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PALGRAVE SERIES IN ASIAN GERMAN STUDIES

Jewish Encounters
with Buddhism
in German Culture
Between Moses and Buddha,
1890–1940

Sebastian Musch
 Palgrave Series in Asian German Studies

Series Editors
Joanne Miyang Cho
Department of History
William Paterson University of New Jersey
Wayne, NJ, USA

Lee M. Roberts
International Language Culture Studies Department
Indiana University-Purdue University
Fort Wayne, IN, USA
This series contributes to the emerging field of Asian-German Studies by
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 Sebastian Musch

Jewish Encounters
with Buddhism in
German Culture
Between Moses and Buddha, 1890–1940
Sebastian Musch
Department of History
Osnabrück University
Osnabrück, Germany

Palgrave Series in Asian German Studies

ISBN 978-3-030-27468-9    ISBN 978-3-030-27469-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27469-6

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This book is based on a dissertation at the Hochschule für Jüdische Studien
Heidelberg under the title “Jewish Orientalism? Jewish Responses to Buddhism in
German Culture (1890–1940)”
 Acknowledgments

The completion of this book has been a long journey spanning almost six
years and three continents. I’m extremely grateful for the friends and col-
leagues, who made this journey possible. First of all, I want to thank
Frederek Musall, who initially suggested this topic to me. Without his
constant encouragement and unwavering support, this book would not
have materialized. I also want to thank Gregor Ahn for agreeing to serve
as my second reader.
A special thanks goes to Cedric Cohen-Skalli for hosting me at the
University of Haifa. He provided guidance when I needed it the most and
I’m thankful for his unfailing scholarly support and friendship.
I’m particularly grateful to everybody from the Posen Society of
Fellows. The two summer seminars in Berkeley have been a wonderful
occasion to discuss my work in an intellectually stimulating as well as
pleasant setting. I’m indebted to Rachel and David Biale, Naomi Seidman,
Fania Oz-Salzberger, and David Myers for organizing these seminars and
the erudite discussion of my research.
Martin Jay invited me to spend the academic year 2015–2016 in the
History Department at University of California (UC) Berkeley and I am
grateful for his support and advice. Rachel and David Biale were crucial in
making me feel at home in Berkeley. I further want to thank Naomi
Seidman for inviting me to the Dissertation Writing Group at the Graduate
Theological Union, where I wrote substantial parts of Chap. 4.
Susannah Heschel invited me to Dartmouth College where I spent a
wonderful summer in 2016. I want to thank her for this invitation and her
continuing support ever since.

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m also indebted to the following persons, who were so generous to

offer their advice (in more or less chronological order): Guy Stroumsa,
Amos Morris-Reich, Yotam Hotam, Boaz Neumann, (z”l), Zur Shalev,
Ory Amitai, Paul Mendes-Flohr, Andrea Sinn, Russell Berman, and
Lawrence Baron.
I have presented parts of this work at the following institutions and
am particularly grateful for the enthusiasm and interested questions I
received from the audience (again in more or less chronological order):
University of Haifa, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, University
of Helsinki, University of Heidelberg, University of Frankfurt,
Mahachulalongkornrajavidyalaya University, University of Oxford,
University of Southern California, Harvard University, Dartmouth
College, and University of British Columbia.
The staff at the following archives has gone out of its way to help me
with my research: the Center for Jewish History New York, the
Feuchtwanger Memorial Library at the University of Southern California,
the Wroclaw University Library, and, last but not least, Deutsches
Literaturarchiv Marbach.
I want to acknowledge the generosity of the following organizations
and foundations: EDEN-Project (Horizon 2020), the Posen Foundation,
the Association of Jewish Studies, the Feuchtwanger Memorial Library at
the University of Southern California, the Jewish Studies Program at
Dartmouth College, and Deutsches Literaturarchiv Marbach (C.H. Beck
Graduiertenstipendium).
A semester as a guest lecturer at Uva Wellassa University in Sri Lanka
and a month at Shengshou Temple, China, as part of the Woodenfish
Humanistic Buddhism Monastic Life Program offered me insights into
Buddhism beyond what one can learn from texts.
A special acknowledgment goes to my new colleagues in the Department
of History and the Institute for Migration Research and Intercultural
Studies (IMIS) at Osnabrück University.
Most of all, I want to thank my parents for their endless trust, and Bieke
Willem, for being my travel companion on this journey.
 Contents

1 Introduction  1

2 Buddhism and German-Jewish Orientalism 19

3 The Buddha, the Rabbis, and the Philosophers: Rejections

and Defenses 41

4 The Bridgebuilders: Jewishness Between Asia and Europe101

5 The Assimilation and Dissimilation of a Buddhist Jew:

Walter Tausk’s Contested Identities189

6 Conclusion: Toward the Study of Jewish-­Buddhist

Relations245

Bibliography 255

Index 281

ix
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

In 1938 in the highlands of British Ceylon, the island now known as Sri
Lanka, a Buddhist monk named Nyanaponika sat down to pen a letter to
a childhood friend. He had recently moved from a hermitage in the south-
ern part of the island, where he had been ordained. Exchanging the crush-
ing heat of the jungle for the milder climate of the highlands, he felt more
comfortable. It was the third year since his arrival from Europe and, dur-
ing that time, the climatic conditions had proven to be his greatest chal-
lenge. Somewhere between the ancient capitals of Kandy and Gampola,
Nyanaponika had erected a hut to protect himself from the elements on a
small piece of land enclosed by rice paddies. For food, he visited the nearby
villages where he begged for alms. It was a simple life, but one he had
strived for. When he was not busy begging or meditating, he spent his
time learning Pali, the holy language of Theravada Buddhism, and
Singhalese, which was spoken by the local population. In the letter to his
childhood friend, who had also left Europe and resided in Mandatory
Palestine, he wrote in his mother tongue, German:

My dear Max! How many things have changed for worse and the worst since
the last time I wrote you—and not just the Jewish fate!1

1
“Mein lieber Max! Seit ich Dir zum letzten Mal schrieb, wie Vieles hat sich zum
Schlimmen und immer Schlimmeren verändert und nicht nur das jüdische Schicksal!” Letter

© The Author(s) 2019 1

S. Musch, Jewish Encounters with Buddhism in German Culture,
Palgrave Series in Asian German Studies,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27469-6_1
2 S. MUSCH

The “Max” in question was Max Kreutzberger, then head of the

Hitachdut Olei Germania, an association for German immigrants to
Palestine, and later, among other functions, first executive director of the
Leo Baeck Institute in New York. Behind the name Nyanaponika was
Siegmund (Shlomo) Feniger, who would ascend to become one of the
twentieth century’s foremost Buddhist intellectuals in Sri Lanka, a tower-
ing figure who left an indelible imprint on the Buddhist landscape, and
whose legacy lives on today in Sri Lanka and beyond.
Feniger was born in Hanau on July 21, 1901, to Jewish parents, and he
was raised in a traditional Jewish environment.2 Even after discovering
Buddhism in the 1920s and immigrating to British Ceylon in 1935,
throughout his life he retained a strong sense of belonging to the Jewish
people. Even though he wrote his most accomplished works decades after
the destruction of German-Jewish culture, Nyanaponika was a scion of the
encounter between German Jewry and Buddhism in the first decades of
the twentieth century. It is the story of this encounter that I want to tell
in this book.
This encounter includes some of the most prominent German-Jewish
voices, as well as unknown figures, from philosophers and novelists to
journalists and rabbis. Franz Rosenzweig, Martin Buber, Jakob
Wassermann, and Lion Feuchtwanger are included, as are relatively
unknown figures like Paul Cohen-Portheim and Walter Tausk, among
others. This study spans the decades before the First World War up to the
destruction of German Jewry during the Holocaust. Many of the people
in this story went into exile, and many others were killed. Yet, as
Nyanaponika showed, the story would live on. We begin in the 1890s,
although it would take nearly two more decades for Buddhism to become
an important topic in German culture and to exert an influence that is
both near-ubiquitous and yet seldom acknowledged. However, I have not
chosen the date by chance. The 1890s mark the threshold between the
extant concern with India (and also by extension Buddhism) during the
nineteenth century and the emergent rise of Buddhism as a religion. The
idea that Buddhism was a religion, even a “world religion,” comparable to
Christianity and Judaism, had proliferated during the previous decades

from Siegmund Feniger to Max Kreutzberger, June 27, 1938, Box 8, Folder 35, Max
Kreutzberger Collection, Leo Baeck Institute, New York.
2
Bhikku Bodhi, Nyanaponika: A Hundred Years from Birth (Kandy: Buddhist Publication
Society, 2001), 3.
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

and gathered momentum in the 1890s.3 Famously, Arthur Schopenhauer

declared himself a “Buddhaist” in 1856, but only in the 1890s was the
time ripe for a figure like Theodor Schultze to emerge, a senior Prussian
state employee (Oberpräsidialrat), who described himself as a Buddhist
and published books like Der Buddhismus als Religion der Zukunft in
1894.4 German thinkers and artists like Richard Wagner and Friedrich
Nietzsche already had something of a penchant for Buddhism, but only in
the 1890s did Buddhism garner enough social capital to be considered in
its own right. Buddhism was no longer automatically subsumed under
Indian thought or East Asian religion. And the (bourgeois) public fer-
vently embraced it. In 1899, the Professor of Indology Leopold von
Schroeder stated that “every newspaper wants an essay; every Verein wants
to have a lecture about the Buddha.”5
However, von Schroeder, the clearheaded scholar, was not pleased that
the rise of Buddhism was inconceivable without the widespread popularity
of theosophy, which took interest in Buddhism to a new level. However,
while innumerable mystical or occultist movements played a major role in
the spread and reception of Buddhism in German culture, Buddhism
quickly emancipated itself from its theosophic roots. After the turn of the
century, for many people, Buddhism was about to become the main attrac-
tion (see Chap. 3). Its followers wanted Buddhism to be seen as a full-­
fledged religion, and in 1903, German Buddhists found their first
institutional home in the Buddhistischer Missionsverein in Deutschland.
Following the ascendance of Buddhism to a religion around the 1890s, we
can observe the dissemination of Buddhist ideas among the intellectual
and cultural elite, concomitant with a renewed interest in Schopenhauer

3
Tomoko Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions: Or, How European Universalism
was Preserved in the Language of Pluralism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
2005), 140f.
4
See Volker Zotz, Auf den glückseligen Inseln: Buddhismus in der deutschen Kultur (Berlin:
Theseus, 2000), 74 and Perry Myers, German Visions of India, 1871–1918: Commandeering
the Holy Ganges during the Kaiserreich (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), esp. chapter 3.
Urs App has shown that Schopenhauer was already interested in Buddhism in his youth and
thus decades before he utilized Buddhist ideas in Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung. See Urs
App, “Notes and Excerpts by Schopenhauer Related to the Volumes 1–9 of the Asiatick
Researches,” Schopenhauer Jahrbuch 79 (1998), 11–33.
5
Leopold von Schroeder, “Indiens geistige Bedeutung für Europa,” in Reden und
Aufsätze, vornehmlich über Indiens Literatur und Kultur (Leipzig: Haessel, 1913), 181. Also
quoted in Suzanne Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: Religion, Race, and
Scholarship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 275.
4 S. MUSCH

and Nietzsche. In 1916, a bibliography (albeit an incomplete one) of

available German titles on Buddhism already listed more than 2500
entries.6 As such, at the start of the twentieth century, we can see
Buddhism’s sudden transformation from an obscure topic, largely of inter-
est to a few misfits and lonesome scholars, into a fashionable subject that
left its mark on the writings of the foremost—not only Jewish—authors of
the period. Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha is certainly the most famous
example, but others including Rainer Maria Rilke, Alfred Döblin, Thomas
Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Fritz Mauthner, Franz Werfel, Stefan Zweig, and
many more integrated Buddhist ideas into their writings. The diverse
understanding of what was passed down as genuine Buddhism offered
something for everyone. From the turn of the century until the First
World War, when interest in Buddhism peaked, one can note both a shift
and a bifurcation. Scholarly attention waned during this decade, but it was
now up to committed Buddhists and less committed literati to come to
terms with this new phenomenon. Committed Buddhists often struggled
with the question of what it meant to be a Buddhist in Germany. Literati,
on the other hand, used their ideas of Buddhism quite freely. Buddhism
was for many a flexible, malleable mass that could be used, combined,
chopped up, and reassembled. The coexistence of rational and spiritual
interpretations of Buddhism underlines the fact that, in the end, the mind
was the only Procrustean bed to which one had to conform.7 The sever-
ance of religious practice from philosophical ideas, which we can identify
in the West’s approach to Buddhism to this day, facilitated the adoption of
the latter. Once Buddhism had become popular and capable of standing
independently, it was taken up by those looking to supplement their
Weltanschauung without subscribing to all of Buddhism’s sweeping claims.
This bifurcation was most visible in the kind of questions that were raised
in the respective circles. On one side, some pondered if Buddhism entailed
vegetarianism or celibacy for German laity. Should they live as monks and
wear robes? Should they erect a stupa or found a Buddhist monastery on

6
See Hans Ludwig Held, Deutsche Bibliographie des Buddhismus (München: Hans Sachs
Verlag, 1916).
7
Please see Donald S. Lopez’s excellent study on how Lamaism was portrayed as the most
authentic and the most degenerate form of Buddhism at the same time. Donald S. Lopez,
Prisoners of Shangri-La. Tibetan Buddhism and the West (Chicago: Chicago University Press,
1998), 10ff.
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

the island of Sylt?8 More generally, should Buddhist customs be trans-

ported from Asia to Germany, and if so, to what extent? These were practi-
cal questions, most of which did not find ready-made answers in the Pali
Canon. Indeed, they often required some hermeneutic effort. As a result,
different German schools of Buddhism were established. On the other,
philosophically inclined, side, the key question was whether Karl Eugen
Neumann’s German translations from the Pali Canon were an intellectual
achievement comparable to Martin Luther’s translation of the Bible (as
George Bernhard Shaw and Edmund Husserl believed) or Shakespeare’s
plays (a position held by Thomas Mann and Jakob Wassermann).9 This
was a discussion of lofty intellectual ideas and such was their Buddhism. It
is unlikely that Thomas Mann, Alfred Kubin, Karl Gjellerup, or the other
writers and artists enamored with Buddhism ever contemplated robing
up. Their interest was chiefly confined to the ideas that the Buddha (re-)
presented and less about practical concerns.
Following the rise from the obscurity of homegrown German Buddhism
to a cultural phenomenon that enticed many writers and intellectuals in
the interwar period, a notable decline is visible with the rise of the Nazi
regime. Subsequently, the bevy of those with a penchant for Buddhism
became dispersed. Most literati were now less interested in Buddhism and
their preoccupation with it often had to yield to the more pressing
demands of simply surviving. They became more attentive to worldly
issues and only a few (among them Lion Feuchtwanger, whom we discuss
later) dared to connect a Buddhist message to the shift in the politi-
cal sphere.
Others argued that National Socialism and Buddhism shared common
ideas. The joint usage of the swastika was the key piece of evidence in this
regard. The antisemitic undercurrent that had plagued German Buddhism

8
In 1927, Paul Dahlke erected a Buddhist monument in the Northern part of Sylt. It was
destroyed in 1939 by the German air force to make room for an airfield. For more info, see
Martin Baumann, “Ein buddhistisches Denkmal auf Sylt,” Lotusblätter 2 (1994), 24ff. See
also: Martin Baumann, Helmut Klar—Zeitzeuge zur Geschichte des Buddhismus in Deutschland
(Konstanz: Martin Baumann, 1995), 146f.
9
Only Rainer Maria Rilke was not excited about Karl Eugen Neumann’s translation. See
Ulrich Baer, The Rilke Alphabet (New York: Fordham University Press, 2014), 16f. Cf.
Hellmuth Hecker, Die Lehre des Buddha und Karl Eugen Neumann: eine Betrachtung zum
90. Geburtstag K.E. Neumanns (Konstanz: Verlag Christiani, 1955), 31. See also: Ina Seidel,
Edmund Husserl, and Jakob Wassermann, “Über die Reden Gotamo Buddhos,” Der
Piperbote 2 (1925), 17–20.
6 S. MUSCH

from its inception was now in plain sight. Intellectually meager as this cur-
rent was, its disappearance during the 1930s was hardly noticed outside of
the circle of its most dedicated adherents.
While some would continue to hold on to Buddhist ideas privately or
even start successful careers in the Buddhist world, like Nyanaponika,
German Buddhism lost its cultural clout during the 1930s. The Second
World War marked the temporary end of the German fascination
with Buddhism.
This study draws from a myriad of sources—such as philosophical trea-
tises, novels, essays, diaries, and letters—and excavates a large (yet far from
complete) field of the Jewish-Buddhist encounter in Germany. Though
generically diverse, these texts are connected by their preoccupation with
the same inherent questions: What is the relation of Buddhism to one’s
own Jewishness? How can one embrace Buddhism and still retain a sense
of Jewish identity? Is Buddhism inimical to Judaism? Perhaps there is no
conflict at all? Might one’s Jewishness lead to Buddhism, or vice versa?
The figures in this study addressed these and similar questions through-
out their writings, both explicitly and implicitly, casually and obsessively.
Moreover, when they wrote about Buddhism, they were also negotiating
their own Jewishness. How this entanglement between Buddhism and
Judaism came about and how (partly antisemitic) forces shaped it are dis-
cussed throughout this study, providing the background for the manifold
Jewish responses to the influx of Buddhism into German culture.
In Chap. 2, “Buddhism and German-Jewish Orientalism,” I discuss the
existing literature on German Orientalism and the extent to which con-
temporary research in postcolonial theory might be useful in exploring the
reaction of German Jews to Buddhism.
In Chap. 3, “The Buddha, the Rabbis, and the Philosophers: Rejections
and Defenses,” I provide an overview of what I have dubbed the “Buddha-­
Jesus Literature,” the large corpus of works that discuss possible links
between Buddha and Jesus, or Buddhism and Christianity. Taking its cue
from Romanticism, the Buddha-Jesus literature absorbed many popular
themes of German Orientalism of the nineteenth century. This discourse,
which was immensely popular between 1890 and 1914, produced hun-
dreds of articles and books, and Jewish rabbis and philosophers took note
of it. Often it was seen as a tool of delegitimizing Judaism, and the concur-
rent entrance of Buddhism into German mainstream culture was thus per-
ceived as a threat. I show how rabbis, community leaders, and philosophers
warned against Buddhism, and how a negative perception of Buddhism
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

came to inform their work. Theodor Lessing, Franz Rosenzweig, Leo

Baeck, and Martin Buber are featured alongside other, lesser-known figures.
In Chap. 4, “The Bridgebuilders: Jewishness Between Asia and
Europe,” the focus shifts to novelists and journalists, among them some of
the magnificoes of German-Jewish literature, and their appraisal of
Buddhism. I discuss Lion Feuchtwanger, Paul Cohen-Portheim, Jakob
Wassermann, and Walter Hasenclever and their ideas on Buddhism and
Jewishness. Here we find an exoticist fascination with Buddhism, India,
and China, or the East more generally. Some would write explicitly
Buddhist works, while others more implicitly incorporated elements of
Buddhist thought into their oeuvre, often undetected by their audience
and/or critics. Even though they often saw Judaism as a vis inertiae and
distanced themselves from their Jewish upbringings, they nevertheless
retained some kind of Jewish identity. By contrast, Buddhism proved
appealing on account of its perceived status as a philosophy and not a reli-
gion. I examine this intertwining between Buddhism and Jewishness and
how concepts of Jewishness often aligned with the perception of Buddhism.
Chapter 5, “The Assimilation and Dissimilation of a Buddhist Jew:
Walter Tausk’s Contested Identities,” comprises a microbiography of
Walter Tausk, who adopted Buddhism as a religion after his experience as
a soldier in the First World War. Based on his published writings and dia-
ries, we follow the evolution of his stance toward Buddhism, as well as
Judaism and his Jewishness. By examining more personal aspects, we can
highlight and address questions that previous chapters, which focus less on
the private and more on the public perception, left unexplored. We ana-
lyze Tausk’s struggle to find his place between Buddhism and his Jewishness
in the 1920s and witness his persecution as a Jew during the 1930s. The
chapter ends on a solemn note, charting Tausk’s deportation and
death in 1941.
In the “Conclusion: Toward the Study of Jewish-Buddhist Relations,”
I utilize the findings presented in this study to begin to address several
issues in the research on the Jewish-Buddhist encounter, both in a German
context and beyond. I set out the limits and challenges we face when
applying lessons from the German-Jewish response to Buddhism beyond
that narrow historical and geographical framework.
Before proceeding to the first substantive chapter, several caveats are in
order. First, this is not a complete survey of the encounter of German Jews
with Buddhism in all its depth. My study focuses mostly on intellectuals,
writers, thinkers, philosophers, and rabbis, that is, literati in the broadest
8 S. MUSCH

sense. The Jewish-Buddhist encounter that I describe largely occurred via

the written word. Textual production is thus the medium through which
the arrival of Buddhism is negotiated. Material and oral culture is only
touched upon occasionally. The reaction of, for example, ordinary
synagogue-­goers will not be known as long as they did not leave it in writ-
ing. This is especially evident in Chap. 5, when we discuss Walter Tausk,
who often bickered with his Jewish family. We only know of such family
strife through his writings, while his parents and sisters did not have their
own voices. Just as the German and European encounter with Buddhism
in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was a textual construction,
so too is this study. This leads me to the second caveat: I do not provide
an overview of the Jewish reception of Buddhism in Germany between the
1890s and 1940s (which would be a gargantuan task) in all its breadth. I
do not consider all responses of German-Jewish writers, and instead focus
only on those pertinent to the questions raised above. As I shall explain
later, the German fascination with Buddhism often went hand in hand
with counter-historical attempts to redefine German or European culture
devoid of Jewish contributions. Antisemitism was a frequent feature of
German Buddhism, the most striking example of which is what I have
dubbed the Buddha-Jesus literature (Chap. 3), which indulges the idea
that Jesus was in fact not Jewish, but Buddhist.
The context of this study is the renewal of Jewish thought and culture
after the turn of the century, which has often been described as dissimila-
tion, born from a combination of antisemitism and the dynamics of assimi-
lation.10 The Jewish engagement with Buddhism, whether appreciative or
depreciative, will serve as a test case for the dissimilation hypothesis.
Part of Buddhism’s appeal to Jews and gentiles alike lay in its newness.
In an age of perpetual crisis, of constant feelings of doom and pessimism,
its newness (and ostensibly paradoxically, its age) was Buddhism’s unique
selling point. A culture gone sour needed new ingredients, which the
teachings of the Buddha offered. The polemics and the attacks against
Buddhism, discussed in Chap. 3, paid tribute to these questions and often
tried to turn the tables on them. Attacks against Buddhism, concomitant
with the defense of Judaism, are especially instructive precisely because of

10
See Shulamit Volkov, “The Dynamics of Dissimilation,” in The Jewish Response to German
Culture: From the Enlightenment to the Second World War, edited by Jehuda Reinharz and
Walter Schatzberg (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1985), 197.
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

their apologetic character. They often tackle the issue head on and do not
shy away from taking clear positions.
In contrast, the very broad tendency to “culturize” Judaism and
Buddhism, that is, to prescind cultural or philosophical traits from either
Judaism or Buddhism and argue for an affinity between the two, as dis-
cussed in Chap. 4, approaches this question in a more indirect way. Often
the reason for this is the genre that writers choose. Novels, dramas, or
essays, unlike apologetics or polemics, leave more room for nuance and
ambiguity. Their narrative is more explorative than argumentative.
Buddhism and, to a lesser extent, Judaism were basically stripped of reli-
gious content, becoming thereby a blank canvas onto which meaning
could be freely inscribed.
German Jews who converted to Buddhism, on the other hand, were
less free in how they approached their new religion, as they were often
eager to find the purest or most “authentic” version that was not compro-
mised by Western ideas. Conversion can here only be understood as a
public avowal, that is, through the written word, since there was no
Buddhist authority that could grant or deny access to these aspirants.
Those who held Buddhism as a private belief and did not publish in one of
the numerous German-Buddhist journals remained under the radar. Just
to give an idea of the numbers, the Buddhistische Gesellschaft in Deutschland,
which existed under this name between 1906 and 1911, had 50 members,
while its journal Der Buddhist had around 500 subscribers.11 The numbers
of Germans who actually converted to Buddhism between 1890 and 1940
are relatively small and unreliable. If we look at Germans who became
ordained as Buddhist monks during the period in question, the numbers
are in the lower double-digit range.12 While Jews made up a dispropor-
tionately high number of these German converts, the absolute numbers
are too small to draw conclusions. It has become popular to speculate

11
See Martin Baumann, Deutsche Buddhisten—Geschichte und Gemeinschaften (Marburg:
Diagonal-Verlag, 1993), 54f. Walter Tausk reported that the Bund für Buddhistisches Leben
had 300 members after the First World War and 100 remaining members in 1925. Walter
Tausk, Diary Entry, October 30, 1925. Reel 2. I consulted the original diaries at the Walter
Tausk Collection at the Wroclaw University Library; however, for this book I relied mostly
on the microfilms of the diaries at the Center for Jewish History New York (AR 4215/
MF359) and all references are accordingly.
12
See the biographical sketches in: Hellmuth Hecker, Lebensbilder deutscher Buddhisten—
Ein bio-bibliographisches Handbuch, Bd. II, Die Nachfolger (Konstanz: Universitätsverlag,
1997).
10 S. MUSCH

about the so-called JuBu phenomenon, that is, the disproportionately

high numbers of American Buddhists of Jewish origin in recent decades.
However, I refrain from drawing similar conclusions about German
Jewry.13 After all, German Jews were overrepresented in almost all van-
guard movements of that period, and their attraction to Buddhism appears
to be a part of this phenomenon rather than grounded in an intrinsic con-
nection between Jewishness and Buddhism. That said, in Chap. 5, I dis-
cuss the question of whether Jewish apostasy in favor of Buddhism can be
considered a kind of assimilation or dissimilation. Unlike those literati
who embraced Buddhism when it was in fashion, like a flavor of the
month, and who often drifted toward other sorts of exoticism or vanguard
movements shortly thereafter, conversion in most cases was a decision for
life (and sometimes death). Walter Tausk’s cruel fate stands in opposition
to that of Siegmund Feniger. Together, they are two trajectories of the
German-Jewish encounter with Buddhism that seem almost paradigmatic.
Unlike Tausk, Feniger managed to leave Europe in time and enjoy a long
life in South Asia where he died, much revered, in 1994. Yet there were
multiple obstacles to survival, as Feniger was all too aware. In a 1938 letter
to Max Kreutzberger, Feniger pleaded for help for his elderly mother’s
family, who still lived in Vienna. The situation in the Austrian capital was
dire for its Jewish residents, since Nazi Germany had annexed Austria in
March 1938. While it is unclear what exactly transpired, Feniger’s mother
managed to leave for Sri Lanka. This was a fortunate outcome from a per-
ilous situation, and unfortunately it was as uncommon as Feniger’s future
career. Murder was the more common outcome, as in Tausk’s case.
Tausk’s fate gives credence to Gershom Scholem’s famous claim that
the “German-Jewish symbiosis” was nothing more than a myth, against
which Paul Mendes-Flohr maintained that the “German-Jewish symbiosis
was within the mind of the Jew, regardless of whether or not it existed
between the Jews and non-Jewish German.”14 Mendes-Flohr has further
described German Jews as having developed a “dual identity” as they tried

13
The most comprehensive work on the JuBu phenomenon is: Emily Sigalow, American
JuBu: Jews, Buddhists, and Religious Change (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2019).
14
Paul Mendes-Flohr, German Jews: A Dual Identity (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1999), 94. Cf. Scholem’s essay, “Wider den Mythos vom deutsch-jüdischen Gespräch,” pub-
lished in English as: Gershom Scholem, “Against the Myth of the German-Jewish Dialogue,”
in On Jews and Judaism in Crisis, edited by Werner Dannhauser (New York: Schocken
Books, 1976), 61–64.
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

to come to terms with their Judentum and their Deutschtum.15 This inner
dialog was built around the tension that arose from the denial of the non-­
Jewish majority to see their Jewish compatriots as truly German. The
German-Jewish encounter with Buddhism is, of course, concurrent with
the German-non-Jewish encounter with Buddhism, yet at the same time it
is stoked by the popular ploy of using Buddhism against Judaism, as most
conspicuously in the Buddha-Jesus Literature. This is most apparent in
Jewish attacks and polemics, but it is also traceable in the more positive
assessments of Buddhism by Jewish writers and even in how new convert-
ers approach their new religion and how they justified their conversion in
the eyes of their Jewish peers.
The German-Jewish symbiosis existed then at least within the minds of
those Jews who did not use Buddhism as an instrument to distance them-
selves from their Jewishness and, as I argue in Chap. 5, also partially within
the Jewish converts to Buddhism. However, in the minds of those who
saw themselves as Buddhists, one could even speak of a German-Jewish-­
Buddhist Symbiosis as their soul was not bifurcated between their Judentum
and Deutschtum, but trifurcated between their Jewish, German, and
Buddhist identities.
The roots of this discourse on the bifurcated soul of German Jews, like
the origin of the German fascination with Buddhism, lay in the nineteenth
century. Mircea Eliade famously identified the whole nineteenth century
as an “Oriental renaissance,” albeit a failed one:

Schopenhauer compared the discovery of Sanskrit and the Upanishads to

the rediscovery of the “true” Greco-Latin culture during the Italian
Renaissance. One expected a radical renewal of Western thought as a conse-
quence of the confrontation with Indian philosophy. […] But the
“Renaissance” did not come about for the simple reason that the study of
Sanskrit and other oriental languages did not succeed in passing beyond the
circle of philologians and historians, while, during the Italian Renaissance,
Greek and classical Latin were studied not only by grammarians and human-
ists but also by poets, artists, philosophers, theologians, and men of science.16

While it is indubitable that the Oriental renaissance, as envisioned by

Schopenhauer and many others, did not yield the results they had hoped

15
See Mendes-Flohr, German Jews: A Dual Identity, 93f.
16
Mircea Eliade, The Quest: History and Meaning in Religion (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1969), 55f.
12 S. MUSCH

for, the second part of Eliade’s argument seems rather problematic

(Schopenhauer is already an example that contradicts Eliade’s assessment;
Eliade himself could be considered one as well). This study is largely based
on the writings of poets, artists, philosophers, and theologians. What
many of them hoped for, and others repudiated, was in fact the “radical
renewal of Western thought” through the influx of Buddhism, that is, a
renaissance of the Occident through the Orient. Unlike Eliade, it seems
practical to draw a line between the beginning of the nineteenth century
(roughly from 1800 until the 1830s) and the twentieth century (roughly
from the 1890s until the 1930s), thus dividing the period into the first
Oriental renaissance (or the Romantic Oriental renaissance) and the sec-
ond Oriental renaissance (or the neo-Romantic Oriental renaissance).17 It
was especially in these two periods that India captured the mind of “poets,
artists, philosophers, theologians, and men of science,” while during the
in-between period it was mainly philologians who captured the scene. But
what distinguishes the second Indian Renaissance from the first is the fact
that philological or scholarly accuracy was not the primary aim. The sec-
ond Oriental renaissance would rather focus on (blurry) connections
between Germany (or, at times, Europe) and India (or Asia) than rely on
the evidentiary value of etymological inquiries. Despite all Romantic
Schwärmerei, the preoccupation with India during the first Oriental renais-
sance always looked for reputable scholarly assessments of their ideas. For
this reason, Friedrich Schlegel’s Über die Sprache und Weisheit der Indier
started with a philological assessment of Indo-European languages before
discussing philosophy and so-called historical ideas.18 At the same time, he
not only postulated a somehow metaphysical affinity, but also tried to find
a linguistic connection between different languages to elaborate on their
genealogy.
However, their more scientifically minded successors demanded spe-
cialization and rejected the use of philology for Romantic delusions of

17
My periodization differs from Suzanne Marchand’s seminal book, not out of disagree-
ment but mostly because, firstly, I focus on the occupation with Buddhism and Indian
thought, while her encyclopedic work includes far more “Orients,” and secondly, she is
mostly concerned with wissenschaftlichen debates while I include in my periodization thinkers
and literati in a broader sense. I also borrow from her the term “second Oriental renais-
sance.” See Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire, 15ff and 102ff.
18
See Friedrich Schlegel, “Über die Sprache und Weisheit der Indier,” in Kritische Ausgabe,
Bd. VIII, edited by Ernst Behler and Ursula Struc-Oppenberg (Paderborn: Ferdinand
Schöningh Verlag, 1975), 105ff.
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

universality. This kind of boundary-crossing also became a trademark of

the second Oriental renaissance and often ignored or bended philological
and scientific results, or what in the 1820s the German Orientalist Julius
Mohl had described as the achievements of the first generation of German
Orientalists, namely “erotic and romantic rubbish.”19
Thus, as Suzanne Marchand has rightfully observed, after the 1820s,
the Romantic idea of India as a place of origin had lost its appeal, and by
the 1850s it seemed rather outlandish.20 Yet at the end of the nineteenth
century, this idea would become reputable once more. Marchand has
dubbed this the liberal/neo-Romantic (or post-liberal) divide, namely the
generational gap between those who were (mostly) active between 1850
and 1885 and who published in the years afterward.21 While I think that
this nomenclatural distinction is not useful when it comes to the reception
of Buddhism, it corresponds neatly with Buddhism’s rise to respectability
within the wider intellectual and cultural public. The second Oriental
renaissance (with its focus on Buddhism) started in the 1890s, and its early
proponents were part of the so-called Generation of 1890.22 This genera-
tion has been described as being in constant revolt against liberalism,
rationalism, and positivism, those being the prime elements of the preva-
lent ideology in academic and intellectual circles of the previous genera-
tions. Heavily influenced by Schopenhauer and later Nietzsche, they
favored originality over progress and often blurry holistic concepts over
clear but pedantic reason. Sweeping claims were preferred over the alleged
petty-mindedness of the scientific method. While I therefore retain the
description of the second Oriental renaissance, mostly to emphasize the
continuity with the first Oriental renaissance of German Romanticism, I
would also distinguish between the two overlapping phases with this sec-
ond renaissance and dub them the (earlier) substitutive Buddhism and the

19
“Fatras érotiques et romantiques,” quoted in: Raymond Schwab, La Renaissance
Orientale (Paris: Payot, 1950), 150. Cf. Douglas T. McGetchin, “Wilting Florists: The
Turbulent Early Decades of the Société Asiatique, 1822–1860,” Journal of the History of
Ideas 64 (2003), 569. Cf. also: Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire, 123.
20
See Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire, 123.
21
Marchand, German Orientalism in the Age of Empire, 216ff.
22
Originally published in 1958, this is the classical study of the generation of 1890:
H. Stuart Hughes, Consciousness and Society (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers,
2008), esp. chapter 2. See also: Kevin Repp, Reformers, Critics, and the Paths of German
Modernity: Anti-politics and the Search for Alternatives, 1890–1914 (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2000), chapter 1.
14 S. MUSCH

(later) supplementary Buddhism, respectively. Substitutive Buddhism saw

the Buddha’s teachings as a substitute for another Weltanschauung, for
example, Christianity and Judaism, but also positivism, nationalism, and
socialism. Of course, while their Buddhism often still featured what they
nominally eschewed, its proponents believed that they had found an alter-
native that could replace their old ways of thinking completely. Starting
with the ground-breaking Theodor Schultze, these early proponents
regarded Buddhism as a religion that could rival, even in its rational incar-
nation, Christianity and Judaism. Yet for them, Buddhism was not merely
a religion: it was a transformative force encompassing all spheres beyond
the religious. However, another batch of later Buddha aficionados formed
part of the second Oriental renaissance: Supplementary Buddhism, which
grew increasingly prominent around the First World War, did not retain
the all-encompassing claims of substitutive Buddhism. For its proponents,
Buddhism was also a transformative force, but it would supplement, and
not substitute, one’s antecedent Weltanschauung. One could be a Socialist
and Buddhist. Or, of course, a Jew and a Buddhist.
From this it follows that for substitutive Buddhists, religious content
played a more serious role. They were also more likely to reach for the
textual corpus and even learn Pali or Sanskrit. Finding the original mes-
sage was more imperative for them than for the supplementary Buddhists,
who were often content with one source, mostly Karl Eugen Neumann’s
translation from the Pali Canon. However, we can find among them both
ardent rationalists and eccentric theosophists, with a middle ground
between them. The same goes for supplementary Buddhists. In fact, the
distinction between supplementary and substitutive Buddhists is not based
on their conceptualization of Buddhism as rational or irrational, as we can
find examples on both sides of the aisle. The decisive point is the function
(substitutive or supplementary) of Buddhism in their respective convic-
tions. Among those included in this study, most belong to the realm of
supplementary Buddhism, which was for them just one of several fashion-
able ideas. Buddhism, in their reading, possessed an openness that made it
especially appealing. Walter Hasenclever, for example, might have seen
himself as a Buddhist, but he saw no problem in simultaneously adopting
Swedenborgian mysticism.
The above attempts at providing a historical categorization give rise to
another issue, namely the historicity of the Buddha. How could one gaze
at a religious figure steeped in an almost impenetrable spatial and tempo-
ral distance?
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

One has to remember that at the beginning of the twentieth century,

many basic facts about Buddhism either were in dispute among scholars or
did not trickle down to the less scholarly inclined followers. For example,
in his article “Buddha and der Buddhismus” from 1908, the Zionist
author Max Nordau, who in his book Entartung had counted a proclivity
for Buddhism among the symptoms of neuropathy, argued that, without
doubt, Buddhism was the most widespread religion of the present day,
which echoed Schopenhauer’s earlier (and incorrect) view.23 In 1904,
Anton Gueth (Nyanatiloka) became the first German to be ordained as a
Buddhist monk. Only after an Odyssean journey through Asia, finally
reaching Bombay, did he realize that Buddhism was no longer existent
in India.24
These two examples serve to remind us that reliable information about
Buddhism, although considerably greater than before the advent of the
first Oriental renaissance, was still rare. While now the distinction between
Mahayana and Hinayana, or between Theravada, Zen/Chan, and Lamaism
had reached the status of common knowledge, other details were uncharted
or distorted, or even contradictory. The infighting within the German-­
Buddhist community concerning their conflicting interpretations caused
strife and significantly weakened the movement; at times, it caused confu-
sion among German Buddhists about the right path. Underlying many of
the claims and objections made in these disputes are links to the preva-
lence of historicist thinking, because ideas about Buddhism were intrinsi-
cally tied to the historical figure of the Buddha, founder of a religion like
Jesus and defier of ossified authorities like Martin Luther.25 How could
one reconcile the historicity of Buddha, namely Siddhartha Gautama, with
the historical-critical skepticism that had gnawed away the credibility of
Christianity and Judaism and thus fueled the ascendance of Buddhism in
the first place?
Historicism’s rise to prominence in German thought was closely tied to
the critical examination of the historical figure of Jesus, going back to
David Friedrich Strauss’s Das Leben Jesu—kritisch bearbeitet, first pub-
lished in 1835. The profound impact of this line of thinking and the
23
“Sicher ist, daß der Buddhismus die weitaus verbreitetste Religion auf Erden ist und
anscheinend noch immer langsam und in der Stille neue Gebiete erobert.” Max Nordau,
“Buddha und der Buddhismus,” Die Gartenlaube 55 (1908), 592. See also: Zotz, Auf den
glückseligen Inseln: Buddhismus in der deutschen Kultur, 146f.
24
Zotz, Auf den glückseligen Inseln: Buddhismus in der deutschen Kultur, 171.
25
See Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions, 134.
16 S. MUSCH

r­epercussions of the spread of historicist thinking during the nineteenth

century can also be found in much of the religious and theological thought
at the beginning of the twentieth century, when the crisis of culture went
hand in hand with the so-called crisis of historicism. The historical criti-
cism directed at religious figures and scripture in fact appeared as a coun-
terpart to the rationalism and positivism lamented even by many secular
thinkers. While Salo Baron, one of the preeminent scholars of Jewish his-
tory, proclaimed that “the entire problem of faith and history (Glaube und
Geschichte), so troublesome to many modern Protestant theologians, loses
much of its acuteness in Judaism through the absence of conflict between
the historical and the eternal Christ,” others have persuasively argued that,
for many German-Jewish thinkers, the question of historicism and the
historical gaze toward religion was a paramount concern.26 This is cer-
tainly also the case for German Buddhists. If the historical figure of the
Buddha is held to the same standards as Jesus Christ, how could one
ascribe veracity to the stories of the Buddha while doubting basic facts
when it comes to Jesus and even his existence? This question plays a con-
tinuous role in the ceaseless efforts to find a link between Jesus and Buddha
as described in Chap. 3. Buddhism had to be approached in such a way
that would avoid the trap of historicism and the application of historical
criticism to the figure of the Buddha.
As such, the Buddha escaped this historical gaze, or was only subjected
to it perfunctorily. In fact, it appears that many of the early German
Buddhists, for whom the corrosive effects of historical criticism and ratio-
nalism turned Christianity or Judaism into a rather unappealing creed,
were rather lenient when it came to applying the same kind of scrutiny to
Buddhism and its founding father. There are several preliminary explana-
tions for this: First, there is the lack of written documents on Buddhism
and especially the Buddha in German. While the availability of scholarly
books on Buddhism and novels with explicit Buddhist content increased
dramatically during the nineteenth century and exploded into an unprec-
edented number of publications at the beginning of the twentieth, in
comparison to the literature on Christianity and Judaism (or even Islam)
compiled over millennia, Buddhist literature was still in another (lower)

26
Salo Baron, History and Jewish Historians: Essays and Addresses (Philadelphia: Jewish
Publication Society, 1964), 109. Cf. David N. Myers, Resisting History: Historicism and
its Discontents in German-Jewish Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003),
esp. 33f.
 1 INTRODUCTION 17

league. Translations from the ancient Buddhist canon were scarce and
often too strongly influenced by the translator’s worldview to provide an
objective idea. Where there was less text to critically scrutinize, faith in
textuality seems to develop more easily. Second, and closely related to the
first, Buddhism did not come with any such historical package. Neither
persecution, nor war, political, cultural, theological conflicts darkened the
image of Buddhism when it arrived. It had less European or German his-
tory than, say, Islam. The third reason is deeply rooted in the Western
tradition of Orientalism (and we shall hear more about this, especially in
Chaps. 3 and 4), namely the idea of the East (or Buddhism) being outside
of history. The idea behind Hegel’s declaration from 1822 to 1823 that
“in China as in India there is no progress forward” remained intact
throughout the nineteenth century; it was not seriously shattered by the
increase in knowledge, nor was it altered by Germany’s colonial acquisi-
tions in China that began in 1897.27
One last point deserves our attention here before commencing our
study in earnest, if only to underline the complexity, entanglements, and
surprising twists that accompany the proceeding story. Karl Eugen
Neumann, whose translations from the Pali Canon had received glowing
praise, was the son of the Jewish opera singer and impresario Angelo
Neumann. The older Neumann, who later converted to Catholicism, was
best known for his production of Der Ring des Nibelungen. After some
initial reluctance on the part of Richard Wagner, whose antisemitic atti-
tudes have been well documented, the two men formed a close and trusted
partnership, a friendship even.28 Wagner had once attempted to pen a
Buddhist opera titled Die Sieger, in which the Buddha reaches Nirvana
through the Romantic love for a young casteless girl.29 Although he later
gave up on the plan, Wagner’s intention was to make the Buddha compat-
ible with his Romantic concept of Gesamtkunstwerk by instilling him with
passion and emotions. Karl Eugen, son of a Jewish Wagnerian, however,
would, in some measure, complete that aborted attempt. Neumann gave
the Buddha a voice akin to the neo-Romantic mood that had swept the

27
“Es ist in China wie in Indien kein Fortgang zu anderem.” Georg W. F. Hegel,
Vorlesungen über die Philosophie der Weltgeschichte. Band II–IV. Die Orientalische Welt. Die
griechische und die römische Welt. Die germanische Welt, edited by Georg Lasson (Hamburg:
Felix Meiner Verlag, 1988), 275.
28
Milton E. Brener, Richard Wagner and the Jews (Jefferson: McFarland & Co. 2006),
chapters 30, 38, 39.
29
Zotz, Auf den glückseligen Inseln: Buddhismus in der deutschen Kultur, 84f.
18 S. MUSCH

nation during the fin de siècle. While philologists criticized his translation,
among artists and writers Neumann’s idiosyncratic Buddha—a mixture of
Schopenhauerian philosophy and Wagnerian language—received near-­
universal praise.30 The German-Jewish writer Albert Ehrenstein called
Neumann’s translations “the most beautiful and best legacy ever given to
the German people.”31
In this light, what follows is a study not only of German-Jewish writers
who perceived Buddhism as Jews, but also of German-Jewish writers who
perceived Buddhism as Germans. The self-Orientalization, the trifurcated
soul of those who saw themselves as German, Jewish, and Buddhist, and
the denunciation of Buddhism in favor of Judaism were as much a German
response as a Jewish response. The fact that some of these aspects occurred
exclusively among Jewish writers and thinkers does not diminish their
embodiment in a German context. The purpose of this study, then, is not
to emphasize the distinctiveness of German Jews and their thinking about
Buddhism in contrast to non-Jewish Germans, but rather to highlight
that, even in their responses, they were as Jewish as they were German.

30
See the small brochure Die 12 Wegbereiter from 1921 in which German writers were
invited to recommend 12 indispensable books. Stefan Zweig, Walter Hasenclever, and
Klabund emphasized here the importance of Neumann’s translation for their own life. Leo
Weismantel (ed.), Die Zwölf Wegbereiter—Ein Almanach persönlicher Beratung für das Jahr
1921 (München and Frankfurt: Verlag der Arbeitsgemeinschaft, 1921), 13f, 21, and 24. See
also: Zotz, Auf den glückseligen Inseln: Buddhismus in der deutschen Kultur, 90ff.
31
“Wer den Weg sehen oder gehen will, lese, studiere, beherzige die Reden Gotamo
Buddhos, sie sind nun endlich hörbar geworden, uns geschenkt von dem herrlichen Genius
Karl Eugen Neumann: nun sind sie das schönste und beste Vermächtnis, das je dem deutschen
Volk wurde.” Albert Ehrenstein, “Die Reden Gotamo Buddhos,” in Aufsätze und Essays.
Werke, Bd. 5, edited by Hanni Mittelmann (Göttingen: Wallstein-Verlag, 2004), 248.
 CHAPTER 2

Buddhism and German-Jewish Orientalism

In 1978, Edward Said’s Orientalism saw the light and almost instantly
transformed the way in which Western academia spoke about the East, the
Orient, Asia, or the Other. As Said had shown, the talk of geographical
entities was often intertwined with European imperialism, colonialism,
and racism. Applying the lessons provided by Foucault’s notion of dis-
course, Said argued that Orientalism was “a Western style for dominating,
restructuring, and having authority over the Orient.”1 It was not long (in
academic terms, at least) after the publication of Orientalism that two
lacunae in Said’s work were noticed and subsequently filled. On the one
side, there was the question of German Orientalism, and on the other, the
question of Jewish Orientalism. In this chapter, I discuss the theoretical
foundations and implications of the scholarship on these two Orientalisms
and consider their applicability in Jewish responses to Buddhism.
In 1944, at the height of the German extermination of European Jewry,
the Jewish novelist Elias Canetti wrote in the German language of his
affirmation of his Jewish identity while also claiming an openness to other
possible identities:

Should I shut myself off against eh Russians, because Jews exist, against the
Chinese, because they are far away, against the Germans, because they are

1
Edward Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin Books, 2003), 3. Originally published in
1978 by Routledge.

© The Author(s) 2019 19

S. Musch, Jewish Encounters with Buddhism in German Culture,
Palgrave Series in Asian German Studies,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27469-6_2
20 S. MUSCH

possessed by the devil? Can I not still belong to them, like I used to, and
remain Jewish?2

This serve us here as a reminder of the limitations of categorizations

like German, Jewish, and German-Jewish. Canetti’s claim to a hybrid
identity that united all of these supposedly clashing aspects undercut
attempts to force an individual’s life and world into labels. I shall return to
this at the end of the chapter, but for now I merely point out that the
rejection of clear-cut labels does not protect one from applying them to
oneself. After all, this is a study of those often defamed as Orientals and
their view on the Orient.
Famously, Edward Said had largely ignored the German involvement
with the Orient. He cited practical reasons for limiting his study to the
“Anglo-French-American experience of the Arabs and Islam,” since there
would be “virtually no limit to the material” given that he would also have
had to deal with “India, Japan, China, and other sections of the Far East.”3
However, he also gave theoretical reasons that cut right to the core of his
argument. While Said acknowledged the existence of a German
Orientalism, he nevertheless saw it as fundamentally different from the
Orientalism in the French, British, or American cultural realms. The rea-
son lies in Said’s attempt to connect Orientalism to Empire, political insti-
tutions with their socio-economic underpinning, meaning that Orientalism,
the production of knowledge about the Orient, not only intellectually
justified imperialism and colonialism but also contributed to its successful
implementation.4 While these three countries had tangible politics, that is,
related to power, German Orientalism was couched in the minds of schol-
ars, and therefore was solely an intellectual pursuit:

[At] no time in German scholarship during the first two-thirds of the nine-
teenth century could a close partnership have developed between Orientalists
and a protracted, sustained national interest in the Orient. There was noth-
ing to correspond to the Anglo-French presence in India, the Levant, North

2
“Soll ich mich den Russen verschließen, weil es Juden gibt, den Chinesen, weil sie ferne,
den Deutschen, weil sie vom Teufel besessen sind? Kann ich nicht weiterhin allen gehören,
wie bisher, und doch Jude sein?” Elias Canetti, Die Provinz des Menschen. Aufzeichnungen
1942–1972, 61.
3
Said, Orientalism, 16f.
4
See the erudite discussion in Robert J. C. Young, White Mythologies: Writing History and
the West (London: Routledge, 2004), 168ff.
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kesken makeinta untaan riepoitettu salin sohvalta tänne. Köyristeli
selkäänsä ja vastahakoisen näköisesti asettui vahtiin.

No nyt tuotiin keittiöstä jo torttuja! Olisipas vain päässyt

maistamaan! Ihan piti sylkeään nieleksiä.

Mirri ei näyttänyt välittävän nyt saalistamisesta. Sen häntä nytkähti

yhtäkkiä ja se nousi köyristellen. Veti sitten käpälällään oven auki ja
meni matkaansa.

— Hei vaan! iloitsivat hiirenpojat. Nyt isä ja äiti kantamaan torttuja

piiloon ja maistelemaan! Mutta tortut olivatkin niin painavia, että
vaivoin sai hiiripari niitä liikkeelle.

— Ponnistapas nyt! kehoitti isähiiri ja torttu vierähti permannolle.

Tuli taas torat äidille huolimattomuudesta ja käytiin uuteen käsiksi.
Se ei liikahtanutkaan! Parasta oli, että kävi niitä vain siinä syömässä.

— Herra isä! Kun ihan yritti kiinni saada! siunasi emohiiri ja

hiiriperhe pujahti taas loukkoonsa. Pappilan nuori poika oli tulla
touhunnut ruokakonttoriin ja kahmaissut kouransa täyteen torttuja.
Keittiössä mennessään kuului puhuvan hiiristä, ja taas toi Riitta
kissan, tällä kertaa toisen, ja silmäili leivoksiaan ja nosti ne toiseen
paikkaan.

— Niin se nyt kävi, pahoitteli isähiiri. Jos oltaisiin varovaisempia, ei

olisi tuota petoa tuotu. Tunnen minä tuon mirrin siksi, että ei se nyt
tehtäväänsä kesken heitä.
 Eikä mirri heittänytkään. Koko yön vartioi ja seuraavana päivänä
pujahti vain syömässä ja tuli uudelleen.

Vanha Riitta kävi vielä nostamassa leivoksensa uuteen paikkaan.

Jätti kumminkin eräänlaiseen laitokseen yhden tortun ja pisti sen
aivan heidän kolonsa suulle.

Se oli varmaankin tarkoitettu jouluavuksi.

Ja kun kissa taas pyörähti konttorista pois, riensi isähiiri

suoraapäätä haukkaamaan tuosta tortusta. Mutta hän saikin
laitoksesta niin ankaran iskun päähänsä, että oli vähällä pyörtyä. Ja
kun siitä selvisi, tuli verta nenästä, jota kauheasti pakotti.

— Tämä oli suora murhayritys meitä vastaan, huusi emohiiri. Eipä

luulisi noin hävyttömiä ihmisiä olevan ja vielä sitten pappilassa.
Parasta, kun lähdemme pois koko talosta. Ei tässä kumminkaan
koidu mitään joulurauhaa meille.

Ja niin päätettiin lähteä vierailemaan toiseen taloon, ainakin joulun

pyhiksi.

Kohta oli perhe matkalla ja kartanon taitse taivallettiin kirkkoa

kohti, joka näkyi metsän takaa. Isähiiri oli arvellut, että se mahtoi olla
vielä rikkaampi talo kuin pappila, koskapa oli suurempikin.

— Vik, vik, vik, iii! riemuitsivat hiiripoikaset päästessään maailmaa

katsomaan hiukan ulommaksi pappilan nurkkia.

Päästiin kirkon aidan sisään ja isähiiri löysi ensiksi pienen

hiiripolun, joka vei kirkkoon. Mitäs muuta kuin rohkeasti sisään,
koskapa ei sieltä kuulunut edes mitään liikettä. Polku ja kolo sen
päässä vei suoraan sakaristoon. Eipä näkynyt mitään peljättävää.
Nurkasta kuului vain rapinaa. Siellä oli varmaankin talon asukkaita.

Messupaitojen takaa pujahti kirkon isäntähiiri ja huomattuaan

vieraita, toivotti nämä tervetulleiksi. Kun emäntähiirikin oli tullut
paikalle ja tutkittu ja tunnusteltu toisiaan, huomattiin, että oltiin
sukulaisia pappilan hiirien kanssa. Samaa sukua, vieläpä ihan
läheisiä.

— No tämäpä oli nyt hauskaa, sanoi emäntähiiri ja pyysi vieraitaan

lähtemään suurempaan huoneeseen, kirkon puolelle.

— Kylläpä teillä on täällä komeata, virkkoi emohiiri ja katseli

kynttiläkruunuja ja pylväitä.

— Taitaa olla muutenkin ruokaisa talo, arveli isähiiri, joka näin

nenäkääreeltään hädin tuskin kykeni puhumaan.

— Noo, se on nyt niin, että ruokien kanssa on välistä vähän niin ja

näin, mutta toimeenhan me täällä tulemme. Se on kumminkin
kaikista parasta, että kissoja ei ole täällä rauhaa häiritsemässä.

— Nehän ne saivat meidätkin jättämään kotimme pappilassa ja

sitten eräs laite, puhui emohiiri ja selitti kirkon hiirille koko historian.

Emäntähiiri surkutteli ja isäntähiiri kuohui oikeutettua vihaa.

— Tämä on jo liian hävytöntä! Meidän täytyy vähitellen keksiä

keinoja ihmisten petomaisuutta vastaan.

Ilta oli jo hämärtynyt ja emäntähiiri huomasi, että vieraille on

tarjottava päivällistä.
 — Huvittele nyt vieraita, sanoi hän isäntähiirelle, minun on
mentävä laittamaan ruokaa ja sitten vietämme hieman jouluiltaa.

Isäntähiiri lähti näyttelemään kirkkoa vierailleen joka puolelta.

Kiivettiin parvekkeelle ja poikahiiret vikisivät ilosta päästessään niin
korkealle.

— Vik, vik, vii ii! nyt on joulu! Aamulla tulee suntio kirkkoon ja
sytyttää pitkällä puutikulla kynttilät. Sitten meillä on oikein hauskaa!

Pianpa joutui päivällinenkin ja emäntä tuli kutsumaan vieraitaan

aterialle sakaristoon.

Isäntähiiri hieroi kynsiään ja puhalteli niihin. Taisipa siellä ulkona

olla hieman pakkanen, kylmä tässä talossa oli jouluna niinkuin
muulloinkin.

Emäntähiiri oli saanut päivälliseksi yhtä ja toista. Kuu paistoi

sakariston ikkunasta suoraan pöydälle, jossa oli kynttilä, vanha kirjan
kansi ja kuivunut leipäpala, joka joskus lienee jäänyt suntiolta
sakaristoon.

Pappilan hiiret hämmästyivät kirkon hiirien vaatimatonta

jouluateriaa, siitä huolimatta käytiin siihen kursailematta käsiksi.
Isäntähiiri tarttui halulla vanhaan kirjan kanteen. Se oli hänestä
oikein harvinaista mieliruokaa ja emäntähiiri kehoitteli vieraitaan
käymään käsiksi kynttilään, jonka tarjoamisesta hän tuntui melkeinpä
ylpeilevän. Poikahiiret jyrsivät itku kurkussa kuivunutta leivänpalaa.
Eipä totisesti heidän mielestään olisi kannattanut jättää pappilan
jouluherkkuja tämän takia. Palelikin niin, että hampaat kalisivat.
Kaikki isähiiren syytä, joka oli hölmöyttään mennyt särkemään
nenänsä.
 Poikahiiret aikoivat jo pyytää äitiä lähtemään heti takaisin
pappilaan, mutta kirkon hiiret alkoivat kertoa jouluaamun vietosta
heidän talossaan niin ihmeellisiä asioita, että päättivät sitä jäädä
katsomaan ja kärsiä tyynesti kehnon jouluaterian ja
vilunpuistatukset.

Ateria lopetettiin ja isäntähiiri kehoitti veisaamaan jouluvirttä, mutta

emäntähiiri oli saanut nuhaa ja pappilan hiiret olivat siksi huonolla
tuulella, että se jäi sikseen. Puikittiin nukkumaan rovastin vanhaan
karvalakkiin, joka oli kerran unohtunut sakariston nurkkaan ja
päätettiin jouluaamuna nousta varhain ylös.

Kun suntio sitten jouluaamuna sytytteli pitkällä puutikulla kynttilöitä

kirkossa, pujahtivat kirkon hiiret vieraineen sakaristosta kirkkoon ja
kuoripöydän alle vanhojen messupaitojen poimuihin. Pappilan hiiret
olivat jo käyneet julkeiksi ja valittivat äänekkäästi vilua ja nälkäänsä.
Mutta olipa mukavaa katsella valojakin, joita syttyi joka puolella
kirkossa. Ihan silmiä häikäisi. Eivätpä olleet suotta kehuneet kirkon
hiiret jouluaamun komeutta heidän talossaan.

Kun ihmisiä alkoi tulla kirkkoon, pelästyivät pappilan hiiret

pahanpäiväisesti ja painautuivat messupaidan syvimpiin poimuihin.
Pelko ei suinkaan vähentynyt urkujen mahtavasta äänestä.
Isäntähiiri jo hymähteli vieraittensa lapsellisuudelle, josta pappilan
hiiriherrasväki tuntui vain tulevan entistä pahemmalle tuulelle.

— Meitä ei ainakaan tämä komeus elätä, kirskui emohiiri

hampaittensa välistä. Lähdemme heti pappilaan, kun tulee vain
tilaisuus pujahtaa tästä pois.

— Ne makeat tortut, ihan vesi kielelle tulee, ääntelivät

poikahiiretkin.
 — Ja entäpä rinkelit ja lämmin siankinkku! vinkui emohiiri.

Kirkon hiirien parta värähteli oikeutetusta vihasta. He suorastaan

halveksivat noin huonosti kasvatettua hiiriperhettä. Tulevat sitten
vielä mokomat vieraiksi, tyhmeliinit.

Ihmiset alkoivat poistua kirkosta ja pappilan hiiretkin pujahtivat

tielle hyvästeltyään talonväkensä ja pyydettyään vastavierailulle
pappilaan. Heillä kyllä olisi siellä muutakin tarjoamista kuin vanhoja
kirjankansia.

— Heisaa, ja nyt sitä mennään!

— Joudumme parhaiksi lämpimälle kinkulle pappilaan. Äh, onpa

nyt pakkanen. Minun kipeätä nenääni niin paleltaa. Minä en voi
enään luultavasti syödä muuta kuin sokerileipiä, arveli isähiiri.

Olipa hauskaa vikitellä entistä polkua myöten takaisin kotiin,

vaikka pakkanen purikin nenää ja jalkaa. Ylhäältä tipahteli pehmeitä
lumihiutaleita ja oli muutenkin jouluaamun hämärä kauneimmillaan.

— Vik, vik, vii, ii, ii, rientäkääpä pojat, että joudutaan ennen kotiin
kuin herrasväki, kehoitteli emohiiri. Tänään saamme kissaltakin
kunniallisen joulurauhan. Kylläisenä makaa se salin sohvalla.

— Ja jouluaterian jälkeen on lämmin torkahtaa ruokakonttorin

nurkkauksessa uunilaudan välissä. Emme koskaan muuta pois
pappilasta.

— Emme milloinkaan, lupasivat poikahiiretkin.

— Ja jos kirkon hiiret tulevat joulunpyhinä käymään, katamme

heille oikein runsaan herkkupöydän näytteeksi, miten meillä eletään,
uhkasi emohiiri:

— Niin teemme, vik, vik, iii ja nyt olemme jo perillä.

Hiiriperhe pujahti lumikoloa myöten kartanon alle ja sieltä

ruokakonttooriin. Ah miten herkullinen haju tuoksahtikaan sieltä
vastaan! Ja torttuvasu oli taas entisellä paikallaan ja lisäksi monta
muuta hyvää. Hiiriloukkukin oli jäänyt virittämättä.

Ja isähiiri toivotti hyvää joulurauhaa perheelleen.

Niittylato, verkkomökki ja pellon aita.

Emojänis puhui pojalleen:

— Kun sinä nyt lähdet maailmalle, niin annan sinulle tärkeitä

neuvoja.

Poikajänis heilautti korviaan ja kopsahti istumaan, paremmin

kuullakseen.

Emojänis jatkoi:

— Kolme seikkaa, joita sinun on tarkoin muistettava, ilmaisen

tässä sinulle. Emo neuvoi ne minulle ennen ja nyt saat sinä ne
vuorostasi taas tietää.

Karta pellon aitaa, jos jonkun talon, tai torpan pihajänikseksi satut
joutumaan. Pellon aita olisi kyllä hyvä ystäväsi, vaan siinä piilee
vaaroja. Näes, torpan tai talon pieni poika saattaa virittää
hirttolangan pellon aidan rakoon, johonkin aukkoon, josta polkusi olet
pujoittanut ja lanka on niin hieno ja hajuttomaksi kuusen havuilla
sivelty, että sinä et sitä huomaakaan ennenkuin olet sen silmukassa.
Karta siis laittamasta polkuasi niin, että se pujotteleikse aidan raosta.
Katsele veräjä ja kulje siitä, se on varminta. Ja jos ei torpan mies
aukaisisi veräjää ensi lumen tultua, niin löytyy aina aidassa
suurempia aukkoja, jotka eivät ole vaarallisia.

Poikajänö hierasi silmiään käpälällään ja puukkasi emoaan.

— Kiitos vain neuvoistasi, mutta en aio päätäni pahojen poikien

lankaan juoksuttaa. Neuvohan ne muut vaarapaikat, jotka ovat ehkä
tärkeämpiä.

— Toinen on verkkomökki, jota sinun on kierrettävä. Se on

salaperäinen paikka ja sen seinustalla isoisäni sai surmansa. Siitä
lähtien sitä on meidän suvussa kartettu ja sinä saat vuorostasi
neuvoa poikasi sitä karttamaan.

— Mutta mehän olemme Puputin poikain kanssa heittäneet

kesäisinä päivinä kuperkeikkaa ihan verkkomökin seinustalla, eikä
mitään vaaraa ollut näkyvissä, arveli poikajänö. Verkkoja oli vain
seinustalla kuivumassa, eikähän niissä mitään pelättävää…

— Kesällä se ei olekaan vaarallinen, mutta talvella, virkkoi

emojänis. Vanha äijä, verkkomies, virittää vasta ensi lumen tultua
loukkunsa verkkomökin seinustalle ja sitä on vaikea välttää, jos
lähelle tulee. Verkkomies etsii metsästä makeita syöttövarpuja,
taikoo ne, ja kun tulet lähelle, niin jo alkaa sinua vetää ja pian olet
salaperäisen pyydyksen uhrina.
 — Mutta kertoihan setä Puputti olevan metsässäkin isojen kuusien
juurella tällaisia pyydyksiä. Eivätkö ne ole yhtä vaarallisia?

— Ovat kyllä, mutta niissä ei ole verkkoukon taiat vetämässä.

Sattuuhan joskus, että niihinkin eksyy tuhma Jussi menemään, muka
herkutellakseen makeilla varvuilla, mutta me viisaammat aina
kierrämme. Ja ne ovat helppoja huomatakin kuusien juurelta.

— No se kolmas on varmaankin vielä hirveämpi vaaran paikka,

uteli poikajänis.

— Se onkin vain hyvä ystävä ja toveri ja siksi siitäkin on minun

sinulle puhuttava ja opastettava, että tietäisit. Tulehan, että näet.

Ja emojänis loikkasi muutaman askeleen ja kiipesi kivelle,

poikajänö perässään.

Vähän matkan päässä alanteessa näkyi niitty ja lato sen keskellä.

— Tuo lato tuolla — ja emojänis osoitti käpälällään — on hyvä

ystävä ja toveri, jota ei tarvitse peljäten karttaa. Siihen voi aina
luottaa ja sen kupeelta, olkoon niittylato missä tahansa, löytää aina
rauhallisimman pesäpaikan.

Syksyllä, kun muualta loppuu hieno heinä, löytää sen pullottavasta

aukosta maukasta pureksittavaa ja talvella sen ovi on aina meille
jussikoille avoinna. Ja kun hevosmies keväällä valoisana huhtikuun
iltana ottaa ladosta viimeiset heinät häkkiinsä, jättää hän aina tukon
ladon nurkkaan hienointa nurmea meidän varalle. Kesällä ei liiku sen
seutuvilla ketään muita kuin pieni metsähiiri ja kun heinäaika tulee ja
niittymiehet tuovat eväänsä ladon ovelle, ei silloinkaan tarvitse
pelätä. Saa aivan rauhassa kupsehtia siinä lähettyvillä ja katsella
heinäväen liikkeitä.

Satuin viime kesänä tuon saman ladon kupeelle silloin, kun

niittymiehet tulivat, ja ei ollut mitään hätää. Isäntä vain nauraen
osoitti minua ja virkkoi.

— Kas jussukkaa, kun on valinnut ladon kupeelta makuupaikan

itselleen.
Olehan siinä… kyllä tässä sovitaan…

Niittylatoa ei lähesty koirat syksyisillä ajoretkillään ja kettu juoksee

talvella sen ohi, peläten ladossa piilevän jotakin salaperäistä. Jos
oikein rauhassa tahdot asua, niin valitse yksinäinen niittyladon
sivusta makuupaikaksi, lopetti emojänis neuvonsa.

Tulipa sitten talvi ja poikajänis oli asettunut torpan hakaan

asumaan. Niittylatojen kupeet oli jo vallattu häneltä ja hän tahtoi
elellä yksin omassa ympäristössään. Torpan pellossa oli laihoa ja
siitä sai mielinmäärin illastella.

Äidin neuvoa muistaen oli pikku pupu karttanut aidan rakoja ja

polkenut latunsa veräjästä laihopellolle. Torpan pieni poika asetti
lankansa kuten muinakin talvina samaan aidan rakoon, josta oli
tottunut jussukoita saamaan. Mutta eipä uusi asukas polkenutkaan
latuaan sitä kautta, vaan veräjästä.

— Sepäs ihme on, mietti poika, tarkastellessaan pyydystään ja

jänön latua, joka kiersi kaukaittain aukkoa aidassa. Taitaapa olla
haltiajänis, koska osaa olla noin viisas.
 Ja turhaan hän odotti koko talven saalista. Muutettuaan langan
polulle, muutti jussukkakin taas polkuaan.

Samoin kävi verkkoukollekin. Tuhmat jussit olivat joka talvi

eksyneet hänen pyydykseensä verkkomökin kupeella, mutta nyt oli
majoittunut seudulle jänö, joka oli muita viisaampi, ja osasi kiertää
kaukaittaan hänen loukkunsa. Ei edes makeimmatkaan syöttövarvut
houkuttaneet häntä.

Jänöjussi kasvoi ja lihoi ja eleli kesäisin omassa haassaan ja

niittyladon kupeella, jonka oli valloittanut itselleen. Toverit kävivät
tervehtimässä ja pyytämässä mukaansa, vaan äidin neuvoja
muistaen pysyi hän ystävänä oman niittylatonsa kanssa ja talvisin
polki poikien harmiksi aina latunsa kaartaen paikkoja, missä tunsi
lankoja ja loukkuja laitetuksi.

Ja nyt on jussukka jo vanha ja harmaantunut. Hänestä on tullut

haltiajänis, jolle ei yritetäkään enää ansoja virittää ja jota koirat eivät
kehtaa syksyisinä päivinä olinpaikaltaan ajella.

Puputin ihmeellinen retki.

Puputti oli taas jäänyt yksin latonsa kupeelle. Toveri oli lähtenyt
kerran yksin tepastelemaan läheiseen korpeen ja siellä pistänyt
päänsä loukkuun, jonka torpan mies oli virittänyt.

Puputtia suretti ystävänsä surkea kohtalo. Mitä varten hänen

olikaan tarvinnut yksin lähteä ruokaa hakemaan. Oli lähtiessään
sanonut: — Odota, minä kapaisen hakemassa tästä läheltä oikein
maukasta pureksittavaa.

Ja eihän Puputti aavistanut, että näin tulisi käymään.

Ja nyt hän oli yksin. Suru painoi yksinäisinä pakkasöinä niin, ettei
kehdannut lähteä edes lämpimikseen hyppelemään. Ruokakaan ei
maistunut.

Tuli sitten eräänä päivänä ladon kupeelle harakka. Loikkasi ensin

katon harjalle ja huomattuaan Puputin, tuli pakinoille.

— Mitä sinä suret, kun noin alakuloiselta näytät? kysyi harakka.

— Sattui tässä toverille ikävä kuolema, ja sepä se niin surettaa…

pisti näet päänsä loukkuun.

— No, ainahan sitä sellaista sattuu, eikä siinä suru auta. Taisi olla
ihan läheinen sukulainen, jos lie ollut ihan oma toveri, arveli harakka.

— Oma oli, kaikkia muita parempi, virkkoi Puputti ja pyyhkäsi

käpälällään silmäkulmaansa.

— Joutavia suremaan, naurahti harakka. Lähde matkoille avaraan

maailmaan, kyllä siellä suru haihtuu.

— Olenhan, naapuri, tässä sitä itsekin ajatellut, mutta mitenkäpä

sitä, kun ei ole toveria… taitaa yksin käydä hankalaksi.

— Eikö mitä, mietti harakka ja hypähteli. Saa siellä toverin, jos

haluaa, saa vaikka minkälaisen. Ja ei muuta kuin lähtee nyt heti
vain, ettei suru ehdi päätä sekoa. Hyväpä nyt on hypelläkin, kun
hanki kantaa.
 Ja hyvästeltyään ja toivoteltuaan Puputille onnellista matkaa, lensi
harakka tiehensä.

Oli keväthankien aika ja yöt olivat jo valoisat. Puputti mietti

pesänsä suulla maaten, lähteäkö maailmalle, vai olisiko parempi
jäädä kotiniitylle.

Yht'äkkiä hän teki päätöksen ja loikkasi pitkillä hypyillä metsään.

Hanki kantoi ja tuntui hauskalta loikkia hämärässä yössä.

Ja niin Puputti jatkoi matkaansa kohti etelää, halki metsien ja

ahojen suorana viivana kuin viivottimella vetäen. Oudot seudut
vetivät ja viehättivät ja kun aamu valkeni, oli hän jo kaukana
kotiniityltään.

Keskipäivällä hanki upotti hieman ja Puputin täytyi pysähtyä

lepäämään. Ei näkynyt mitään peljättävää pienen ahopyörylän
seutuvilla. Metsätie luikersi ahon halki ja sen viereen oli tippunut
hienoa heinää metsämiehen kuormasta. Siitä sai maukkaan aterian
ja kiven kolosta löytyi vettä, jota sai lipaista janoonsa.

Kun ilta tuli ja hanki koveni, lähti Puputti taas jatkamaan

matkaansa.
Jäsenet olivat vertistyneet ja niinkuin kerä kieri hän eteenpäin.

Tulipa sitten eteen aukeama, jonka laidassa kulki leveä tie. Puputti
loikkasi tielle, huomaamatta sitä ennenkuin oli jo melkein yli
pääsemässä. Mitä ihmettä? Tietä pitkin kulki rinnan kaksi mustaa
nauhaa, jotka olivat yhtä etäällä toisistaan. Puputti pyörsi
säikähtyneenä takaisin ja painautui rämeen juurelle. Mitähän se oli?
 Hetkisen perästä uskalsi hän loikata tielle uudelleen. Piti ihan
käpälällään koettaa sitä mustaa nauhaa. Puuta se ei ollut, taisi olla
rautaa. Puputti töllisteli ja huomasi nyt pylväitä, joita myöten kulki
hieno rihma. Mitähän se oli? Taisi olla samaa rihmaa, jota poikaset
virittelivät metsään tallatuille poluille ja aidan rakoihin. Se lauloi
somasti tuulessa ja se näytti jatkuvan loppumattomiin.

Tämäpäs ihmeellistä oli!

Puputin siinä töllistellessä tulla tupsahti metsästä pieni koiran

retus. Jänö alkoi pakoon laukata.

— Älähän pelkää, en minä sinulle pahaa tee, usahti Mikki, joka oli
koiran nimi. Minä olenkin vain tällainen pieni kartanokoiran retus,
rakki, niinkuin sanotaan ja sellaisena jänöjussien ystävä. No, tulehan
pakinoille.

Puputti näki, että Mikin silmistä loisti pelkkä ystävyys ja hän

loikkasi lähemmäksi.

— Mihin sinä olet matkalla? kysyi Mikki, katsellen kallella päin

Puputtia.

— Läksin vähän maailmaa katselemaan. Taisi tässä tulla tien pää,

koskapa on näin ihmeellisiä vehkeitä — ja Puputti viittasi käpälällään
mustanauhaiselle tielle — ettei niitä tällainen salonasukas ymmärrä.

Mikki nauroi niin, että vedet kihosi silmiin.

— Sehän on rautatie, etkö sinä sitä tiedä. Sitä myöten pääse

vaikka mihin. Ei muuta kuin nousee kamareihin, joita on useita
peräkkäin ja sitten huh! antaa vain mennä!
 Puputin silmät oli pyöreinä kuulemastaan.

— Jopa se on ihmeellinen tie. Pääsisiköhän tuohon mukaan?

Tahtoo käpälät heltyä keväthankia hypätessä.

— Kyllä pääsee, tiesi Mikki. Olen minä monta kertaa kulkenut. Ei

muuta kuin hyppää sen kamarin katolle, niin eivät tiedä mitään. Jos
haluat, voin lähteä sinua opastamaan. Ja joudanpa tästä koko
matkallekin mukaasi. Hauskempi on kahden kulkea, kun ei ole
puutetta puhetoverista.

Sovittiin yhteisestä matkasta, joka päätettiin tehdä lähikaupunkiin

ja niin jäätiin odottamaan liikkuvaa kamaria, jonka katolle Mikki
lupasi hinata uuden ystävänsä.

Juna tuli ja seisahti halkopinojen viereen, josta oli mukava pääsy

vaunun katolle. Mikki hyppäsi sinne ensin ja Puputti loikkasi perästä.
Samassa jo juna lähtikin liikkeelle ja Puputti painautui ihan kattoa
vasten ja pyysi Mikkiä pitelemään kiinni, ettei vain putoaisi.

— Hii, eikö ole hauskaa? kysyi Mikki.

Puputti ei uskaltanut virkkaa mitään, niin kovin häntä pelotti.

Ajattelipahan vain, että olisipa pitänyt luottaa omiin käpäliin tahi
kääntyä takaisin koko matkalta.

Oltiin jo lähellä kaupunkia ja Puputti pelkäsi kovin kiiluvia tulia,

joita näkyi joka puolelta. Ne näyttivät ihan ahnaan pedon silmiltä ja
Puputti olisi jo loikannut metsään, ellei Mikki niin lujasti pitänyt häntä
kiinni.

Juna pysähtyi ja matkatoverit loikkasivat kinokseen.

 — No, mitä siinä töllistelet, kivahti Mikki. Nyt ollaan perillä ja
mennään kaupunkia katselemaan. Ka, tule nyt.

Voi, miten Puputti pelkäsi. Hän ei uskaltanut silmiään räpäyttää ja

takaset eivät tahtoneet totella. Hypyistä tuli kummallisia
kepsahduksia ja Mikkiä jo rupesi naurattamaan.

— Kyllä näkee, että et ole maailmaa nähnyt, virkkoi hän Puputille.

— Parasta olisi ollut näkemättä… Mennään, hyvä Mikki, pian

takaisin.
Minulla on jo niin nälkäkin.

— Kyllä täällä ruokaa saa, vakuutti Mikki. Tuossa on jo

heinänrippeitä ja aina sitä löytyy muutakin.

Mutta eihän Mikin esittelemät ruuat Puputille kelvanneet. Ne

haisivat lialle niin että puistatti. Ilkeä löyhkä tuli joka puolelta nenään,
jota vähänpäästä piti pyyhkäistä käpälällä.

Ihmisiä liikkui kapeissa solissa ja hevosilla ajettiin. Ei uskaltanut

mennä sinne, tiesi Mikki, eikä Puputti halunnutkaan. Siitä loukostaan
vain katseli ja tunsi hiukasevaa nälkää. Tuli mieleen kotiniitty ja
hienotuoksuinen heinä ladossa. Ihan sydäntä kouristi kotioloja
ajatellessa.

Illan hämärtyessä lähtivät toverukset liikkeelle ja kohta oli meluava

poikajoukko heidän kintereillään.

— Ota nyt pitkiä askelia, kehoitti Mikki ja niin mentiin niin että vilisi.
Mutta pojatkin pysyivät kintereillä. Puputin sydän oli seisahtua
pelosta, mutta hän koetti parastaan pysyäkseen Mikin perässä.
 Pojat jäivät jo muutamassa pimeässä loukossa ja Puputti huohotti
niin, että henki oli katketa. Mikki naureksi seikkailulle, mutta Puputin
rintaa kouristi koti-ikävä niin rajusti, ettei voinut sanaakaan lausua.
Jos hän onnistuisi vielä ehjin nahoin pääsemään tästä oudosta
paikasta, niin ei koskaan enää lähtisi pahaa maailmaa katselemaan.

— Jokohan sitä sitten palataan takaisin, ehdotti Mikki ja sai

hyväksyvän silmäyksen Puputilta.

— Mennään pian, ihan heti. Metsässä saa jotain purtavaa ja siellä

saa rauhassa levähtää.

— Mehän ajamme taas sillä mukavalla ajopelillä, virkkoi Mikki.

Pitää vain katsoa, että pääsee taas kiipeemään salaa katolle. Mutta
Puputti ei sanonut lähtevänsä siihen kyytiin. Mikki houkutteli ja kun ei
tullut siitä apua, heilautti halveksien häntäänsä ja loikkasi
menemään.

— Hyvästi, vanha hupelo! minä ainakin ajan herroiksi.

Kauan ei Puputtikaan viivytellyt. Mikon perässä pysytellen pääsi

hän ulos oudosta kylästä ja mustanauhaisen tien vartta laukkasi
levähtämättä niin kauan, kun tuli rauhalliselta näyttävä seutu
vastaan.

— Oho, olipa se seikkailua, huokasi hän, asetuttuaan lepäämään

ja pureksittuaan haavan kuorta nälkäänsä. Raukaisi niin että silmät
painuivat väkisten kiinni. Saisipa nyt tässä hieman levätä, että
jaksaisi aamulla jatkaa kotimatkaa. Eihän ollut enää hätää mitään.
Tietä seurailemalla löytäisi sen paikan, johon kotimetsistä oli tullut ja
sitten sitä jo pian pääsisikin oman ladon kupeelle.
 Mitä? Mitä se oli? Puputti ponnahti takaperin ja jäi kauhuissaan
katsomaan. Tietä myöten tulla porhalti peto, suuret silmät kiiluen.
Päässä liehui musta, tupruava harja. Hyi, miten piti säikähtää! Se oli
varmaankin Mikin kyytilaitos. Mahtoikohan Mikki itse olla mukana.

Kummitus mennä jyrisi jo kaukana ja Puputtikin lähti hiljalleen

laukkailemaan, koskapa uni oli katkennut. Ehkäpä ei rauhallista unta
saisikaan ennenkuin kotiniityllä.

Jopas vihdoinkin näkyi kotiniitty!

Puputti heitti pari kuperkeikkaa ja kapsahti istumaan. Voi miten

suloiselta tuntui päästä kotiin! Siellä oli lato ja sen seinuksella oma
pesä. Kuusikko seisoi ladon takana yhtä ystävällisenä kuin ennenkin.
Ei missään maailmassa ollut paikkaa sen veroista. Eikä milloinkaan
hän enää lähtisi maailmaa katsomaan. Oli vähällä, ettei jo jäänytkin
sinne.

Oli ollut maaliskuun kantava hanki, kun Puputti lähti. Nyt oli
huhtikuun leuto yö, kun hän sai oikaista pitkin pituuttaan omaan
makuukseensa ja haukata ladosta hienoa heinää, jota torpan mies
oli jättänyt sinne hänen varalleen.

Maailmasta, mustanauhaisesta tiestä ja puhkuvasta hirviöstä oli

vain häipyvä muisto jälellä.
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