believed in fetishes, but he could not fully comprehend that the
so-called enlightened sincerely believed in all these. He looked into
his own mind and believed he understood all minds. He judged all minds
by his own. At times, in his wanderings through the streets, brandishing
his cane and smiling cynically, he said to himself that either he was an
imbecile and did not possess the ordinary faculties of a human being or
the world was peopled with idiots. There could be no compromise between
the two; either he saw clearly or the millions of struggling bigots saw
the truth. With the sublime self-assurance of youth he knew he was right
and laughed pitifully at the erring souls around him. Yes, he understood
Voltaire. Who would not laugh at the sight of an army of children
dressed up in clothes of grown men and women? Who would not scoff at the
prattling babes imitating the language of their elders? The children
must have some things to play with or to fight over, he mused. Religion
or War? Since the sound of cannon had ceased, the children of men now
engaged with other playthings. When everything else fails religion
supplies the demand for a universal plaything. War and Religion—he
almost preferred the former. The ugly spectacle of Hamburg’s
factionalism disgusted him. And whenever strife is ripe—he beheld all
history at a glance—after every great war, after every economic
upheaval, after every revolution, people turned against his race. He now
understood why his people were called chosen.
His thoughts soon turned to Greece as one tired of a long winter in the
north turns to the sunny south. Greece of old was the sunshine in his
dreary existence. He could not understand the petty strife of the
theology of his day but he grasped the meaning of Old Greece. The one
was sordid prose, the other idyllic poetry. Prose must speak in exact
terms, poetry may be fantastic. He yearned for deities rising from ocean
waves, for a god on Olympus, for goddesses with harps and rainbows and
vessels of nectar. The gods of Hamburg savoured of incense and garlic.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account