Gertrude Read online

  "Oh, aren't you still teaching?"

  "Not for a long time now. I became ill, and when I recovered, my views had changed so much that I resigned. I tried to be a good teacher, but I wasn't one; you have to be born to it. So I gave it up and since then I have felt better."

  I could see that. I inquired further, but he wanted to hear my story, which was soon told. He was not altogether pleased that I had become a musician. On the other hand, he showed great tact by his sympathy for my ill-fortune so that for once I was not offended. He discreetly tried to discover how I had succeeded in finding consolation, and was not satisfied with my half-evasive answers. With mysterious gesticulations, he intimated hesitatingly and yet impatiently, with much bashful circumlocution, that he knew of a solace, of complete wisdom which was there for every earnest seeker.

  "I know," I said. "You mean the Bible."

  Mr. Lohe smiled mysteriously. "The Bible is good. It is the way to knowledge, but it is not knowledge itself."

  "Well, where is knowledge itself?"

  "You will find it easily if you wish to. I will give you something to read that gives the principles of it. Have you heard of the study of Karma?"

  "Karma? No, what is it?"

  "You will find out. Just wait a minute!" He went away and was absent for a short time while I sat there surprised, not knowing what to expect, and looked down the garden where diminutive fruit trees stood in faultless rows. After a short time, Lohe returned. He looked at me, with his face beaming, and handed me a small book, which bore, in the middle of a mysterious symbolic pattern, the title Theosophical Catechism for Beginners.

  "Take that with you," he said. "You may keep it, and if you want to study further, I can lend you some more books. This one is only an introduction. I owe everything to these teachings. I have become well in body and soul through them and hope they will do the same for you."

  I took the small book and put it in my pocket. The man accompanied me through the garden down to the road, took friendly leave of me and asked me to come again soon. I looked at his face, which was good and happy, and it seemed to me that there could be no harm in trying the path to such happiness. So I went home with the little book in my pocket, curious about the first steps along this path to bliss.

  Yet I only embarked upon it after a few days. On my return home, the call of music was again powerful. I threw myself into it and lived in a world of music. I wrote and played until the storm within me was again silenced and I could return calmly to everyday life. Then I immediately felt the need to study the new teachings, and sat holding in front of me the little book which I thought I could soon absorb.

  But I did not find it so easy. The little book became massive in my hands and finally seemed unfathomable. It began with an interesting introduction on the many paths to wisdom to which everyone has access, and the theosophical brotherhood that stands independently for knowledge and inner perfection, in which every faith is respected and every path to the light is welcome. Then followed a cosmology that I did not understand, a division of the world into different "planes," and history into remarkable ages unknown to me, in which the lost continent of Atlantis was also included. I left this for a time and turned to the other chapters, where the doctrine of reincarnation was presented, which I understood better. Yet it was not quite clear to me whether it was all mythology and poetic fables, or whether it was to be taken literally. It seemed to me to be the latter, which I could not accept.

  Then came the teachings about Karma. It appeared to me to be a religious interpretation of the law of causality, which was not unattractive to me. And so on. I soon realized that these teachings could only be of solace and value to those who could accept them literally, and sincerely believe them to be true. If, as it seemed to me, they were partly beautiful literature, partly intricate symbols, an attempt at a mythological explanation of the world, one could be instructed by them and hold them in esteem, but one could not learn how to live and gain strength from them. One could perhaps be a worthy and religious theosophist, but the final solace beckoned only to those who accepted simple beliefs without too much questioning. In the meantime, it was not for me.

  All the same, I went to see the teacher several more times. Twelve years ago we had plagued each other with Greek and now, in quite a different way and equally unsuccessfully, he tried to be my teacher and guide. We did not become close friends, but I liked going to see him and for a time he was the only person with whom I discussed important aspects of my life. I did indeed realize that all this talk was of no value and at its best only led to clever phrases. Yet I found him soothing and worthy of reverence, this devout man who had coolly renounced church and knowledge and who in the latter half of his life experienced the peace and glory of religion through his naive belief in remarkable, subtly reasoned teachings.

  Despite all my efforts, this path has always been closed to me. Yet I have a great leaning, which is not reciprocated, toward religious people who are fortified by and gain peace from one faith or another.

  Chapter Four

  DURING THE SHORT PERIOD of my visits to the pious theosophist and fruit grower, I one day received a small check, the reason for which was a mystery to me. It had been sent to me by a well-known north German concert agent with whom, however, I had never had any dealings. On making inquiries, I received the reply that this amount had been forwarded to me by order of Mr. Heinrich Muoth. He had sung at six concerts a song composed by me and this sum represented my fee.

  I then wrote to Muoth, thanked him and asked for news. Above all, I wanted to know how my song had been received at the concerts. I had heard about Muoth's recitals and had seen reviews of them once or twice in the newspapers, without however seeing my song mentioned. I wrote to him about my activities and work in minute detail, as solitary people often do, and also enclosed one of my new songs. Then I waited for an answer. As I had still received none after four weeks, I forgot all about the whole matter again. Almost every day I wrote music, which haunted me as in a dream. During the intervals, however, I felt limp and discontented. I very much disliked giving lessons and felt I could not endure it much longer.

  I therefore felt that a curse was lifted from me when I finally received a letter from Muoth. He wrote:

  Dear Mr. Kuhn,

  I am no letter writer. I did not answer your letter, as I did not really know what to say. But now I can put forward concrete proposals. I am now engaged at the Opera House here in R. and I should be pleased if you could also come here. You could, in the first place, obtain a position here as a second violinist. The conductor is an intelligent, frank man, even though somewhat abrupt. You would probably also soon have an opportunity to play some of your music. We have good chamber concerts here. I also have something to tell you about your songs; one thing is that there is a publisher who wants to bring them out. But writing is such a bore. It would be better if you came. Come quickly and wire me about the position.

  Yours,

  MUOTH

  I was thus suddenly dragged away from my unprofitable hermit's existence. I was again drawn into the stream of life, had hopes and cares, sorrows and joys. There was nothing to keep me, and my parents were glad to see me take my first definite step in my career in life. I sent a wire without delay, and three days later I was in R. with Muoth.

  I had obtained accommodation in a hotel. I went to visit Muoth but did not find him in. Then he came to my hotel and unexpectedly stood before me. He held out his hand, asked me no questions, did not tell me anything and did not share my excitement in the slightest. He was used to letting himself be drawn along by events, only experiencing and taking seriously the present moment. He hardly gave me time to change my clothes and then took me to see Rossler, the conductor.

  "This is Mr. Kuhn," he said.

  Rossler nodded. "How do you do! What can I do for you?"

  "He is the violinist," cried Muoth.

  The conductor looked at me with surprise, turned to the singer again and s
aid rudely: "You didn't tell me that the gentleman was lame. I must have people with straight limbs."

  The blood rose to my face but Muoth remained calm. He just laughed. "Do you want him to dance, Rossler? I thought he was to play the violin. If he can't do that, we must send him away again. But let us hear him first."

  "Very well, gentlemen. Mr. Kuhn, come and see me tomorrow morning about nine o'clock, here in my rooms. Are you annoyed at what I said about the foot? Well, Muoth should have told me about it. Anyway, we shall see. Till tomorrow!"

  As we went away, I reproached Muoth about it. He shrugged his shoulders and said that if he had mentioned my infirmity at the beginning, it would have been difficult to obtain the conductor's consent. Now I was here and if Rossler found me reasonably satisfactory, I would soon get to know the better side of his nature.

  "But how could you recommend me in any case?" I asked. "You don't even know if I am any good."

  "That's your affair. I thought you would be all right--and you will be too. You're such an unassuming fellow that if someone didn't give you a push at times, you would never get anywhere. That was a push--now you go ahead! You need not be afraid. Your predecessor wasn't much good."

  We spent the evening in his rooms. Here again he had rented some rooms in a remote district where there was a large garden and it was quiet. His powerful dog sprang forward to greet him. We had hardly sat down and warmed ourselves when the bell was rung and a tall, very beautiful woman came in and kept us company. It was the same atmosphere as previously, and his mistress was again a splendid aristocratic person. He seemed to take lovely women very much for granted and I looked at this latest lady love with sympathy and with the embarrassment that I always felt in the presence of attractive women. It was indeed not without envy, for with my lame leg it seemed to me I was unloved and without hope of love.

  As in the past, we enjoyed ourselves and drank a great deal at Muoth's. He dominated us with his extreme but moody gaiety, which nevertheless charmed us. He sang for us enchantingly and also sang one of my songs. The three of us became very friendly; a feeling of warmth spread among us and drew us close. We were natural with each other and remained close as long as the warmth in us endured. The tall lady, who was called Lottie, was friendly toward me in a gentle way. It was not the first time that a beautiful and affectionate woman had treated me in this sympathetic and extremely confiding way. It hurt me this time too, but I now recognized this recurrent form of behavior and did not take it too much to heart. Sometimes I have even known women who have shown special friendship toward me. They all regarded me as incapable of jealousy as of love. In addition, there was that insufferable pity they had for me which evinced itself in an almost maternal trust.

  Unfortunately, I still had no experience of such affairs and could not look on the happiness of love at close quarters without thinking about myself a little and feeling that I should also have liked to indulge in something similar. It spoiled my pleasure to some extent, but on the whole it was a pleasant evening in the company of this generous and beautiful woman and the fiery, vigorous and temperamental man who liked me and took an interest in me and yet could not show his affection in any different way than he did with women, namely in a forceful and moody fashion.

  As we clinked glasses for the last time before I left, he nodded to me and said: "I really ought to drink to our good friendship, shouldn't I? I should certainly like to do so. But never mind, it will be all right just the same. At one time, whenever I met anyone I liked, I always addressed him immediately in an intimate fashion, but it isn't a good thing, least of all among colleagues. I quarreled with them just the same."

  This time I did not have the bittersweet pleasure of having to accompany my friend's lady love home. She remained there and it was better so. The journey, the visit to the conductor, the suspense about the following morning and the renewed association with Muoth had all done me good. Only now did I see how forgotten, ill at ease and remote from people I had become during my long, lonely year of waiting, and with a sense of enjoyment and healthy anticipation, I was again alert and active among people, again belonging to the world.

  *

  The next morning I reported to Rossler in good time. I found him in his dressing gown and with his hair uncombed, but he made me welcome and, in a friendlier fashion than the previous day, he invited me to play the violin, placed handwritten music before me and sat down by the piano. I played as well as I could, but reading the badly written music gave me some trouble. When we had finished, he silently placed another sheet before me to play without any accompaniment, and then a third sheet.

  "That's all right," he said. "You will have to become more used to reading the music; you're sometimes a little slow on the uptake. Come to the theater tonight. I will make room for you; then you can play your part next to the substitute who has filled the gap in the meantime. It will go a little hard at the beginning. Study the music well in advance. There is no rehearsal today. I will give you a note; take it to the theater at eleven o'clock and fetch the music."

  I was not quite certain of my position but realized that this man did not like questions and I went away. At the theater no one wanted to know anything about the music or to listen to me. I was unused to the machinery there and was disconcerted. I sent a special messenger to Muoth. He came and immediately everything went smoothly. In the evening I played for the first time at the theater and was closely observed by the conductor. The following day I obtained the appointment.

  So strange is a human being that in the midst of my new life and fulfilled wishes I was sometimes seized by a sudden, fleeting, almost subconscious desire for solitude, for even boring and empty days. It then seemed to me that the time I had spent at home and the dreary uneventful life from which I was so glad to escape were something desirable. In particular, I thought with real longing about the weeks I had spent in the mountains two years ago. I felt that I was not destined for well-being and happiness but for weakness and failure, and that without these shadows and sacrifices, the creative spring within me would flow more feebly and turbidly. At first there really was no question of quiet hours and creative work, and although I was living a full life, I continually thought I heard the dammed-up spring within me whisper softly and complainingly.

  I enjoyed playing the violin in the orchestra. I poured over full scores a great deal and felt my way gradually in this field. Slowly I learned what I had only known theoretically and remotely, namely to understand the nature, color and significance of single instruments from the bottom upwards. At the same time, I studied ballet music and looked forward with greater earnestness to the time when I could venture to write an opera myself.

  My close relationship with Muoth, who held one of the best positions at the Opera House, facilitated my progress and was quite useful to me. I was very sorry, however, that this had the opposite effect on my relationship with my colleagues. I did not make any close friends among the members of the orchestra, something I was only too willing to do. Only a first violinist, a Styrian called Teiser, took an interest in me and became my friend. He was ten years older than I, an honest, straightforward man with a gentle, delicate face that easily reddened. He was an extraordinarily accomplished musician and had a particularly keen and sensitive ear. He was one of those people who find satisfaction in their art without wanting to play any outstanding part. He was no virtuoso and had never composed anything. He was content to play the violin and derived his greatest pleasure from a thorough knowledge of technique. He knew every overture in detail, and knew as well as any conductor where delicacy and brilliant playing were necessary and where the introduction of another instrument produced a beautiful and original effect. This made him radiant and he enjoyed himself more than anyone else in the whole theater. He could play nearly all the instruments, so that I could ask him questions and learn from him daily.

  For many months we discussed nothing but technique, but I liked him and he saw that I was anxious to learn. An un
spoken understanding arose between us that did not fall far short of friendship. Then I finally told him about my violin sonata and asked him to play it with me sometime. He kindly agreed and came to my rooms at the appointed time. In order to please him, I obtained some wine from his native town. We drank a glass of the wine; then I put up the music and we began. He read the music very well, but suddenly he stopped and lowered his bow.

  "I say, Kuhn," he said, "this really is lovely music and I don't want to play it just anyhow. I want to take it home and practice it first. May I?"

  "Yes," I said, and when he came again, we played the sonata through twice. When we had finished, he slapped me on the shoulder and cried: "You modest creature! You pretend to be such an innocent and secretly you do things like this! I won't say much--I am not a professor, but it is beautiful!"

  That was the first time that someone in whom I really had confidence had praised my work. I showed him all my music, including the songs that were just being published and were soon to appear. But I did not dare tell him that I was so bold as to think of composing an opera.

  During those good days I was shocked by a small incident that I can never forget. At Muoth's, where I was a frequent visitor, I had not seen the pretty woman called Lottie for some time, but I did not think much about it because I did not want to become involved in any of his love affairs. I preferred not to know about them. I therefore did not inquire about her. Besides, he never talked to me about these things.

  One afternoon I sat in my room studying a score. By the window, my black cat lay sleeping in the sunshine. The whole house was quiet. Then I heard someone enter by the front door who was stopped and questioned by the landlady, and then came and knocked at my door. I went to open it and a tall, elegant woman with a veil over her face entered and closed the door behind her. She took a few steps into the room, breathed deeply and then took off her veil. It was Lottie. She looked excited and I immediately guessed why she had come. At my request she sat down. She had shaken my hand but had not yet said anything. She seemed more at ease when she observed my embarrassment, as if she feared I might send her away immediately.