CHESTNUT TREE
27
the only relationship I could establish between these trees, these iron
gates, these pebbles. In vain did I try to
count
the chestnut trees, to
locate them in relation to the Velleda, to compare their height with
that of the plane trees: each one of them evaded the relationships in
which I tried to
fix
it, overran them, isolated itself. I felt how arbitrary
they were, these relationships (which I stubbornly maintained in order
to delay the collapse of the human world- the world of measure–
ments, quantities, directions) ; they no longer made an impress on
things. Superfluous the chestnut tree just in front of me there, and a
little to the left. Superfluous, the Velleda....
And
!-dispirited, listless, obscene, digesting, bandying about
gloomy thoughts-! too was superfluous. Luckily I did not feel it–
it was largely a matter of understanding-but I was uneasy because
I was afraid of feeling it (even now I am afraid, afraid that it might
take me by the back of the head and lift me off my feet like a big
wave ) . I considered vaguely doing away with myself, so that at least
one of those superfluous existences might be eliminated. But my death
would have been superfluous. My corpse, my blood on the stones,
among the plants, here in this inviting garden; and the worm-eaten
flesh in the ground that received it; and my bones, too, cleaned and
stripped, as slick as a tooth, would still have been superfluous: I was
superfluous for all eternity.
My pen now traces the word Absurdity; a little while ago, in
the park, it did not occur to me, but neither did I look for it. I did
not need it: I did not think with words then, but
on things, with
things.
Absurdity was not an idea in my head, nor a spoken sound,
but that long dead snake there at my feet, that wooden snake. . . .
Whether snake or claw or root or vulture's talon, what does it mat–
ter? ... And, without formulating anything clearly, I knew that I
had found the key to Existence, the key to my Nausea, to my own
life. Actually, everything that I came to understand later can be
reduced to this fundamental absurdity. Absurdity: another word; I
am struggling with words; back there, I touched the thing. But I
should like right here to settle the absolute character of this absurdity.
In the bright little world of men a gesture or an event is absurd only
relatively, relative to the circumstances accompanying it. The ravings
of a mad man, for instance, are absurd relative to the situation, but
not relative to his madness. But, just now, I experienced the absolute:
the absolute or the absurd. That root, there was nothing relative to
which it was not absurd. Oh! How can I put it into words? Absurd:
relative to the pebbles, to the tufts of yellow grass, to the dry mud,
