The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge (in German: Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge), published in 1910, was Rainer Maria Rilke's only book-sized work of prose. It is often classified as a novel, but that is uncertain. There are no chapter divisions, the story line can seem disjointed, but it can be seen as a coherent study of ways people shelter themselves from the difficulties in the world. The narrative takes the form of a rambling novelette filled with poetic language and contains, among other things, a retelling of the prodigal son tale, a striking description of death by illness, an ode to the joys of roaming free during childhood, a chilling description of how people wear false faces with others, and a snarky comment about the weirdness of neighbors. The book has enjoyed enormous popularity over the past century and is still widely read.

The book was first published as hardcover in German by Insel Verlag in 1910 and consisted of two volumes of 191 and 186 pages, respectively. It was first issued in English under the title Journal of My Other Self.

Example passages from the book

Escape from scrutiny

The Biblical parable about the prodigal son is recreated in the book both in the outer structure and in a microcosm in which a cherished young boy felt burdened by the weight of constant attention from adults. Not yet knowing the pain awaiting most humans, and blissfully unaware of danger or time, the boy's escape to freedom with only a dog for company became a memory of pure happiness.

People have many faces

GERMAN:

"Habe ich es schon gesagt? Ich lerne sehen--ja, ich fange an. Es geht noch schlecht. Aber ich will meine Zeit ausnutzen.

Daß es mir zum Beispiel niemals zum Bewußtsein gekommen ist, wieviel Gesichter es giebt. Es giebt eine Menge Menschen, aber noch viel mehr Gesichter, denn jeder hat mehrere. Da sind Leute, die tragen ein Gesicht jahrelang, natürlich nutzt es sich ab, es wird schmutzig, es bricht in den Falten, es weitet sich aus wie Handschuhe, die man auf der Reise getragen hat. Das sind sparsame, einfache Leute; sie wechseln es nicht, sie lassen es nicht einmal reinigen. Es sei gut genug, behaupten sie, und wer kann ihnen das Gegenteil nachweisen? Nun fragt es sich freilich, da sie mehrere Gesichter haben, was tun sie mit den andern? Sie heben sie auf. Ihre Kinder sollen sie tragen. Aber es kommt auch vor, daß ihre Hunde damit ausgehen. Weshalb auch nicht? Gesicht ist Gesicht.

Andere Leute setzen unheimlich schnell ihre Gesichter auf, eins nach dem andern, und tragen sie ab. Es scheint ihnen zuerst, sie hätten für immer, aber sie sind kaum vierzig; da ist schon das letzte. Das hat natürlich seine Tragik. Sie sind nicht gewohnt, Gesichter zu schonen, ihr letztes ist in acht Tagen durch, hat Löcher, ist an vielen Stellen dünn wie Papier, und da kommt dann nach und nach die Unterlage heraus, das Nichtgesicht, und sie gehen damit herum.

Aber die Frau, die Frau: sie war ganz in sich hineingefallen, vornüber in ihre Hände. Es war an der Ecke rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. Ich fing an, leise zu gehen, sowie ich sie gesehen hatte. Wenn arme Leute nachdenken, soll man sie nicht stören. Vielleicht fällt es ihnen doch ein.

Die Straße war zu leer, ihre Leere langweilte sich und zog mir den Schritt unter den Füßen weg und klappte mit ihm herum, drüben und da, wie mit einem Holzschuh. Die Frau erschrak und hob sich aus sich ab, zu schnell, zu heftig, so daß das Gesicht in den zwei Händen blieb. Ich konnte es darin liegen sehen, seine hohle Form. Es kostete mich unbeschreibliche Anstrengung, bei diesen Händen zu bleiben und nicht zu schauen, was sich aus ihnen abgerissen hatte. Mir graute, ein Gesicht von innen zu sehen, aber ich fürchtete mich doch noch viel mehr vor dem bloßen wunden Kopf ohne Gesicht."

TRANSLATION:

Have I already said it? I am learning to see. Yes, I'm beginning to. It's still going badly. But I will make use of my time.

For example, that it had never arrived in my consciousness just how many faces there are. There are a lot of people, but many more faces, because each one has several. There are people who wear a face for a year, naturally it gets worn out, it gets dirty, it strains at the seams, it widens out like gloves that were worn while traveling. They are frugal, simple people; they don't change it, they don't even let it be cleaned. It will be good enough, they believe, and who can prove otherwise to them? Now the question of course arises, since they have several faces, what are they doing with the others? They are saving them up. There children will wear them. But it also happens that their dogs go out with them on. And why not? A face is a face.

Other people take off their faces eerily fast, one after another, and throw them away. It seems to them, at first, that they have forever, but they are bearly forty; and there is the last one already. That is in its own way naturally tragic. They are not accustomed to save up faces, their last one is done in eight days, has holes, is thin as paper in many places, and then eventually the lining starts showing, the nonface, and they go around wearing that.

But the woman, the woman: she had fallen in upon herself, over and forward into her hands. It was at the corner of the street Notre-Dame-des-Champs. I began to walk very softly as soon as I noticed her. If poor people are contemplating, one should not disturb them. Perhaps it will indeed occur to them.
 
The street was too empty, its emptiness was bored with itself and it threw the steps from under my feet away and walked around in them, here and there, as if wearing wooden shoes. The woman was startled and lifted herself out of herself too quickly, too strongly, so the face remained in the two hands. I could see it lying in them, its hollow shape. It cost me indescribable effort to stay with these hands and not to look at what had ripped itself away from them. It terrified me to see a face from the inside out, but I was yet more afraid of the bare wounded head lacking a face.

Sense of humor

Amidst the exploration of difficulties scattered throughout the book, there are surprising flashes of humor.

IN GERMAN:

"Es giebt ein Wesen, das vollkommen unschädlich ist, wenn es dir in die Augen kommt, du merkst es kaum und hast es gleich wieder vergessen. Sobald es dir aber unsichtbar auf irgendeine Weise ins Gehör gerät, so entwickelt es sich dort, es kriecht gleichsam aus, und man hat Fälle gesehen, wo es bis ins Gehirn vordrang und in diesem Organ verheerend gedieh, ähnlich den Pneumokokken des Hundes, die durch die Nase eindringen.

Dieses Wesen ist der Nachbar."

TRANSLATION:

"There is a being that is completely harmless if it passes before your eyes, you hardly notice it and immediately forget it again. But as soon as it gets into your hearing in some invisible fashion it develops there, it creeps out, as it were, and one has seen cases where it penetrated the brain and thrived devastatingly in that organ, like canine pneumococcus that enters through the nose.

This being is the neighbor."

English translations

It has been called challenging to render German lyrical poetry and prose into English because it relies so strongly on alliterative and rhythmic nuances of the German language. Thus, Rilke's works have all been translated multiple times, and the Notebooks are no exception. English translations include:

• John Linton (Norton, 1930; Hogarth Press, 1930). Originally published under the title The Journal of My Other Self.
• Mary D. Herter Norton (Norton, 1949)
• Stephen Mitchell (Random House, 1982)
• Burton Pike (Dalkey Archive, 2008)
• Michael Hulse (Penguin, 2009)
• Robert Vilain (Oxford, 2016)