Anarchistbanjo's World

Homo Sapiens: In the Maelstrom by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Have you ever thought about this terrible riddle, about the human? No, of course not. You are an anarchist, so strictly speaking an heir of the free-thinking brain that produced materialism and eudaimonistic ethics, yes you are the heir of a world view that… But do you know this one wonderful passage from the *Confessions* of Saint Augustine? 

Just listen: ‘There people go and admire high mountains and wide sea floods and powerfully roaring rivers and the ocean and the course of the stars, but forget themselves beside it.’ 

Yes, you see: the bourgeois brain has forgotten the human. He must now be discovered anew! But to discover him, one must first unlearn the ridiculous overestimation of the idiotic macrocosm, the astonishing achievements of the natural sciences, one must regain the childish sense that can see the terrible and mysterious, the depth and the abyss, not only see, but marvel, feel fear and horror and despair before all of it…”  

“Ha, ha, I idiot… Yes, you are right to put on this superior smile. Yes, of course. You, you—what are you actually? Followers of the materialistic world view, you have naturally solved all riddles… Well, no offense, I understand very well that your world-embracing ideals of humanity leave you no time to ‘lovingly immerse’ yourself in such a trifle as the human—the expression comes from the *Berliner Tageblatt*, ‘your thorough action’—the expression is from the same source—does not allow you to waste your time uselessly. Ha, ha, ha…” 

“Do you really not want to drink? Pity, great pity, I actually cannot stand people who don’t drink. 

But you seem curious. You would probably like to learn something personal about the mysterious Herr Falk who sent you money for social agitation, pamphlets and proclamations to incite one class against the other. Ha, ha, ha… Incitement! isn’t that what it’s called officially… But I don’t want to speak of myself at all, I want to speak only of objective questions… Ha, ha, ha… 

You see: that is for example very interesting, how a person can change under the influence of a trifle. Trifle, I tell you. Ridiculous little thing. I was with Iltis yesterday, I study him namely. He got married. His wife is the most wonderful woman under the sun. Quite extraordinary woman. Now, you see: she could hardly have sensed earlier that she would become his wife in two years say. Isn’t that so? One cannot sense such a thing over the distance of large time spans. Yes, so back then, when she could not yet sense Iltis, she fell in love. Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t she fall in love? She also gave herself to the man she loved. That is natural. You don’t blame her for not waiting for the state concession first. But I don’t want to judge logically, for otherwise I would only find it beautiful. But since the woman always exists in relation to the last man, and the last man does not like to find such earlier encroachments on his priority rights beautiful, so—yes, for all I care I say that it was not beautiful of Iltis’ wife to act so prematurely. 

So: Iltis—no, I don’t know exactly if it is Iltis, no, my head is a bit confused, it is probably someone else. Let’s call him Certain. That even sounds very nice. I am quite delighted with this marvelous idea. Just think: Certain! So this Certain falls in love with the woman who has already eaten the paradise apples forbidden to chaste virgins, and marries her. Naturally she confessed everything to him. But he! Good God, over such trifles he as a modern person and former head of the wildest bohemia will not get upset. Interesting, isn’t it? But afterwards he recollects himself. In his soul a small tiny gap opens that emits a strange feeling of discomfort. Certain sits down, or no! he lies on his resting sofa, crosses his arms under his head and broods. There was already one there who possessed the woman. That is strange! The same flattering names she says to him she has already whispered in another’s ear, she has already lain around another’s neck, another has already pressed this body to himself… But to thunder, what is that? Certain jumps up quite startled. It seems to him as if the small gap is actually a small wound that has become inflamed and now causes unheard-of torment. But ridiculous! Certain is quite furious that he can get upset over such natural, yes, sanctified by the secret purpose of nature self-evidentness… Yes, he explains the thing to himself crystal clear and forgets it. He is even very glad that he so energetically rejected these posthumous demands of his sexual organism. He stretches, trills a shepherd song, ah, how idyllic—but with the evil powers—well, you know your Schiller. Certain becomes restless anew. A certain tormenting curiosity overcomes him. He goes to his wife, is incredibly amiable, kisses her hands, flirts with her, talks about this and that, then suddenly asks, so en passant, with the most innocent, most indifferent expression in the world: You, what was your first man actually, blond or black haired? The word “man” he pronounces without knowing with a strange emphasis. It is hate, rage, curiosity, everything you want. 

Yes, he was black, but had strangely blue eyes. 

Certain twitches involuntarily, he is so irritated that he cannot talk further about it. He is completely beside himself, he cannot understand at all what is happening… 

Ha, ha, ha, poor Certain; I will admit that he is incredibly ridiculous, but that’s how the stupid fellow is made. He also doesn’t want to think further about it. No, he doesn’t like to. He has forgotten the whole thing for a few days. But then suddenly it comes again, only more violently, more painfully. It is almost like pleasure to torment oneself, to have the wound torn open quite brutally… I leave open the question in what physical and psychic causes this self-tormenting curiosity may be grounded, but it is there. He must interrogate his wife, naturally with the necessary psychological tact, only so as not to let on that anything matters to him. 

So he asks, so casually, only for psychological interest, about the closer circumstances. He gets to know them, naturally, why not? He has spoken so beautifully and so enthusiastically to her about free love relationships. He, he—they are both so-called modern people who have long gone beyond such ridiculous prejudices. 

Whether she had loved him? She thinks a little. Oh yes, she loved him, very much. Certain trembles and tries to control himself. The closer circumstances? My God, they are always the same! and she laughs. He naturally laughs too. But she should tell him in detail, it is so extremely interesting, and she comes so close to him thereby if he knows her life in the smallest secret corner exactly. She resists, but finally gives in… The black haired one had asked her to prove her love to him… just note, Herr Czerski, how I will now paraphrase everything… she herself had also understood that this—do you understand this mysterious “this”?—was the only proof of love. 

From the throat of poor Certain suddenly comes a strange whistle that he eagerly undoes with subsequent coughing. 

So he had asked her for this “this”—she should just think it over well—just think what an exemplar of wise magnanimity this black haired gentleman must have been! 

“You naturally during the whole time in which you should think over this decisive ‘this’ didn’t think about it once?” Certain is namely a psychologist. 

“No, I only felt that it had to come, I could, I didn’t need to think about it: it was necessary.” 

“For you or for him?” Certain namely rages with malicious fury. He has a fabulous desire to roar so that his lungs burst. Why, he doesn’t know. 

She didn’t quite understand what he meant with his cynical question and looks at him with big eyes. You know: with eyes that are actually only a burning, suspicious, a little contemptuous question mark. 

Certain immediately comes to himself. He almost awakened her mistrust. He now becomes very cautious. 

Now he asks further with a certain nonchalant bonhomie and learns gradually pretty much everything worth knowing. The dynamic mechanics of love is almost always the same, there are certain unbreakable moments… He, he, he… 

But now it overflows in the stupid Certain. He cannot hear further. He has a maniacal, unconquerable desire to throw the woman to the ground and beat her dead with his fists. 

Does he do it?