“Look here! Look here! Now we final y know what we have to do!
Atlas, I completely agree with you! Believe me — you’re far cleverer than I
expected! What you’ve said — is just exactly what I always wanted to say.
We’l go right home and get rid of rich people — and that wil do the trick!
Yes — yes — that wil do the trick. Because when the money disappears,
war disappears too. Of course, of course!”
The others agreed with the hunchback and they al wanted to board
the boat immediately.
But suddenly the comfortable giant said unctuously:
“Dear friends! It’s not quite that easy! Wait! Wait! What are you trying
to do? Have you no sympathy? You haven’t gotten comfortable yet! You
haven’t borne the great dome of the heavens! You real y want to get rid of
rich people? Ugh, no! Look here! They’re al living so calmly and pleas-
antly. How could you be so cruel as to want to disturb rich people living
calm, pleasant lives? You want to hurt the rich people! Oh! Oh! Be com-
fortable, be agreeable and don’t do such a thing! In the name of the peace
that you love so dearly, don’t do such a thing!
— —
The old Indian philosophers looked at each other as helplessly as before
and didn’t know what to say.
Meekly, the hunchback said:
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PAUL S C H E E R B A R T
“Then how should we do away with war, if not by getting rid of rich
people? Atlas, I’m very confused!”
Taking no notice of the hunchback, the comfortable giant went on to
say:“Dear friends! Be humane! Anyone who has learned to bear the heavi-
est possible weight, as I have, always stays comfortable. Learn from me!
Go home and tel the rich people in the name of peace to do away with
themselves — then you won’t have to do it — and just like that, war wil
disappear. Be comfortable! Practice bearing and enduring — then you’l
grow comfortable! Humanity’s greatest representatives — among whom
you should count yourselves — have to be comfortable!”
After a little while — very gradual y — almost against their wil s — the
philosophers understood.
At which point they sailed pensively home and wrote long letters to the
rich people and distributed thick new books about war and peace to the
leisure class, thereby surprising the whole world.
They were very busy, those philosophers.
Wel — the rich people cordial y accepted the thick books and the long
letters that invited them to get rid of themselves — or at least their riches.
The philosophers grew famous and wel respected!
And a monument was soon erected in India to Atlas, the comfort-
able — a monument!
And a few rich people even gave some of their riches to the clever
philosophers!!!
And this pleased the philosophers greatly.
And in exchange for this money, the philosophers wrote many more
books about war and peace, because for their part they wanted to do al
they could to wipe out wealth . . . . . . . . soon there was no more money to
make war with, and war ended al by itself. War was then natural y — as
Atlas had said — impossible.
Money couldn’t be dumped into book writing, book printing, agitation,
advertising, and the like fast enough.
Meanwhile the philosophers waited patiently for the rich people to get
rid of themselves. Natural y — that was the whole plan!
But over time the old wise men learned to be patient, to bear and
endure, and gradual y they too became comfortable — almost as comfort-
able — as old Atlas.
— — — — —
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SELECTED SHORT S T O R I E S
Natural y, the rich people often considered getting rid of their worthy
selves and their even worthier riches. They could never quite make up their
minds, however.
So of course they kept postponing the whole business of getting rid of
things.
With time, they too had become more patient. They too had learned to
bear and endure.
“Everyone has his portion!” the good rich people thought.
And everything remained as it was.
And in the meantime the old gray heads — the philosophers — the sup-
porters of peace — died in peace.
May their ashes, too, rest in peace. . . .
Translated by Anne Posten
179
The Magnetic Mirror
Many years ago, while journeying through Scotland, I stopped off at an
old castle where I discovered, along with other curiosities, a manuscript
written in German in a delicate hand, and for a long time I paid it little
heed. The manuscript contained a meticulously precise account of the man-
ufacture of magnetic mirrors. Natural y I considered these notes merely
a graphological curiosity and gave them no further thought — either in a
positive or a negative sense.
But several years later I had the opportunity to observe a minor earth-
quake, and as chance would have it, I happened to take up this old Scottish
manuscript once more.
And now I read that magnetic mirrors can be used only in regions in
which seismographs play a role. Out of boredom, I began to construct a
mirror with magnetic properties. And I actual y succeeded . . .
No doubt you’re going to think this is al just a fairy tale. But if you
suppose you might in this way coax me to reveal a few details concerning
the manufacture of magnetic mirrors, you are mistaken.
Let me cast cold water on the hopes of those who suppose they might
be al owed to glimpse the most powerful secrets of our time in exchange
for a slice of bread and but er, by briefly relating how effortlessly I can turn
down the most remarkable offers: an American mil ionaire had heard that
I’d discovered a “new art” with the help of this magnetic mirror, and since
this American adored new art, he offered me ten American free states in
exchange for my mirror secret. I, however, sent word to him as fol ows:
You can keep your free states, my art is worth a bit more to me than your
United Beefsteaks. The man was not a little vexed by my uninhibited re-
buff, yet at the same time he couldn’t help gaining an infernal respect for
my new art. And this is exactly what should and wil be experienced by
anyone impudent enough to try to possess this new art in exchange for just
a few free states — the new art or the magnetic mirror — which amounts
to the same thing . . .
First pubished as “Der Magnetische Spiegel” in 1904 in Kunst (Art), the short-lived Viennese
magazine “for art and everything else,” edited by the writer Peter Altenberg. The illustrations
by Paul Scheerbart that accompanied the original publication are reproduced here.
181
PAUL S C H E E R B A R T
Yes — but if you wish to gain an approximate idea of this magic mir-
ror, you need only think of the magnetic mirrors so often invoked in the
Romantic period. Seen objectively, these mysterious mirrors are nothing
more than mere reflective metal plates.
But when a metal plate that has been produced accor
ding to specifica-
tions is placed in just the right position during an earthquake, observing
the plate with a special y prepared magnifying glass wil reveal an excep-
tional y riveting image. And anyone who is capable of copying these im-
ages more or less correctly wil have discovered the “new art.”
There’s just one problematic aspect to al this: the mirror can only be
made use of in a region susceptible to earth tremors. And since addition-
al y the mirror shows its mysterious properties only at critical junctures,
this new art, as all will quickly agree, is connected with constant mortal
danger.
But I did not hesitate to put my life on the line in this mat er, and until
now I’ve had no cause to regret it.
When the image that is reproduced here as Number 1 appeared in my
mirror, my first thought was that it was some sort of joke. Soon, however,
I was shown the error of my assumption: the lips of the head whose eyes
were fixed on me began to tremble, and then very faint words reached my
ear, often interrupted by rustling, crackling sounds. Our conversation went
approximately like this:
THE HEAD: If only I could get my moustache to turn up!
ME: But the tips have turned into balloons; the bal oons must exert a
lifting force. (I too was speaking quite softly.)
THE HEAD: I live in another sphere, where the law of gravity doesn’t
apply.
ME: Wel — why don’t you try a moustache guard?
THE HEAD: My bal oons are very delicate and sensitive to pressure.
ME: Could you perhaps tel me why you are so intent on having your
moustache turn up?
THE HEAD (quite hastily): But homunculus, do you real y not see that
I am being attracted by the Earth’s atmosphere and thus made to suffer
al those things terrestrials have to suffer right now? I am merely a sort of
human barometer for you — wasn’t that obvious immediately?
ME: How am I supposed to take that? Nowadays nearly everyone wears
his moustache pointing up.
THE HEAD (again quite hastily): But homunculus, have you real y
not yet noticed that outer appearances almost never correspond to inward
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SELECTED SHORT S T O R I E S
states? On the outside, fil ed with courage — on the inside cowering with
fear! That’s so often how it is.
ME: In other words, you symbolize our time?
THE HEAD: But homunculus, do express yourself more precisely and
say that I am a symbol to you. The state being forced on me at present is
only temporary. Everything passes — your life too wil pass.
ME: Not much of a consolation!
THE HEAD: But homunculus, do you real y consider your current state
so enviable and admirable that it ought to last forever? You are mistaken,
however, if you suppose me to be an old philosopher — I am merely a trav-
eling salesman in the shoe business — hence the moustache.
ME: So there are shoes in your sphere? But you don’t have a body.
THE HEAD (harshly): Sir, I have no ears either, for that matter — you
can see what I look like — so stop asking about things that go beyond your
sphere.
ME: So what should I ask?
THE HEAD: You have no courage either. On the outside, fil ed with
courage — on the inside cowering with fear!
After this I perceived lightning flashes in al the extremities of this appa-
rition — then there was a loud bang, and I fel off my chair onto the floor;
another strong seismic shock had hit — and my mirror had shifted from its
position and now showed only my own head when I looked into it rather
than that of the traveling shoe salesman. But I had copied the gentleman
during our conversation.
The other images came about under
similar circumstances. Numbers 2 and 3
were powerful fury demons, 2 inveighed
against the stupid, and 3 against scholars.
Unfortunately these conversations can-
not be reproduced, as the language they
Nr. 5
Nr. 4
Nr. 2
Nr. 3
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PAUL S C H E E R B A R T
contained was so strong; such words as “knave,” “balderdash,” and “dun-
derpate,” etc. did not appear in our conversation; the curses uttered in the
mirror were at least one hundred times stronger than the above-mentioned
epithets.
The two furious gentlemen also claimed to symbolize the mood of great
hordes of people.
Number 4 made the same claim and told me she was a symbol of the
modern artist. She could easily pul her fur hat al the way down over her
face, and you’d think she didn’t have a head at al — but she did.
Number 5 claimed she was compelled to be silent al the time — yet she
was constantly crying out:
“I shal say nothing more!”
“I shal say nothing more!”
I shal al ow myself to fal in with this sentiment and act in accordance
with it, although I find it rather difficult, seeing how many secondary mat-
ters I have not yet touched on and considering my fear that I may not have
made the symbolic character of the “new art” sufficiently clear. Mean-
while — Number 5 is having such a powerful effect on me that I cannot
help acting and speaking as she does. Let us hope her influence wil not
Translated by Susan Bernofsky
184
Transportable Cities
In Colombo I made the acquaintance of the American architect Cashling.
He regaled me with marvelous tales of America and did not fail to remark
from time to time, looking at me with pity: “After al , you’re just a Euro-
pean and stil a bit behind in world history.” Every time he said that, I
blushed.
Above al I was impressed by what he told me about transportable
cities.
This is what Mr. Cashling had to say about them:
“In Europe, people have a total y false idea about America; al the
things European newspapers say about us are mere trivialities — we were
never much interested in Cook or Peary — and the North Pole doesn’t
concern us. The Northern Lights with their magnetic storms did recently
arouse a flurry of excitement among our scholars. But we don’t real y care
about sports. On the other hand, we’re al ears when major scientific or
artistic developments emerge. And our mil ionaires pay huge sums for
things of this sort. And so two years ago I was asked to construct a trans-
portable city. What a commission! Fifty mil ionaires provided the funding.
By no means a paltry sum. Once we have final y gotten our hands on
lightweight building materials, and with the help of the automobile and
dirigible industries, a transportable building wil be easy to produce. Al
you need are three large automobiles. With three hundred automobiles,
then, a city of one hundred buildings can be constructed and then relocated
again and again. This, of course, wil be modern nomadic culture. At the
beginning of culture, man was a nomad, and in the end he wil be a nomad
once more. This is probably how Richard Wagner would put it if he were
&nb
sp; stil alive.”
After this, Mr. Cashling showed me a series of smal photographs in
which his transportable city could be seen in various landscapes. And as
he did so he went on:
“After al , nowadays it’s obviously no fun waking up every morning and
seeing the same old garden. This is no longer in keeping with this rapid
First published as “Transportable Städte” in November 1909 in the literary magazine Die
Gegenwart (The present), Berlin.
185
PAUL S C H E E R B A R T
age of ours. In the twentieth century, people have acquired a cometlike
nature — which explains al the traveling about and the boom in industries
involving vehicles of transport. But doesn’t it seem rather odd to you that
in Europe no one has yet hit on the idea of constructing transportable
cities? I find that very odd indeed! Wel — we in America are a bit farther
along in world history. We already have somewhere around one hundred
transportable cities. And al of them are wel -armed — especial y with
machine guns — so they’l be able to defend themselves against robbers
and Indians. In less than half an hour, my city would always be built up
again in some new terrain. Most of the automobiles could serve as build-
ing material without having to be entirely dismantled. And gardens with
fountains and terraces would be set up right away. And you should see the
practical, lightweight furniture!”
I have to admit I was seized with envy — envy made me turn quite
green — Mr. Cashling told me I was turning quite green.
Translated by Susan Bernofsky
186
Glass Theater
“We have shadow plays, and motion pictures are light plays. But color
plays are something we have never before seen on stage, unless you count
the kaleidoscopic tales of the Laterna Magica; color can be shown to its
ful advantage only by diamonds and glass.”
These words were spoken not by a master glazier, as you might imag-
ine, but by the wel -known theater director Roderich Bäcker.
“What you’ve just said,” I now replied, “is not particularly clear. We’ve
seen diamonds on the stage by the thousands. I believe there is not a single
diamond anywhere on Earth that hasn’t sparkled on a stage on at least one
occasion. And glass appears on stage quite frequently as wel . And — with-
out glass no color? No doubt the oil painters wil be delighted to hear this