seemed to me that I had something in common with them, but in some other deeper sense than, for instance, with the men in my office. It was as though I perhaps would have to sell matches and be old and lousy in the place of that match-seller; or that my own nails might drop off painfully; or that I might prostitute myself; or steal in the night as they do. Just imagine, Vojtech, for instance, this thought. It came into my head that as I was sitting there the end of the world had come outside, and that nothing remained but that vinarna and the people in it; prostitutes, drunkards, street-singers, thieves, diseased people, and that they alone were mankind. That there were neither churches nor palaces, neither philosophy nor art, neither fame nor states, but only those twenty outcasts. Can you imagine such a thing?”
“But tell me more.”
“Hm. There’s nothing more. I only thought of what I should do in such a case. For instance, what should I do with all my files, my position, and my knowledge? Indeed, man, none of these things would give pleasure to any of them, nor could I directly represent the nobility or the rejection of Man. It would be neither an example nor a picture of anything. If I were to play the harp or weep, it would be a hundred or a thousand times better, do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“So you see, Vojtech, that’s why I’ve come to you, because I knew that you’d understand. It has made my life quite clear to me. I lived uselessly. Even for me, even for me, it was all for nothing. Perhaps it was useful for the State; but the State is only something official . . . the State, perhaps, is the duty on wine, but it is neither the wine nor the vinarna, neither the scabby drunkard nor the diseased waitress. These are the facts, do you understand? Man must follow the facts and not only give orders. . . . In short, it became loathsome for me at once. Really, Vojtech, an official is a man who obeys and forces other men to obey also, and that is all he does. A higher official, as I was, doesn’t know at all whether men are ill or what is the matter with them. Disease, misery, and ugliness must be seen, otherwise you know nothing. But if you could only see it, and always see it, and do nothing else, even that in itself would be a great service to mankind. You are made unhappy, mad, and ill by it, and that is more, much more than if
