by Karel Čapek
Miss Blanche Kistemaeckers, on the other hand, observed two females and one male Andrias Scheuchzeri in captivity. At mating time the male associated with only one of the females, pursuing her fairly brutally; whenever she eluded him he struck her viciously with his tail. He did not like to see her feed and tried to push her away from her food; it was obvious that he wanted to have her only for himself, and downright terrorised her. When he had emitted his semen he threw himself on the other female and tried to devour her; he had to be removed from his tank and accommodated elsewhere. Nevertheless, that second female also laid fertilised eggs, amounting to a total of sixty-three. However, Miss Kistemaeckers observed that in all three animals the rims of their cloacae were considerably swollen at that time. It would seem therefore, Miss Kistemaeckers writes, that in the case of Andrias fertilisation is accomplished neither by copulation nor externally, but by means of something that might be termed the sexual milieu. As has been seen, fertilisation of the eggs does not require even temporary association. This led the investigator to further interesting experiments. She separated the two sexes; when the appropriate moment arrived she squeezed out the sperm from the male and placed it in the water with the females. Thereupon the females began to lay fertilised eggs. In a further experiment Miss Blanche Kistemaeckers filtered the male’s semen and introduced the filtrate from which the spermatozoa had been removed (a clear slightly acid fluid) into the water with the females; even then the females began to lay eggs, about fifty in number, of which the majority were fertilised and yielded normal tadpoles. This led Miss Kistemaeckers to the important concept of the sexual milieu, which represents a separate intermediate stage between parthenogenesis and sexual reproduction. Fertilisation of the eggs takes place simply through a chemical change of the environment (a certain increase in acidity which it has not so far been possible to bring about artificially), a change which seems to be connected somehow with the sexual function of the male. But evidently that function is not itself necessary; the fact that the male associates with the female appears to be a survival of an earlier developmental stage, when fertilisation in the case of Andrias took place in the same way as in other Newts. That association, as Miss Kistemaeckers rightly points out, is some kind of inherited illusion of paternity; in fact the male is not the father of the tadpoles but merely a certain - essentially impersonal - chemical factor of the sexual milieu which is the real fertilising agent. If we kept a hundred associated pairs of Andrias Scheuchzeri in one tank we might assume that a hundred individual fertilisation acts are taking place; in actual fact this is one single act, namely the collective sexualisation of the given environment, or, to put it more precisely, a certain increase in the acidity of the water, to which the ripe eggs of Andrias automatically react by developing into tadpoles. Produce that unknown acidity factor artificially, and no males will be necessary. Thus the sex life of the remarkable Andrias is revealed as a Grand Illusion; his erotic passion, his marriage and sexual tyranny, his temporary fidelity, his ponderous and slow ecstasy - all these are really unnecessary, outdated, almost symbolical actions accompanying or, in a manner of speaking, adorning the male’s true impersonal sexual act which is the creation of the sexual milieu permitting fertilisation. The females’ strange apathy with which they react to that pointless frantic personal courtship of the males clearly suggests that in the males’ wooing the females instinctively see a purely formal ceremony or a prelude to their own mating act, in which they coalesce sexually with the fertilising environment; we might say that the Andrias female has a clearer idea of the state of affairs and a more down-to-earth approach to it, free from erotic illusions.
(Miss Kistemaeckers’ experiments were supplemented by interesting experiments by the learned Abbé Bontempelli. He dried and ground up the sperm of Andrias and introduced the material into water containing females; in this case, too, the females began to lay fertile eggs. The same result was obtained when he dried and ground up the sex organs of Andrias or when he extracted them with alcohol or boiled them and poured the extract into the females’ tank. He obtained the same result when he repeated the experiment with extracts of the cerebral hypophysis and even with extracts of the epidermal glands of Andrias, expressed when the animal was in heat. In all these instances the females initially failed to react to these additions; only after a little while did they cease to catch food and became motionless, and indeed rigid, in the water, whereupon, a few hours later, they began to eject gelatinous eggs roughly the size of broad beans.)
Mention should be made in this context of the strange ritual called the salamander dance. (We do not mean the Salamander Dance which became the rage at that time especially in the best society and which Bishop Hiram declared to be ‘the most obscene dance he had ever heard of’.) What happened was that at the full moon (outside the breeding season) the Andriases would come up the beach in the evenings, but only the male ones, sit down in a circle and start twisting their upper bodies with a strange undulating movement. This was a movement typical of these giant newts even under different circumstances, but during their ‘dances’ they abandoned themselves to it frenetically, passionately, to the point of exhaustion, like dancing dervishes. Some scientists regarded this mad writhing and shuffling as a cult of the moon and hence as a religious ceremony; others, by contrast, saw this dance as essentially erotic and explained it by just that strange sexual pattern we have described. We have said that in the case of Andrias Scheuchzeri the real fertilising agent is the so-called sexual milieu as a collective and impersonal mediator between individual males and females. We have also said that the females accept this impersonal relationship in a far more realistic and matter-of-fact manner than the males, who - apparently from an instinctive male vanity and aggressiveness - wish to maintain at least the appearance of sexual conquest and therefore play-act amorous wooing and conjugal ownership. This is one of the great erotic illusions and it is compensated for, in a most interesting manner, by just these great male festivities, which are thus said to be nothing other than an instinctive attempt to perceive oneself as a Collective Male. That mass dance, it is argued, overcomes that atavistic and senseless illusion of male sexual individualism; that twisting, intoxicated, frenzied mass is nothing other than the Collective Male, the Collective Sex Partner and the Great Copulator, performing his famous nuptial dance and surrendering himself to a huge wedding ritual - with the curious exclusion of the females who are meanwhile smacking their lips over some small fish or squid they have just consumed. The well-known Charles J. Powell, who has called this Newt ritual the Dance of the Male Principle, further observes: ‘And are these collective Newt rituals not the very root and mainspring of that strange Newt collectivism? Let us remember that real animal communities are found only where the life and development of a species is not based on the sexual pair: with bees, ants and termites. The community of the bees might be expressed as: I, the Maternal Hive. The community of the Newts can be expressed quite differently: We, the Male Principle. Only all males jointly, when at the given moment they almost exude from themselves their fertile sexual milieu, become that Great Male that penetrates into the womb of the females and copiously multiplies life. Their paternity is collective; that is why their whole nature is collective and finds expression in collective activity, while the females, having performed their egg-laying, lead a more or less dispersed and solitary life until the next spring. The males alone are the community. The males alone perform collective tasks. In no other animal species does the female play such a subordinate part as in Andrias; the females are excluded from collective action and in point of fact do not display the least interest in it. Their moment comes when the Male Principle saturates their environment with an acidity that is chemically barely perceptible but biologically so pervasive that it is effective even in the infinite dilution produced by the ocean tides. It is as if the Ocean itself became a male, fertilising millions of ova on its shores.’
‘In spite of all the cockerel’s pride,’ Char
les J. Powell continues, ‘nature has, in the majority of animal species, tended to endow the female with vital superiority. The male exists for his own pleasure and in order to kill; he is a conceited and puffed-up individual, whereas the female represents the species in all its vigour and established virtues. In the case of Andrias (and partly also in Man) the relationship is substantially different; through the establishment of male collectivity and solidarity the male clearly acquires a biological superiority and determines the development of the species to a far greater extent than the female. Perhaps it is just this significant male trend in his evolution that makes Andrias display such engineering talent, i.e. a typically male talent. Andrias is a born technician with an inclination towards large-scale undertakings; these secondary sexual characteristics of the male, i.e. technical talent and a gift for organisation, are developing in him before our very eyes, and with such rapidity and success that we would regard it as a miracle of nature if we did not know that the most powerful vital agents are just these sexual determinants. Andrias Scheuchzer is an animal faber and in technical achievement it may well surpass even Man in the foreseeable future - and that only as a result of the natural circumstances that he has created a purely male community.’
BOOK TWO
Up the Ladder of Civilisation
1
Mr Povondra Reads His Paper
There are people who collect stamps and others who collect incunables. Mr Povondra, doorman at the G. H. Bondy residence, had for a long time failed to find a meaning to his life; for years he had wavered between an interest in prehistoric burial chambers and a passion for international politics; but one evening he unexpectedly realised what it was that his life had so far been lacking to make it truly fulfilled. Great things usually come unexpectedly.
That evening Mr Povondra was reading his paper, Mrs Povondra was darning Frankie’s socks, and Frankie pretended to be learning the left-bank tributaries of the Danube. A pleasant silence reigned.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ grunted Mr Povondra.
‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Povondra, threading her needle.
‘Why, those Newts,’ said Papa Povondra. ‘It says here that seventy million of them were sold during the past three months.’
‘That’s a lot, isn’t it?’ remarked Mrs Povondra.
‘You can say that again! Why, Mother, it’s a colossal number. Just think: 70 million!’ Mr Povondra shook his head. ‘There must be a terrific profit in it. And look at the work that’s done now,’ he added after brief reflection. ‘It says here that new land and new islands are being built at breakneck speed everywhere. Do you know, people can now build as many continents for themselves as they like. That’s a great thing, Mother. I tell you, this is a greater step forward than the discovery of America.’ Mr Povondra became thoughtful. ‘A new era in history, that’s what it is. Think what you like, Mother, but we’re living in stirring times.’
A long domestic silence once more descended. Suddenly Papa Povondra puffed at his pipe more sharply. ‘And to think that this whole business would never have come about but for me!’
‘What business?’
‘That business with the Newts. That New Age. If you look at it properly, it was really me who put it all together.’
Mrs Povondra looked up from the sock with the hole in it. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘That I admitted that captain to see Mr Bondy. If I hadn’t let him in that captain would never have met Mr Bondy. Without me, Mother, this whole business would have come to nothing. Absolutely nothing.’
‘Maybe the captain would have found someone else,’ Mrs Povondra objected.
A contemptuous hiss came from Papa Povondra’s pipe-stem. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about! Only Mr Bondy can do that sort of thing. Christ, that man can see further ahead than God knows who. Anyone else would have thought this thing was sheer lunacy or a con; but not Mr Bondy! That one’s got a nose, and no mistake.’ Mr Povondra grew thoughtful. ‘And that captain, now what was his name, Vantoch - he didn’t even look like it. Fat old man he was. Any other doorman would have told him, what an idea, my man, the master isn’t in, and that sort of thing; but me, I can tell you, I had a kind of hunch or something. I’ll announce him, I said to myself; maybe Mr Bondy’ll tear a strip off me, but I’ll take the responsibility and announce him. I always say a doorman’s got to have a nose for people. Sometimes you get a chap ringing the bell, looks like a lord, and all the time he’s a salesman for refrigerators. And another time you get a fat old chap, and just look what he’s got in him. Need to understand human nature,’ Papa Povondra meditated. ‘Let this be a lesson to you, Frankie, of what a man in a humble position can achieve. Let it be an example to you and always try to do your duty same as me.’ Mr Povondra nodded his head solemnly and with emotion. ‘I could have sent that captain packing right at the front door, and I’d saved myself those stairs. Another doorman would have puffed himself up and slammed the door in his face. And by doing so he would have thwarted all this wonderful progress in the world. Always remember, Frankie, if everybody did his duty the world would be a fine place. And listen to me properly when I’m telling you something!’
‘Yes, Dad,’ Frankie grunted miserably.
Papa Povondra cleared his throat. ‘Lend me those scissors, Mother. I ought to cut this out of the paper, so one day there’ll be something to remember me by.’
Thus it came about that Mr Povondra started collecting newspaper cuttings about the Newts. To his zeal as a collector we owe a great deal of material which would otherwise have passed into oblivion. He cut out and filed away anything he found in print about the Newts; indeed no secret should be made of the fact that, after some initial inhibitions, he acquired the knack, in his regular cafe, of ransacking the papers whenever there was a mention of the Newts in them, and that he attained a special, almost prestidigitational, skill in inconspicuously ripping the relevant page from the paper and whisking it into his pocket right under the headwaiter’s eyes. It is a well-known fact that all collectors are prepared to steal or do murder for the sake of acquiring a new piece for their collection; but this does not in any way reflect on their moral character.
Life now had a meaning for him, for it was the life of a collector. Evening after evening he would sort out and read his cuttings under the indulgent eyes of Mrs Povondra, who knew that every man was partly a nutcase and partly a little boy; why shouldn’t he play with those cuttings instead of going to the pub and playing cards? In the end she even made room in her linen cupboard for the boxes which he himself glued together for his collection. What more could anyone expect from a wife and mother of a family?
G. H. Bondy himself was on some occasion or other surprised at Mr Povondra’s encyclopaedic knowledge of anything concerning the Newts. Mr Povondra confessed, a little shamefacedly, that he collected everything that appeared in print about salamanders and showed Mr Bondy his boxes. G. H. Bondy was courteously complimentary about his collection; you can’t deny it: only great men can be so gracious and only powerful men are able to make others happy without it costing them a penny; great men altogether have it made for them. Thus, for instance, Mr Bondy issued instructions that the offices of the Salamander Syndicate should send Povondra all such cuttings about the Newts as were not required for the firm’s archives; in consequence, a blissfully happy if slightly overwhelmed Mr Povondra received whole stacks of documents every day, in all the languages of the world, of which especially the papers printed in the Cyrillic or Greek alphabet, or in Hebrew, Arabic, Chinese, Bengali, Tamil, Javanese, Burmese and Taalik script filled him with religious reverence. ‘To think,’ he would mutter over them, ‘that none of these would have been without me!’
As we have said, Mr Povondra’s collection has preserved a great deal of historical material about the whole story of the Newts; which is not to say that it could possibly satisfy a scholarly historian. For one thing, Mr Povondra, who had not had the benefit of specialised educatio
n in the ancillary historical sciences or in archival methods, did not furnish his cuttings with either a source reference or the appropriate date, so that for the most part we do not know where and when a certain document was printed. For another thing, because of the surfeit of material accumulating under his hands, Mr Povondra kept mainly the longer articles, considering them to be more important, while brief reports and journalist’s cables he simply threw in the coal scuttle. As a result, an exceedingly small amount of reports and facts has come down to us about that entire period. Thirdly, there was a good deal of intervention on the part of Mrs Povondra: whenever Mr Povondra’s boxes began to fill alarmingly she would quietly and surreptitiously extract some of the cuttings and burn them; this would happen several times a year. She would keep only those which did not accumulate too quickly, such as the cuttings printed in Malabar, Tibetan or Coptic script; these have come down to us almost in their entirety, but in view of certain gaps in our education they are not a lot of use to us. Hence the material available to us on the history of the Newts is essentially incomplete, rather like land registers from the eighth century AD or the collected works of the poetess Sappho; only by accident have the documents relating to one aspect or another of this great historic event been preserved for us. Yet in spite of all lacunae we shall attempt to map it out under the heading ‘Up the Ladder of Civilisation’.
2
Up the Ladder of Civilisation
(The History of the Newts1)
In the new epoch which G. H. Bondy inaugurated at the memorable general meeting of the Pacific Export Company, when he uttered his prophetic words about the beginning of Utopia,2 historical events could no longer be measured in centuries or even decades, as had been customary in world history until then, but by the three-month periods for which the quarterly economic statistics were published.3 Because the making of history, if we may so call it, was now taking place wholesale; in consequence the pace of history was accelerating quite extraordinarily (according to some estimates by a factor of five). Nowadays we simply cannot wait a few hundred years for something good or bad to happen in the world. Take the migration of peoples which used to drag on over several centuries: today, with our present organisation of transport, it could be accomplished in three years; otherwise there would be no profit in it. The same is true of the liquidation of the Roman Empire, the colonisation of the continents, the extermination of the Red Indians, and so on. All these things could have been accomplished incomparably more speedily if they had been put in the hands of entrepreneurs with a lot of capital behind them. In that respect the huge success of the Salamander Syndicate and its powerful influence on world history undoubtedly points the way to the future.
