A Hunger Artist / Ein Hungerkünstler E-Book

Franz kafka

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 34

Beschreibung

This edition contains the English translation and the original text in German. "A Hunger Artist" ("Ein Hungerkünstler") is a short story by Franz Kafka first published in "Die neue Rundschau" in 1922. The story was also included in the collection "A Hunger Artist" ("Ein Hungerkünstler"), the last book Kafka prepared for publication, printed by "Verlag Die Schmiede" after Kafka's death. The protagonist, a hunger artist who experiences the decline in appreciation of his craft, is an archetypical creation of Kafka: an individual marginalized and victimized by society at large. The title of the story has been translated also to "A Fasting Artist" and "A Starvation Artist". "Ein Hungerkünstler" ist eine Erzählung von Franz Kafka, die erstmals 1922 in der Zeitung "Die neue Rundschau" erschien. Gleichzeitig ist es der Titel für den 1924 erschienenen Sammelband des Autors, der noch drei weitere Prosatexte enthielt. Drei der vier Erzählungen haben jeweils eine ironische Sicht auf das Künstlerleben zum Inhalt, wobei in zwei Fällen Zirkusfiguren gewählt wurden. Vor und nach der Jahrhundertwende war die Verwendung von Gauklern und Artisten, also Vertreter eher halbseidener Künste, in der Literatur sehr häufig. Siehe bei Frank Wedekind, Rainer Maria Rilke, Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine. Es ist eine bittere Ironie der Kafka-Texte, dass Künstler und Zuschauer sich nicht verstehen können. Den Artisten treibt innerer Zwang; das Publikum will kurzfristige Unterhaltung. Auch die Maus Josefine aus Kafkas letzter Erzählung ist ihrem Publikum fern in ihrer Selbstvergessenheit.

Leseprobe

A Hunger Artist

In the last decades interest in hunger artists has declined considerably. Whereas in earlier days there was good money to be earned putting on major productions of this sort under one’s own management, nowadays that is totally impossible. Those were different times. Back then the hunger artist captured the attention of the entire city. From day to day while the fasting lasted, participation increased. Everyone wanted to see the hunger artist at least daily. During the final days there were people with subscription tickets who sat all day in front of the small barred cage. And there were even viewing hours at night, their impact heightened by torchlight. On fine days the cage was dragged out into the open air, and then the hunger artist was put on display particularly for the children. While for grown-ups the hunger artist was often merely a joke, something they participated in because it was fashionable, the children looked on amazed, their mouths open, holding each other’s hands for safety, as he sat there on scattered straw—spurning a chair—in a black tights, looking pale, with his ribs sticking out prominently, sometimes nodding politely, answering questions with a forced smile, even sticking his arm out through the bars to let people feel how emaciated he was, but then completely sinking back into himself, so that he paid no attention to anything, not even to what was so important to him, the striking of the clock, which was the single furnishing in the cage, merely looking out in front of him with his eyes almost shut and now and then sipping from a tiny glass of water to moisten his lips.

Apart from the changing groups of spectators there were also constant observers chosen by the public—strangely enough they were usually butchers—who, always three at a time, were given the task of observing the hunger artist day and night, so that he didn’t get something to eat in some secret manner. It was, however, merely a formality, introduced to reassure the masses, for those who understood knew well enough that during the period of fasting the hunger artist would never, under any circumstances, have eaten the slightest thing, not even if compelled by force. The honour of his art forbade it. Naturally, none of the watchers understood that. Sometimes there were nightly groups of watchers who carried out their vigil very laxly, deliberately sitting together in a distant corner and putting all their attention into playing cards there, clearly intending to allow the hunger artist a small refreshment, which, according to their way of thinking, he could get from some secret supplies. Nothing was more excruciating to the hunger artist than such watchers. They depressed him. They made his fasting terribly difficult. Sometimes he overcame his weakness and sang during the time they were observing, for as long as he could keep it up, to show people how unjust their suspicions about him were. But that was little help. For then they just wondered among themselves about his skill at being able to eat even while singing. He much preferred the observers who sat down right against the bars and, not satisfied with the dim backlighting of the room, illuminated him with electric flashlights. The glaring light didn’t bother him in the slightest. Generally he couldn’t sleep at all, and he could always doze under any lighting and at any hour, even in an overcrowded, noisy auditorium. With such observers, he was very happily prepared to spend the entire night without sleeping. He was very pleased to joke with them, to recount stories from his nomadic life and then, in turn, to listen their stories—doing everything just to keep them awake, so that he could keep showing them once again that he had nothing to eat in his cage and that he was fasting as none of them could.

He was happiest, however, when morning came and a lavish breakfast was brought for them at his own expense, on which they hurled themselves with the appetite of healthy men after a hard night’s work without sleep. True, there were still people who wanted to see in this breakfast an unfair means of influencing the observers, but that was going too far, and if they were asked whether they wanted to undertake the observers’ night shift for its own sake, without the breakfast, they excused themselves. But nonetheless they stood by their suspicions.