English Translation

41 The house "to the Kissing Pfennig", to which he was now striving, lay between the narrow Adlergasse and the dark Hafnersteig, and his apartment was at the top of the fourth Stcck. When Stcckewerk's stairs went up long to Stceckwerk, ncch captured him with the thoughts he carried in from the outside. He knew better than everyone, even as the two friends: as a writer he was ncch Rikättznt Dilettant. Whether he would ever bring it any further?As a painter he still hoped to achieve something. Then he knew his limits, and his talent, felt safe in unfolding. But writing? The space in which he had been vcrstiess for a few months was limitless. The images and themes that came to him like a flood of water through the just opened lock, and the feeling that everything could surround him, devour, destroy him, lurked behind every series of thoughts. For bordering cs was also the claim he put on his work, on every smallest part, especially on himself. But as soon as he reached into the train of the Shemen who came out of the Infinite, everything became reverential and grainy. He knew himself and forced the accuracy of the individual firmly and relentlessly into the conkdeten moment. What were all the thecretic killings? He was now almost thirty-six years old, had a woman, but he had no profession. And that's why he first painted pictures around the picture, so he recently wrote stories about the early articles for the journals and magazines, just to earn the few guilders they both needed. The return of the private lessons, which he gave to the children of better people, could never be enough. He remained deeply breathing on the first stairwell. What was he actually? A starting legal student, a