by A G Mogan
“I am done talking to you, and forbid you to ever bring up this subject in my presence again.”
She heads for the door, touching her chest with the sign of the cross, and then in the air in my direction. I burst into hysterical laughter, but she has already disappeared behind the door, putting an end to my harangue.
So, Raubal was right. In that horrible dream, he was right to say that I would lose my faith in God. And yet, only the God of the Old Testament is lost from me, only the God the Jews invented is crucified within my soul.
Also, the books and the newspapers in Vienna were right. I berate myself for thinking at first that those anti-Semitic newspapers were just spreading poison, for regarding them more as the products of jealousy and envy rather than the expression of a sincere feeling. But they were right. Oh, how right they were!
Gobineau’s words suddenly ring in my head: The clergy were forced to make use of pious frauds, and their ingenuity replaced the deities of wood, meadow, and fountain, with saints, martyrs, and virgins. The result is obedience, and the obedience, bare of all genius, virtue, freedom, and truth, makes slaves of men and of the human frame a mechanized automaton.
Ah! The Jews … always the Jews! I wonder how many other lies have been perpetuated by this corrupted race, contorting our lives to such a degree that we’re no longer able to separate truth from deception. How much longer must we suffer at their blackish hands, and for how long will our gullible souls continue to be enslaved by their primitive subterfuges? And if Raubal was right, would Father’s prophecy also come to pass? Would I go blind?
I had wanted answers and had found them in the so-called holy book. Not the ones I was hoping for though, but some very different ones. And what keeps ringing in my head since that moment, all that returns over and over to my thoughts, is not the image of a kind, smiling God, not the image of a benevolent force that answers all my prayers and curbs my misery, but the image of … Wagner, of Nietzsche, of Gobineau. The moral of those old German mythology books, of the great master’s operas, and of those works of brilliant thinkers makes all the sense in the world now.
They’ve been saying it to us all along … the first people in Eden were Aryans. And then, in the fatal hour that was to disturb all the peace, wellbeing, and greatness of these great people, they were attacked by the Serpent, by the Devil himself, who, wearing the Jewish cloak, spoiled their purity for eternity, subjugating them in the clutches of the original sin. For the original sin of mankind lays in crossbreeding! The sin against blood and race is the hereditary sin in this world and it brings disaster on every nation that commits it! The geniuses knew it all along, and now I know it, too.
If only I were given the chance to fight for the destruction of the Devil, then I would fulfill the work of the one true Divinity.
Poisoned Roots
In the first week of February 1908, I leave Linz behind and return to Vienna. Emotions of relief fill me when I hear the train’s whistle. The actual departure helps me leave behind the sorrow this city has cursed me with. If the first time I left Linz I had reasons to look back and weep, I resolve now to only look forward and leave the bitter tears behind me.
My adopted city manages to keep me within its gates for the next five years. They will prove to be the worst of my life. As much as I admired the city on my first visit, I begin to hate it with equal intensity. Here, I will live the most degrading human experiences. I will sink into the depths of poverty, with hunger as my only loyal companion.
Ah! I am getting ahead of myself, and it would be such a pity to leave this special afternoon unrecorded!
Right before I left Linz, I did my best to convince Gustl’s parents to allow him to move to Vienna and try his luck at the Conservatory. I argued that a life spent in an upholstery shop would be a wasted life, a regretful squandering of his artistic talents. Gustl, acquainted all too well with my powers of persuasion, had entreated me to advocate on his behalf. It proved to be one of the best decisions he ever made, as in the end, his parents relented. So, shortly after I return to Vienna, my friend follows me to the great metropolis.
On the day of his arrival, I throw my black coat over my shoulders, grab my ivory-handled cane, and step into the busy street. Allowing the end-of-winter breeze to caress my face and ruffle my hair, I can already sense the coming of spring, of sun, of new beginnings. I head for the train station to collect Gustl. Once he arrives, I ignore his visible fatigue and drag him to the Ring Boulevard. Getting into the role of a tour guide, I present the wonders of the City of Music, the splendid architecture of the Baroque castles and gardens, and the grand buildings, monuments and parks. It is late evening when we finally arrive at my tiny, kerosene-stinking room.
We make a feast of the food he has brought and make plans for the next day. We must find a room for him, as mine is too small to accommodate two people — plus a piano, which Gustl is planning to rent. Yet our search proves unlucky, as the rooms we find are either too small, too large, too expensive, or too far away from each other. The final solution comes from my landlady, who suggests we take her larger room, for double the rent, of course. We immediately agree.
Five days pass in a festive mood. I pig out on the leftovers: cold pork, cheese, rice pudding, and red wine, when my friend storms in the room, screaming his head off.
“I was accepted! I am a student at the Conservatory!” He runs to me and clasps me in his arms. “And guess what? Not only was I accepted, but I was also offered a job as a violist on the Orchestra! How marvelous is that?” His eyes are dancing, shooting out shimmering beams of happiness.
I pull away as dark thoughts begin to slither into my head.
“I had no idea I had such a capable friend,” I say coldly, confused by the strange feelings taking over me.
“How flattering a response, Adolf.”
Taken aback by my dispassionate reaction, he turns his back on me and, sitting at his newly-rented piano, he begins hammering out a merry tune.
My blood begins to boil. “Ah! This eternal noise! One can never be safe from it!”
I plunge into a maze of contradictory feelings. Why had I reacted that way? After all, I yearned for Gustl’s company for so long! Wasn’t I the one who encouraged him to pursue his dreams? I, who pushed him to apply at the Conservatory? Yes. And yet, even though his success makes me happy, I also hate it, because it reminds me of my own failure. And yes, I have the courage to say it: I hoped that he would be rejected. He is no better than me, it’s a sure thing that I am more intelligent and talented, and yet he gets to carry the garland. I envy him. Actually, at this point, I almost hate him.
Again and again, Father’s image hurtles toward me from his grave, always, always, the damned customs official returns to humiliate me and to remind me of what a loser I am.
I wonder if Gustl and I can continue to remain friends, now that our individual achievements dig this enormous gap between us.
“I’m the same, you know... ” he says, as if hearing my thoughts.
”Nothing will ever change me. You remained the same after your success at the Arts, haven’t you? What makes you think I would be any different?” he continues, unaware of my truth.
My face turns livid. “That damned Academy! A bunch of fossilized civil servants, idiotic bureaucrats lacking even a decent understanding in the arts! I ought to blow up that whole Academy!”
“But why? Why such hatred, Adolf? After all, those fossilized officials are your teachers, and you will learn a lot from them.”
“No, they aren’t! They rejected me! They threw me into the street! They turned me down!” My eyes are bulging, my mouth spitting saliva with every word.
“What? No!”
“Yes!”
He covers his opened mouth and the expression of bewilderment and pity infuriates me further. “I am so, so sorry! Did your mother know?”
“Are you stupid, Gustl? Really, are you? How could I have burdened the poor dying woman with such a thing?”
“You’re dumb.”
“And now? What are you going to do now?” His questions reverberate in my head.
“And now what, now what! Are you beginning with this, too? Now what! Use your brain for once and shut that blasted mouth of yours!” I yell nastily, burying my face into the book I pull out from underneath the pillows.
“Forgive me, Adolf ... I am really sorry, for everything… ”
“Forget it,” I say and force him into silence with an angry gesture of my hand. Forlorn, orphaned, rejected by the Academy, and with little prospect for changing my present situation, I curse the social injustice of this ancient imperial city.
“What are you reading?” he asks after a brief pause.
“Nothing you’d understand.”
“Come on, Adolf, what are you reading?”
“Nietzsche.”
“Is he interesting?” he insists, trying, as usual, to make amends for infuriating me.
“He loathed Christianity, so yes, he is.”
“Really? What does he say?”
“Come on, Gustl! Quit playing this womanish game! Are you really interested or just trying to waste my time again?”
“No, no, I would really like to know.”
I pierce him with my stare for a few moments.
“Well … he calls Christianity the one great curse, the one innermost perversion, the one immortal blemish of mankind. He says one does well to put on gloves when reading the New Testament, being in the proximity of so much filth … the most fatal, seductive lie that has yet existed.”
“That’s hilarious. He is a funny man!”
“Was. He is dead. And I see nothing funny in his statement.”
“Oh … ”
“He is so bloody right to state that the cowards and ineffectual scoundrels professed meekness as a virtue, and the sole means to take revenge on the strong! Can’t you see the genius in this whole Christian meekness invention? The best tool to subdue the strong and conquer them! The cunning rascals! They invented the morality of slaves!”
My temper mounts to an unbearable degree and I begin pacing our cramped room. My cheeks burn, my heart pounds. I wish I had known all of this before Mother died. I wish I had told her the truth about her fake God, let her know she’s been praying to the wrong deity all along.
“Would you like me to play some Wagner?”
“Listen here! The human being who has become free, spits on the contemptible type of well-being dreamed of by shopkeepers, Christians, cows, females, Englishmen and other democrats. The free man is a warrior! We must surpass the democratic herd, Gustl, and become Supermen, become übermenschen! True Übermensch Warriors!”
He smiles. “Well, I’m afraid I am not free then.”
“And this warrior superman must be the Master of the Masses setting forth philosophies of a new kind, to demolish the old vermin in this world!”
“Ok, but if you could calm down a bit … ”
“Are you mocking me, you idiot?” I yell, pushing him over his bloody grand piano, then storm out of the room. What a fool! Only fools surround me! I shall die of their stupidity, which spreads like a damn fungus!
I walk to the Ring Boulevard, cursing and fumigating, circling the old city center at least a dozen times. As usual, walking subsides my anger and only then am I able to return to the room.
The following day, reconciled with my friend, we go to the city center to watch the king’s Diamond Jubilee procession. Here, I am irrevocably initiated in what is to become my terrific hatred for the giant gulf reigning between the social classes. Mingling with the gypsies that steal from German pockets, we stare like idiots at the splendor emanating from the nobles and the rich. This does nothing but make me even more aware of our room’s moldy, cracked walls, of the furniture infested with cockroaches and mice, and of the poisonous smell emanating from the kerosene lamp, our only means of illumination. Even the sun shines only over the rich.
Like us, thousands or even hundreds of thousands of slobs are living the same neglect, the same depravity. The magnificent villas with lavishly attired servants posted at their gates and the hotels in which all the magnates, industrialists and tycoons of Vienna give sumptuous parties, serve only to remind me of the hunger I permanently feel in my stomach, and of the unhealthy conditions in which I am forced to live.
And the annexation of Bosnia, decreed at the Jubilee, makes me sense the smell of impending war. Yes, as early as these days, thanks to my growing passion for politics, I can sense the imminent danger of rebellion, of uprising, as Great Britain and Russia threaten with their military support of Turkey, Bosnia’s sovereignty by right. And for what? To simply satisfy the greedy appetite of the imperial house! The population of the Austro-Hungarian Empire does not need these poor provinces that imperil the peace in Europe!
The one thing I cannot understand or accept is the resignation of the people. Their acceptance is the only thing I cannot accept, and I want to scream out to them that they deserve their fate! Yet tormenting pain and pity is all I can feel for the poor, underprivileged masses. So strongly attached to them am I that this feeling never leaves me, and everything I think, whether related to architecture, politics or war, these sad people are ever in my mind.
How I’d like to blow up the infected suburban buildings and build communities accessible to the poor instead, buildings with bright bedrooms, with study rooms and rooms to practice music and painting! How gladly would I provide the students with simple but nutritious foods, free tickets to the opera and concerts, and free transportation passes! How happily I’d chop off the crowned and uncrowned heads of this monarchy, who do not give a tinker’s damn for the lives of the poor betrayed souls, sending young people to war while they stuff already bursting pockets with the profit from armament factories! How I’d use these poor souls’ hunger as a fuel with which to feed a social revolution!
And most of all, I hate this Babel in the streets: Czechoslovakians, Hungarians, Croats, Poles, Romanians, Italians, Gypsies, Slovaks and always that bacillus that is the solvent of human society, the Jew. The poisoners of our pure blood! Here and there and everywhere! That they are water-shy is obvious on looking at them and, unfortunately, very often also when not looking at them at all. The odor of these people in caftans often makes me feel ill!
The gigantic city seems to be the incarnation of mongrel depravity. German to the core, I find myself disgusted to have to melt in the same pot with all these immigrants who invaded our country, shaking the dust of Europe from their feet in their desperate run for the jobs promised to Germans. I feel the most helpless of men, for even though I clearly see these worms eroding my country, these wriggling creatures destroying what my ancestors built with their blood and sweat, I have no power to change a thing.
Not yet.
If Father taught me what hatred was, then Vienna, the Habsburg Empire, the Royal House, the Bureaucracy, the Church, and the Jews are now teaching me how to later put hatred into practice.
With the shameful truth coming out in the wash, I have no reason to hide behind my drawings and sketches, or to leave the room for several hours at a time, as a pretense of attending painting classes, just to fool Gustl. Now, without the secret forcing me to show interest in the Academy, I become wholeheartedly immersed in my new, quickly-growing passions: politics and visits to the Parliament.
A year of such quiet observation is sufficient to transform, nay, to completely destroy my former convictions as to the character of this parliamentary institution. It becomes impossible for me to accept the system as it is.
The parliamentary theory, which, at a first glance, appears to be so seductive to many, must nevertheless be considered a symptom of mankind’s decay. If we are to examine it objectively, there is no other principle that turns out to be quite as ill-conceived as the parliamentary principle. As executor of the wishes of the majority, the government becomes a beggar to that majority. In modern democracy, t
he skill of a politician lies only in the art of presenting, in an intelligible form, the genius of its projects to a flock of empty-headed rams, then beg for their approval. Thus, the parliamentarians are nothing but a bunch of spiritually dependent nullities, some dilettantes that are as narrow-minded as they are conceited and arrogant, intellectual demimondes of the worst kind. Measures of momentous importance for the future existence of the State are framed and discussed in an atmosphere more suited to the card-table.
The only positive thing is the introduction of a democratic election that will surely seal the collapse of the Habsburg Empire!
And the more this languages muss corrodes and breaks down the Parliament, the faster this Babylonian Empire’s collapse approaches. Thus, the moment will come when my German-Austrian people will be liberated…the only way that could lead to the annexation of my old Fatherland. This “Pan-German ideal”, the annexation of Austria to the German Empire, becomes my own ideal and a violent enthusiasm seizes me whenever it is debated in the Parliament.
And yet, the Pan-German Party is a minority; therefore, it cannot be heard by the people or supported by the public opinion as much as needed. Even if the Pan-German deputies shout themselves hoarse, their efforts are ineffective, and the press fails to mention them, or it prints such destructive criticism of their speeches that the true meaning is lost through misconstrued reporting and the public is left with a very negative image as to the true intentions of this new movement.
Again, the passivity regarding social reforms, the resignation of the Parliament, which leads on behalf of the oblivious people, almost brings me to tears, and all I can do is watch, powerless, as the State continues to throw its revenue down the military monster’s throat. As well as to favor the Slavs and Jews when it comes to admission and promotion in governmental positions, while the Pan-Germans’ reforming ideas are rejected and mocked... Oh! Dear Lord! How I’d love to blow up the Parliament building, with all the politicians in it!
