In
1939 Annemarie Schwarzenbach and Ella Maillart travelled in a Ford
car across Europe and much of Asia, through Turkey, Iran, and the
deserts and mountains of Afghanistan. Travel with someone is a true
test of relationships, so it is said, and their partnership was
certainly tested. They were both Swiss citizens (though their first
languages were different) and were both people who deeply questioned
life, its purposes and meanings, particularly in the times they were
living then, with the rise of Fascism in Europe, which was on the
brink of war. They shared a love of geographical exploration too, of
adventure, travel and risk taking. And they were both writers. But
in many ways their personalities could not have been more different.
Ella's
adventurousness and risk taking was tempered with an instinct for
survival. She had a clear goal in mind – to leave the practical
hazards and the emotional upheavals of Europe at war behind, and to
go to India to study spiritual philosophy and meditation with an
Indian master and guide. Annemarie was looking for an emotional
homeland 'the promised land', did not know where, either
geographically or psychologically, she might find it. Her desire was
so intense that she followed it, heedless of danger.
Caution
or calculation were never her companions. The emotional topography
she experienced had a wide range, from sublime exaltation to barren
wastes of utter isolation. Language, the task of putting experience
into words, was a necessity for her. (Wirklich,
ich lebe nur, wenn ich schreibe;
I only really live when I am writing).
Her
output in her short life was incredibly prolific. In her books of
travel writing and poetry she reveals her emotions and
soul-searching, her challenges, her sense of quest, the pitfalls and
the joys of life and landscape; her short stories and novels too, are
often drawn from her own experience, dipped in that particular sense
of the dépaysé
experienced by all travellers, along with a mixture of melancholia
and nostalgia that can arise in any unfamiliar place where you feel
far from home and the solitary nature of existence presses round you
like a border, complete with guards and uniformed officials,
unyielding and defining.
But
she was also a photographer and journalist and in her travels through
Europe, USA and Africa, she wrote many articles for newspapers,
journals and magazines, illustrated with her own photographs. In
these descriptions of people and places, her imagination seems to
merge with whatever she encounters, highlights details, and weaves
them into a picture that carries the signature of her own personal
vision.
I've
translated extracts from the article The
Face of the Great Buddha,
first published in Thurgauer
Zeitung
18 May 1940.
Bread seller in Herat Afghanistan by Annemarie Schwarzenbach (1939) in Bleu immortel |
The
Face of the great Buddha
This
colossus cut into the rocky cliff face is fifty-three metres high. A
few steps of his huge feet would trample whole fields, the folds of
his Greek tunic would unleash devastating winds, his hand could place
a mighty weight on this valley which in former times lived and
prospered under his eternal gaze, turned towards an inner bliss. No
fewer than ten thousand monks lived in these caves – masters of
wisdom and believers come from India, disciples, adepts and converted
brothers from neighbouring Turkestan. Even the peasants of the valley
and the nomads returning each summer to their high pastures enjoyed
his divine protection and a heavenly peace.
This
valley of Bamiyan, nestled at two thousand five hundred metres above
sea level among the ethereal panorama of the Hindu Kush –
Afghanistan's most important mountain range – in the past served
aims both earthly and divine which focused on the satisfaction of
accomplishing the daily tasks. The diligence of hands, piety of
prayer, religious fervour, joyous activity; in the evenings, smoke
from the low huts rose in a pencil straight blue line towards the
sky, accompanied by the jingling sound of returning flocks and the
monks' chants.
The
large and the small Buddhas of Bamiyan – for there are two – are
the work of man; the smaller measures thirty-five metres, the larger
fifty-three. The Greco-Sassanid art united with Indian piety to produce this wonder: to decorate the
gigantic niches with precious frescoes, to cut out of the rock the
folds of their clothing and the gestures of blessing, to anchor the
feet in the valley, and to secure the enormous heads, foreheads,
chins and ear lobes with wooden pins. However, the divine and silent
face, as if liberated, floated in ethereal cloud vapour, yet even
without seeing it one could not help but worship it. This is how the
cliff dominating the valley of Bamiyan would appear to the pilgrims
and travellers come from far-off India, on the famous north route
leading from Bactriane and central Asia: this cliff perforated by a
thousand caves, places of holy fervour, populated by monks,
overlooked by the gigantic statue of the Most Compassionate One.
But
we have arrived too late. More than a thousand years ago, …...they
attacked the Buddha's noble face with hammer blows; now it is as
empty as the face of the moon and abominably robbed of
expression.....
Bamiyan Buddha by Annemarie Schwarzenbach (1939) in Bleu immortel |
But
this night too will pass and soon come to an end, a new day will
dawn, flawless, all powerful, borne on wings. Look at the light on
the pile of fallen rocks: a stream of gold! And the flocks beginning
to stir, the nomad women coming out of the tents, copper pots on
their heads and the fields rippling in the cool morning breeze.....
Here, the malediction has lost its power, the emperor has lost his
title, the face has lost its sight – here, divine peace reigns.
Annemarie Schwarzenbach - Le Visage du Grand Bouddha
Nowadays
of course, even the remains of the Buddha that Ella and Annemarie
saw, have been destroyed. There is nothing left of them at all.
Bamiyan
valley is a UNESCO World Heritage Site
This
replica near Poznan in Poland, in the garden of the museum of Arkady Fiedler, prolific writer and traveller, was created as a tribute to the original, and shows us what the Great Buddha would have once looked like.
Great Buddha replica in garden of Arkady Fiedler museum, Puszczykowo, Poland |
I've written here about discovering Ella Maillart's book The
Cruel Way which led me to Annemarie's writing.
And this post is also about Annemarie and Ella, with images of them
on their journey to Afghanistan. The novel I mention that she wrote
in Africa has since been published by Chronos Verlag, titled Das Wunder des Baums
Comments
Images are so important,they complete the picture.
Sorry I've taken so long to comment..... this is my second visit,I needed more time to read it!
Rubyxx
an important loss, i mean maybe important to have records of it. Tx
Thanks for all your comments! Mxx