| 绞刑架下的报告 - - -尤利乌斯·伏契克 | ||||||||||
| 送交者: 1882 2011月06月02日09:44:08 于 [世界音乐论坛] 发送悄悄话 | ||||||||||
| 回 答: 82好！如果能找到伏契克的《绞刑架下的报告》节选或许能试着 由 梦鸽儿~ 于 2011-06-01 17:21:50 | ||||||||||
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“我们为欢乐而生，为欢乐而战斗，我们也为欢乐而死。 因此，永远不能让悲哀同我们 的名字联系在一起。”。---尤利乌斯·伏契克
从门口到窗户七步，从窗户到门口七步。 这我知道。 在庞克拉茨监狱的这段松木地板上，我来回踱过不知多少次了。.......   工人装束的尤利乌斯·伏契克 第四章 “四○○号” 一九四三年五月的插曲 今天是一九四三年五月一日。碰巧是可以让我写作的那个人值班。多幸运啊，我又可以暂时做一个共产党的新闻记者，报道这个新世界的战斗力量的五一节检阅 了。 不用期待我讲述那飘扬的旗帜。完全没有那回事。我甚至不能讲述你们乐于听的那些动人的故事。今天这里一切都十分平常。既没有像往年我所见到的通向布拉 格街道的几万人所组成的洪涛巨浪，也没有像我曾在莫斯科红场上见到的壮阔的人海。这儿你见不到几百万人，哪怕几百人都没有。你只能在这里看到几个男女同 志。然而你会感觉到，这已经不少了。是的，不少了，因为这是一种力量的检阅，这力量正在烈火中冶炼，它不会化为灰烬，而会变成钢铁。这是战斗时在战壕里的 一种检阅。不过在战壕里人们往往是穿着灰绿色的野战军服的。 你也许觉得这都是些小事，当你有一天读到我 所报道的你未曾亲身经历过的这一切时，谁知道你能不能完全理解它。 努力理解吧。你要相信，力量就在这里。 隔壁牢房的早晨问候，通常是用敲打两拍节的贝多芬乐曲送过来的，今天比平时敲得更庄严、更坚毅，而墙壁也用高昂的音调来传达它。 我们穿上自己最好的衣裳。所有的牢房都是这样。 我们全都装束好了才吃早餐。在敞开的牢房门前，杂役们端着面包、黑咖啡和水列队走过。斯科舍帕同志发给我们三个大圆面包，往常只有两个。这是他对五一 节的祝贺——一个小心谨慎的人的实际的庆贺。发给面包时，他在面包下面捏了捏我的手指。说话是不允许的，他们甚至还监视你的眼色——可是难道哑巴就不会用 手指头来清楚地说话吗？ 女犯们跑出来在我们牢房窗下的院子里“放风”。我爬到桌上隔着栅栏朝下望，也许她们能看见我。她们真的瞧见我了。她们举起拳头向我致意。我也照样还 礼。院子里，今天十分欢快而活跃，与往常完全两样。女看守一点没有发觉，也许故意不去注意。这也同今天的五一节检阅有关。 现在轮到我们“放风”了。我指挥早操。今天是五一节，朋友们，咱们用点别的操法开始，就让看守们惊奇去吧。第一节：一——二，一——二，抡大锤。第二 节：割麦。锤子和镰刀。稍加想象也许同志们都会明白锤子和镰刀的意思。我四下张望。大家都微笑着，怀着极大的热情反复操练。他们全明白了。朋友们，这就是 我们的五一节检阅呀，这个哑剧也就是我们的五一节宣誓：赴汤蹈火，至死不渝。 我们返回牢房。九点正。现在克里姆林宫的大钟正敲着十点，红场上开始检阅。父亲啊，我们跟你一道前进。现在那里已唱起《国际歌》，歌声响彻全球，让这 歌声也在我们牢房里响起来吧。我们唱起来了。接着又唱了一支支革命歌曲，我们不愿意孤单，而且我们也不孤单，我们是和那些现我们一样在战斗着的人们在一起 的……同志们在牢狱，在阴冷的拷问室，你们同我们在一起啊，在一起，尽管你们没有在这个行列里边……是的，我们是同你们在一起的。 我 们二六七号牢房，就准备用歌唱来庄严地结束一九四三年的五一节检阅。是真的结束了吗？为什么女牢的那个杂役下午在院子里来回走动，用口哨吹着《红军进行 曲》、《游击队之歌》和别的苏联歌曲，难道不是在鼓励男牢的同志们吗？为什么那个穿着捷克警察制服的男人，给我拿来了纸和铅笔，此刻正在走廊里警卫着，难 道他不是在防止有人出其不意地抓住我吗？另外那个人不是竭力鼓励我写这个报告，并把写好的稿子带出狱外，把它小心地藏起来，让它在适当的时候问世吗？为了 这一小片纸，他们是可能掉脑袋的。 他们之所以冒这种危险，是为了把铁窗里的今天和自由的明天连接在一起。他们正在战斗，坚贞无畏地战斗在自己的岗位上，他 们根据不同的情况，机动灵活地用他们力所能及的各种手段参加战斗。他们是普通一兵，默默无闻地工作，谁也想象不到，他们进行的是一场生与死的搏斗，在这场 斗争中，他们是我们的朋友；在这场斗争中，他们不是胜利就是牺牲。 你大概十次、二十次地见到过革命的队伍怎样进行五一节的检阅。那当然是雄壮的。但是只有在战斗中才能评价出这支队伍的真正力量，认识到它是不可战胜 的。死比你想象的要简单得多，英雄行为是没有灿烂的圣光环绕的。而斗争则比你想象的要残酷得多，要坚持斗争并把它引向胜利需要无比的力量。你每天都能见到 这种力量在活动，但却不是常常都能意识到它，因为这一切显得那样简单和自然。 今天，在一九四三年的五一节检阅里，你又重新意识到了这种力量。 五一节使这个报告中断了一个时候。这也好。因为在这个光辉的节日里，回忆会有些变样的，今天欢乐占了优势，也许会把回忆给渲染了。 但在回忆中，佩切克宫的“电影院”完全没有欢乐可言。 这是拷问室的前厅，你可以听到从拷问室传来别人的呻吟和令人毛骨悚然的惨叫，你不知道在那里等待着你的是什么。你看到一些身强力壮、精神抖擞的人从这 儿出去，经过两三小时的拷问，弄得身体残废、半死不活地回来。你会听到一个洪亮的声音答应着呼唤，——可是经过一个小时回来时，听到的却是由于疼痛和颤栗 而发出的断断续续的窒闷的声音。 但还有一种更坏的：在这里你也会见到这样一种人，他们离去时，目光是正直而明朗的，回来时，却 不敢正视别人的眼睛。也许是在楼上侦讯处的某个地方，仅仅由于一下子的软弱、一瞬间的动尧一刹那的恐惧，或者起了想保护一下自己的念头——结果使得今天或 明天就会有些新的犯人，一些被过去的战友出卖了的人来到这里，他们将重新经历这一切可怕的事情。 看见 丧失了良心的人，比看见遍体鳞伤的人更可怕。假如你有被身边走过的死神洗涤过的眼睛，假如你有被死而复生所唤醒的感官，不言而喻，你就会觉察出谁动摇了， 谁或许已经叛变了，谁正在灵魂的某个角落考虑着这样的事：如果出卖战友中最微不足道的人使自己轻松一点，也许不会太坏吧。可怜的懦夫。用牺牲朋友的生命来 保全的生命，还算什么生命呢？ 我头一次坐在“电影院”里的时候，好像还没有这个想法。可是后来它却反复出现。这个想法的产生，恰恰是在那天早上，不是在“电影院”，而是在另一种环 境里，在人们最能相互了解的那个地方：“四○○号”。 我在“电影院”里没坐多久。也许是一个小时，或许是一个半小时以后，有人在我背后叫我。两个穿便衣的、说捷克语的人搀扶着我进了电梯，开到四楼，把我 带进一间宽敞的房间，房门上写着：四○○号在他们的监视下，我独自坐在后边靠墙的一把孤零零的椅子上，我带着一种奇异的感觉环顾了一下四周，我觉得眼前的 情景好像见到过。难道我来过这里吗？不，没有来过。但我仍然知道这间屋子。我认识这个地方，梦见过它，在一个可怕的、热病似的梦中见过它，这个梦把它扭歪 了，可怕地改变了它的模样，但却没有把它变得不能辨认。现在它是可爱的、充满白昼的光辉和鲜明的色彩，隔着装有细栅栏的大窗户，可以看到梯恩教堂、绿色的 列塔纳山冈和赫拉德恰尼古堡。在梦中这间屋子是阴森森的，没有窗户，一道污黄的光照亮了它，人们像影子似地在光线中移动。是的，那时这里有些人。现在却是 空荡荡的，六排长凳紧挨着，好像一块由蒲公英和毛茛组成的有趣的草坪。在梦里，好像这儿挤满了人，一个挨着一个坐在长凳上，面孔苍白，血淋淋的。那边，紧 挨着门的地方，站着一个身穿破旧的蓝色工作服，眼光痛苦的男人，他要求喝口水，喝口水，然后就像徐徐放下的帷幕，慢慢地、慢慢地倒在地上了……是的，所有 这一切都曾发生过，如今我才知道它并不是一个梦。现实本身就是如此残酷和疯狂。 这是我被捕和第一次受审的那天夜里的事。他们曾把我带到这里来过三次，也许是十次。我记得，只有当他们需要休息一会儿或干别的什么事情时，才把我带出 去。我还记得，那时我赤着脚，冰冷的方砖曾经怎样舒服地浸凉过我那被打伤的脚掌。 当时那些长凳上坐满了容克工厂的工人。他们都成了盖世太保夜间的捕获物。那个站在门边，穿着破旧的蓝色工作服的男人，就是容克工厂党支部的巴尔托尼同 志，他是我被捕的间接原因。我这样说，是不想为我的不幸命运去怪罪任何人。我的被捕倒不是因为同志中有谁叛变或怯懦，而仅仅是因为不慎和倒霉。巴尔托尼同 志为他自己的支部寻找领导关系。他的朋友叶林涅克同志对秘密工作规定有点疏忽，告诉了他应当同谁取得联系。本来叶林涅克同志应当事先同我商量，这样便可以 不通过他也能把事情办妥。这是一个错误。 另一个更为严重更带关键性的错误就是有一个姓德沃夏克的奸细骗取了巴尔托尼同志的信任。巴尔托尼同志也把叶林涅克的名字告诉了他，——这样盖世太保就 开始注意叶林涅克一家了。并不是由于这些同志在两年内胜利完成的主要任务，而是由于一件琐碎的小事，由于完全忽略了秘密工作的规定。 于是佩切克宫决定逮捕叶林涅克夫妇，正好那天晚上我们在他家聚会，盖世太保出动了不少——这一切完全出于偶然。这件事本来不在盖世太保的计划之内，他 们本来打算第二天才逮捕叶林涅克夫妇，可是那一天晚上在顺利破获了容克工厂的地下党支部以后，他们劲头上来了，就开车出来“兜兜风”。他们的突然袭击固然 使我们感到意外，而在这里发现了我，却使他们更加觉得意外。他们甚至不知道抓住的是什么人。他们也许永远不会知道，假如和我一起被捕的不是……经过相当一 段时间，我才对“四○○号”有了这些认识。 那一回我不是独自一个人在这里，长凳上和墙旁边都挤满了人。审讯在进行，每时每刻都充满着意外：一种是我不明白的奇怪的意外，一种是我很明白的坏的意 外。 然而我的第一个意外不属于以上的任何一种，那是一件愉快的小事，不值一提。 第二个意外：四个人鱼贯地进到屋子里，用捷克语向穿便衣的看守问好，——又向我问好，然后坐在桌子后边，摊开公文纸，抽起香烟来，态度完全怡然自得， 好像他们就是这里的官吏似的。可是我明明认得他们，至少认得其中的三个人，他们为盖世太保服务吗？不可能。或许是的，他们真的在这里服务。这明明是Ｒ．， 早先是党和工会的书记，虽然他性情有些粗暴，但为人厚道——不，这不可能。这是安卡·维科娃，尽管头发斑白，但仍不失为一个端庄美丽、坚强不屈的战士—— 不，这不可能。而那个瓦舍克，曾在捷克北部一个矿井里当过泥瓦匠，后来就任那个地区的区委书记，我哪能不认识他呢？我们在北方一同参加过那样多的战斗。盖 世太保能使他屈服？不，不可能。但是他们为什么在这里呢？ 他们在这里干什么呢？ 我在这些问题上还没找到答案，新的问题又发生了。他们带进来米列克、叶林涅克夫妇和弗里德夫妇。是啊，我知道这些人，不幸得很，他们是同我一道被捕 的。但是为什么艺术史家巴维尔·克罗巴切克也在这里呢？这个人曾帮助米列克在知识分子中间做些工作。除了我和米列克又有谁知道他呢？为什么那个被打肿了脸 的细长个子的青年人，向我示意我们互不相识呢？我倒真的不认得他。这到底是谁呢？什基赫？什基赫医生吗？兹登涅克？唉，上帝，这么说，一大批医生也遭了 殃。除了我和米列克，有谁知道他们呢？为什么在牢房审讯我时问起了捷克知识分子呢？他们怎么会发现我的工作同知识分子的工作有关系呢？除了我和米列克以外 有谁知道呢？ 答案不难找到，然而这个回答却是严重的、残酷的：米列克叛变了，米列克招供了。最初我还抱着一线希望，也许他还没有全部供出来，等他们把另一批囚犯带 上楼来时，我看见了：弗拉迪斯拉夫·万楚拉，费伯尔教授和他的儿子，被打得变了样、叫人难以认出的贝德日赫·瓦茨拉维克，鲍日娜·布尔帕诺娃，英德日赫· 埃尔勃尔，雕塑家德伏沙克，凡是参加过或应邀参加捷克知识分子民族革命委员会的人都在这儿了。米列克把知识分子的工作全部供出来了。 我 在佩切克宫的最初几天是难熬的。但这件事却是我在这里受到的最沉重的打击。我期待的是死而不是叛变。无论我怎样想宽大地评判，无论我怎样寻找可以原谅的各 种情况，无论我怎样想他不至于出卖，我都找不出别的说法，这就是叛变。瞬息间的动摇也罢，怯懦也罢，或者是被折磨得要死以致处在昏迷和狂乱中寻求解脱也 罢，这一切都不能使人饶耍现在我才明白，为什么盖世太保在第一个晚上就知道了我的名字。现在我才明白，为什么安妮奇卡·伊拉斯科娃也到这里来了，原来我曾 在她那儿同米列克碰过几次头。现在我才明白，为什么这里会有克罗巴切克，会有什基赫医生。 从那以后，我几乎每天都得来“四○○号”，每天都会了解到一些新的情况。——一些可悲的、令人毛骨悚然的情况。 哼，这个人，这个曾经有骨气的人，在西班牙前线冒过枪林弹雨，在法国集中营的严酷考验中没有屈服过，现在却在盖世太保的皮鞭下吓得面无人色，为苟且偷 生而出卖别人。他的勇气是那样的差，只是为了少挨几鞭子。他的信仰也同样不坚定。在集体里，在志同道合的人中间，他曾是坚强的。他之所以坚强，是因为他想 着他们。现在，当他被孤立，被敌人包围，在拷问下他就完全失去了自己的力量。他失去了一切，因为他开始只想自己了。为保住自己的躯壳，他不惜牺牲朋友。他 屈从于怯懦，由于怯懦而叛变了。 当他们在他身上搜到文件时，他没有暗下决心：宁死也不译出密码。他译了。他供出了一些人的名字，供出了一些秘密工作联络点。他把盖世太保的密探领去同 什基赫会面。让盖世太保去瓦茨拉维克和克罗巴切克会晤的德伏沙克家。他供出了安妮奇卡。甚至还供出了丽达，那个曾经爱他的坚强勇敢的姑娘。几鞭子他就吃不 消了，就能使他供出他所知道的事情的一半，而当他确信，我已经死了，没有人会来对质的时候，他就把其余的一半也供了出来。 他 的这种行为对我倒没有什么伤害，我反正是在盖世太保的手里了，还能怎么样呢？相反地，他的供词只是侦讯所依赖的初步线索，可以说是交出了锁链的一端，以下 的环节却握在我的手里，而他们又是非常需要解开这些环节的。正因为这样，我和我们这批人中的大部分人能活到戒严期以后。 在这个案子里，如果米列克忠于自己的职责，就不会牵连一大批人。我们两人也许早已死了，但另一些人可能活着；我们倒下去了，可另一懦夫失去了比自己生 命更多的东西。米列克就是这样。他从光荣的队伍中逃跑了，连最卑鄙的敌人都瞧不起他。他虽生犹死，因为他被集体所摒弃。后来他也力求弥补一下自己的罪过， 但他再也不能回到集体中来了。在监狱里被唾弃，比在其他任何地方都更为可怕。 囚徒和孤独——这两个概念通常被混为一谈。其实这是一个天大的错误。囚徒并不孤独。监狱是一个伟大的集体，即使用最严厉的隔离手段也不能使人脱离这个 集体，如果这个人自己不把自己孤立起来的话。在这里，那些受压迫者的兄弟般的友爱具有一种坚强的力量，它把人们凝结成一个整体，锻炼他们，使他们的感觉更 加敏锐。它能穿透那活着的、能说话和传递消息的高墙，把整个一层楼的牢房连结起来，这些牢房是由它们共同的苦难、共同的“哨兵”、共同的杂役以及在新鲜空 气里共同的半个小时“放风”连结在一起的；利用“放风”时说一句话或做一个动作，就能探听到消息或者保住一个人的生命。在囚犯们一同去受审、一块坐在“电 影院”或一道回来时，这种兄弟般的友爱将整个监狱都连在一起了。这种友爱很少是用语言而是用巨大的行动来表现的，只简单地捏一捏手或偷递一支烟就足以打破 那关住你的牢笼，把你从那毁灭性的孤寂中解救出来。监狱里有手；当你受刑回来时，你会感觉到这些手在怎样支撑着你，使你不至于倒下；当敌人竭力用饥饿把你 赶到死亡的边缘时，你会从这些手里得到食物。监狱里有眼睛；它们在你赴刑场时看着你，使你知道，你必须昂首阔步走去，因为你是他们的兄弟，你不应该用不坚 定的步伐来削弱他们的斗志。这是一种用鲜血换来的不可征服的兄弟友爱。如果没有这种友爱的支持，你就连命运中所遭受到的十分之一的痛苦都忍受不了。无论是 你或者任何别人都忍受不了。 在这个报告里——如果我能继续写下去的话（因为我们不知道什么时候就会离去），将要常常出现作为这一章 的标题的几个字：“四○○号”。一开始我只把 它当成一个房间，我在那里的最初几个钟头，印象是不愉快的。但这不是一个房间，这是一个集体。一个愉快的、战斗的集体。 “四○○号”产生于一九四○年，正是反共科加强活动的时候。它是候审室——“电影院”的分院，也就是一间犯人候审室，是专为共产党人设立的，免得为了 每一个问题都把犯人从一楼拖到四楼来。犯人应当经常在侦讯官旁边，这样审问起来才方便。这就是他们设立“四○○号”的目的。 只要有两个犯人——尤其是两个共产党员聚在一起，不用五分钟就会形成一个能破坏盖世太保的一切计划的集体。 一九四二年，“四○○号”简直就叫做“共产党中央”了。它经过了许多变迁：数千名男女同志曾在这些长凳上轮流坐过，但其中有一点却是不变的，那就是集 体主义的精神、对斗争的忠诚和对胜利的信心。 “四○○号”——这是一个远远突出在前沿的堑壕，被敌人从四面八方包围着，成了敌人的火力目标，但从来没有闪现过投降的念头。红旗在它上面飘扬。这里 表现出了为争取自己的解放而斗争的全体人民的团结一致。 在楼下，在“电影院”里，穿着高统靴的党卫队队员来回巡逻，你的眼睛眨一眨都要被他们喝叱。而在“四○○号”里，监视我们的是捷克警官和警察局的密 探，他们是以翻译的身份为盖世太保服务的，有的出于自愿，有的是反动当局派来的，有的作为盖世太保的帮凶，有的作为捷克人来履行自己的职责，但也有的介于 这两者之间。在“四○○号”里，可以不用两手扶膝、两眼直瞪、挺直了身子坐着。在这里，你可以比较自由地坐着，你能够东张西望，打个手势——有时甚至可以 更加随便些，但要看情况，要看是这三种人中哪一种人值班。 “四○○号”——是最能深刻认识被称为“人”的这种动物的 地方。在这里，由于死亡的逼近，赤裸裸地暴露着每一个人——那些左臂上缠着红布条的共产党犯人或共产党的嫌疑犯，同时也暴露出那些看守和在不远的房间里参 加审问的人。在审问中，言语可以成为一种盾牌或一种武器。但在“四○○号”里却不能用言语来掩饰。这里重要的不是你的言语，而是你内心的一切。在你内心里 只剩下最本质的东西了。 一切次要的 东西，一切能掩盖、缓和或粉饰你性格中最本质的特征的那些东西，都被临死前的旋风一扫而光。剩下的只有最简单的主语和谓语：忠实者坚定，叛徒出卖，庸俗者 绝望，英雄们斗争。每个人身上都存在着力量和软弱、勇敢和胆怯、坚定和动尧纯洁和肮脏。而在这里，只能够存在其中的一种，非此即彼。假如有 人想不露声色地游离于这二者之间，那他就会比一个帽子上插着黄色羽毛，手里拿着铙钹，在出殡的行列里跳起舞来的人更惹人注目。 这种人在犯人中间有，在捷克警官和密探当中也有。审讯时，他给帝国上帝烧香，而在 “四○○号”里，他也给布尔什维克“赤魔”烧香。在德国警官那里，他可以为了迫使你供出联络员的名字，打掉你的牙齿，而在“四○○号”里，他可以装出友善 的样子，递给你一块面包表示关心，使你不至于挨饿。 在搜查时，他把你的住宅抢劫一空，而在“四○○号”里，他却可以塞给你半支抢来的 烟卷，表示对你的同情。还有另一种人——可以说是这类人的变种，他们从来没有主动地害过谁，但也没有帮助过谁。他们只关心自己的性命。因此他们很敏感，这 使他们成为明显的政治气压表。他们很凶或者打官腔吗？那准是德寇在向斯大林格勒进攻了。他们和颜悦色，还同犯人聊天吗？那就是形势好转：德寇准是在斯大林 格勒吃了败仗。他们如果开始叙述自己原是捷克人的后裔，谈他们是怎样被迫地给盖世太保服务时，那就好极了：准是红军已经推进到罗斯托夫了。——他们中间还 有这样一些人：当你快淹死的时候，他们袖手旁观；而当你自己爬上岸时，他们却欣然向你伸出手来。 这种人感觉到了“四○○号”这个集体，并且想竭力接近它，因为他们意识到它的力量。但他们从来不属于它。还有另外一种人，他们一点也没有意识到这个集 体的存在，我想把他们叫做刽子手，但即使是刽子手，也还是属于人的一类呀。而这些满口说着捷克话、手里拿着木棍和铁棒的猛兽，折磨起捷克犯人来，却残酷得 连很多德国盖世太保都不敢看。 他们甚至用不着伪善地借口说这是为了本民族或帝国的利益，他们折磨人和杀人完全是为了取乐，他们打掉你的牙齿、刺破你的耳膜、挖掉你的眼睛、割掉你的 生殖器、敲碎受刑者的脑袋，一直把你残酷折磨致死。这种残忍找不到任何别的解释——完全是兽性的发作。每天你都见到他们，每天你都不得不同他们打交道，你 不得不忍受他们的折磨，他们在场使整个空气都充满了血腥味和惨叫声，他们在场能帮助你增强信念：即使他们把罪行的见证人统统杀死，也还是逃不脱正义的审 判。 但是就在他们旁边，就在同一张桌子的后面坐着另一些人，看上去仿佛也是属于相同职务的人，这些人用大写的“人”字来称呼倒是极其正确的。他们把监禁犯 人的机构变成了犯人自己的机构，他们帮助建立了“四○○号”这个集体，他们把自己的整个身心、全部勇气都献给了它。他们不是共产党员，这更显出他们精神的 伟大。恰恰相反，他们从前在警察局工作时，还干过反共的事，可是后来当他们看到共产党人在跟德国占领者作斗争，便认识了共产党的力量，明白了共产党人对于 整个民族的意义，从此他们便忠实地为这一共同的事业服务，并且帮助每一个坐在牢狱中的长凳上却依然忠于这一事业的人。狱外的许多战士，如果想到自己一旦落 入盖世太保的手里将会经历怎样的恐怖遭遇时，可能会有些踌躇吧。但这一切恐怖情景却每日每时都出现在这些战士的眼前，每日每时他们都可能被列入犯人的行 列，很可能遭到比别人更痛苦的磨难。但他们仍然毫不动摇，努力拯救了数以千计的人的生命，减轻了一些无法援救的人的悲惨命运。 英雄的称号应属于他们。如果没有他们的努力，“四○○号”永远也不会像现在这样，像数千个共产党人所见到的那样：它是那座黑暗的房子里的光明的地方， 是敌后根据地，是直接在占领者的虎穴中为自由而斗争的中心。 Lifting the Velvet Pall –- The Vindication of Julius Fucik Author: [England] John Callow
On the morning of 15th March 1939, great flurries of snow and sleet swirled about the towers of Prague's Old Town. Along ice bound streets – emptied of trams and people – the lead units of the Wehrmacht swept in triumph towards the city centre and the government buildings, located – high up - in the sprawling castle complex at Hradcany. Awoken by the powerful humming of motors, most citizens wisely chose to remain indoors, still unable to grasp the full enormity of their betrayal at the hands of the Western powers. Along a frontier – already shrunken after the Munich agreement – gangs of Sudetenland Germans were busying themselves, under the direction of SS officers, pulling down border posts which bore the national arms, while Nazi stormtroopers scoured the countryside hunting for Communists, Gypsies, and Jews. And all this time – as the shutters were being pulled down upon the last offices of the free press, as Czechoslovakia disappeared from the map of Europe, and as its people were submerged under the weight of Nazi terror and hatred – their elected leadership did effectively – and precisely - nothing. The army was ordered to remain in its' barracks, the latest tanks and aeroplanes remained idle at their depots, the guns of the Czech fortresses remained silent, and - upon the arrival of their enemy – the soldiers were simply directed to surrender, both themselves and their arms, without even the merest pretence of resistance. Yet, just six months earlier, the scene had been very different. A crowd of some 15,000 people had thronged the Czech Parliament building, to hear speakers – including Julius Fucik, a young writer and reservist - call for the mass mobilisation of all popular forces against the encroaching menace of Nazism. Fucik's message was singular and uncompromising – there was still time to save the last democracy in central Europe, the frontier could – and should – be protected, and salvation was possible but only through the actions of the people, themselves – whether Czechs, Slovaks, or even the German minority - who could act as fighters for freedom, whether in civilian or military clothes. Not waiting to be arrested by the new regime, Fucik had now – upon the occupation of Czechoslovakia – left his barracks in Prague for the small village of Chotimer (where his parents owned a summer cottage). His immediate response to the dismemberment of his country – and to the destruction of Czech national culture – was both surprising and imaginative and the rationale behind it lies at the very heart of this paper. Throughout the spring and early summer of 1939, he worked on The Silenced and Forgotten, a book that sought to champion all of those Czech writers of the nineteenth century who had been deliberately ignored by current literary fashion, or whose voices had been stifled by the incorporation of Czech lands into the Austro-Hungarian empire (It is worth recalling, here, that up until the First World War, only German had been taught in state schools, and that the Czech language had been effectively banned). Confronted by the denial of national identity, the loss of all political freedom, and by the rise of a pernicious sense of cultural nilism, Fucik chose to stress a potent – indigenous -revolutionary tradition that linked the endeavours of the Medieval Hussites and the revolutionaries of 1848, directly with the anti-fascist struggles of his own time. As artist, polemicist and materialist, it seems that he could simply not bear the thought of the destruction of great art and the erasure of all memory of troublesome, creative and visionary figures from the historical record. Yet – by a curious and disturbing irony – this is precisely what happened to Fucik, himself. Since 1989, it is his legacy that has been subjected to the tabula rasa. Pronounced a "non-person", by those who profited from the "Velvet Revolution", an ugly gash now adorns the wall of his childhood home - where his bust was torn down on the orders of the city council. The civic squares, metro stations and sports stadiums which recalled his endeavours have been exorcised from the map. His monument is gone from Berlin, his statue vanished from Pilsen, and his empty podium is now the home to an advertising billboard at the entrance to the Prague parklands that once bore his name. An enquiry regarding his work, in a Czech bookshop arouses bewilderment or open suspicion. "That's a strange request" - the little shopkeeper in the Mala Strana practically spat - in response to my own questions about the current availability of author's books. So, we can ask ourselves - who was Julius Fucik? – and - Why all the fuss about a man who enjoyed only a modest, and geographically limited, fame in his own lifetime – and, it would appear a lasting hatred and oblivion in our own. Despite the attempts of his early biographers to furnish him with a solid proletarian background – Fucik was the son of an engineer, who worked at the Skoda plants in Prague and Pilsen, and enjoyed (as far as we can tell) a comfortable upbringing – filled with amateur theatricals and musicals. At the age of 12, he was cramming his school exercise books with reviews and news items – already writing in the style of a mature journalist and imagining himself to be the editor of the score of broadsheets that he produced (in pen, ink and crayon) for the amusement of his sisters. Yet a defining influence upon him was to be the First World War, which tore apart the patch-worked fragments of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Life changed dramatically for this intelligent and inquisitive child, who experienced food shortages at first hand, heard talk of revolution from the women who queued for bread outside the Skoda plant, and witnessed the lightening strikes which convulsed the shop floor - together with the equally sudden reprisals taken by the authorities against the union leadership that had organised them. In particular, the shooting of five children, on 21 June 1918, who had been caught – by soldiers - stealing loaves from the back of a lorry in Pilsen, deeply effected him. He would later write that: "I grew up in a period of war … I could not fail to see that there was something wrong with a world in which people who were filled with longing for life nevertheless fought each other against their will. I began, as they say, to criticise it. Books and the theatre formed a large part of my world. I explored them and found that there are some books that speak, and some that are entirely dumb. I decided that [henceforth] I had to declare that no books should be either lying or dumb. I looked upon this as my task in the struggle for a better world [and] In this way I began writing about books and the theatre" [1]. [1]G. Fucikova, Julius Fucik, (Prague, 1955), pp.12-13. S. Jolly, "Julius Fucik. Biographical Note" in J. Fucik, Report from the Gallows, (London, 1957) p.130. It is no surprise, therefore, to discover that Fucik joined the joyful crowds who spilled onto the streets to hear the proclamation of the Czechoslovakian Republic, on 28 October 1918, or that as soon as he turned 16 – in the spring of the following year – he formally renounced his membership of the Roman Catholic Church. He was active in the left wing of the Czech Social Democratic Party and, when that party spilt, in 1921, it seemed a natural progression for him to join the new Communist Party, as a foundation member. At the same time, he was involved with the inception of the Devetsil group (the word is the name of a flower but also puns on the Czech for "nine times more powerful" evoking the power of the muses and the 9 original members), the longest lived of the inter-war literary avant-gardes – that was founded in a Prague café in October 1920. Indeed, it is hard – if not impossible - to make Fucik – a Bohemian by inclination, as well as by birth - into a cold and unprepossessing ideologue. His friend and mentor, F.X. Salda was the foremost of Czech literary critics, and Fucik – himself - was not only one of the few Czech's to be fully aware of Kafka's work, but was also one of the earliest and most effective popularisers of Jaroslav Hasek's bitingly satirical novel The Good Soldier Svejk.
Yet it was not to books that Fucik primarily devoted himself. From 1929-1938, he was the co-editor of the Communist Party's daily newspaper Rude Pravo (Red Law), and of the cultural journal Tvorba (or Creativity). He made his living as a newspaper writer – "living the day" as he put it – and the vast majority of his Collected Works are drawn from the pages of his topical articles. As a result, some of his output may now appear dated or obscure. He never had the time, leisure or the liberty to complete his great novel The Generation before Peter, or to synthesise his cultural critiques into one single and authoritative work of literary theory. Thus, it was as reporter and polemicist that he toured Northern Bohemia during the miners' strikes of 1929 and 1932, producing a stream of illegal strike papers in Czech and German, which effortlessly combined clear and factual reportage with a level of personal engagement and a razor sharp analysis. There is a similar, breathless quality to In the Land, Where Tomorrow Already Means Yesterday (published in 1931), an account of Fucik's illegal journey across Germany to the USSR, Soviet Central Asia and the Chinese border. The reader is bombarded with a riot of statistical information, graphs, rhetorical questions, interviews and observations, drawn from the author's 4 month round trip, undertaken in 1930. Upon returning to Czechoslovakia, Fucik was drafted for the first of his two periods of military service. However, on both occasions, he was continually shuttled from garrison to garrison in an attempt to lessen his influence upon his fellow soldiers. Worse still, upon the completion of his service – in September 1933 – Julius was arrested at the gate of the barracks and sentenced to several months imprisonment for incitement and for giving lectures to the troops on the subject of the Soviet Union. From then on, continual police surveillance and frequent arrests became the uncomfortable facts of life, for both Fucik and his young wife (Augustina). Consequently, the Party chose to sponsor his second visit to Kirghistan and – between 1934 and 1935 – he acted as the Moscow correspondent for Rude Pravo, filing a series of gripping and historically important reports that were to be published posthumously – in book form - in 1949. Thus, by the time of the Munich betrayal and the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia he had established himself as a well-known journalist and writer, with good contacts among the intelligensia and considerable experience of industrial struggles, arrest and covert work. Moreover, he was very well travelled. The combination of his ability to move about the countryside unnoticed and his willingness to write, to agitate and to organise, regardless of the personal consequences, marked him out as a figure of some importance within the nascent resistance movement. Having narrowly escaped arrest at Chotimer, he was back in Prague by the summer of 1940. His own words best sum up the tenor of the times - "sometimes, when a policeman's footsteps stop under the window or when in the silence there is a sudden knocking, the heart halts in the throat in brief fright. It is a moment as short as sudden death and, as at the moment of death – how often have I read and heard about it – a bit of your life runs through your mind. Not all of it, just rushing random fragments, sometimes absurd, mostly unimportant. But you see yourself in them: look, that's what I was like" [2]. [2] Z. Horeni (ed), Julius Fucik. Reporter of Revolution, (Prague, 1983), Vol.I p.104. "From the depth of the underground", wrote Fucik, the seeds of resistance were germinating a profoundly Socialist harvest. The underground newspaper, Rude Pravo appeared regularly and – under Julius's direction – its editorial quality improved both steadily and significantly. In early 1942 the paper hinted that the Party had sponsored new clandestine organisations among intellectuals, youths and factory workers. These were days characterised by brief meetings in the street, by the need for continual changes of address, and by the hurried distribution of small mimeo-typed leaflets, rolled out from illegal print shops at the shortest possible notice. Pamphlets and leaflets flooded the work place, and Fucik – by then the editor of no less than 9 separate publications – noted that: "We entered the New Year with our organisation firmly built up, still not yet embracing everything, still far from achieving the same broad extent as in February 1941, but nonetheless capable of carrying out the tasks of the Party in decisive battles" [3]. The pro-western underground were also quick to note the rise in activity, and in May 1942 concluded in a communiqué sent to London that: "The intense, almost public activities of the Communist Party might in the course of time convince the masses that it is the only capable force which is afraid neither of sacrifice nor of work. It makes an impression on the people and gains their sympathies" [4]. [3] Report, p.139.
Even murdering children will be a pleasant duty to him", and his bloody – if thankfully brief – record as the military ruler of the Czech lands was to entirely vindicate this clinical and utterly immoral assessment of his pathological delight in torture and mass murder. His arrival in Prague was heralded by the declaration of a state of martial law, which saw hundreds of resistance fighters executed and thousands deported to the concentration camps. As the net closed in around Fucik, he continued to organise resistance operations from a borrowed city centre flat. May Day celebrations offered the Party the chance to publicise the successes of the Red Army and to show that – despite grievous losses – the struggle against fascism was far from hopeless. Thus a new mimeo-typed leaflet [there is a copy to the side of the stage] proclaiming that help was at hand, and that the Swastika would ultimately be encircled and crushed from all sides, was produced. On the night of 24th April 1942, Julius hurried to a routine meeting with members of a resistance cell, in the Pankrac district of the city, to discuss the preparations to mark the first of May. Pankrac, we are told, was then an area "well-nigh at the edge of the world", separated from the city centre by a deep ravine, and where even the trams – by the time they reached there – seemed to be out of breath. Yet it was here, among the crowded tenements, that Fucik and his companions were seized by the Gestapo, in the culmination of what the SS officers had euphemistically called "the big hunt" for the members of the underground committee. Throughout the early hours of the morning, the infamous II-A1, anti-communist department (situated on the 4th floor of the Petschek Palace), was filled with suspects. Tortured and badly beaten, with blood flowing from every pore, Fucik yielded nothing and was left for dead. Not that this counted for anything. Julius had been caught in arms, positively identified, and marked out for a show trial and execution. From the moment of his arrest he had been under absolutely no illusions that his death was not a matter of "if" but of "when". However, even though the Gestapo had sacked his library and burned his writings, one last twist of fate enabled Fucik to begin to wage a silent war against his oppressors "secretly … in prison, in conditions more difficult than those prevailing on the battle-field in the midst of grenade and bomb explosions" [6]. During the weeks following his arrest, contacts were made with two of the most unlikely of helpers: - the prison guards – Adolf Kolinsky, an SS man, registered as a German citizen, but who had Czech family -and Jaroslav Hora, a police constable whose father had been a member of the Communist Party. Initially suspicious of these problematic, and deeply troubled, individuals, Fucik gradually came to realise that they were acting of their own volition, that their offers of writing materials were not made in order to ensnare him and that they were prepared to risk their own lives to smuggle his writings out of the jail. [5] Report, p.37.
From the very first, Fucik's prison diary was a work conceived and composed as a literary work and one which was intended to be published at a later date. It was carefully (not to say painstakingly) ordered – each page was numbered, and it was even given a specific title page – proclaiming it to be a "Report from the Gallows. Written in the Gestapo prison at Pankrac, in spring 1943". Sometimes Fucik wrote up to seven pages at one go, sometimes only two or three. Work was conducted at an incredible speed, and it is therefore all the more striking that the manuscript is rarely marked by crossings out or substantial re-workings. It is clear that the author spent the long hours of enforced idleness in his cell planning out each passage in advance. There is a definite structure to the book, imposed from the outset – an overriding sense of optimism and even an ebullient sense of good humour (as Fucik cannot help himself laughing at a bullying SS drill instructor who, in his bluster and authoritarian arrogance, seemed to have fallen straight out of the pages of Good Soldier Svejk). This confidence in the future – in the defeat of fascism (a murderous circus, that cannot last) – is implicit in every page as Fucik began to set down a partial history not only of his own struggles, but also of the development of the entire Czech resistance movement. At the same time, he also attempted to continue the survey of Czech literature that he had begun after the Nazi invasion of his homeland. However, relying only upon his own memory and without a single book to hand, this proved to be an exceedingly difficult task and one which he was never able to complete. His text breaks off suddenly and only a handful of manuscript pages have survived for us, which were obviously intended to be the framework for a much larger study that he had always considered to be his life's work. As it is, this accolade must go to the Report itself, as one of the most evocative, powerful and accurate studies of the inhumanity of fascism that has ever been produced.
167 pages of the Report were eventually smuggled out of Pankrac prison, between 13th April and 9th June 1943. This was truly a "time stolen [back] from death" - where every second gained marked a small, but significant victory. Indeed, if one looks closely enough at the text of the Report it is clear that the book possesses two separate, and climactic endings – the first evidently written when the transference of Fucik to Germany was first mooted, in May 1943, and the second at the beginning of June shortly before his transportation actually took place [7]. The last 16 of the pages were written on 9th June, the day before he was transferred to the fortress at Bautzen. Separated from Kolinsky and Hora, Fucik no longer had the opportunity to write. However, we can glimpse him again in the handful of beautiful cards and pictures drawn by his cellmate, Zdenek Dvorak (who was later tortured to death in Auschwitz) and in the yellowing pages of the transcript of his show trial, which were unearthed in 1950. Brought before the court, on 25th August 1943, Fucik was faced by not only the prosecutor - but also by his defending counsel – who both demanded the imposition of the death penalty. Though it was a foregone conclusion, Fucik – to the end – breathed defiance from the dock, the accused turned accuser, proclaiming that the though the verdict of the court would now decree his death, his own verdict on Fascism – that true life for the individual would inevitably entail its utter destruction – had been registered long ago and was now coming to pass on battlefields throughout the world. The fear that the end of the Third Reich was at hand certainly served to accelerate the judicial process against him and to greatly increase the number of executions carried out in Berlin's Plotensee prison. As normal methods were abandoned, Julius Fucik was one of 360 prisoners murdered in the course of just one single night of terror (7-8th September 1943). The last record of him speaks of him being bundled from his cell, in the hours before dawn, and gagged by SS officers in an attempt to stop him singing the Internationale – as it transpires, the refrain was heard and picked up by his fellow prisoners whose voices accompanied him on his final journey [8]. [7] Report, pp.77 & 145.
Augustina quickly reconstructed the manuscript of the Report from the Gallows and, in September 1945, it was published to great acclaim in both Czechoslovakia and in the Soviet sector of Berlin – though in such haste that some passages of the text still lay undiscovered and were only added into subsequent editions. It is not going too far to say that publication was "the most significant event in" post-war Czech prose [9]. By March 1955, the Report had been translated into 68 languages and published in 154 different editions, a figure that was to rise to 88 languages and 265 editions by 1977, and 320 foreign language and 38 Czech editions to date. More than a million copies of the book were printed in the Czech language alone (making the reticence of the Prague bookseller, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the paper all the more surprising!) [10]. [9] A. Novak, Czech Literature, (Michigan, 1976), p.334.
Fucik's rallying call against the resurgence of Fascism and imperialist war – "People, I have loved you.Be on your guard!" – captured the imagination of the developing world. In Korea and in Vietnam, the first editions of the Report were printed in instalments by cyclostyle and hastily distributed to forward units in the field, while radicalised soldiers in the British and Indian armies – though completely unable to speak each others language – struck up friendships based on the mutual recognition of the cover of his – by now – famous book [11]. A young Fidel Castro recommended it as vital reading matter to his guerrilla army and declared that its author's spirit was "enshrined in every victory of our age", while the Chilean poet - Pablo Neruda - sincerely believed that: "We live at a time which in literature will be known in the future as ‘the Fucik epoch', an epoch of simple heroism". An official portrait by Max Svabinsky [which you can see behind me] was sketched in 1950 from a series of police photographs (taken in September 1933) – and was, in its day, as famous as Korda's iconic photograph of Che Guevara, holding the power both to inspire or to enrage, depending upon the persuasion of the viewer [12]. The image subsequently appeared on postage stamps and on the badge of Czechoslovakian youth organisations, after 1949, and was to provide the focus for Milan Kundera's scorn in the 1969 novel The Joke. [11] Julius Fucik and the Present, op.cit. p.13.
However, the popularity of his work was severely limited by the onset of the Cold War, and its influence confined – primarily – to the Eastern Block, to China, and to those countries – such as Spain, Portugal and Chile – that were still struggling to overthrow Fascism. In Britain, although it was enthusiastically reviewed by such left-wing luminaries, as Allen Hutt and Harry Pollitt, it was almost completely ignored by the mainstream press. Worse still, the tendency of these reviewers to stress orthodoxy against new literary forms, and to seek to contrast Fucik's sacrifice with the apparent backsliding of George Orwell and Cyril Connolly proved incredibly counter-productive [14]. Fucik the avant-guardist now appeared to be a figure of social, and literary, conservatism. The result was that the book was only taken up by minor publishers and produced in cheap editions which sold poorly and had, eventually, to be pulped. [13] Julius Fucik and the Present, op.cit. p.15.
Why was he not kept in solitary confinement, and why had he been driven around the darkened streets of Prague by the Gestapo? Surely, they reasoned, the book was a fraud, concocted by the new Socialist government of Czechoslovakia in order to champion its own part in the resistance struggle, and to legitimise the reasons behind its own rapid ascent to power. Fucik had now become a victim of his own success – in the words of a former acquaintance, turned exile and Cold War warrior, he had been transformed into a "communist idol" to be venerated "with true pagan ceremoniousness" [15]. As the most visible and popular (indigenous) symbol of Communist rule in Czechoslovakia, he was - therefore - the most vital for demolition – though it was the use that his name and work were put to, rather than his actual achievements and writings that drew the majority of opprobrium levelled by the dissenters of the 1960s and ‘70s [16]. However, all of this was to change in November 1989 as Vaclav Havel targeted Fucik for particular censure, as a "false hero" whose demagoguery, and melodramatic self-obsession simply had no place in the modern world of "post-communism". Worse still, it was suggested that Fucik had been both a traitor and a coward who had talked to the Nazis and had actively betrayed his comrades to them. It was confidently predicted that a future commission of enquiry would throw open the state archives and reveal both himself – and his most famous work – to be little more than tarnished and sorry fakes. [15] E. Hostovsky, "The Communist Idol. Julius Fucik and his Generation", (New York, 1953), p.1.
These threw significant light on the fight of the Czech resistance from 1941-43, proved that it was – as Fucik had always suspected – his adjutant, Jaroslav Klecan, who had talked to the Gestapo and revealed (and what a revelation it was!) that Fucik had had – all along – one final trick to play upon his captors. Rather than giving any incriminating evidence to his interrogators – and realising that the whole of the underground organisation was endangered by Klecan's testimony, he had engaged his foes in a grim dance of death in an attempt to throw them off the scent of those groups that were still operational. "I knew", he wrote, "that here too there was an opportunity for struggle; by quite different means than from outside, but with the same purpose and the same objective … Now something more was needed, so that I could say that I had done my duty in every place and in every situation" [17]. As he fed his torturers false information, piecemeal, he bought – through the sacrifice of his own life – the shattered infrastructure of the resistance the all-important time it needed, in order to rebuild its strength and gather its forces. Each passing day brought in new recruits, new stockpiles of arms, and witnessed fresh advances by the allies, driving nail upon nail – inexorably – into the coffins of the Third Reich and the Axis powers. Furthermore, on the personal level – we know of at least 5 prominent poets and writes, including a future Nobel Prize Laureate who were saved in this manner, not to mention the young National Theatre actress who stood trial alongside him. In this light, Fucik's last struggle – fought out in the darkness of a condemned cell – does not detract from his heroism, but instead adds enormously to its potency and lustre. [17] Report, p.144.
Julius Fucik can be (and in recent years he has been) portrayed as a dated, irrelevant and wholly forlorn figure - "a hero" in the words of Peter Steiner (the great American expert upon his life and work), "but alas, one who was no longer needed" [18]. I find this a rather sad – and not to say misplaced judgement. There is no teleology of free-market capitalism – only the base law of the jungle – and fascism and imperialism, far from being conquered in 1945, still stalk the corners of the globe. If Fucik has fallen from fashion, then it is a reflection not necessarily upon him, but upon on our own age, where cynicism and historical amnesia appear to be very much the order of the day. However, while writing this paper I was reminded by Stuart Munro [who is videoing tonight's meeting] of the giant metronome, perched high on the Letna plain above Prague, and whose movements are intended to mirror the workings of the Marxist dialectic. Just as change and conflict are the motors of human affairs, so the tide will turn once again. The victories of the Left in the Czech elections – this very year – have already produced some interesting results. On 30th July 2002, the monument to one of the heroes of the Communist resistance was re-instated by Prague's - Social Democrat - Deputy Mayor, who (when interviewed) considered that it was "only a matter of time" before all of the memorials to Fucik were restored [19]. As long as courage and self-sacrifice are values to be admired – and an end to exploitation and racial hatred hoped and striven for – then it would seem that the memory of Julius Fucik will never be totally erased. Although countless gallons of ink have been spilt in attempting to analyse the reasons that prompted him to write the Report from the Gallows, I would suggest that he – himself – provided the most succinct and poignant answer – when he explained that: "That's why I am writing to you. I am throwing my letter like a message in a bottle into the sea of time; may a lucky tide lay it at your feet and you, wiping away the mould of our emotion, read the long-gone words about the people we are. So that you may understand us, my dear unknown [my dear future]" [20]. If my talk tonight has done anything – I would hope that it has served to capture something of his conviction, unyielding sense of optimism and sheer tenacity, and that his message – thrown forward into this uncertain age has reached a new audience and found a safe harbour within these halls. |
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