Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard 113
sense the result is, of course, the same ; but from an artistic point of view there is a world of difference between some- thing ceasing or simply coming to an end, and it being broken off by one's own free will — whether it is a mere oc- currence or a passionate decision; whether it is all over, like a school song, because there is no more to it, or whether it is terminated by the Caesarian operation of one's own pleasure; whether it is a triviality every one has experienced, or the secret which escapes most.
Constantin's flinging his beaker against the door was in- tended merely as a symbolic rite ; nevertheless, his so doing was, in a way, a decisive act ; for when the last glass was shattered the door opened, and just as he who presump- uously knocked at Death's door and, on its opening, beheld the powers of annihilation, so the banqueters beheld the corps of destruction ready to demolish everything — a me- mento which in an instant put them to flight from that place, while at the very same moment the entire surround- ings had been reduced to the semblance of ruin.
A carriage stood ready at the door. At Constantin's in- vitation they seated themselves in it and drove away in good spirits; for that tableau of destruction which they left be- hind had given their souls fresh elasticity. After having covered a distance of several miles a halt was made. Here Constantin took his leave as host, informing them that five carriages were at their disposal — each one was free to suit his own pleasure and drive wherever he wanted, whether alone or in company with whomsoever he pleased. Thus a rocket, propelled by the force of the powder, ascends at a single shot, remains collected for an instant, in order then to spread out to all the winds.
While the horses were being hitched to the carriages the nocturnal banqueters strolled a little way down the road. The fresh air of the morning purified their hot blood with its coolness, and they gave themselves up to it entirely. Their forms, and the groups in which they ranged them- selves, made a phantastic impression on me. For when the morning sun shines on field and meadow, and on every crea- ture which in the night found rest and strength to rise up
