux these
exonerations are implicitly (auto-)sexual in nature, and moreover represent
a source of relief (DN, item 458). That such compositional happenings
did arise now and then is illustrated by the very same letter to MacGreevy of
September 1931, as Beckett announced that two poems came together one
on top of the other, a double-yoked orgasm in months of dispermatic nights
& days (SB to TM, undated [September 1931]).
It is in this spirit that Beckett felt mired in an absence of creative integrity
and spontaneity, failing to capture the essential real (Dream, 16). More-
over, this rendered his writing in his own eyes incidental and inauthentic.
Authenticity and honesty of expression were the benchmarks by which
Beckett evaluated his own writing and, for that matter, all creative expres-
sion. Becketts letters from the thirties reveal an intuitive recognition that
his work was lost in an artificiality of statement. As early as 1931 Beckett had
written to Charles Prentice expressing his hope of sending him something
more genuine & direct than Proust one day (16 February 1931).53 At the
same time, he envied the sincerity of MacGreevys contribution to Chattos
Dolphin series, an essay on T. S. Eliot (SB to TM, 3 February 1931). The
same criticism was levied against his early poetry, particularly that published
in the European Caravan, in which Beckett detected an ardour and fervour
absent or faked (SB to TM, undated [13 September 1932]). The clearest
indication of Becketts poetics at this time comes in a long letter to MacGreevy
dated 18 October 1932. Here, once again, Beckett dismisses much of
his poetry as being facultatif [optional] in that it did not represent a
necessity:
Whereas the 3 or 4 I like, and that seem to have been drawn down against
the really dirty weather of one of these fine days into the burrow of
the private life, Alba & the long Enueg & Dortmunder & even Moly,
do not and never did give me that impression of being construits
[constructed] . . . [they are] written above an abscess and not out of
a cavity, a statement and not a description of heat in the spirit to
compensate for pus in the spirit. (SB to TM, 18 October [1932])54
This passage reaffirms the poetical excavation advocated in Proust as well as

the poetics of statement, with a further suggestion of the autobiographical
impulse, the private life, underlying creation. Yet any aspirations towards
a spontaneous combustion of the spirit remained under threat from the
fraudulent manoeuvres on which Beckett continued to depend (SB to

TM, 18 October [1932]). On this basis the carefully crafted Murphy
suppressed any wish Beckett may have had to create a work fuelled by
emotional necessity, and is very probably the reason why he referred to it as
not very honest work (SB to TM, 23 April 1936). By July 1936, Becketts
response to his own writing was almost a reflex as he judged his article
on Jack B. Yeatss Amaranthers dishonest & sur fait [overdone] (SB to TM,
17 July [1936]).
Yet following the writing of Murphy a gradual shift towards simplicity
becomes discernible. Becketts reading, of Goethes Faust, for example, is
done less with an eye for immediate compositional use than for poetical
insight. There is equally an increasing emphasis on the inner world, encap-
sulated by the more direct and simple artistic statement of Cascando,
written in July 1936, a poem more expressive of personal necessity and
emotionality. Becketts trip to Germany, in the autumn of that year, was
made in search of what the poem Casket of Pralinen calls ingenious
fibres / that suffer honestly. As we saw in Chapter 7, Becketts commitment
to acts of self-writing while in Germany derived from an awareness that
his only hope (spes unica) lay in turn[ing] this dereliction, profoundly
felt, into literature (GD, 2 February 1937). Moreover, the form that this
art would take would show that the book, picture, music, etc. is incidental,
what matters, the primary, is the illumination by which they are the vulgari-
sations, falsifications (GD, 18 February 1937).
Yet Beckett ultimately seems to have viewed the journey to Germany to
be a failure. As Beckett wrote to Gnter Albrecht two days before his
departure, all the surfaces remain surfaces and that is terrible (30 March
1937). Nevertheless, there is a sense that he left with a clearer idea of
what lay beneath these surfaces. There is a dimension of recognition,
of acceptance and of an insight gained evident in a letter written to Mary
Manning Howe several months after his return to Dublin:
I write the odd poem when it is there, & that is the only thing worth
doing. There is an ecstasy of accidia willless in a grey tumult of ides
oiseuses [idle notions]. There is an end to the temptation of light, its
polite scorchings & consolations. . . . There is an end of making up
ones[sic] mind, like a pound of tea, an end of putting the butter of
consciousness into opinions. The real consciousness is the chaos, a grey
commotion of mind, with no premises or conclusions or problems or
solutions or cases or judgements. I lie for days on the floor, or in the
woods, accompanied & unaccompanied, in a coenaesthetic of mind,
a fullness of mental self-aesthesia that is entirely useless. The monad

without the conflict, lightless & darkless. I used to pretend to work, I do
so no longer. I used to dig about in the mental sand for the lugworms
of likes & dislikes, I do so no longer. The lugworms of understanding.
(SB to MM, 30 August 1937)
Significantly, Beckett wrote this letter at the same time as he stopped

working on Human Wishes, which had seen him return to note-taking with
academic rigour. It also coincides with his renewed reading of Schopenhauer,
whose complete works he had purchased in Germany. It reconfirmed his
belief that the German philosopher had always been one of the ones
that mattered most, and he found it a pleasure more real than any
pleasure for a long time to begin to understand now why it is so (SB to
TM, 21 September 1937). The experience was, Beckett noted, like
suddenly a window opened on a fug; moreover, it was a reassertion of
a belief held since the writing of Proust: Suffering that opens a window
on the real and is the main condition of the artistic experience (28).55
Fundamentally, even as the authentic extrinsecation of the incoherent
reality, already envisaged in Dream (102), was some years in coming,
Beckett, during his trip to Germany, acquired an
instinctive respect, at least, for what is real, & therefore has not in its
nature, to be clear. Then when somehow this goes over into words, one
is called an obscurantist. The clarifiers are the obscurantists. (SB to MM,
13 December 1936)
Conclusion
The Threshold of Words
After over a decade of fraudulent manoeuvres, Beckett emerged in 1946

with a clearer picture of how to proceed, or, more precisely, of how not to
proceed (SB to TM, 18 October [1932]). There is a sense in which Watts
harsh summation of the acquisition of knowledge What had he learnt?
Nothing was shared by Beckett (127). Yet hardened by the war in his
belief of the inadequacy of rationality to make sense of the world, Beckett
turned to, as he told Gabriel dAubarde, writing what I feel. Watt, written
19411945, represented, in two crucial ways, the necessary step in that
direction. With Mauthners critique of language possibly at the back of his
mind, Beckett set about dismantling coherence through language itself
rather than through concepts. As a consequence, Watt heralds a more
sophisticated use of secondary material, whereby references are absorbed
rather than overtly visible a move undoubtedly necessitated in part by not
having such material readily available. This in turn freed Becketts hand,
and the Watt notebooks show a large degree of experimentation. At the
same time, they also illustrate the difficulty Beckett experienced with what
after all was the first substantial piece of writing since finishing Murphy in
1936. Part of this difficulty was related to the second important innovation
of Watt, the emergence of the first-person narrator. As Ann Beer has shown,
Beckett struggled with various narrative modes during composition before
arriving at the complex interweaving of authorial voices in the novel
(1985, 54). Concurrently, the notebooks reveal a (not unrelated) tendency
to erase or obscure a large proportion of the autobiographical elements,
such as the references to his German trip.
Nevertheless, Becketts ongoing habit of dissimulating references to his
own life in his work after 1945 illustrates that the fundamental autobio-
graphical impulse governing his early work remained intact. Moreover,
even as the reliance on extraneous material was overcome, the question of
how to achieve an appropriate mode of self-inscription remained unclear.
Thus, in Mercier and Camier, written in 1946, the stink of artifice remained
irksome, particularly as Camier was forced to acknowledge that we heard

ourselves speaking of everything but ourselves (4 and 97). This attempt at
speaking of ourselves or oneself, as against telling a story, together with
the notion of authenticity, informs much of Becketts post-war writing,
especially the Trilogy.1 Thus Malones narrative oscillates between fiction
and reality, with every departure into storytelling entailing an inevitable
return to his own biography. Malone tries hard to disassociate himself
from the characters he invents, locating them in natural surroundings far
removed from his own isolated room. Yet despite emphasising [n]othing is
less like me than Sapo, Malones fictional incarnations are infected with
his own life story: I have only to open my mouth for it to testify to the old
story, my old story (MD, 18 and 63).2 A similar process is at work in The
Calmative, where the narrator decides to tell my story in the past . . . as
though it were a myth or an old fable, despite the fact that the story he tells
this evening is passing this evening (ECEF, 20). Furthermore, as in Malone
Dies, there is a tension in the life story related by a man to the narrator;
the account he gives is brief and dense, facts, without comment, but
positively fairy-like in places (29).
The tenuous relationship between being and creation cuts across the
narratives of the Trilogy through the simultaneous need to [l]ive and
invent (MD, 19). Yet the distinction between the two realms is collapsed
by the realisation that storytelling is ultimately subservient to being and
does not offer the desired relief:
Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you
think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is
stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart
and long forgotten. (Mo, 29)
The pressure behind the storytelling is thus defined as being therapeutic

or even escapist in origin, an implication clarified by Malones statement
[t]hings were not going too badly, I was elsewhere. Another was suffering
(MD, 97). Just as the narrator in Dream declared that everything ends
like a fairy-tale, or can be made to (109), Molloy states his belief that
fiction can alleviate reality: Thus from time to time I shall recall my present
existence compared to which this [the story of his journey] is a nursery
tale (Mo, 61).3
Yet the escape into fiction is ultimately impossible, and, moreover, shown
to be secondary to the essential creative enquiry. The Unnamable offers
Threshold of Words 189
a succinct commentary on the necessity of confronting the self through

direct self-inspection rather than through fictional incarnations:
All these Murphys, Molloys and Malones do not fool me. They have made
me waste my time, suffer for nothing, speak of them when, in order to
stop speaking, I should have spoken of me and of me alone. . . . I thought
I was right in enlisting these sufferers of my pain. I was wrong. They never
suffered my pains, their pains are nothing, compared to mine, a mere
tittle of mine, the tittle I thought I could put from me, in order to witness
it. Let them be gone now, them and all the others, those I have used and
those I have not used, give me back the pains I lent them and vanish,
from my life, my memory, my terrors and shames. . . . these creatures
have never been, only I and this black void have ever been. (Un, 14)
It is not difficult to read Becketts own creative enterprise into this passage,
although we do not need to go so far as to equate him with the speaker. But
by referring to his own fictional characters, Beckett implicates himself in
turn in The Unnamables attitude towards storytelling, fictional incarnations
and authentic utterance. Moreover, the passage quoted above restates
Becketts 1930s concern with seeking the fibres / that suffer honestly
(Casket of Pralinen); it is a further acknowledgement of the necessity to
write from the perceived dereliction, rather than about it by recourse to
fictional characters. The retrospective evaluation of using vice-existers,
created variously in the hope of learning something or to avoid acknow-
ledging me (Un, 26; MD, 53; and Un, 38), is one of regret:
when I think of the time Ive wasted with these bran-dips, beginning with
Murphy, who wasnt even the first, when I had me, on the premises, within
easy reach, tottering under my own skin and bones, real ones, rotting
with solitude and neglect, till I doubted my own existence. (Un, 108)
The Trilogy fictionalises Becketts struggle to reach the point at which he

could state, as the Unnamable does, Yes, now I can speak of my life
(Un, 114). The decisive step was to abolish the distinction between the
teller and the told, the fictional and the nonfictional self (20). Occupying
a middle ground between fiction and autobiography, Becketts solution was
to create characters or speakers in my image, yet in a different manner
from in the early work, where it was clumsily done, you could see the
ventriloquist (Un, 125).4 On the one hand this was achieved by the shift to
a first-person narrator. Yet more important was the creation of a textual

space in which the gulf between self and other is distilled in an immediacy
of utterance. If Watt had already referred to its material existence as a
manuscript, Malone Dies by implication is the very text Malone is writing
in bed. Thus both Malone and Beckett can both live and invent their
fictional incarnations: [a]nd yet I write about myself with the same pencil
and in the same exercise-book as about him (MD, 33).
Beckett capitalised on his own diary writing in 19361937 to engender
this new departure in his writing. Malones exercise book assumes diary-
like qualities through its self-referentiality, immediacy of notation, and its
adherence to an intermittent chronological structure (Enough for this
evening; MD, 4).5 Indeed, by drawing attention to the interruption of
regular entries, as well as to the absence of dating, Malone upholds the
generic convention of diary writing. The relatively large number of allu-
sions to his journey through Germany to Kaspar David Friedrich, the
Tiepolo ceiling in Wrzburg and Rilkes translation of palm of hands
indicates that Beckett returned to his own German diaries during the
writing of Malone Dies. The German diaries also served as a model for the
foregrounding of the material generation of text in Malone Dies, as well
as in later books such as How It Is. In Malone Dies the act of writing is woven
into the fabric of the text: I hear the noise of my little finger as it glides
over the paper and then that so different of the pencil following after (34).
This immediacy of notation is further established by the frequent refer-
ences to Malones pencil and exercise book. Beckett will have found such
self-referential moments as well as failing tools in the pages of his German
diaries: Drop Tintenkuli [ink pen] right on its point, & now it can do no
better than this, but perhaps will recover (GD, 13 March 1937). Within
Malone Dies, the potential failure to continue writing is amplified. As
H. Porter Abbott has discussed, Malones pencil dwindles in size and is
lost, and the exercise book runs out of pages, falls to the floor and is finally
harpooned (1983, 73). Indeed, as Malone loses his pencil, a hiatus of
48 hours occurs in which not only the text but he himself is threatened
with erasure (MD, 49).
In this way, Beckett not only draws on the diary form to enquire into the
nature of identity and the workings of a consciousness, but contrives to
establish an existential dimension in which writing is tied to being.6 Just how
far Beckett was implicated in this enterprise is evident from a comment he
made in a letter to Pamela Mitchell: I am absurdly and stupidly the creature
of my books and LInnommable is more responsible for my present plight
than all the other good reasons put together (27 December 1954).
Threshold of Words 191
Writing Anew
Becketts creation of a space in which to merge writing and being was

dependent on his personal need to find a physical space in which to work.
Following a long period of forced moves, of the streets & houses & air . . .
impregnated with farewell, it was only after 1945 that he found a more
settled existence in Paris and Ussy.
Perhaps one has to write oneself out and down to nothing, Beckett told
Aidan Higgins in 1958, and more than once, before one can really begin.7
The idea of achieving literary impoverishment through saturation is
mirrored by Becketts incessant travels throughout the 1930s. It was only
with the decisive move to Paris in the autumn of 1937 that he managed to
free himself from the constraints of Dublin and family ties, having realised
that when to have ever left ones village ceases to seem a folly, perhaps it is
only then that the writing begins (SB to MM, 18 January 1937). Yet it took
Beckett nearly six months to find something resembling an environment
conducive to work in Paris, unable to find an apartment and forced to live
in hotels. I shall never do any work until I find a place of my own, Beckett
told MacGreevy in April 1938, the same month he finally found a home at
the Rue de Favorites (SB to TM, 3 April 1938).
Nevertheless, although settling down in Paris gave Beckett a physical
space in which to write, he was aware that [a]n oscillation is not solved by
its coming to rest (GD, 1 March 1937).8 Importantly, his situation mirrors
what Beckett had called the fundamental unheroic during his rumina-
tions on Murphy in the pages of the German diary, the quietist negation of
the possibility of escape and the acceptance of the thongs of self (GD,
18 January 1937). The crucial shift in Becketts thinking during his trip
through Germany in 19361937 was to accept that there was nowhere to go.
This is poignantly summed up by his admission to Mary Manning that
[i]t has turned out indeed to be a journey from, & not to, as I knew it
was, before I began it (SB to MM, 13 December 1936).9 It is a distinction
he noted during his reading of Boswell, who recorded Johnson saying you
are driving rapidly from something, or to something (UoR MS3461/1, 17r).10
Becketts lack of destination and, worse, emotional vitality during his trip to
Germany is further evoked by his comment that he walked dully without ad
quem [towards which] & without feeling in the cemetery in Ohlsdorf (GD,
25 October 1936). By accepting that there was no to or towards, and thus
no redemptive destination, Beckett was able to become, as it were, a textual
traveller. It is, to invoke that Beckettian word, the abolishment of the fidgets
of the body in order to cultivate the fidgets of the mind. As a result, the
cacoethes scribendi, the itch for writing, remained with Beckett for
many years to come, as, for example, when he told Ruby Cohn in 1977
that the cacoethes [are] not yet quite quenched (SB to Ruby Cohn,
14 November 1977).
The German diaries represent the fulcrum of a period begun by Dream
and not resolved until later texts such as Malone Dies, in which Beckett
sought a way to inscribe himself in his texts. As he wrote in Malone Dies, this
exercise-book is my life, this big childs exercise-book, it has taken me a
long time to resign myself to that (104). Drawing on his emotional response
to Germany and German culture as well as embracing a quietist attitude
towards existence, by 19361937 Beckett had realised more clearly the
aesthetic and creative direction his writing was to take. The synthesis of life
and writing evident in the German diaries and forming a backdrop to
the unwritten Journal of a Melancholic ultimately led Beckett to be able
to confess to Ethna MacCarthy in a letter of 10 January 1959 that he was
alone with . . . the exercise-book that opens like a door and lets me far
down into the now friendly dark. It was in The Unnamable that Beckett gave
an indication of what lies behind that door in the dark when he stated that
words had carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that
opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be
the silence (Un, 134). Although Beckett pointed (in conversation with
Gabriel dAubarde) to 1946 as the moment when he began to tell my
story, or the things I feel, Beckett had already several years previously
fixed an existence on the threshold of its solution.11
Appendix
Becketts Travel Itinerary
[Note: Dates in square brackets denote day trips]
28 September 1936 Cork

29 September 1936 SS Washington
30 September 1936 Le Havre
1 October 1936 SS Washington
2 October 1936 Hamburg
[3 October 1936] Lbeck
4 December 1936 Lneburg
4 December 1936 Hannover
5 December 1936 Brunswick
[8 December 1936] Wolfenbttel
[10 December 1936] Hildesheim
1117 December 1936 Berlin
18 December 193610 January 1937 Berlin
1121 January 1937 Berlin
22 January 1937 Halle
23 January 1937 Weimar
[24 January 1937] Erfurt
25 January 1937 Naumburg
26 January 1937 Leipzig
29 Jan.13 Feb. 1937 Dresden
[12 February 1937] Meissen
1418 February 1937 Dresden
[19 February 1937] Freiberg
19 February 1937 Bamberg
[22 February 1937] Staffelstein, Banz
24 February 1937 Wrzburg
26 February 1937 Nrnberg
2 March 1937 Regensburg
416 March 1937 Mnchen
17 March1 April 1937 Mnchen
Notes
Introduction
1
However, the Beckett Estate has recently given permission for the German diaries
to be published, and they will be edited by Mark Nixon for publication with
Becketts German publisher, Suhrkamp Verlag.
2
See Fischer-Seidel and Fries-Dieckmann 2005; Giesing et al., 2007, and Dittrich
et al., 2006.
3
Maurice Maeterlinck, Thtre, vol.1, Paris: Fasquelle, n.d. [1939], [Becketts
personal copy; Beckett International Foundation, UoR], xiii; interview with
Gabriel dAubarde, 1961, in Federman and Graver 1979, 217.
Chapter 1
1
Charles Prentice at Chattos acknowledges receipt of the story in a letter to
Beckett dated 10 November 1933.
2
Cf. for example Becketts disparaging comments on the conductor Furtwnglers
conversion to Nazism in a letter to Morris Sinclair of 27 January 1934.
3
Yes, sometime I hope I may get away, perhaps to Bavaria in the early summer. . . .
Or better still to Lneburg & Hannover, from Cove to Hamburg etc. (SB to TM,
29 January [1936]).
4
Beckett first noted the tag in his Dream notebook (DN, item 576): Laetus exitus
tristem saepe reditum parit [A merry outgoing frequently brings a sad home-
coming]. Variations of this sentence are scattered throughout Becketts texts,
such as Dream, 129; the story Ding-Dong (MPTK, 40); the poems Sanies I and
Serena II; Watt, 38; and a letter to MacGreevy dated 10 March 1935.
5
References to Becketts parents, by contrast, were encoded within an Irish
landscape.
6
In a 1937 letter Beckett thanks the bookseller Gnter Albrecht for presenting
him with a copy of Fontanes Effi Briest, which I neither possess nor have read
(letter to Gnter Albrecht, 30 March 1937). Although the statement may have
been made out of politeness, this could indicate that Beckett had indeed not
read the book together with Peggy in 1929 as is often presumed.
7
Hunkelers discussion is based on Knowlsons exposition of the biographical
background to Krapps Last Tape (Knowlson 1996, 443).
Notes 195
8
Beckett told James Knowlson in 1989 that the love letter in Dream, Smeraldinas
Billet Doux, was a mixture between fact and fiction (Knowlson 1996, 146).
9
The phrase is repeated in Dream, 112 and 177. Becketts use of the first-person
plural we may also be influenced by the French literary convention of replacing
nous for je.
10
Jacks Hole is in fact the cove where Beckett and Ethna MacCarthy spent an
afternoon (Knowlson 1996, 149).
11
The Dream notebook lists more than 100 entries from St. Augustines Confessions,
and, as John Pilling points out, Beckett must have at certain points also
consulted the original Latin text (DN, 11). Beckett read a further book on
St. Augustines life and work around the same time (19301931), excerpting
passages into a notebook also containing notes from Porphyrys Life of
Plotinus (TCD MS10968). See Barry 2009 for a good discussion of Becketts
relationship with Augustines work.
12
Beckett harnessed further autobiographical texts during the writing of his own,
semi-confessional Dream, such as Alfred de Mussets Confessions dun enfant du sicle
(1836). Beckett probably read Mussets Confessions in 1931, when he jotted down
some entries from the book in his Dream notebook (DN, 31 and 36). Although
familiar with de Mussets poems (Nuit de Mai, seemingly a favourite), it was
probably his reading of Mario Prazs The Romantic Agony that alerted him to the
Confessions. The references to Musset in the Dream notebook interrupt the notes
taken from Praz at precisely the point at which they are discussed in The Romantic
Agony, where the influence of de Sade on Musset is explored.
13
Cf. also Becketts reference to ces juvniles expriences de fivre allemande in
the spoof paper on Jean du Chas presented to the Modern Language Society at
Trinity College Dublin, in November 1930 (Dis, 37).
14
Dream also refers to the Homer dust of the dusk-dawn (32).
15
Signs prohibiting smoking generally irked Beckett; on a visit to a church in
Wrzburg he noted: Nicht rauchen auf dem Leidenweg [No smoking on
(Christs) path of suffering] (GD, 25 February 1937). Cf. also the smoking
prohibition on the pier in Dream (7) and in the operating-theatre of Yellow
(MPTK, 186). The story Echos Bones questions whether Belacquas imagination
had perished in the torture chamber, that non-smoking compartment (EB, 1).
The Nazi that appears in this story is presumably also from Nuremberg, as he
has his head in a clamp (15).
16
See also Pilling 2004a, 1434 for a discussion of this passage.
17
The title appears thus in the potential content list for a collection of poems in the
Leventhal Collection at Austin. Pilling points to Peggy Sinclairs death from
tuberculosis at the time of composition as a further influence on the poem, again
establishing the German link (1997, 87).
18
Cf. also Becketts comment to MacGreevy that I wish there was no P. B. in Dream
(SB to TM, undated [13 September 1932]). The Polar Bear was modelled on
Professor Rudmose-Brown (Knowlson 1996, 152).
19
George Reavey, diary entry for 20 June 1934.
20
Cf. Becketts comment to Gnter Albrecht: Nrnberg was so horrible, as I more
or less expected (letter to Gnter Albrecht, 30 March 1937).
21
Cf. Knowlson for this episode in March or April 1931 (1996, 129).
196 Notes
Chapter 2
1
Rachel Burrows lecture notes; TCD MIC60, 53r.
2
Beckett further read and took notes from Albert Sorels LEurope et la Rvolution
Franaise and showed an interest in the German response to the events in France
by reading George Peabody Goochs Germany and the French Revolution (1920)
(TCD MS10969). Although not often mentioned, Beckett read various books
on French history and took notes on Irish history under the title Trueborn
Jackeen (TCD MS10971/2). The Trueborn Jackeen material, mostly collated
from the Encyclopaedia Britannica, must date from late 1933 or early 1934, as it
was kept around the same time as the notes on the Cow, references to which
appear in the story Echos Bones, written November 1933. In February 1934
Beckett told Nuala Costello that he was writing a True-born Jackeen modelled
on Defoes satirical poem True-Born Englishman. However, on 7 May 1934
he told A. J. Leventhal that Trueborn Jackeen too great an undertaking.
3
As P. J. Murphy notes, Beckett was always fascinated by the lives of philosophers
in relation to their work (1994, 228). The same interest in biographical
background can be seen in Becketts reading of Kant in 1938, which focused
on Cassirers biography of the philosopher in the last volume (volume 11) of
the collected works (Pilling 2004b, 43). Cf. for example the reference in the
Whoroscope notebook to Kants description of Westminster Bridge, although he
never left Prussia (WN, 49r).
4
Becketts reading of Rousseau is difficult to date with certainty, although it must
have largely been before the end of 1932. The Dream notebook (items 3313)
contains allusions to both the Rveries and Julie, the latter finding its way
into Dream proper in the form of a reference to Saint-Preux (45). Beckett
mentions the former in a letter to MacGreevy of 5 December 1932, and again in
a September 1934 letter which also alludes to mile. A reference to Rousseaus
Confessions occurs in the More Pricks than Kicks story Fingal.
5
There are several echoes of Gide in early Beckett, as in the reference to Lord
Galls wife as a fruitful earth in the story Echos Bones (EB, 11); cf. Gides book
Nourritures terrestres [The Fruits of the Earth].
6
Cf. Charles Prentice (Chatto) to Beckett: It is very good of you to suggest a
Dolphin or otherwise on Andr Gide, 8 February 1932. Beckett had, a year
earlier, made the similar proposition of writing something on Dostoevsky (SB to
TM, undated [early August 1931]).
7
Later, in 1938, Beckett read, with little pleasure it seems, Vignys Journals (SB
to TM, 5 August 1938).
8
Beckett was still reading Renard in September 1937 (SB to GR, 27 September
1937).
9
For various definitions of the diary form, see for example Martens 1995, 34;
Hassam 1993, 1126; Kuhn-Osius 1981, 16771 and Boerner 1969, 112.
10
Writers who include an entire palette of such abbreviations and symbols are
Goethe (who used astronomical signs) and Johnson (who most probably is also
concealing matters of either a sexual or a hygienic nature). This can be set beside
more thorough concealing notations such as Pepyss shorthand.
Notes 197
11
Cf. Paul Valrys Quand jcris sur ces cahiers, je mcris. Mais je ne mcris pas
tout, Cahiers, 19571961, 236.
12
At times Beckett also composed his diary entries during the day. Considering the
length and detail of the diary entries, it is also possible that he took notes before
writing an entry in the evening. Cf. the comment then make notes on a piece of
paper that I leave there [in caf] or drop in the street (GD, 2 March 1937),
anticipating the audio-diarist Krapp: Jotted down a few notes, on the back of an
envelope (CDW, 217).
13
There comes a point towards the end of the journey when Beckett loses interest
in his meals; after eating a foul Aufschnitt [sliced cold meat] he comments:
German food is really terrible. What can one eat? (GD, 9 March 1937).
14
Letters to Charles Prentice of 14 October 1930 and 3 December 1930.
15
First-person voices, however, appear in the poems of Echos Bones and in the
story Ding-Dong. Beckett had to learn to say I: as Roland Barthes notes in
his Deliberation over whether to keep a journal: I is harder to write than to
read (1982, 487).
16
Porter Abbott has traced this moment of action taken in the moment of writing
within what he terms Becketts autography; see his Diary Fiction: Writing as Action
(1984), and Beckett Writing Beckett: The Author in the Autograph (1996).
Chapter 3
1
Various articles exploring the relationship between Bion and Beckett exist.
See for example Bennett Simons The Imaginary Twins: The Case of Beckett
and Bion (1988) and Lois Oppenheims A Preoccupation with Object-
Representation: The Beckett-Bion Case Revisited (2001), both of which argue a
reciprocal influence between the two men during and, rather speculatively, after
the termination of Becketts analysis in 1935.
2
For an excellent discussion of Beckett and psychology in general, and psychoana-
lysis in particular, see Phil Bakers Beckett and the Mythology of Psychoanalysis (1997).
3
Becketts arhythmic heart, and the absence of any clear medical reason, fre-
quently finds its way into his own work. Cf. the old heart in Enueg II (SP, 17)
and Dream (17), Dr Nyes heart that knocked and misfired for no reason known
to the medical profession in A Case in a Thousand (CSP, 1819), and Murphys
irrational heart that no physician could get to the root of (Mu, 6).
4
Correspondingly, terminology deriving from his psychology reading surfaces in
his correspondence, as in his remark that the belly of one of his brothers friends
is in a permanent psychogenic (SB to TM, 8 February [1935]). A discussion of
Psychogenic symptoms occurs in notebook TCD MS10971/8. I am grateful to
Matthew Feldman throughout this chapter for complementing my transcription
of Becketts psychology notes.
5
Rachel Burrows lecture notes, TCD MIC60, 26v; This Quarter, Surrealist number
(September 1932), 1218.
6
Cf. the character types discussed by Ernest Jones in his Papers on Psychoanalysis,
which include individuals who turn criminal because of a guilty conscience.
198 Notes
These commit some forbidden act because they have a floating sense of guilt and
thereby obtain relief (acte gratuit and crime immotiv), TCD MS10971/8, 2v.
Cf. the outline to Murphy in the Whoroscope notebook: To X [Murphy] who has
no motive, inside or out, available (WN, 1r).
7
In a telling formulation, Beckett once wrote that My memoirs begin under the
table, on the eve of my birth, when my father gave a dinner party & my mother
presided; letter to Arland Ussher, 26 March 1937.
8
Cf. also: Authentic reminiscences of the two primal trauma[s] (birth & weaning)
are at bottom of all myths & neuroses (TCD MS10971/8, 18r). Becketts continu-
ing interest in the subject is evident from an entry in the German diaries: nervous
appendix might be taken as yet another uterine reminiscence (GD, 3 November
1936).
9
Otto Rank had used a version of the tag Optimum non nasci as an epigraph to
his The Trauma of Birth, which he in turn had taken from Nietzsches Die Geburt der
Tragdie (The Birth of Tragedy): Miserable, ephemeral species. . . . The very best is
quite unattainable for you: it is, not to be born, not to exist, to be Nothing. But
the next best for you is to die soon (Rank 1929, v). In his psychology notes on
Rank, Beckett urges himself to read this and other books by Nietzsche, TCD
MS10971/8, 18v.
10
Incomplete births appear in the Addenda to Watt (248) and All That Fall
(CDW, 196).
11
Letter to A. J. Leventhal, 7 May 1934. See notes taken from Jones, TCD MS10971/8,
7r7v.
12
There is a reference to Becketts reading of Jones in a letter to MacGreevy,
where he comments that he has gerontophilia on top of the rest (SB to TM,
8 September 1935) when referring to Mr Kelly flying his kite. Becketts notes on
Jones contains a definition of Gerontophilia as a special fondness for old
people (TCD MS10971/8, 9v). But Beckett must have finished reading Papers
on Psychoanalysis some time earlier, as his May 1934 reference to Freuds dis-
placement upwards, which appears in the Jones notes, suggests. On the basis of
surviving evidence the psychology notes are chronological in order of reading.
Thus, for example, the Jones notes appear before those taken from Alfred Adlers
The Neurotic Constitution, which he finished in early February 1935 (see SB to TM,
8 February [1935]).
13
Letter to A. J. Leventhal, 7 May 1934. The Minotaure issue in question is the
double number 3/4 (1934). Clapardes article, entitled Le sommeil, raction
du dfense, appeared on pages 224. Beckett inserted a reference to this piece
in Minotaure in his notes on Claparde taken from Woodworths Contemporary
Schools of Psychology, which does not refer to the article.
14
The quote derives from Mrs Thrale-Piozzis Anecdotes of Dr Johnson.
15
See Beckett 1996, 154. Further instances of the diving incident appear in
the early poem For Future Reference, Dream (34) and Company (234). The
unwillingness to discuss dreams can be also found in Molloy (138).
16
George Reavey, having received a letter from Beckett in 1934, noted in his diary:
Letter from Sam Beckett: obsession! (entry for 26 June 1934).
17
Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund
Freud, 19531974; Vol. XIV, 23958. Beckett was aware of the Freudian theory of
Notes 199
melancholia, having taken notes on the subject from Ernest Jones; cf. TCD
MS10971/8, 3v.
18
Cf. also: Melancholia, therefore, borrows some of its features from mourning,
and the others from the process of regression from narcissistic object-choice to
narcissism (Freud, XIV, 250).
19
As John Pilling points out, Burtons Anatomy is the most important source of
material in the Dream notebook (DN, 104). Becketts interest in the book was not
short-lived, as further notes in the Whoroscope notebook testify.
20
Cf. the reference to heads or bellies according to type in Murphy (96).
21
Kristevas description of the melancholy consciousness of the inevitable loss of
loved ones, and the result that we grieve perhaps even more when we glimpse in
our lover the shadow of a long lost former loved one (1989, 5) relates directly to
Becketts 1936 poem Cascando with its reference to the bones the old loves /
sockets filled once with eyes like yours (SP, 35).
22
Cf. the hint of the dehumanising effect of psychoanalysis: I feel sorry for her
[his mother] to the point of tears. That is the part that was not analysed away,
I suppose (SB to TM, 26 May 1938).
23
See Knowlson 1996, 171, and letter to MacGreevy: Bion is now a dream habitu
(SB to TM, 1 January 1935). In an early draft for Murphy, entitled Lightning
Calculation (UoR MS2902), the proto-Murphy Quigley keeps notes on dreams
made at various stages of the night.
24
Thus psychoanalysis has only a single intermediary: the patients Word (Lacan
1968, 9).
25
Rachel Burrows lecture notes, TCD MIC60, 11r.
26
Beckett writes in Proust: The observer infects the observed with his own mobility
(PTD, 17).
27
See Christine Downing, Re-Visioning Autobiography: The Bequest of Freud and
Jung (1970) and Paul Ricoeur, Narrative Time (1980).
28
Cf. the manner in which the life story is given in The Calmative: The account he
then gave was brief and dense, facts, without comment. Thats what I call a life,
he said (ECEF, 29).
29
Letter to Felice Bauer, 26 June 1913; Kafka 1967, 412.
30
Letter to Gnter Albrecht, 31 December 1936. Beckett is here of course also
using the word Anschluss to highlight its political connotation, the annexing of
(for example) the Sudetenland by the Nazis.
31
This letter suggests that Beckett re-read Thomas Kempis, having probably first
read him, according to Pilling, in autumn 1931, as the Dream notebook shows
(DN, xvii). For a further discussion of this letter and Becketts reading of the
Imitation, see Ackerleys essay Samuel Beckett and Thomas Kempis: The Roots
of Quietism (2000), Feldman (2009), as well as Knowlson 1996, 1724.
32
Cf. Becketts diary entry: Absurd dogma that the good man always produces
something worth while (GD, 14 February 1937).
33
Letter from Gnter Albrecht to Axel Kaun, 3 January 1937 (Albrecht).
34
Cf. The Unnamable: Are there other pits, deeper down? To which one accedes
by mine? Stupid obsession with depth (295). Cf. the reference to the geology
of conscience in the Whoroscope notebook, where the Cambrian experience
is cited.
200 Notes
35
George Reavey, diary entry for 15 July 1930. Beckett told MacGreevy that he was
struggling to start writing in a letter dated 25 August 1930. A letter to MacGreevy
indicates that he handed the finished essay to Charles Prentice on 17 September
1930 (SB to TM, undated [17 September 1930]).
36
The Watt notebooks contain a further reference to the unhappy writer Leopardi,
and his poem Night Song of a Wandering Asiatic Shepherd, notebook 1, 31r.
In a 1958 letter to A. J. Leventhal, Beckett confirmed that Leopardi was a strong
influence when I was young (his pessimism, not his patriotism!); letter to
A. J. Leventhal, 21 April 1958.
37
See Pothast 2008 for a sustained analysis of Becketts relationship with
Schopenhauers work.
38
Taken from Schopenhauers Nachtrge zur Lehre vom Leiden der Welt, Parerga
und Paralipomena: Kleine Philosophische Schriften, Part 2, Chapter XII, Section 156;
translation taken from Parerga and Paralipomena: Short Philosophical Essays (1974,
II, 300). The word pensum often reappears in Becketts work; cf. for example
Molloy (32).
39
Cf. also Rachel Burrowss lecture notes (1931), which refer to Dostoevskys
quietism (TCD MIC60, 12v).
40
Proust in Pieces was published in the Spectator (23 June 1934) and Humanistic
Quietism in the JulySeptember 1934 issue of the Dublin Magazine; reprinted Dis
635 and 689.
41
Point 3 in this outline wonders whether, following the casting of the Horoscope,
the corpus of motives . . . had given quietism oder was [or what]; WN, 1. The
dating of this outline to spring 1935 seems probable given that an early fragment
towards Murphy, entitled Lightning Calculation, is referred to in a letter to
MacGreevy dated 29 January 1935.
42
Letter to George Reavey, 9 January [1936], misdated by Beckett 1935. Becketts
notes on Geulincx, taken from J. P. N. Lands 18911893 edition of the Opera
Philosophica, are held at TCD as MS10971/6. I am grateful to Matthew Feldman
for allowing me to use his transcript as well as the English translation of these
notes. For insightful discussions of Beckett and Geulincx, see Feldman (2009)
and Tucker (2010).
43
This emphasis corresponds to Becketts recommendation to Arland Ussher to
read above all the second section of the second chapter of the first tractate,
where [Geulincx] disquires on his fourth cardinal virtue, Humility, contempus
negativus sui ipsius; letter to Arland Ussher, 25 March 1936.
44
Letter to Arland Ussher, 25 March 1936. Cf. DN, item 560.
45
The importance of humility and resignation in Becketts thinking is further
adduced by an August 1936 reference to the Stoic philosopher Epictetus in the
Clare Street notebook; UoR MS5003, 39.
46
Beckett was pleased to read in MacGreevys review of Echos Bones that he was a
poet of the cloistered self on whom experience is an intrusion and that his
poetry has the temper of The Imitation (MacGreevy 1937, 812).
47
Cf. letter to Mary Hutchinson, 28 November 1956: Frightful kitchen latin but
fascinating guignol world. Murphy is rather more impressed by the beautiful
Belgo-Latin of Arnold Geulincx (101).
Notes 201
48
The two quotes are used in Murphy on pages 90 and 101. Geulincxs Ubu nihil
vales is invoked in Mercier and Camier: One shall be born, said Watt, one is born
of us, who having nothing will wish for nothing, except to be left the nothing he
hath (MC, 114).
49
Johnsons love for the Anatomy is noted in the first Human Wishes notebook, UoR
MS3461/1, 2r.
50
Cf. DN, item 696: the expression is taken from Dean Inges Christian Mysticism
(1899). See also Becketts remark to Desmond Smith in 1956 regarding Pozzo in
Waiting for Godot that it is only out of a great inner dereliction that the part can
be played satisfactorily; letter to Desmond Smith, 1 April 1956, quoted in the
New Yorker 24 June 1995, 136.
51
Phil Baker, without access to Becketts psychology notes, also connects this epistolary
passage with Freuds New Introductory Lectures (67), pointing to Molloys reference
to a swamp which, as far as I can remember, and some of my memories have their
roots deep in the immediate past, there was always talk of draining (Mo, 756).
52
Letter to Samuel Putnam, undated [September 1931] and letter to GR,
8 October 1932.
53
Rilke, letter to Lou Andreas-Salom, 28 December 1911 (Rilke 1939b, 160).
Chapter 4
1
I am reading German and learning a little that way (SB to TM, 21 November
[1932]) and Ive been reading a lot of German (SB to TM, 12 [12 December
1932]). As we shall see later, it is possible that this reading consisted of Goethes
Wahlverwandschaften.
2
Becketts knowledge of the Lieder can be further inferred from his 1931 comment
to MacGreevy after attending a concert: The Schubert had plenty of nobility and
one understood the need of relating his chamber music to his song settings (SB
to TM, 24 February 1931).
3
Martin Esslin sourced this allusion in Patterns of Rejection: Sex and Love in
Becketts Universe (1992, 63). There are other instances where Beckett made
textual use of Schuberts Lieder. The 1982 television piece Nacht und Trume uses
Schuberts Lied of that same name, with the text slightly modified from Heinrich
Josef von Collins poem (Knowlson 1996, 681). The Sottisier notebook, kept
between 1976 and 1982 also illustrates this approach: Nur wer die Sehnsucht
kennt, weiss was ich leide ([Goethes] W.M. [Wilhelm Meister] Mignon. Schu-
bert. Wolf.), UoR MS2901, 15r.
4
The list of 22 books sent home is in the Whoroscope notebook, 17v and 18v. The
collected works of Schopenhauer were sent separately on 4 November 1936
(GD), and a large consignment with a further 20 books on 3 December 1936
(GD) from Berlin. Huizingas Holland, which was only ordered when Beckett
had the books sent, never arrived, which explains why it remained unticked
in the list following Becketts return to Dublin. The collected works of Lessing
is not in the square bracket because it was only sent, unread, on 8 December
1936 (GD).
202 Notes
5
Further impressions with minor changes of this standard work on German
literature appeared before the new and revised second edition of 1931.
6
There is no indication in the diaries that Beckett spent much time reading
Heinemanns work. At one point in December 1936 he notes somewhat
despondently that he has nothing else to read except this book, but only records
reading the chapter on Wedekind (GD, 25 December 1936).
7
Knowlson states that these notes were begun only after Beckett moved to
Gertrude Street in September 1934, but gives no reason for this (Knowlson 1996,
213). It is highly unlikely that Robertsons History is the source of the German
literary fragments in Dream (and elsewhere), that is to say that Beckett read
the book in 19311932, as several borrowings do not appear in Robertson.
Thus, for example, the two lines from Gretchens Song in Faust, quoted in The
Smeraldinas Billet-Doux in Dream (59), are not cited in Robertson.
8
I am grateful to Matthew Feldman for providing me with the precise dates at
which Beckett renewed his reader ticket for the British Library in London.
9
Wrote a couple of Quatschrains, Programs for Pogroms, nothing to signify;
letter to A. J. Leventhal, 7 May 1934. The German devaluation is apt, seeing that
both Da tagte es and Gnome, the other Quatschrain referred to here, are
based upon German sources. There is furthermore a lot of German in Becketts
correspondence around this time, as in an (apparently unsent) letter to Arland
Ussher of 14 March 1934 contained in the Leventhal collection at the Harry
Ransom Center. However, Lawlor (2009b, 63) suggests the poem Up He Went
was the second Quatschrain rather than Da tagte es.
10
Beckett at the time did not possess an edition of Vogelweides poetry, as can be
inferred from the fact that he bought a complete edition while in Germany (GD,
14 November 1936). He also bought an anthology of early German literature
(lteste deutsche Dichtungen) in original and modern renderings.
11
Beckett thus appended the word Alba to his note on Dietmar von Aist as the
author of oldest Tagelied, emphasising it with brackets (TCD MS10971/1, 2r).
12
Cf. Robertson, 123. English translation: Vogelweide 1938, 49. References to this
poem can, for example, be found in The Calmative (ECEF, 29) and Stirrings Still
(CIWS, 112).
13
Cf. Becketts reference to Arland Usshers Minerva in the 7 May 1934 letter to
A. J. Leventhal. The details of the review, such as the abandoned nature of
Mrikes autobiography, Maler Nolten, correspond with those given by Robertson
(5257).
14
Beckett wrote these lines on the left margin of his philosophy notes on Heraclitus,
beside a passage stating that in dreams, in opinion, each has his own world;
knowing is common to all (TCD MS10967, 25v). Beckett read, or re-read, Werther
(as well as Die Wahlverwandschaften) in French in 1938, cf. Whoroscope notebook,
68r and 68v. Cf. also Becketts letter to Alan Schneider regarding Endgame: Faces
red and white probably like Werthers green coat, because the author saw
them that way (10 January 1958), in Harmon 1998, 29. See Bolin (2007) for a
discussion of Werthers relevance to Becketts Murphy.
15
The reference to the dentist here belongs to a private and hermetic code
equating (bad) dentistry with (poor) writing which is, for this reader at least,
Notes 203
impossible to penetrate. In a letter to MacGreevy Beckett blames his comments

about his friends book on Aldington on literary caries (SB to TM, undated [29?
September 1931]). Similarly, after Prentice had negatively responded to the short
story Sedendo et Quiescendo, Beckett noted: Im glad to have the thing back
again in the dentist chair. I still believe theres something to be done with it,
letter to Charles Prentice (15 August 1931).
16
The Faust line is from Part 1, ll. 33747.
17
Becketts complex association of Germany, music and sexuality appears fre-
quently in Dream (music, Music, MUSIC), and is also evident in Dortmunder
(SP, 20) and the poem Spring Song. His use of the word Bitchlein here sug-
gests Beckett was thinking of a different kind of bird than Goethe. Furthermore,
vgeln is a German slang word meaning to screw. Cf. also the Dream note-
books entry Die Bitchlein sweifen niemals im Wald (DN, item 1091), where
Beckett inserts the old German word sweifen for to wander.
18
A further, more oblique, reference to the Wandrers Nachtlied, or rather
Becketts version of it, in the Kaun letter, occurs in Watt, underlining Becketts
attachment to the poems quietness: Then at night rest in the quiet house . . . the
little sounds come that demand nothing, ordain nothing, explain nothing,
propound nothing, and the short necessary night is soon ended (38).
19
Beckett told Arland Ussher in December 1938 that he was experimenting with
French syntax in the form of Xenien: Ci-gt qui y chappa tant / Quil nen
chappe que maintenant, letter to Arland Ussher, 20 December 1938.
20
The Vulture is annotated in Becketts copy of Echos Bones at the Harry Ransom
Center with Not without reference to Goethes Dem Geier gleich etc. Goethes
references in the Harzreise im Winter to the bittre Schere [bitter scissors],
severing lifes ehernen Fadens [iron thread] anticipate Becketts own preoccu-
pation with the Greek figure of Atropos, one of the Parc, goddesses who preside
over the birth and death of mankind (there are relevant notes in the Sottisier
notebook). The poems tre l sans mchoires sans dents and Arnes de Lutce
both contain allusions to Atropos and the scissors she wields to cut off the thread
of life (SP, 42 and 48).
21
Beckett mistrusted the Eckermann conversation, as a letter to MacGreevy
illustrates: It strikes me as absurd to found any criticism on Goethes remarks to
Eckermann, especially on a subject like Winckelmann, where there is the immense
enthusiastic Winckelmann-Spinoza elaboration in the Leipzig period of the
Dichtung u. W. (SB to TM, 31 December 1935).
22
The line is taken from the second part of Die Wahlverwandschaften, Chapter 7, and
assumes the quality of a Leitmotiv in Becketts correspondence. In 1953 he tells
MacGreevy that Niemand wandelt ungestraft on the road that leads to
LInnommable (SB to TM, 14 December 1953), and comments in a letter
to Mary Manning Howe in 1968 that he is struggling with French translation of
Watt, in whose grim groves I feel I wont have wandered again unpunished (SB
to MM, 14 January 1968). A further reference occurs in a letter to A. J. Leventhal
of 8 February 1972.
23
My dating of Becketts reading of Mauthner as occurring in the summer of 1938
follows Van Hulle (1999 and 2002) and Pilling (2006a).
204 Notes
24
Beckett finished Part I on 18 August 1936 and continued to read the first half of
Part II, up until the Klassische Walpurgisnacht, which proved too much so that
he felt no inclination to go on (SB to TM, 19 September 1936).
25
Beckett used Robert Petschs edition of Faust, Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut,
n.d. [1925].
26
Strangely, the pun on Goethes Die Erde hat mich wieder (Faust, 1.784)
only seems to have been entered in the Whoroscope notebook in Germany in
January 1937, although there is no evidence that Beckett took Faust with him to
Germany. The other excerpts were made at the time of Becketts reading
in August 1936: soughing loom of time (Faust 1.508) and Green benediction
of the fields (Faust, II.4615). All three lines can be found in Becketts Faust
notebooks.
27
Beckett repeats his amended version of the line in a letter to Mary Manning
Howe dated 22 June 1953.
28
Rubin Rabinowitz traces parallels between Faust and Molloy in Molloy and the
archetypal traveller (1979, 2544).
29
Cf. Faust, I. 42856.
30
During his trip to Germany, however, Beckett criticised Schillers Maria Stuart as
machine writing in contrast to Goethes more human style (GD, 6 January
1937).
31
Barely a year earlier, during his reading of Dichtung und Wahrheit, Beckett was
more indulgent of Goethes strategy, stating that the precedent hunting recurs
very brilliant (SB to TM, 5 May 1935).
32
Faust, 35, as noted by Beckett in UoR MS5004, 17r18r. Cf. also Becketts remark
to MacGreevy, after attending a lecture on Proust in Hamburg: They want to
make his solution a little moral triumph, the reward & the crown of a life of
striving a la Goethe (SB to TM, 28 November 1936 [misdated by Beckett
1937]).
33
This onward movement is also visible in the heroic Joyce, cf. Stephen on the
strand in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: On and on and on and on he
strode, far out over the sands (1992, 186).
34
The word autology is connected to the inspectio sui of Geulincx in Becketts
philosophy notes; TCD MS10967, 189v.
35
Beckett did not, for example, comment in his letters to MacGreevy on the pact
between Faust and Mephistopheles, although he transcribed the crucial passage
from Part 1 in some detail. There is an allusion to this bond in Dream, where
among other literary fragments, possibly drawn from Bartletts Familiar Quota-
tions, Du bist so . . . appears (Dream, 148). This is taken from Fausts exclamation
Werd ich zum Augenblicke sagen: / Verweile doch! Du bist so schn! / Dann
magst du mich in Fesseln schlagen, / Dann will ich gern zugrunde gehn! [When
to the moment fleeting past me, / Tarry! I cry, so fair thou art! / Then into fetters
mayst thou cast me, / Then let come doom, with all my heart], Faust, ll.1699
1702; Goethe 1926, 51. See also Murphys silken bonds.
36
Faust, I.1549; the line is recorded in UoR MS5004, 34r; for Grillparzer see TCD
MS10971/1, 42v.
37
Beckett quotes Grillparzers Totenklage in the long joys of summer of Malone
Dies (MD, 232).
Notes 205
38
Cf. also an entry in the Whoroscope notebook: unselfish only because he had no
self he had no self to be selfish about Ec. (WN, 34r).
39
The word is noted, for example, on page 55r of TCD MS10971/1.
40
Becketts source for these entries, made in August or September 1936, is unclear.
Although, as John Pilling has pointed out to me, the preceding entry derives
from Lemprires Classical Dictionary, the entries on Ixion, Sisyphus and Tantalus in
Becketts Whoroscope notebook differ from Lemprire. A further possible source is
the Encyclopaedia Britannica, but here also certain details differ from Becketts
notes. The motivation for recording these entries is also nebulous, as Becketts
reading of Goethes Dichtung und Wahrheit had occurred in spring 1935. See also
Becketts psychology notes, which refer to Otto Ranks discussion, in The Trauma
of Birth, of ancient punishments centring on the wheel as representing [the]
primal situation, illustrated through the figures of Ixion, Tantalus, Sisyphus and
Christ (TCD MS10971/8, 36). The passages from Rank come last in Becketts
psychological notes, after Adlers The Neurotic Constitution, which Beckett read in
February 1935 (SB to TM, 8/2/1935). Schopenhauer also refers to the subject
of willing in The World as Will and Idea as constantly stretched on the revolving
wheel of Ixion, pours water into the sieve of the Danaids, is the ever-longing
Tantalus (Schopenhauer 1896, III, 254).
41
From the Frankfurter Zeitung, 4 October 1936.
42
Having rejected the play as such Beckett ended his criticism with That neither
queen was that kind of person is another story altogether (GD, 8 January 1937).
43
The same day he described the play in a letter to Mary Manning Howe as such
good poetry that it never comes alive at all (18 January 1937).
44
Two instances of such passive reception of books were his reading of the expres-
sionist Franz Werfels Verdi; Roman der Oper, which due to the authors Jewish
background was banned in Germany at the time but was lent to him by Ilse
Schneider, and his interest in Adalbert Stifter, whose name had arisen during
conversations and whose voluminous Nachsommer he bought. Becketts interest in
writers biographical background appeared again in context with Stifter, as he
noted the details of the recently published biography by Urban Roedl into his
diary (GD, 12 March 1937). Beckett also bought Grimmelshausens Simplicius
Simplicissimus and Der Abenteuerliche Simplicissimus.
45
Beckett told Gnter Albrecht that he found this story erschtternd [shattering],
which any further stylisation would have made pathetic. He also stated that the
book reminded him of Manzoni; letter to Gnter Albrecht, 31 December 1936.
46
These further references to Becketts reading in the German diaries are 12, 13,
15, 16 and 21 March 1937.
47
Becketts edition is Smtliche Werke, Leipzig: Insel-Verlag, n.d. [c.1930].
48
For a more extensive discussion of Becketts engagement with Hlderlins silence,
and failure to write, see Nixon 2010a.
49
Letter to Arland Ussher, undated [14 June 1939]. At the beginning of Book Two
of Hyperion Beckett noted in his volume: Que de frohlockends! [The amount
of rejoicing!]; Hlderlin 1930, 472.
50
Shane Weller provides a highly interesting reading of Beckett, Hlderlin and
derangement in his essay Some Experience of the Schizoid Voice: Samuel
Beckett and the Language of Derangement (2008, 413).
206 Notes
Chapter 5
1
This is evident from the amount of pages in the diary dedicated not only to the
situation but also the history of the rise of NSDAP. For a more extensive analysis
of Becketts attitude towards Nazi Germany, see Nixon 2009b.
2
Or as the Whoroscope notebook calls it, the Bierjahresplan [beer-year-plan]
(34r).
3
See Kaspar 2007 for a detailed discussion of the political broadcasts Beckett heard
while in Germany.
4
Beckett also recorded snippets of information regarding the political situation,
including quotes by Goebbels, Hitler and Rudolf Hess, in a German vocabulary
notebook (UoR MS5006, particularly 52v4v). See McNaughton 2009 for a dis-
cussion of some of these entries.
5
The speaker in question here is SS-Gruppenfhrer Werner Lorenz, as Roswitha
Quadflieg in Hamburg has confirmed. Horst Wessel was an early Nazi activist
killed in 1930, who was subsequently turned into a martyr by the regime.
6
There are several such humorous asides in the diaries, as in his description of a
newspaper article with excellent photo of flight War memorial, Adolf Hitler
Platz, running down to water (or sailing up from it). Indeed an exquisite flight
(GD, 21 October 1936). In the notebooks as well as the diary Beckett noted small
jokes and puns, such as arish stew = neues nationalgericht der deutschen [new
German national dish] (UoR MS5006, 50v).
7
Cf. Becketts letter of 28 November 1936 to MacGreevy: I was invited one
evening to a Hausmusik. Wolf sung by a Kraft durch Freude spinster from
Austria. The expression is also noted in the Whoroscope notebook (34r).
8
For a more detailed discussion of Becketts meeting with Albrecht and Kaun,
see the article written by the brother of Gnter Albrecht, Klaus Albrecht, in the
Journal of Beckett Studies (Albrecht 2005). Gnter Albrecht was killed during the
war in 1941. Axel Kaun, after serving in the German army, was active in the
cultural scene in various capacities after the war, working for publishers, literary
magazines and spending some time at the theatre in Stuttgart. He emigrated to
the United States in the mid-1950s, worked as a translator (rendering George
Steiner and Christopher Isherwood among others into German) and died in San
Francisco (probably 1982).
9
Beckett similarly expressed his pleasure to find Kaun free from the mentality
expressed in tabloid and Nazi publications (GD, 11 January 1937).
10
Letter from Gnter Albrecht to Axel Kaun, 26 March 1937 (Klaus Albrecht).
11
A week later Beckett told MacGreevy that Thomas Mann . . . has had his citizen-
ship taken away. Heinrich down the drain long ago (SB to TM, 18 January
1937).
12
Cf. GD, 22, 25 and 28 October 1936, 6 November 1936 and 11 January 1937.
13
The only lecture Beckett attended was one in Berlin of Hermann Stehr reading
his story, Der Schatten. Beckett judged Stehrs sentimental writing as [e]arnest
Kitsch (GD, 10 November 1936).
14
For the following discussion of Das Innere Reich, I am indebted to Horst Denklers
essay Januskpfig: Zur ideologischen Physiognomie der Zeitschrift Das Innere
Reich (1976, 382405).
Notes 207
15
In the essay Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit
(Benjamin 1977, 1689).
16
Beckett read two further books by Alverdes, finding Reinhold im Dienst, a book also
based on the authors war experiences and accepting the necessity of conflict,
inferior, employing the same tricks of narration, new introductions, flash backs;
physiognomic chinoiserie almost, dying falls (GD, 25 December 1936). Towards
the end of his stay he also began but did not go on with the more obviously
autobiographical Kleine Reise: Aus einem Tagebuch (letter to Gnter Albrecht,
30 March 1937).
17
Carossa is illustrative of those writers who initially supported the Nazis but
withdrew from their more unsavoury policies. Rejecting the offer to join the
cleansed Preussische Akademie der Dichtung in 1933, Carossa nevertheless
accepted his appointment as president of the National Socialist Europischer
Schriftstellerverband (European Association of Writers) during the war.
18
The original reads: Der Tod sitzt still am Waldesrand / und rhrt die Trommel
mit mder Hand [Death sits quietly at the edge of the wood / and beats the drum
with tired hand] (Wiechert 1933, 16; my translation).
19
In 1971 Beckett told Kay Boyle that he had tried Hesse in the old days in German
without success (26 February 1971).
20
Beckett specifically felt that the illusion of authenticity was broken as the
complexity of the symbols and the allegorical representation of Sinclairs inner
world increases and the overall structure of Demian gets out of hand (GD,
19 January 1937).
21
No records of this proposal are extant in the archives of the Rowohlt-Verlag
(email communication from Ralf Krause, Rowohlt Verlag, 23 July 2003).
22
It appears as if he had talked about this possibility before leaving Ireland for
Germany, as a letter to Mary Manning Howe suggests: Frank writes what about
the Lafcadio Hernia I was so full of before I left (18 January 1937). I am grateful
to Sean Lawlor for alerting me to the reference to Lafcadio Hearn in the German
diaries.
Chapter 6
1
Readers report (no. 5767) for Chatto & Windus on Proust by Samuel Beckett by
Ian M. Parsons, dated 8 October 1930 (UoR). Chatto would in any case take on
Proust and Beckett go on to satirise the proverbial German professor.
2
For detailed discussions of the relationship between Dream and the Dream
notebook, see John Pillings introduction to his edition of the Dream notebook
and his Companion to Dream (2004a). In the latter Pilling also surmises that
Beckett drew on a further notebook or scattered notes (133).
3
Cf. Belacquas exclamation in the story Echos Bones: My ideas! . . . I am a
postwar degenerate. We have our faults, but ideas is not one of them (EB, 13).
4
This last reference to notes also pertains to the preceding sentence, which
alludes to Goethes Wandrers Nachtlied. Possibly unable to remember the
precise nature of this source, Beckett may be wishing he had his Dream notebook
to consult, in which the Goethe quote appears.
208 Notes
5
Gide, Journals, undated entry for 1891 (212). There is a wonderfully self-
ironic moment in Dream, where Beckett includes a reference to the charges of
plagiarism that had frequently been levied against Stendhal: Without going as
far as Stendhal, who said or repeated after somebody (12). In a book itself
culpable of rather flagrant acts of literary theft, Beckett is also pointing up a
similarity in compositional procedure here, as Stendhals sources for his writing
and his working methods are not dissimilar to Becketts. Scornful of contem-
porary literature, Stendhals reading covered an eclectic range from dictionaries
and guidebooks to books on history, economy and philosophical systems a
similarly diffuse range of sources will strike the reader of Becketts Dream and
Whoroscope notebooks.
6
For descriptions and discussions of these notes, see Everett Frosts Catalogue of
the Trinity notebooks (2005) and Feldmans Becketts Books (2006).
7
Becketts comment to Alan Schneider in 1957 that critics having headaches while
trying to interpret his work should provide their own aspirin (qtd. in Harmon
1998, 29) is wonderfully anticipated in a diary entry occasioned by the reading of
Tiedtkes thesis; immediately after declaring it to be eine Langeweile [boring],
he notes [t]ake a boiling bath (GD, 28 November 1936).
8
Cf. Leise! Leise! in the German diaries (GD, 2 November 1936). Schopenhauers
line also appears in the Addenda to Watt (249), and is marked in Becketts
Schopenhauer edition in his library.
9
The word was originally recorded in the Whoroscope notebook in August or
September 1936 (34r).
10
The Sottisier notebook, for example, kept between 1976 and 1982, contains
various quotations deriving from his reading (UoR MS2901).
11
Letter to Alan Schneider, 21 November 1957 (Harmon 1998, 23). The reference
is to TCD MS10967.
12
Lucretiuss tag Suave mari magno (MD, 219) can be found in the Whoroscope
notebook (38r).
Chapter 7
1
John Pilling has shown that the poems old plunger / pestling the stale words
in the heart resembles a passage in Dream, which also refers to pestle and to
bray his heart (2004a, 245). Cf. also DN, item 242, with the background to this
set of words identified as Proverbs 27.22.
2
I have amended the translation: Goethe in this passage merely refers to
weariness, but the entire section deals with weariness of life, which is presum-
ably why Beckett in his notebook writes Lebensberdruss [weariness of life].
3
The German translation of Cascando appears in the Clare Street notebook,
UoR MS5003, 13r16r. Beckett discussed his translation with various people in
Germany, and incorporated changes from the first such discussion (with Claudia
Asher on 2 November 1936) into his notebook. However, there exists a further
typescript at Dartmouth College, also dated 18 August 1936, carrying the title
Mancando. Further changes, arising out of conversations with Rosa Schapire
Notes 209
(15 November 1936) and Luther (16 November 1936) were inserted into this
Dartmouth version, probably at the end of March 1937, when Beckett copied the
changes recorded in the diary into the typescript in order to show the poem to
Paul Alverdes (30 March 1937). However, by that time Beckett had presumably
forgotten the first set of changes made in the Clare Street notebook, as these do
not appear in the Dartmouth TS. This appears likely as Beckett made no further
entries in the Clare Street notebook after his departure from Hamburg in
November 1936. The Dartmouth version of Becketts translation of Cascando is
reprinted in Thomas Hunkelers essay Cascando de Samuel Beckett (2000,
2742). See Fries-Dieckmann 2007 for an excellent discussion of Beckett and the
German language, and Becketts German translation of Cascando.
4
Cf. letter to MacGreevy: I am glad you liked Cascando, the last echo of feeling
(SB to TM, 18 January 1937), a comment surprisingly devoid of disparagement,
even as it contains the threat that after the last there would be no further echoes.
Later, when showing the poem to the German writer Paul Alverdes, Beckett
noted that it reads bloody awful, even to the proud composer & translator (GD,
30 March 1937).
5
UoR MS4848; these sheets look like they have been extracted from a notebook.
Despite the kind help of Herr Richard Gerecke, head of the Handschriftenabteilung
at the Staatsbibliothek in Hamburg, and Roswitha Quadflieg, the sources of
these notes have not been identified.
6
Beckett copied Napoleons words I shall go down to posterity with the Code in
my hand from Lockhart into his Dream notebook (DN, item 5).
7
It is unclear whether Beckett had actually read Stendhals confessional account
of his childhood, La Vie de Henri Brulard, but his interest in a translation makes it
extremely likely.
8
9
Item 719 in the Dream notebook reads terminus a quo & ad quem [limit from
which & to which]. In Dream, the narrator states that after all our toil . . . it is
rather late in the day for ad quem (Dream, 159). The term reappears in the short
story Echos Bones (EB, 9).
10
There are further instances of Becketts later use of his experiences in Germany
as noted in his diaries. His trip to Lneburg (GD, 4 December 1936) found its
way into The Expelled (ECEF, 6), and, as Pilling has shown (1997, 224), in The
Calmative the protagonists climb onto a projecting gallery resembles Becketts
own ascent up the tower of the Andreaskirche in Brunswick. This allusion is
underlined by the references to the Saxon Sttzenwechsel in this text, which
first appear in the diaries (GD, 10 December 1936 and 25 February 1937).
11
Characteristic for this period, Beckett failed to compose a poem at the request
of the maid of the establishment where he was staying: it wont come out (GD,
17 November 1936).
12
TCD MS10967, 24r. Cf. also Becketts letter to MacGreevy of 23 April 1933: I wish
I could go into the library & work at Heraclitus & Co..
13
In an early version of Endgame, entitled Avant fin de partie and contained in the
Sam Francis notebook, the character A repeatedly and obsessively tries to recite
the Lords Prayer; UoR MS2926. Cf. also How It Is, where prayer is an old view it
has faded (HII, 40).
210 Notes
14
Luke XVI: Dives-Lazarus, prayer from virtual to actual in entelechy, or petites
perceptions to apperceived in monad poem (WN, 21r). The Dives-Lazarus
equation reappears in the 1937 review of Denis Devlin (Dis, 92).
15
See Maier 2007 for a detailed discussion of this quotation.
16
The connection between Cascando and this poetic fragment is further evident
in Becketts diary entry stating that he has the mood for the first time since the
Farley episode (GD, 7 February 1937), Farley being, as John Pilling pointed out
to me, Betty Farley Stockton.
17
Beckett is thinking of his early use of a line from Fontenelle: No gardener has
died within rosaceous memory. Beckett, who presumably read the line in
Diderots Le rve dAlembert (La rose de Fontenelle qui disait que de mmoire de
rose on navait vu mourir un jardinier?), used it in Dream, where it forms the
answer to the question You know what the rose said to the rose? (Dream, 175),
and in the short story Echos Bones: He brought up duly the words of the rose
to the rose: No gardener has died, within rosaceous memory (EB, 19). Cf. also
Draff (MPTK, 204).
18
Rilkes The Tale of the Life and Love of the Cornet Rilke had in fact been
published in transition 19/20 (SpringSummer 1930), the same issue that
carried Becketts poem For Future Reference. Anne Atik records how Beckett
would not pronounce on Rilkes poetry, except by taking exception to our
enthusiasm. She notes, however, that Beckett had liked Rilkes poem The
Cornet when he was young (2001, 66).
19
The letter from Rilke to Modersohn-Becker is dated 12 February 1902 (Rilke
1939, 2025).
20
Around the same time that Beckett acquired the Weise, he borrowed Rilkes
Ausgewhlte Gedichte from Frulein Schn (GD, 29 October 1936). He makes no
indication in the diary as to whether or not he actually read this book, although
it would be surprising if he had not, considering the numerous references to
Rilke in the diaries. Beckett did, however, read, with little pleasure, Rainer Maria
Rilke Stimmen der Freunde, a volume of testimonies published after Rilkes death.
21
Beckett also records a variant of the second half of that exchange, which trans-
lates as Not as strange as I suffer inwardly from it. Beckett also copied this variant
into his German vocabulary notebook, UoR MS5006, 52v.
22
Hamm here presumably refers to the street Hammerpark, where he had visited
the Konditorei with Dr Reichert. Yet Hamm is also short for Hammerlandtstrasse,
where the artist Grimm had his studio, and whose opinions seemed to strike a
chord with Beckett. Hamm was also the name of the suburb of Hamburg in which
all of these streets are located.
23
Beckett illustrated his intent with an example: He drew my attention to two facts
that I had not noticed, that his good looks were going pasty. Every now & then he
would say, in his excellent English: I am most tired! Even here, in excellent
English, is too much. With strong glottal stops better. Every now & then he
would say, in English, with energetic glottal stopping: I am most tired.
24
Cf. also Becketts German adaptation of a part of Ariostos Orlando Furioso in
August 1936.
25
Malone in his sick-bed journal self-confessedly makes a joke when stating that if
my death is not ready for me . . . I shall write my memoirs (MD, 184), a sentiment
Notes 211
also expressed by Krapps answer in Eleutheria that he would not consider

writing a little book of memoirs because it would spoil my death throes (37).
26
As John Pilling states, the word fiasco occurs four times in Dream, and seems to
have been connected in Becketts mind with the fiasco of impotence in Stendhals
Armance, as a letter to MacGreevy of 26 April 1935 illustrates (2004a, 98).
27
Note however that already in the Whoroscope notebook outline to Murphy, Beckett
had envisaged colour patterns in use of the horoscope: correspondence with
solar spectrum: violet, indigo . . . (WN, 8r).
28
Around the same time, late December 1936, Dossi was in Becketts mind due to
the debate over whether Giorgiones Self-Portrait was by Dossi. Cf. SB to TM,
22 December 1936.
29
Beckett had also been alerted to the function of miniatures in a discussion with
the painters Grimm and Ruwoldt in Hamburg, who professed an enthusiasm
for early Christian miniature painting and argued for a concentration & inten-
sification of reality (SB to TM, 28 November [1936] and GD, 25 November
1936). See also Veit 2006.
30
The translation was the last entry made before departure to Germany on
28 September 1936, and was thus probably done in that month. That Johnson
was on Becketts mind is further evident from a letter to MacGreevy dated 7 July
1936, in which he enquires into the whereabouts of James Barrys portrait
of Johnson.
31
Deirdre Bair states that Beckett felt there was too much irony, even sarcasm in the
piece, but gives no source for this (1978, 220).
32
In the opening stage setting Beckett replicates the opening of Murphy: Es
dmmert, weil es nicht anders kann [It dawns, as it cannot do anything else].
33
In July 1937 Beckett told George Reavey that my efforts to document my
Johnson fantasy have not ceased (SB to GR, 27 July 1937).
34
Cf. Becketts comment that my Geulincx could only be a literary fantasia (SB to
GR, 9 January [1936].
35
In the same letter Beckett admitted that there is no text for the impotence
(SB to TM, 26 April 1937). He was presumably not aware of a 1929 essay by
R. Macdonald Ladell, which advanced the theory of Johnsons sexual impotence,
The Neurosis of Dr. Samuel Johnson, in the British Journal of Medical Psychology
(1929, 31423). By July 1937, Beckett had further come to the conclusion that
Mr Thrale must have been a syphilitic, according to Beckett no negligible
accretion to the theme (SB to TM, 23 July 1937).
36
Cf. also Becketts note in the first Human Wishes notebook: Analogy with
Rousseau (also impotent?); UoR MS3461/1, 72r.
37
Cf. Becketts remarks to Mary Manning in a letter of 11 July 1937, which imply a
broader application of the word impotence: What a pity he [Johnson] could
not have loved her [Mrs Thrale]. But the impotent can only love where he is
impotent, the whole aim of loving being impotence, even a moments impotence,
i.e. a moments love. The sad animal, the impotent animal, the loving animal.
38
As Ruby Cohn noted, Becketts interest shifted from the couple to death and
disease (1980, 158). N. F. Lwe plausibly argues that between July 1937 and
August 1938 Beckett abandoned the play on Johnson and Thrale, and began a
new play on the odd characters in Bolt Court (1999, 193).
212 Notes
39
Towards the end of the second Human Wishes notebook, Beckett transcribed
Hills comments (in his edition of Johnsons Miscellanies) on the melancholy
dispositions of both Johnson and Cowper; UoR MS3461/2.
40
Entry for 18 September 1768.
41
Prayers and Meditations, Easter Day 1776, Johnson 1897, I, 74; Letter to Hester
Thrale, 15 October 1778, Johnson 1992, III, 1268. An example of Johnsons
complaint (in one of his letters) of his own personal melancholy: I have passed
this summer very uneasily. My old melancholy has laid hold upon me to a degree
sometimes not easily supportable (Johnson 1992, I, 287).
42
Diary entry for 1 January 1766 (Johnson 1958, 100 and 206).
43
See also Tonnings essay, Becketts Unholy Dying: From Malone Dies to The
Unnamable (2009b), which also relates Johnson to Jeremy Taylors 1651 The Rule
and Exercises of Holy Dying.
44
Letter from Johnson to Hester Thrale, 21 September 1773 (Johnson 1897, I, 678).
45
Letter to Joseph Hone, 3 July 1937. Beckett made the same point in a letter to
MacGreevy, 4 August 1937, adding that in the face of ultimate annihilation
Johnson would prefer an eternity of torment.
46
Quoted in Hester Thrales Anecdotes of the Late Samuel Johnson, LL.D. (Johnson
1897, I, 251).
47
The word vanity appears approximately 40 times in the authorized version of
Ecclesiastes.
48
Beckett in this letter also remembers that he accumulated a mass of notes.
Chapter 8
1
Early discussions of Becketts interest in the visual arts include Dougald McMillans
Samuel Beckett and the Visual Arts: The Embarrassment of Allegory (1975) and
Vivian Merciers Beckett/Beckett (1977, 88113).
2
For recent discussions of Beckett and the visual arts, see, for example, Rmi
Labrusses Beckett et la peinture: Le tmoignage dune correspondance indite
(1990); the collection Samuel Beckett in the Arts: Music, Visual Arts and Non-Print
Media, edited by Lois Oppenheim (1999); Lois Oppenheims The Painted Word:
Samuel Becketts Dialogue with Art (2000). For discussions of Becketts visits to
German galleries in 19361937, see Knowlson (2003), Veit (2006), Giesing et al.
(2007) and the National Gallery of Ireland exhibition catalogue Samuel Beckett:
A Passion for Painting (2006).
3
The reference is to El Grecos Burial of the Count Orgaz in the National Gallery,
Dublin. Allusions to paintings also occur in the early poetry, as in the reference
to Mantegna in Casket of Pralinen for a Daughter of a Dissipated Mandarin.
Further allusions in the early poetry are discussed by Lawlor (2009).
4
On 8 October 1932 he wrote to MacGreevy asking for an informative book on
Dutch painting. Becketts reading of the book cannot be precisely dated, but on
the basis of the position of the Wilenski material in the notebook UoR MS5001 it
was presumably in 1933, and definitely not later than the summer of 1934.
5
Only the visits (undertaken with his brother) to the Louvre (17 June 1934)
and the Muse Cond at Chantilly (18 June 1934) are dated in the notebook.
Notes 213
From the position in the notebook, however, the notes on the Hampton Court
collection must pre-date the French trip. The subsequent notes taken at the
National Gallery Dublin probably date from January 1935, when Beckett returned
home for the Christmas period, and the subsequent notes from the Victoria and
Albert Museum can be dated to February 1935 (SB to TM, 8 February [1935] and
20 February 1935). James Knowlson has discussed Becketts visit to Chantilly in
his essay Beckett in the Muse Cond 1934 (2002, 7383).
6
In November 1936 Beckett noted two monographs on Bosch by Walter Schrmeyer
and Kurt Pfister into his diary (GD, 9 November 1936), indicating that his inter-
est in this painter was undiminished. Cf. also Belacquas assurance that he did not
propose to Hieronymus Bosch the Alba (Dream, 193). A reference to Boschs
Scourging of Christ (National Gallery London) can be found in Watt (157).
7
The notes on Bosch and Drer come immediately before the notes dating from
the visit to the Louvre in June 1934.
8
In contrast, Beckett in 1938 told MacGreevy that he had spent an afternoon in
the Louvre without working (SB to TM, 3 April 1938).
9
He wrote to MacGreevy in November that the campaign against Art-
Bolshevism is only just beginning (SB to TM, 28 November 1936 [misdated
by Beckett 1937]).
10
Information on both the Entartete Kunst and the Nazi-approved exhibitions are
taken from Barron (1991, 922). It is worth noting that the Degenerate Art
exhibition attracted far more people than the one exhibiting healthy art.
11
Becketts diary entry simply records that he visited the Schreckenzimmer (GD,
23 January 1937). The exhibition was visited by 445 people before closing in July
1937. I am grateful to Wolfgang Bche at the Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg,
Halle, for confirming Becketts entry in the visitors book on the 23 January 1937,
and for providing further information on this special exhibition.
12
On the back of the painting Marc wrote: Und alles Sein ist flammend leid [And
all being is flaming suffering].
13
Letter to Gnter Albrecht, 31 December 1936. In his diary Beckett noted
with regard to these drawings: So in this form they are not poison? (GD,
19 December 1936).
14
In his excellent discussion of Becketts visit to the Hamburger Kunsthalle in
October/November 1936, Matthias Mhling illustrates this difference with
reference to the Expressionist paintings in the Hamburger Kunsthalle, where
portraits had similarly been removed and landscapes left hanging (2003, 31).
15
But not all: Beckett, for example, met Hans Posse, who was dismissed as Director of
the Dresden Gemldegalerie before becoming Hitlers chief adviser for the Linz
project, which aimed at making Hitlers home town the art capital of the world, in
June 1939. On the 13 November 1936 Beckett also visited Hildebrand Gurlitts
private collection, housed beside the Kunstverein on the Alte Rabenstrasse in
Hamburg. Gurlitt was one of the few art dealers who received a special (and after
1945, controversial) dispensation from the Nazis to carry on dealing in art.
16
Beckett proceeded to buy, only two days later, the first volume of Noldes
autobiography, Das eigene Leben (18671902), published in 1931.
17
For an exhaustive discussion and documentation of art in Hamburg between
1933 and 1945 see Maike Bruhnss meticulously researched Kunst in der Krise
214 Notes
(2001). I am grateful to Professor Bruhns for kindly responding to several

queries. See also Quadflieg 2006 and Veit 2007 for a discussion of Becketts
encounters with these artists.
18
Cf. also Becketts comment to Gnter Albrecht that Grohmann was too
interested in the phenomenon to think of exile, letter to Gnter Albrecht,
30 March 1937. Rosa Schapire expressed a similar sentiment in April 1936: ich
kann, will und darf nicht fahnenflchtig werden heute weniger denn je [I cannot,
will not and may not desert today less than ever] (qtd. in Wietek 1964, 124).
19
Franke was one of the more daring collectors, smuggling pieces by Beckmann
from Amsterdam into Germany, and he continued to deal and show modern
work throughout the war in a back room of his gallery.
20
Will Grohmann, Die Sammlung Ida Bienert Dresden, Potsdam: Mller und Kiepenheuer,
n.d. [1933]. A discussion of Ida Bienert (18701965) and her collection can be
found in Henrike Junges essay, Vom neuen begeistert Die Sammlerin Ida
Bienert (1992, 2935). Max Sauerlandts widow, Alice, gave Beckett a copy of her
husbands Die Kunst der letzten dreissig Jahre, published posthumously, which had
been banned and seized shortly after its appearance in the summer of 1935.
21
This painting is now in the Hamburger Kunsthalle (Mhling 2003, 37). In a
different context, however, Beckett dismissed what he felt to be a typically
Nordic indigested lump of naivet, which was not merely a whole nerve
complex of the mind that has never developed, nor merely a blind spot, but
this cretinosity cultivated & made participant in the statement. Besides Munch,
Beckett felt this to be operative in Nolde and Hamsun (GD, 20 January 1937).
This reference to Hamsun implies that Beckett had read parts of Knut Hamsuns
Der Ring schliesst sich (The Ring Is Closed), which he had received five days
previously from Kaun (GD, 15 January 1937).
22
Beckett noted that this painting was listed as Trauer (Mourning) in the catalogue
of the Kronprinzenpalais. It was part of the Reinhardt-Fries, completed by Munch
for the Kammerspiele theatre in Berlin. Eight of the original 12 paintings of this
frieze are now in the Nationalgalerie in Berlin, but this particular painting
appears to have been destroyed during World War II.
23
Cf. Dream: Vous mourtes aux bords . . . (144); the reference is pointed out
by Pilling (2004a, 251). Beckett further mentions the painting in conversation
with Kaun (GD, 15 January 1937).
24
Carl Dietrich Carls, Ernst Barlach; Das Plastische, Graphische, und Dichterische Werk
(Zeichner des Volkes, Band 1), Berlin: Rembrandt Verlag, 1931. The book is
listed in the Whoroscope notebook as having been sent home to Dublin.
25
Zeichnungen von Ernst Barlach (1935). On Barlachs persecution by the Nazis see
Piper 1987.
26
I am grateful to Edward Beckett for his helpful comments on Becketts use of the
bmolis. Cf. also Knowlson for a discussion of the way Beckett detected this
key in Friedrich (2002, 78). Note that Friedrichs paintings did not always fulfil
the criteria of the minor key. Beckett described the painting Kreuz im Gebirge
(Cross in the Mountains, 18071808) as appealing to the very dregs of aesthesia
(GD, 14 February 1937), and he generally approached German romantic painting
with loathing (GD, 21 October 1936). Cf. also the description in Malone Dies of
such a night as Kaspar David Friedrich loved (198).
Notes 215
27
Beckett quotes the same line in Dante and the Lobster (MPTK, 21). It also
appears in Murphy as not of breath taken but of quiet air (87).
28
Becketts passion for Brouwer dated back to at least February 1935, when he saw
a picture of a man playing the lute (Interior of a Room with Figures, 16351638) in
the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (SB to TM, 8 February [1935] and
UoR MS5001, 36r).
29
Beckett encountered Giorgione again in the Zwinger Gallery in Dresden in the
form of the Sleeping Venus (c. 1510), and spent much time and energy trying to
unravel its complicated history of attribution and restoration. He noted that
there was something fishy about the left leg of the Venus, which entered it [the
painting] like Joyces Parnell spit at the first look (GD, 9 February 1937; SB to
TM, 16 February 1937). Cf. also the entry in the Whoroscope notebook: One leg
more beautiful than the other (WN, 36r) and the reference in La Peinture des
van Velde (Dis, 119). In what is once again an instance of Becketts remarkable
memory, he also commented when seeing the Sleeping Venus: [d]ont feel like
crying (GD, 1 February 1937). He was probably remembering one of Petschs
annotations to the First Part of Faust, which cites Wickhoffs opinion that the
beautiful woman Faust sees in the magical mirror is Giorgiones Sleeping Venus.
Although Faust is moved by and desirous of the image, he does not cry. Becketts
note is in the Faust notebook, UoR MS5004, 75.
30
In his 1938 review Intercessions Beckett similarly detected in Devlins poems (as
well as in Hlderlins poem Der Spaziergang) the extraordinary evocation of
the unsaid by the said (Dis, 94).
31
Cf. also Becketts description of the painting in a letter to MacGreevy:
The Antonello . . . is stupendous the tiny figures of the quick in the back-
ground gossiping & making appointments, under a paradisal sky (SB to TM,
16 February 1937).
32
In a similar fashion Beckett admired Melchior Feselens sad old George in his
portrayal of St. George, the Dragon and St. Margaret (Leipzig), representing the
most humane version of this subject I have seen (GD, 27 January 1937).
33
Beckett mentions Witzs Ratschluss der Erlsung, inspired by the revelations of
St. Mechthild v. Magdeburg in the translation by Heinrich von Nrdlingen, in a
letter to Arland Ussher of 26 March 1937.
34
Beckett remembered Drers biographical details which he had noted in the
art notebook. After describing the Portrait of a Young Woman, painted during
Drers second journey to Italy, he humorously noted Agnes D[rer] . . . (GD,
21 January 1937), presumably remembering his note that Drers wife, Agnes
Frey, was a bitch who sent the artist to an early grave (UoR MS5001, 23v).
35
This list is taken from Heinrich Alfred Schmidts Gemlde u. Zeichnungen von
Mathias Grnewald, 2 vols., Strassburg: Verlag W. Heinrich, 1911. Beckett had
previously bought Wilhelm Fraengers study, Matthias Grnewald in seinen Werken.
Ein physiognomischer Versuch; Kunstbcher des Volkes, Band 15, Berlin: Rembrandt,
1936 (GD, 8 January 1937). Grnewalds famous Isenheimer Altar in Colmar
represented an objective of Becketts journey, but one never reached.
36
Cf. One Evening, an early version of Ill Seen Ill Said: Tableau vivant if you will
(CIWS, 121).
37
The equivalent to this in Dream had been the tableau mourant (115).
216 Notes
38
The same secular quality within a religious scene can be detected in Ewald
Dlbergs painting Das Abendmahl (The Last Supper), which Beckett admired.
The painting was owned by Becketts uncle, Boss Sinclair, who sold it to
the Hamburger Kunsthalle. It was seized by the Nazis and destroyed in 1939;
cf. Bruhns 2001, I, 108. It now adorns the cover of John Pillings Companion
to Dream.
39
In his diary Beckett lists objections to their work, together with a kind of socio-
cultural critique of the period, mentioning the fact that Nuremberg banished
Jews for over three centuries (GD, 28 February 1937).
40
Beckett noted a similar sentiment the following day: I am the tired young
man sich weinend durch die Finger sehend [who through his fingers sees himself
crying], to repeat, in Brueghels Niederlndische Sprichwrter [Dutch Proverbs] (GD,
19 December 1936).
41
For a comprehensive discussion of the painting and the history of its interpreta-
tion, see Detje 1999.
42
Although the actual proverb remained the same, its meaning was differently
interpreted. Fraenger himself pointed out that his interpretation did not please
him. Yet his view was still used in Gustav Glcks 1936 study of the proverbs in
Das Bruegel Buch (1936), which in the 1941 reprint however was changed to
He who looks through his fingers to admit further interpretations.
43
Beckett refers to it as the Simonetta portrait according to the presumption
of the time, yet the identification of the young woman in this portrait as being
Simonetta Vespucci has not been upheld.
44
This passage is anticipated by a previous allusion to Rembrandt in a description
of Lucien: Looking at his face you saw the features bloom, as in Rembrandts
portrait of his brother (Mem.: develop), emphasising the blooming effect in the
following sentence with red dehiscence of flesh in action (Dream, 116). Beckett
saw the portrait of Rembrandts brother in the Gemldegalerie in Kassel, and
the Self-Portrait with a Gold Chain (1633) and St Matthew and Angel (1661) in the
Louvre. Cf. also Pilling 2004a, 240.
45
The other Rembrandt self-portrait in Dresdens Gemldegalerie, the Bittern-
shooter (1639), seemed to Beckett a Nordic restatement of the psychologies of
Antonello Sebastian (GD, 10 February 1937).
46
For insightful discussions of these Czanne letters see Knowlson (1996, 1967),
Pilling (1997, 12936) and Tonning (2007, 446).
47
Ballmers Aber Herr Heidegger! was a response to Heideggers inaugural speech
(What Is Metaphysics?) at the University of Freiburg in 1929.
48
Letter to Gnter Albrecht, 30 March 1937. Many of the artists Beckett met in
Germany professed to having an interest in Rudolf Steiners anthroposophical
teachings, for example Karl Kluth and Edgar Ende. The Anthroposophical
Society was banned in Germany on 16 November 1935.
49
Note that this discussion of Czanne runs parallel to his reading of Rousseau, in
whom he also detected, as he told MacGreevy in the same letter (undated
[16 September 1934]), a tension between solitude (which for Rousseau was
natural) and societal interaction (unfortunately desired).
50
Letter to Cissie Sinclair, 14 August 1937. Cf. also Dreams reference to two
separate non-synchronised processes (167) and in Proust the two separate and
immanent dynamisms related by no system of synchronisation (17).
Notes 217
51
Beckett also transcribed Mauthners criticism of anthropomorphism from the
Beitrge zu einer Kritik der Sprache: Das letzte Wort des Denkens kann nur die neg-
ative Tat sein, die Selbstzersetzung des Anthropomorphismus, die Einsicht in die
profunde Weisheit des Vico: homo non intelligendo fit omnia [The last word of
thought can only be the negative act, the self-destruction of anthropomorphism,
the insight into the profound wisdom of Vico: man becomes all things by not
understanding them] (TCD MS10971/5, 4).
52
Beckett is alluding to Hobbemas The Avenue at Middelharnis (1689) in Londons
National Gallery. The Cuyp mentioned here could be any one from a number
held in London, as many of Cuyps landscapes have both a golden sky and the
flight of birds. The bird imagery here also echoes the silent birds in the forest in
Goethes Wandrers Nachtlied II.
53
Cf. also Becketts comment following a visit to the National Gallery in London,
where he saw a lot in the Segers [sic] that I had not seen before (SB to TM,
8 October 1935).
54
David Hayman has discussed this passage in the Watt notebooks with its autobio-
graphical references to Becketts trip to Germany in the context of the manuscript
evolution of Watt, in Becketts Watt, the Art Historical Trace: An Archeological
Inquest (2005).
55
As Hayman points out, Beckett originally wrote Eisenheimer instead of
Elsheimer. There is a curious precedent for this error in a letter to MacGreevy,
where Beckett refers to the German as the painter whose name I can never
remember, adding as a footnote at the end of the letter Elsheimer is the man
(SB to TM, 9 October 1936).
56
The passage is entirely based on entries in the German diaries. We have already
discussed both the Friedrich and Seghers, and the Elsheimer allusion is to
the [e]xquisite Nachtlandschaft, mit Hirten an einem Feuer [Night Landscape, with
shepherd sitting by a fire], on loan from the Louvre (GD, 18 December 1936). In a
letter to MacGreevy Beckett described it as a lovely drawing on loan from the
Louvre, water, night, wood, glades moon, and tiny fire being kindled on the
shore (SB to TM, 18 January 1937).
57
Giacometti . . . voulant rendre ce quil voit, ce qui nest peut-tre pas si sage que
a lorsquon sait voir comme lui; letter to Georges Duthuit, 10 September 1951
(qtd. in Labrusse 1990, 676).
Chapter 9
1
Anticipating the 1945 essay MacGreevy on Yeats: light . . . to the issueless
predicament of existence (Dis, 97).
2
See Tonning 2007, Chapter 6 for an excellent discussion of Becketts relationship
with Leibnizs work.
3
He talked attractively of Spinoza (SB to TM, 26 July 1936). Becketts reading
of Spinoza is too late to have had a central influence on Murphy. Critics have
however found Spinozist elements in the novel, such as P. J. Murphy in Beckett
and the Philosophers (1994, 22240).
4
During his reading of Karl Ballmers Aber Herr Heidegger!, Beckett transcribed
quotes from Rudolf Steiner into his diary and noted their similarity to the
218 Notes
Monadology, but subsequently queried [a]nd my Spinozist formulation? (GD,

20 March 1937).
5
Beckett was reading Franz Marcs Briefe, Aufzeichnungen und Aphorismen, 1920.
6
See also Porter H. Abbotts essay Narrative on Becketts art of the egregious
gap, which he argues has less to do with signifying nothing there than nothing
known (2004, 729).
7
As there are divergences between the original German letter to Kaun printed in
Disjecta and Martin Esslins translation into English, it is possible that one of the
other existing German drafts of this letter was used for the translation. Esslins
translation, for example, refers to a path of sounds suspended in giddy heights
(Dis, 172). This echoes an entry in the notes taken from Romain Rollands Vie de
Beethoven in the Dream notebook, which underlie Becketts use of the composer
in Dream: Mein Reich ist in der Luft (DN, item 1110). There is, however, no
reference to heights, giddy or otherwise, in the German version of the Kaun
letter printed in Disjecta.
8
It is noteworthy that Axel Kaun, in his capacity as editor of the short-lived literary
magazine Horizont, received a similar letter from Heinrich Bll in 1948, in
which the German author also formulated his views on literature and his position
within it.
9
When Beckett met the stage designer and actor Kurt Eggers-Kestner in Munich,
they spent a lot of time discussing theatrical productions. Eggers-Kestner became
the director of the Stdtische Bhne in Kiel in 1937 shortly after meeting
Beckett, hiring the painter Kluth, whom Beckett had met in Hamburg, as stage
designer. Together they tried to counter the prevailing cultural trend, which
led to their removal in the summer of 1939 because of Kluths design for a
production of Schillers Wilhelm Tell. Both were threatened with deportation to
a concentration camp.
10
In his essay La peinture des van Velde ou le monde et le pantalon (19451946),
Beckett is not very sympathetic towards Lessing: Ou alors on fait de lesthetique
gnrale, come Lessing. Cest un jeu charmant [Or we just deal with general
aesthetics, like Lessing. Its a charming game] (Dis, 118).
11
Cf. also Dirk Van Hulles discussion of this passage in connection with Joyces
work in his essay Nichtsnichtsundnichts: Becketts and Joyces Transtextual
Undoings (2004), which also insightfully discusses the Beethoven pauses in
Dream and the Kaun letter.
12
It is interesting to note that Becketts vocabulary in the Kaun letter has romantic
or heroic overtones (frchterlich, zerreissen, schwindelnden unergrndliche
Schlnde) in order to emphasise the importance of the task, there being no
higher goal for the writer today (Dis, 523; trans. 171).
13
Note how the bracket here acts like a transparent veil, hiding yet revealing
Becketts emphasis on the Nichts. The concept is also similar to the one Beckett
transcribed from Mauthner, probably in the summer of 1938: Die Sprachkritik
allein kann diese Pforten aufschliessen und mit lchelnder Resignation zeigen,
dass sie aus der Welt und dem Denken hinaus ins Leere fhren [The critique of
language alone can unlock these gates and show with friendly resignation that
leads from the world and thought into the void] (TCD MS10971/5, 3). Cf. also
entry 642 in Notebook A of George Berkeleys Philosophical Commentaries:
Notes 219
the chief thing I do or pretend to do is onely to remove the mist or veil of Words.
This has occasiond Ignorance & confusion (1975, 313).
14
I am grateful to Matthew Feldman for his help in locating references to the
Veil of Maya in Schopenhauer. See also Feldman 2009, 1925 for a discussion of
this issue.
15
Cf. Becketts comment to MacGreevy that the chapter in Will & Representation
on music is amusing (SB to TM, 25 August 1930).
16
As so often with Beckett, a small reference throws a long shadow. The reference
to the holder Wahnsinn derives, as Schopenhauer acknowledges, from
Wielands introduction to Oberon. When Beckett copied out details from
Robertsons History of German Literature, transcribing biographical details and
major works of a whole range of writers, he put a small cross beside Wielands
Oberon (and his Die Abderiten); TCD MS10971/1, 23v. There is, however, no
evidence that Beckett proceeded to read Wieland.
17
Beckett for example transcribed Mauthners reference to the veil of Maya in his
discussion of how reality is distorted through the metaphorical use of language
(TCD MS10971/1, 1).
18
In the figure of Johnson, Beckett found a kindred spirit who was also aware of
the phantoms of hope; cf. The History of Rasselas (1985, 39). And, as the
Addenda to Watt notes, there are limits to parts equality with whole (247).
Cf. also Krapps version of the Beckettian vision: suddenly I saw the whole
thing (CDW, 220).
19
Cf. Renards journal entry in July 1907: A man who would have an absolutely clear
vision of the void would kill himself immediately (Renard 1964, 215).
20
Cf. Schopenhauer: yet the illusion of the phenomenon soon entangles us again,
and its motives influence the will anew; we cannot tear ourselves free. The allure-
ment of hope, the flattery of the present, the sweetness of pleasure, the well-being
which falls to our lot, amid the lamentations of a suffering world governed by
chance and error, draws us back to it and rivets our bonds anew (WWI, Book
Four, 68, 490).
21
For Molloy the veil also prohibits self-awareness. Cf. his meeting with the
shepherd: All that through a glittering dust, and soon through that mist too
which rises in me every day and veils the world from me and veils me from myself
(Mo, 29).
22
The reading, it seems, was not reciprocal; Mann confesses to a friend in 1954 that
his wife had lost a copy of Waiting for Godot on a train to Italy.
23
My subsequent discussion of Becketts views on the relationship between writing
and seeing is generally indebted to Pillings essay. Beckett refers to the eye-
suicide in a letter to MacGreevy of March 1931 (SB to TM, 11 March 1931).
Cf. for example Dream, 123 and 224. For a more general discussion of Rimbaud
and Beckett, see Love (2005).
24
Becketts familiarity with Rimbauds letters can be deduced from an entry in the
Dream notebook (item 1078, no source given) citing a phrase from a May 1873
letter to Ernest Delahage. Cf. also Wylies way of looking in Murphy (54), which
was as different from Murphys as a voyeurs from a voyants.
25
Letter to Samuel Putnam, 28 June 1932. Cf. also point 5 of The Revolution of the
Word Proclamation: The expression of these concepts can be achieved only
220 Notes
through the rhythmic hallucinations of the word (Rimbaud), in transition

16/17 (1929).
26
Mr Kelly in Murphy is longsighted, or, rather, hypermetropic in the extreme
(157), whereas Sam in Watt suffers from shortsightedness, or myopia (167).
27
The glare not only originates from the external world, but can also be the
inward glare of the bureaucratic mind (Dream, 123), the glare of understand-
ing (44). Cf. also Molloy: It is lying down, in the warmth, in the gloom, that I best
pierce the outer turmoils veil (111).
28
A point also made by Pilling in Beckett and the itch to make: The Early Poems
in English (2000, 21).
29
The poem Serena II, a version of which was attached to the 4 November 1932
letter to MacGreevy rather despondently admits it is useless to close the eyes
to the clonic earth, with its phantoms shuddering out of focus (SP, 2728).
Schopenhauers inauthentic world of phenomena manifests itself again.
30
Letter to Cissie Sinclair, 14 August 1937. Cf. also Text for Nothing V, where
there is a reference to eyes staring behind the lids (TFN, 13).
31
Similarly, having spent the evening reading Rilkes Cornet, from which he tran-
scribed the expression Man hat zwei Augen zuviel [One has two eyes too many],
and thinking about the Journal of a Melancholic, Beckett noted in his diary crawl
back digne & sightless (GD, 28 October 1936).
32
This textual suicide also echoes Goethes reference to abort[ing] a little concep-
tion at its birth in Dichtung und Wahrheit (TCD MS10971/1, 68r), and Becketts
similar is it not better abort than be barren in Cascando (SP, 35).
33
Naturalistic and traditional novel seems like nature but is only surface; Rachel
Burrows lecture notes (TCD MIC60, 24r).
34
Belacqua and the creative rodent seem to be conjoined several pages later as he
fidgeted by night in the dark room and the rats were with him, now he was one
of them (Dream, 26).
35
Rachel Burrows lecture notes, TCD MIC60, 19r. Beckett also detected in
Stendhal the incoherent entity of real and ideal, between which there could
be no commerce: They coexist in state of incoherence, TCD MIC60, 50r.
36
A theory presumably deriving from Dostoevsky, who states his characters with-
out explaining them (PTD, 87). Cf. also item 917 in the Dream notebook on
Stendhal: La profondeur, linconnu du caractre de Julien [the depth, the
unknown of Juliens character], and item 906: La vie dun homme tait une
suite de hasards. Maintenant la civilisation a chass le hasard, plus dimprvu.
[A mans life was a succession of hazards. Now that civilization has removed
hazard, the unexpected is no more]. (DN, items 917 and 906). The second
quotation appears verbatim in a letter to MacGreevy of 16 September 1934.
37
See also Becketts Czanne letters, in which he discerns that the animising
mode was all right for Ruysdael but not for Czanne, having previously referred
to the ludicrous rationalisation of the itch to animise (SB to TM, 8 September
1934 and undated [16 September 1934]).
38
Cf. Becketts description of history as a fable convenue [accepted fable] in a
letter to MacGreevy dated 31 January 1938.
39
dinegant vero conceptibus, cum doceant voci universali in mente non respond-
ere conceptum universalem, sed collectionem individuorum voce designatorum,
Notes 221
TCD MS10971/6, 37r. Beckett is quoting from R.P. Gredts Elementia philosophiae
aristotelico-thomisticae, 2 vols., Freiburg i.B., 1909. Transcription and translation
provided by Matthew Feldman.
40
Nominalism further appealed to Beckett because, similar to Schopenhauers
philosophy, it was not rigorously intellectual. Mauthner, for example, argued,
as Beckett recorded in his Whoroscope notebook, that nominalism stood for
ein Gefhl, fr die Stimmung des menschlichen Individuums gegenber der
Welt. . . . Der reine Nominalismus macht mit dem Denken ein Ende [a feeling,
the mood of the human individual facing the world. . . . Pure nominalism puts an
end to thinking] (WN, 48).
41
Beckett in this essay similarly praised Joyce for avoiding metaphysical generalisa-
tion (Dis, 29). In Murphy the corresponding movement is from the general to
the particular (Mu, 37), a line that (as Chris Ackerley points out) derives from
Schopenhauer (1997, 60).
42
Letter to Alan Schneider, 29 December 1957 (Harmon 1998, 24).
43
Thus Beckett commended Alan Schneider for his production of Waiting for Godot
because he succeeded better than any one else in stating its true nature, letter
of 11 January 1956 (Harmon 1998, 8).
44
Rachel Burrows lecture notes, TCD MIC60, 18r and 42r.
45
See also Becketts reference to Chapter Six of Murphy as Murphys short
statement of his minds fantasy of itself (SB to TM, 17 July [1936]), itself in
turn an anticipation of Arsenes short statement in Watt (37). Beckett was
undoubtedly gratified to read MacGreevys comment in his review New Dublin
Poetry published in Ireland To-day: Mr Beckett gathers all his forces into single
precise statements (1937, 812).
46
In the Schiller production notebook for Krapps Last Tape Beckett also noted:
Attention excs de stylisation! (81).
47
Quoted by Pilling (2005, 56), citing the Harvey notes at Dartmouth College based
on conversations with Beckett in 1962.
48
49
Beckett had copied these three propositions, from Gorgiass On Nature, or the Non-
Existent, into his philosophy notebook (TCD MS10967, 24r).
50
Beckett contrasted his method with that of Joyce in the composite interview given
by Israel Shenker: The more Joyce knew the more he could. His tendency is toward
omniscience and omnipotence as an artist. Im working with impotence, igno-
rance (Federman and Graver 1979, 148). John Gruen in a 1969 Vogue article
similarly recorded Beckett saying, If my work has any meaning at all, it is due more
to ignorance, inability and intuitive despair than to any individual strength (210).
51
52
Rachel Burrows lecture notes, TCD MIC60, 21r and 24v.
53
As Pilling aptly remarks, for an attempt at something more genuine and direct
than Proust . . . , Dream is oddly dependent on Becketts reading (2004a, 9).
Beckett could always console himself with the knowledge that parts of A la
recherche du temps perdu were offensively fastidious, artificial and almost dishonest
(SB to TM, undated [probably late June 1930]). Cf. also Becketts distinction
between artificial Rom[antics] & Nat[uralists] [and] authentic complexity of
Prenaturalists; Rachel Burrows lecture notes (TCD MIC60, 3r).
222 Notes
54
Anticipating Becketts notes from Ernest Jones, where the treatment of neuroses
is compared with the draining of pus from cavities and abscesses (TCD
MS10971/8, 11r).
55
See also the window opening on a refuge in Watt (38) and Becketts comment
to Ethna MacCarthy during her final illness in a letter of 27 September 1958:
I suppose the best I have to do is to open for you my little window on my little
world. Becketts own monad was indeed not always windowless, as he variously
referred to looking out of the window at the old wordless world (letter to Pamela
Mitchell, 30 June 1954).
Conclusion
1
For detailed discussions of the relationship between autobiographical and
fictional narratives in the Trilogy, and the implications this has on questions
of authorship, see Frank Matton, Becketts Trilogy and the Limits of Autobiog-
raphy (1996) and Peter Boxalls The Existence I Ascribe: Memory, Invention,
and Autobiography in Becketts Fiction (2000).
2
But as Dream tells us, nothing is less like me than me (77). Cf. the first words of
the character A in an early version of Endgame: N en- - (UoR MS1660).
3
As Molloy acknowledges, these reminders, interruptions in the narrative, convey
a diary-like immediacy: My knees are enormous, I have just caught a glimpse of
them. . . . Thus from time to time I shall recall my present existence [but] only
from time to time, so that it may be said, if necessary, whenever necessary, Is it
possible that thing is still alive? Or again, Oh its only a diary, itll soon be over
(Mo, 612).
4
The hidden allusion to Goethes Prometheus and the lines Hier sitz ich, forme
Menschen / Nach meinem Bilde [Here I sit, forming men / In my image] is
surely intentional. Cf. also the reference to Prometheus in The Unnamable (305),
and Van Hulles discussion of the homunculus, the creature and Prometheus in
Beckett (2007). That the early vice-existers belonged, despite their differences,
to the same family of characters as the narrators of the Trilogy is illustrated by
Becketts remark that there are a good many degrees between him [Belacqua]
and lInnommable, but its the same engeance (letter to A. J. Leventhal, 21 April
1958).
5
For an excellent discussion of Malone Dies as a diary novel, with respect to the
intercalated narrative, merging of times of narrative and narration and the
device of the threatened manuscript, see H. Porter Abbotts essay, The harpooned
notebook: Malone Dies and the convention of intercalated narrative (1983).
6
Both Sartre in La Nause (1938) and Max Frisch in Stiller (1954) use the diary to
explore notions of identity and self-inspection. Beckett thought Sartres book,
originally entitled Melancholia, extraordinarily good (SB to TM, 26 May [1938]),
undoubtedly remembering his own efforts at writing a Journal of a Melancholic,
and recommended it to Pamela Mitchell in a letter dated 19 August 1954. There
are striking similarities between Malone Dies and Frischs diary novel, Stiller: both
Malone and Stiller are given paper in order to write the truth about their life, and
Notes 223
both invent stories in order to stop speaking about themselves (see Nixon
2010b).
7
Letter to Aidan Higgins, 7 August 1958. This comment is anticipated in a
German diary entry: To be really wortkarg [taciturn] one must know every Wort
[word] (GD, 24 October 1936).
8
This is dramatised in Waiting for Godot, as Estragon is inert and Vladimir
restless. . . . The latter should always be on the fidget, the former tending back to
his state of rest, letter to Alan Schneider, 27 December 1955 (Harmon 1998, 6).
9
Cf. Becketts question to MacGreevy: Was it then another journey from, like so
many? (SB to TM, 9 October 1936) and his response to Juliets question whether
he had worked during his holiday in Morocco in 1973: No. It was more of an
escape than a pursuit (Juliet 1995, 145).
10
As Beckett told MacGreevy: Perhaps it is Dr Johnsons dream of happiness,
driving rapidly to & from nowhere, in a portchaise with a pretty woman (SB to
TM, 26 April 1937). Cf. also Johnsons comment in a letter of 27 August 1775
to Boswell that I was . . . weary of being at home, and weary of being abroad.
Is not this the state of life (Johnson 1992, 265).
11
Letter to Simone de Beauvoir on the occasion of Les Temps modernes only
publishing the first half of La Fin, entitled Suite, but not the second half
Fin: Vous immobilisez une existence au seuil de sa solution (qtd. in Pilling
1997, 214).
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Rimbaud, Arthur (1997), Collected Poems, Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Robertson, J. G. (1902), A History of German Literature. Edinburgh: Blackwood &
Sons.
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques (1953), The Confessions. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
(1979), Reveries of the Solitary Walker. Harmondsworth: Penguin.
(19591996), Oeuvres compltes, 5 vols [Bibliothque de la Pliade]. Paris: Gallimard.
Saint Augustine (1961), Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin. Harmondsworth:
Penguin.
Sartre, Jean-Paul (1964), Nausea. New York: New Directions.
Sauerlandt, Max (n.d. [1935]), Die Kunst der letzten 30 Jahre, ed. Harald Busch.
Berlin: Rembrandt.
Schmidt, Heinrich Alfred (1911), Gemlde und Zeichnungen von Mathias Grnewald,
2 vols Strassburg: Verlag W. Heinrich.
Schnell, Ralf (1976), Literarische Innere Emigration 19331945. Stuttgart: Metzlersche
Verlagsbuchhandlung.
Schopenhauer, Arthur (1896), The World as Will and Idea, 3 vols, trans R. B. Haldane
& J. Kemp. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trbner & Co.
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Ausgabe]. Leipzig: Insel Verlag.
(1974), Parerga and Paralipomena: Short Philosophical Essays, 2 vols, trans.
E. F. J. Payne. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
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Applications, Results, Limits, Dangers. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trbner
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Harmondsworth: Penguin.
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Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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National de la Recherche Scientifique.
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Paul.
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Vogelweide, trans. Ian G. Colvin. London: Edward Arnold & Co.
Weintraub, Karl Joachim (1978), The Value of the Individual; Self and Circumstance in
Autobiography. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.
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Mller.
Wietek, Gerhard (1964), Dr phil. Rosa Schapire, in: Jahrbuch der Hamburger
Kunstsammlungen 9, 11460.
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238 Bibliography
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Kunsthaus.
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New York and Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Index
Numbers in italics refer to illustrations
Abbott, H. Porter 190, 198n. 16, and censorship, see censorship in

218n. 6, 222n. 5 Germany, censorship in Ireland
Ackerley, Chris 55, 100 and the German language 910, 16,
Adler, Alfred 40 19, 601, 68, 71, 99
Albrecht, Gnter 50, 52, 89, 90, 95, and irrationality 2, 177
137, 185, 194n. 6, 205n. 45, and the melancholic tradition 9, 38,
206n. 8, 214n. 18 424, 578, 128, 130, 143
Alverdes, Paul 91, 923, 209n. 3, and Nazism 67, 8493, 1348
209n. 4 and psychoanalysis 4, 7, 16, 3842,
Anton, Karl 86 457, 589, 97
Antonello da Messina 146, 1467 and quietism 516, 58, 746, 1702
Arikha, Avigdor 37 and sculpture 14852
Ariosto, Ludovico 106, 124, 126 and the visual arts 2, 119, 13261
Aristotle 44, 105 Beckett, Samuel Barclay Works
Asher, Claudia 87 Plays
Atik, Anne 79, 210n. 18 Eh Joe 151
Aubarde, Gabriel d 182, 187, 192 Eleutheria 42, 211n. 25
Augustine, St 13, 48 Endgame 34, 108, 116, 179,
autobiography 13, 212 202n. 14, 209n. 13, 222n. 2
Human Wishes 42, 57, 105, 107,
Bacon, Francis 27 118, 12531, 186, 201n. 49,
Baker, Phil 42, 197n. 2, 201n. 51 211n. 36, 212n. 39
Ballmer, Karl 138, 144, 1547, 156, 172 Krapps Last Tape 10, 28, 36, 124,
Balzac, Honor de 182 128, 194n. 7, 219n. 18, 221n. 46
Bargheer, Eduard 144 Ohio Impromptu 151
Barlach, Ernst 138, 141 Quad 80
Barthes, Roland 197n. 15 Waiting for Godot 42, 116, 117, 142,
Baudelaire, Charles 101 148, 201n. 50, 221n. 43, 223n. 8
Bauer, Felice 50 Poetry
Bauer, Walter 73, 95, 97, 117 Alba 179, 184
Beauvoir, Simone de 48 Cascando 46, 72, 106, 107,
Beckett, Edward 2, 214n. 26 11012, 114, 118, 185, 199n. 21,
Beckett, Maria May (mother) 7, 38, 208n. 3, 210n. 16, 220n. 32
39, 45, 99, 113, 153 Casket of Pralinen for a Daughter
Beckett, Samuel Barclay of a Dissipated Mandarin 101,
and artistic incompetence 2, 82, 143, 185, 189, 212n. 3
177, 181 Cnest au Plican 175
240 Index
Poetry (Contd) Echos Bones 7, 64, 67, 108,

Da tagte es 48, 63, 67, 110, 126, 173, 174, 180, 195n. 15,
202n. 9 196n. 2, 196n. 5, 207n. 3,
Dieppe 81 209n. 9, 210n. 17
Dortmunder 14, 184, 203n. 17 End, The 123
Echos Bones and Other Enough 116, 163
Precipitates 14, 63, 67, 158, Expelled, The 209n. 10
197n. 15, 200n. 46, 203n. 20 Fingal 196n. 4
Enueg II 197n. 3 First Love 61, 115
For Future Reference 198n. 15, For to end yet again 34
210n. 18 From an Abandoned Work 34, 175
Gnome 67, 202n. 9 How It Is 19, 129, 190, 209n. 13
Moly (Yoke of Liberty) 184 Ill Seen Ill Said 216n. 36
musique de lindiffrence 117 Malone Dies 1, 5, 24, 29, 34, 36, 79,
Sanies I 15, 194n. 4 96, 108, 122, 124, 142, 18890,
Sanies II 116 192, 204n. 37, 211n. 25,
Serena I 116, 174, 180 215n. 26, 222n. 5, 223n. 6
Serena II 195n. 4, 220n. 29 Mercier and Camier 6, 118, 187,
Spring Song 203n. 17 201n. 48
The Vulture 67, 156, 203n. 20 Molloy 34, 27, 57, 97, 100, 109,
Whoroscope 5, 21, 101 118, 142, 183, 188, 198n. 15,
Prose 200n. 38, 201n. 51, 204n. 28,
All Strange Away 108 219n. 21, 220n. 27, 222n. 3
Assumption 101 More Pricks Than Kicks 15, 37, 89,
Calmative, The 48, 188, 199n. 28, 130, 133
202n. 12, 209n. 10 Murphy 2, 3, 7, 16, 23, 24, 31, 34,
Company 30, 35 35, 36, 3940, 45, 556, 71, 73,
Dante and the Lobster 215n. 27 74, 75, 77, 94, 95, 96, 97, 100,
Ding-Dong 2, 44, 194n. 4, 197n. 15 1046, 110, 114, 115, 126, 129,
Dream of Fair to Middling Women 4, 141, 148, 15860, 162, 166, 167,
7, 8, 915, 17, 18, 23, 32, 33, 34, 177, 178, 180, 182, 185, 187, 189,
36, 37, 44, 45, 48, 54, 58, 60, 65, 191, 197n. 3, 198n. 6, 199n. 20,
66, 69, 71, 75, 80, 94, 96, 100, 199n. 23, 200n. 41, 200n. 47,
1025, 106, 108, 114, 120, 122, 201n. 48, 202n. 14, 211n. 27,
133, 134, 153, 154, 162, 163, 211n. 32, 215n. 27, 218n. 3,
1645, 173, 174, 1757, 17980, 220n. 24, 220n. 26, 221n. 41,
182, 183, 184, 186, 188, 192, 221n. 45
194n. 4, 195n. 8, 195n. 9, 195n. 12, Sedendo et Quiescendo 50, 74,
195n. 14, 195n. 15, 195n. 18, 203n. 15
196n. 4, 197n. 3, 198n. 15, Smeraldinas Billet-Doux, The 10
202n. 7, 203n. 17, 204n. 35, Stirrings Still 203n. 12
207n. 2, 208n. 5, 208n. 1, Texts for Nothing 17
209n. 9, 210n. 17, 211n. 26, Unnamable, The 118, 188, 189, 192,
213n. 6, 214n. 23, 216n. 37, 199n. 34, 222n. 4
216n. 44, 217n. 50, 218n. 7, Watt 31, 32, 33, 35, 48, 53, 67, 72, 79,
218n. 11, 219n. 23, 220n. 27, 81, 82, 83, 88, 96, 100, 110, 116,
220n. 34, 222n. 53, 222n. 2 119, 1301, 1601, 162, 164, 178,
Index 241
187, 190, 194n. 4, 198n. 10, 199n. 19, 199n. 31, 203n. 17,
200n. 36, 203n. 18, 203n. 22, 207n. 2, 207n. 4, 208n. 5,
208n. 8, 213n. 6, 217n. 54, 209n. 6, 209n. 9, 218n. 7,
219n. 18, 220n. 26, 221n. 45, 220n. 24, 220n. 36
222n. 55 Journal of a Melancholic 2, 4,
Yellow 103, 115, 194n. 15 119, 1215, 127, 130, 143, 160,
Other Works 167, 181, 192, 220n. 31, 223n. 6
An Imaginative Work! [review of Lightning Calculation 1589,
Jack B. Yeatss The 199n. 23, 200n. 41
Amaranthers] 122, 185 Sottisier notebook 54, 201n. 3,
Censorship in the Saorstat 89 208n. 10
Concentrisme, Le 234 Trueborn Jackeen 196n. 2
Dante Bruno. Vico.. Joyce 10, Whoroscope notebook 19, 40, 48,
101, 162, 163, 179 55, 61, 71, 72, 77, 78, 94, 96, 97,
Denis Devlins Intercessions 50, 73, 104, 105, 106, 108, 116, 163,
81, 107, 182, 210n. 14, 215n. 30 183, 196n. 3, 198n. 6, 199n. 19,
For Avigdor Arikha 1, 37 199n. 34, 201n. 4, 202n. 14,
Humanistic Quietism [review of 204n. 26, 205n. 38, 205n. 40,
Thomas MacGreevys Poems] 55, 206n. 2, 206n. 7, 208n. 9,
64, 116 208n. 12, 211n. 27, 214n. 24,
Letter to Axel Kaun 66, 70, 82, 215n. 29, 221n. 40
989, 111, 122, 123, 165, 167, Beckett, William Bill (father) 38,
170, 172, 178, 203n. 18, 218n. 7, 424, 53, 61, 63, 123, 153
218n. 11, 218n. 12 Beckmann, Max 139, 141
MacGreevy on Yeats 218n. 1 Beer, Ann 187
Peinture des van Velde ou le monde Beethoven, Ludwig van 73, 1656, 179,
et le pantalon, La 122, 135, 145, 218n. 11
155, 157, 215n. 29, 218n. 10 Benjamin, Walter 92
Poems by Rainer Maria Rilke 23, Benstock, Bernard 21
120, 176 Biely, Andrey 162
Proust 9, 20, 23, 29, 31, 34, 40, 43, Bienert, Ida 86, 140
47, 534, 60, 102, 143, 163, Bion, Wilfred 389, 40, 446, 51
16870, 175, 177, 179, 183, 184, Bloch, Ernst 84
186, 199n. 26, 207n. 1, 217n. 50 Blunck, Hans Friedrich 90
Proust in Pieces [review] 55 Bcklin, Arnold 153
Recent Irish Poetry 50, 64, 69, Boener, Peter 31
95, 154, 164 Bonaparte, Napoleon 21, 113
Schwabenstreich [review of Bookman, The (journal) 64
Eduard Mrikes Mozart on the Bosch, Hieronymous 134, 145
Way to Prague] 64 Boswell, James 127, 191
Unpublished Material Botticelli, Sandro 153
Clare Street notebook 19, Bouts, Dierick (the Elder) 145
467, 74, 106, 126, 129, 16972, Bowles, Patrick 82
208n. 3 Brecht, Bertolt 90
Dream notebook 21, 24, 56, 80, 83, Breton, Andr 42
100, 104, 113, 183, 184, 194n. 4, Bright, Timothie 58
195n. 11, 195n. 12, 196n. 4, Britting, Georg 95
242 Index
Brod, Max 31 Elsheimer, Adam 124, 133, 143, 159,

Brouwer, Adriaen 143, 154 1601
Brueghel, Pieter van (the Elder) 152 Eluard, Paul 165
Brueghel, Pieter van (the Younger) 142 Ende, Edgar 166
Burrows, Rachel 23, 182 Esslin, Martin 201n. 3, 218n. 7
Burton, Robert 40, 44, 57, 102, 127 European Caravan, The 101, 184
expressionism 135, 136, 13841
Campendonk, Heinrich 158
Carducci, Giosu 2, 54, 1012 Feldman, Matthew 39, 199n. 31,
Carossa, Hans 91, 935 200n. 42, 208n. 6, 219n. 14
Cecil, David 20 Feininger, Lionel 137
Celan, Paul 12 Fera, Helene 88, 138
censorship in Germany 62, 84, 8890, Fielding, Henry 23, 34
1356, 1389, 141 Fontane, Theodor 10, 48, 194n. 6
censorship in Ireland 89 Franke, Gnther 139
Czanne, Paul 154, 155, 1579, 164, Freud, Sigmund 12, 13, 16, 40, 41,
182 423, 44, 47, 198n. 12, 201n. 51
Chatto & Windus (publishers) 23, 34, Friedrich, Kaspar David 142, 1601, 190
102, 133, 184, 207n. 1
Claparde, Edouard 412 Garnier, Paul 184
Claudius, Matthias 79 George, Stefan 91
Coffey, Brian 41, 163 Geulincx, Arnold 556, 1056, 115,
Cohn, Ruby 49, 80, 130, 192, 211n. 38 144, 170, 200n. 42, 200n. 43,
Corneille, Pierre 182 201n. 48, 204n. 34
Cowper, William 20, 127 Giacometti, Alberto 159
Cranach, Lucas 143, 147 Gide, Andr 20, 22, 23, 28, 29, 30, 31,
Cuyp, Aelbert 1589 39, 49, 103, 108, 176, 179, 182,
196n. 5
Dali, Salvador 28 Giorgione 1434, 144
Dante Alighieri 74, 105, 107, 174 Goebbels, Joseph 86, 87, 89, 93, 135,
decadent art 88, 135 137, 141, 206n. 4
Defoe, Daniel 180 Goering, Hermann 85
Dekker, Thomas 104 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 21, 25,
diary writing 20, 2236, 122, 190 60, 61, 62, 6574, 767, 7982,
Dblin, Alfred 22, 88 93, 94, 105, 106, 109, 11011,
Doherty, Francis 21 144, 167, 185, 196n. 10, 201n. 1,
Dossi, Dosso 1234 203n. 17, 203n. 20, 204n. 30,
Dostoevsky, Fyodor 34, 175, 220n. 36 204n. 31, 205n. 40, 207n. 4,
Driver, Tom 181 217n. 52, 220n. 32, 222n. 4
Dublin Magazine The 67, 122 Dichtung und Wahrheit 21, 6871,
Drer, Albrecht 14, 134, 1478, 215n. 34 767, 105, 11011, 167, 204n. 31,
Durrieu, Margaritha 878, 138 205n. 40
Duthuit, Georges 132, 147 Faust 65, 66, 68, 715, 79, 80, 82, 97,
105, 106, 109, 112, 185, 202n. 7,
Eggers-Kestner, Kurt 141, 1667, 218n. 9 215n. 29
Eisenstein, Sergei 86 Wahlverwandschaften, Die 69, 93,
Eliot, T. S. 37, 107, 184 201n. 1, 203n. 22
Index 243
Gogh, Vincent van 148 Jones, Ernest 41, 58, 197n. 6, 198n. 12,
Gombrowicz, Witold 29 199n. 17, 222n. 54
Gorgias of Leontini 181 journaux intimes 22, 26, 29
Goyen, Jan van 142, 143, 159 Joyce, James 10, 212, 34, 101, 103,
Gredt, R. P. 115 162, 163, 1667, 173, 179, 181,
Griese, Friedrich 90 218n. 11, 221n. 50
Grillparzer, Franz 60, 746, 144 Finnegans Wake [Work in Progress] 21,
Grimm, Hans 901 167, 179
Grimm, Willem 138, 144, 154, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young
210n. 22, 211n. 29 Man 212, 34, 204n. 33
Grohmann, Will 48, 52, 13940, 166 Ulysses 21, 1667, 173
Grnewald, Matthias 148 Joyce, Stanislaus 22
Juliet, Charles 82, 1823
Harvey, Lawrence 102 Jung, C. G. 40
Hassam, Andrew 25
Hearn, Lafcadio 99 Kafka, Franz 22, 3031, 4950, 58
Hebbel, Friedrich 53, 78, 126 Kandinsky, Wassily 135, 139
Heidegger, Martin 155 Kaufmann, Vincent 5
Heine, Heinrich 79 Kaun, Axel 52, 62, 66, 70, 82, 87,
Heinemann, Karl 62 8990, 93, 989, 111, 120, 122,
Heraclitus 115 123, 163, 165, 167, 170, 172, 177,
Hesse, Hermann 956 178, 206n. 8, 206n. 9, 214n. 21,
Heyse, Hans 90 218n. 8
Higgins, Aidan 191 Keats, John 123, 142
Hitler, Adolf 7, 85, 87, 88, 92, 206n. 4, Keller, Gottfried 789
206n. 6, 213n. 15 Kelly, Lionel 128
Hobbema, Meindert 1589 Kempis, Thomas 8, 30, 51, 53, 556,
Hlderlin, Friedrich 60, 7983, 92, 58, 76, 97, 144, 170, 199n. 31
215n. 30 Kenner, Hugh 30
Homer 14, 102, 174 Kirchner, Ernst Ludwig 137, 139, 140
Howe, Mary Manning 8, 21, 95, 125, Klee, Paul 135, 137, 139, 166
127, 152, 185, 191 Kluth, Karl 138, 219n. 9
Hudtwalcker, Heinrich C. 140 Knowlson, James 3, 11, 38, 42, 45,
Huizinga, Johan 202n. 4 132, 133, 134, 141, 148, 181,
Hulle, Dirk Van 723, 218n. 11, 195n. 8, 202n. 7, 213n. 5,
222n. 4 214n. 5, 214n. 26
Hunkeler, Thomas 9, 1011, 112 Kraft, Adam 14, 117, 119, 134, 151
Kristeva, Julia 44
Innere Reich, Das (journal) 923
Irish Censorship Act 89 Lacan, Jacques 42, 47
Isherwood, Christopher 85 Lawlor, Sen 102, 202n. 9, 207n. 22,
212n. 3
Johnson, Samuel 21, 28, 35, 42, 46, 57, Leibniz, Gottfried 116, 156, 1623
76, 105, 106, 107, 12531, 169, Lejeune, Phillipe 28
171, 191, 196n. 10, 219n. 18, Leopardi, Giacomo 54, 100
223n. 10 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim 78, 166,
Jolas, Eugene 50 201n. 4
244 Index
Leventhal, A. J. 7, 41, 63, 171, 181 Ohlsdorf cemetery (Hamburg) 11215,

Liebermann, Max 1378 118, 119, 121, 180, 191
MacCarthy, Ethna 11, 15, 192, 222n. 55 Petsch, Robert 71, 73, 215n. 29
MacGreevy, Thomas 2, 7, 8, 10, 11, 15, Pferdmenges, Hans 91
16, 17, 26, 30, 34, 29, 40, 41, 43, Picasso, Pablo 166
44, 45, 51, 52, 558, 64, 65, 67, Pilling, John 9, 12, 13, 71, 100, 104,
68, 71, 72, 74, 76, 88, 94, 96, 103, 114, 159, 168, 173, 179,
110, 114, 116, 118, 120, 131, 195n. 11, 195n. 16, 195n. 17,
1323, 134, 138, 143, 145, 154, 199n. 19, 199n. 31, 205n. 40,
1579, 164, 174, 182, 183, 184, 207n. 2, 208n. 1, 209n. 10,
191, 200n. 46, 221n. 45 210n. 16, 211n. 26, 219n. 23,
McIntyre, J. Lewis 162 220n. 28, 222n. 53
McNaughton, James 178 Piper, Reinhard 141
McQueeny, Terence 162 Plato 105
Maeterlinck, Maurice 5 Praz, Mario 195n. 12
Mahaffy, J. P. 21 Prentice, Charles 34, 184, 194n. 1,
Mahrholz, Werner 62 203n. 15
Mleskircher, Gabriel 147 Proust, Marcel 21, 47, 53, 55, 91, 92,
Malraux, Andr 56 102, 107, 168, 183, 204n. 32
Mann, Heinrich 90 Putnam, Samuel 173
Mann, Thomas 55, 84, 88, 90, 1712
Mantegna, Andrea 146 Quadflieg, Roswitha 3, 206n. 5
Marc, Franz 135, 1367, 164, 177
Marlowe, Christopher 104 Rabelais, Franois 105
Martens, Lorna 23 Racine, Jean 39, 778, 101, 106, 141,
Mauthner, Fritz 701, 104, 187, 174, 179, 180, 182
217n. 51, 219n. 13, 219n. 17, Radden, Jennifer 44
221n. 40 Rank, Otto 40, 41, 42, 45, 205n. 40
Milton, John 44 Reavey, George 15, 24, 53, 59, 88, 130,
Minotaure (journal) 41 198n. 16
Mitchell, Pamela 190 Rembrandt, Harmenszoon van Rijn 30,
Modersohn-Becker, Paula 120, 163 143, 1534, 176
Morungen, Heinrich von 63 Renard, Jules 24, 25, 31, 107
Mller, Otto 140 Ricoeur, Paul 48
Munch, Edvard 1401, 142 Riemenschneider, Tilman 119, 151
Musil, Robert 22, 31 Rilke, Rainer Maria 22, 23, 36, 59, 84,
Musset, Alfred de 195n. 12 91, 97, 108, 11921, 163, 176,
183, 190, 220n. 31
Nazi cultural policies 84 Rimbaud, Arthur 101, 118, 1734, 175
Nazi Germany Ringelnatz, Joachim 989
New Review, The (journal) 173 Roberti, Ercole dei 123
Nietzsche, Friedrich 199n. 9 Robertson, J. G. 614, 68, 73, 746, 80,
Nolde, Emil 135, 137, 138, 140, 82, 105, 219n. 16
214n. 21 Rosenberg, Alfred 137
nominalism 70, 115, 122, 178, Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 21, 28, 29, 48,
221n. 40 52, 104, 211n. 36, 216n. 49
Index 245
Rubens, Peter Paul 15, 143 Thompson, Geoffrey 38, 46

Ruysdael, Jacob 138, 158 Thrale, Hester 42, 57, 1268
Tiedtke, Irma 92, 107, 208n. 7
Sartre, Jean-Paul 36, 223n. 6 Tieopolo, Giovanni Battista 5,
Sauerlandt, Max 136, 140, 1556 108, 190
Schapire, Rosa 114, 116, 139, 208n. 3, Titian (Tiziano Vecelli) 143, 153
214n. 18 Tonning, Erik 212n. 43, 216n. 46,
Scherer, Wilhelm 62 217n. 2
Schiller, Friedrich 67, 72, 77, 126 Trakl, Georg 98
Schmidt, Michael 20 transition / Transition (journal) 50,
Schmidt-Rottluff, Karl 116, 137, 73, 81
139, 144 Trinity College Dublin 7, 17, 18, 20, 23,
Schneider, Alan 108, 179, 221n. 43 24, 39, 61, 100, 102, 105, 114,
Schopenhauer, Arthur 9, 40, 534, 56, 115, 173, 174
60, 72, 94, 102, 107, 144, 16870, Tura, Cosimo 123
172, 173, 177, 186, 201n. 4,
205n. 40, 219n. 20, 220n. 29, Uhland, Ludwig 645
221n. 40, 221n. 41 Ussher, Arland 55, 200n. 43
Schubert, Franz 601, 64, 65, 67
Schumann, Gerhard 901 Valry, Paul 23
Schwitters, Kurt 135 Vermeer, Jan 133, 145
Seghers, Hercules 15961, 160 Vischer, Peter 134
Sinclair, Frances Cissie 15, 157, 175 Vogelweide, Walter von der 634, 67,
Sinclair, Morris Sonny 15, 39 74, 152
Sinclair, Nancy 158
Sinclair, Peggy 8, 1011, 14, 60, Watteau, Antoine 157
195n. 17 Werfel, Franz 90, 205n. 44
Sinclair, William Boss 6, 133, 216n. 38 Wessel, Horst 867
Spinoza, Baruch 76, 163 Wiechert, Ernst 91
Steiner, Rudolf 1545 Wilenski, R. H. 133
Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle) 103, 114, Windelband, Wilhelm 105
126, 208n. 5, 211n. 26, 220n. 35 Witz, Konrad 147
Stephen, Karin 39, 40 Wohlwill, Gretchen 139
Stepun, Fyodor 162 Woodworth, R. S. 16, 3940, 105,
Stieve, Friedrich 62, 177 198n. 13
Stifter, Adalbert 205n. 44 Wordsworth William 38
Stockton, Elizabeth Farley 8, 110 Wouwermann, Philips 142
Stoss, Veit 151
surrealism 39, 41, 135 Yeats, Jack B. 30, 48, 122, 124, 133,
Svevo, Italo 23 157, 185
Swift, Jonathan 103 Yeats, William B. 93
Thiel, Rudolf 92 Zilcosky, John 31

This Quarter (journal) 39, 173 Zweig, Stefan 90

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Samuel Becketts

German Diaries 19361937

Historicizing Modernism challenges traditional literary interpretations by

Informed by archival approaches to literature, and working beyond the

Samuel Becketts German Diaries 19361937

Samuel Becketts More Pricks Than Kicks

Mark Nixon 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

ISBN: 978-1-4411-5258-9 (hardcover)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Typeset by Newgen Imaging Systems Pvt Ltd., Chennai, India

Das Wort zum Zur-Tiefe-gehn,

Weisst du, der Raum ist unendlich,

List of Illustrations viii

Introduction: Becketts German Diaries 1

Appendix: Becketts Travel Itinerary 193

Figure 1 Visitors Book to the Schreckenskammer, Moritzburg,

Humanities Research Center, the University of Texas at Austin, the Board

This book series is devoted to the analysis of late-nineteenth to twentieth

Samuel Beckett Archival Material

EB Echos Bones [typescript], Harry Ransom Humanities Research

HRC Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, The University of

Notes on the Text

Extracts from Samuel Becketts letters, notebooks and manuscripts

Becketts German Diaries

of writing that in its nonfictionality adheres to different (and, moreover,

Becketts Journey to Germany 19361937

(rejected) short story Echos Bones, written in November 1933.1 And in a

Inevitably, every absquatulation (Dream, 30) entailed a subsequent return,

The German Comedy

Cultural and emotional affinities and associations are of immense importance

the play can be traced to Becketts relationship with Ethna MacCarthy as

admitting to an underlying (autobiographical, or at least extratextual)

certain aspects of her [the Smeraldina-Rima] abode in his heart . . . made

Even as the Brother Grimms machinery threatened to turn Becketts

Becketts desire to travel across Germany, then, had a variety of reasons

catch a glimpse through closing for Mittagspause [lunch break] door of

Becketts confrontation with the gloomiest memories reached a peak a

remarkable step, following the above diary entry, of compiling an overview of

Becketts German Diaries

In Becketts How It Is, the compulsive need to say it how it is is matched by

Becketts interest in biographies is evident from the outset of his writing

including his own biography in his writing. Portraits earliest conception,

to be almost autobiographical, and naturally as it comes from Jim, satirical.

on the diary to illuminate the psychology of their protagonists. As Lorna

delivered to the Modern Language Society at Trinity College Dublin, in

Indeed, Becketts choice of using the journal form in September 1936,

The German Diaries Thematic Concerns and Functions

Any attempt to discern Becketts aims in keeping a diary by focusing

and accounts of conversations. This aspect of the diary is even extended to

has frequently been related to a specifically Protestant tradition, where

feeling at the perceived lack of artistic progress, especially as Murphy was

style and precision of expression. Becketts method of recording can be set

Walk on by Teich [pond], very pretty skating scene. Then on by Neue

In its chronological retrospection the text approaches the very instance

Psychoanalysis, Quietism and Literary Waste

Trying to use words, and every attempt

T. S. Eliots use of a terminology of conflict to illustrate the artists struggle

either a personal or an aesthetic crisis. Yet turning to this new mode of

It is possible to view the German diaries as something more than just an

As Matthew Feldman has examined in his important study, Becketts

could hardly expect Beckett to resist employing the splendidly named

(SB to TM, 11 March 1931). In a further attempt to better understand this

Samuel Beckett's German Diaries 1936-1937

Samuel Beckett's German Diaries 1936-1937