Nekro Nai
знания - сила
02.11.2015 в 22:15
Пишет Clisson:

It’s war, you proclaim, and the illusion is maintained by the issue of official notices
and calls to the trains.

Однажды Бретону повстречался любопытный случай расстройства сознания: один солдат получил травму в бою и с тех пор перестал верить в реальность войны. Для страдающего военным неврозом (shell-shocked) единственным способом физического выживания была вера в то, что весь бой был только видимостью: кровавые поля, руины и трупы были искусно сотворены неведомыми силами. Более того, эта эстетическая иллюзия была направлена на создание "sublime" (возвышенного, грандиозного). Бретон записал монолог солдата и превратил его в стихотворение в прозе под названием Sujet. Увы, не знаю, если перевод на русский (сомневаюсь).

André Breton

To Jean Paulhan

May I, with the help of God, become hardened one day. I have been kept in such a fearful
state for months! Can it be that sustaining one man like this usurps universal attention?
Capable of the most selfless actions, I was undoubtedly chosen for this by the experimenter.
This very day, if am persuaded to do so, I will perhaps sacrifice my reason to humankind. But
I don’t know the purpose of your manoeuvring. Apparently, no cost is too great for your
success. I no longer assume anything, given the scale of your stage-play.
It’s war, you proclaim, and the illusion is maintained by the issue of official notices
and calls to the trains. The station ‘extras’ limit their gestures to what appear simulacra of
farewells, though from the moment I step away from the performance I would wager that they
return to their homes. What an emulation of command: a rousing spectacle that hasn’t taken
place – Jaurès might appear to me and I wouldn’t take him for a ghost. There is indeed great
peril for Paris. Hearing nothing from the moment they want me to grasp the hint, I surely
astound them with my calmness. The daily papers seem at pains to secure my wholehearted
involvement. It is a sight to see how their bulletins go to extremes of ingenuity to rouse my
These improbable heroes now try the power of magical words, which deserves better
than the refugee poem. I protest at the crudity of your manner in demanding my favours.
Unusual powers of discernment make me sensitive to all your faults. Aside from that, I submit
to the yoke: from the first transgressive act, the talk is of bloody repression. I am melancholy
at being He who is Stranded with No Luggage and No Horse. What use would my refusal be?
... Roaming in what they call the killing-ground, I make a game of the flagrant imposture.
Death is too paltry a spectre for me to consign myself to the darkness of the shelters.
With my head at least I protrude above these ramparts. ‘Volunteer for all perilous missions’ -
with this mention in dispatches, I provide a show of exceptional bravery on the cheap.
People definitely consider themselves to be satisfied. I have the right to some respite
from active service. Didn’t I show by my total consent – at the risk of my life, as it seemed -
the degree to which I was civilised? On the 21st August of this year, during an unprecedented
bombardment, I deliberately allowed myself to be glimpsed on exposed terrain, directing the
passing shells with my finger. How charming too were the torpedoes. I pushed them aside
quite well; they freshened the air to the point of demanding payment for the pretty ladies who
hurry towards you carrying them: ‘La Brise 1917.’ Dazed by the gypsies, lost amid the
slopes, a waltzer sometimes fell, his hand clutching his vermilion rose. With skilful artistry they
have kept me for months in the grip of the sublime. Though the machinery of death has failed
to overawe me with its imposing presence, as they believed. I have, it is true, stepped over
dead bodies. These are used to supply the dissection rooms. Quite a few more of them could
have been made of wax. The majority of these ‘wounded’ looked happy. As for the illusion of
spilt blood, even in the provinces this contributes to the success of plays by Dumas.
Moreover, do not bandages protect against every indiscretion? My supply officer, who bears a
large bruise upon his face, may have been punched. What does it cost to make a company of
soldiers disappear bit by bit?

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