My Life and My Efforts Part 11

The book contained a l.u.s.tfully written segment on "prost.i.tution", which was practically asking for a complaint with the police.

Munchmeyer had been tipped off by some party, I do not know by whom, that a search and seizure on account of the "Temple of Venus" would take place. At once, everyone started to be feverishly busy to prevent the losses which this might cause.

Everyone who could be trusted had to help; but I was not told a single word; they were ashamed. Thousands of printed copies were lying around. Entire stacks of this books, reaching up to ceiling, were hidden behind other works of literature. The lift was filled with them. Every concealed place was used. A large amount of the endangered books were brought to their private apartments and were even hidden under their children's beds. This happened so quickly and was such an success that the police, once they arrived, hardly found anything but a small remainder, and for a long time to come, the Munchmeyers prided themselves on the trick they had played on the authorities of Dresden, who were otherwise not so easily outsmarted. I did not find out about this until later, much later, and drew my consequences. I would not stay here any longer. I wanted to get out of the abyss, but not back down!

I may very well say, that I have been working hard at this time and have honestly tried my best, to turn Munchmeyer's colportage into a decent publis.h.i.+ng house. Munchmeyer sought my friends.h.i.+p, so that we were on the same terms as brothers. I was very much in favour of this, as long as he did what I thought was right. In the very first editions of the tree magazines I had founded, I started to carry out my literary plans. I have already said that, in this respect, I wanted to focus on the inhabitants of two parts of the globe, these were the American Indians and the Islamic peoples. I did this now here. I designated the "German Family Paper" for the Indians and the "Hours of Celebration" for the orient. In the first magazine, I instantly started with "Winnetou", but called him, according to a different Indian dialect, In-nu-woh for the time being. I was convinced that these two magazines would survive, and I deluded myself in thinking that I could remain their editor for quite a number of years. This would have given me enough s.p.a.ce and time for what I intended.

Quite naturally, I also wrote for other companies, which I think I do not need to name, but I had no intention to stay with them.

Unfortunately, my good, long term plans were very suddenly confronted with an unexpected obstacle, which was originally not at all meant to be an obstacle; it was rather supposed to be a recognition of my achievements, a support. What happened was that, in oder to tie me to the company, the suggestion was made that I should marry the sister of Mrs. Munchmeyer. In order to achieve this, my father was invited to Dresden. For two weeks, he was allowed to live as a guest with the Munchmeyers and was offered the friends.h.i.+p [a] of the father of Mrs. Munchmeyer. This had the very opposite effect. I said "no" and quit, for now it was just too plain that I could not stay, especially since it was at about this time that I found out the details of that trick they had played on the police of Dresden. Now, my plans had to be kept quiet for the time being, but I did not give them up. After the three months had past, I moved away from the Munchmeyers, but I stayed in Dresden. The separation from the colportage was not hard on me in the least. I was free again, wrote a few necessary ma.n.u.scripts, and then went on a journey. Pa.s.sing through my home town, I was there summoned to the local Inferior Court as a witness and was told that Freytag, the author, and Munchmeyer, the publisher of the "Temple of Venus", had been recently punished for this shameful publication. This had been kept from me. How glad was I, not to have married into the circle of this "Temple of Venus"!

[a] Bruderschaft: Literally "brotherhood", a more of less formal occasion, where two men allow one another to call each other by their first names and the informal "du" instead of the formal "Sie". It usually involves some consumption of beer.

After my return home from the journey, I had mentioned before, I had cause to call on my sister, who was married to a man from Hohenstein. I lived with her for a few days, and there, I made the acquaintance of a girl, who made a very singular impression on me. In the beginning of this book, I have said that I have the strange peculiarity to see a person standing before me more as a soul than as a body. Whether this is a blessing or a shortcoming, I cannot decide; but due to this idiosyncrasy of mine, it happens rather frequently that I regard an ugly person as pretty and a pretty person as ugly. To me, the most interesting beings are those in whom the form of their souls appears as a mystery to me, whose spiritual shape I cannot make out, or whose shadings I cannot grasp. Such persons attract me, even when they appear repulsive; I cannot help it. And about the girl, I am talking about here, there was also something else, something rather peculiar. It was like this: When I was, at the age of fourteen, a proseminarist in Waldenburg, one day in November, I went from there to Ernstthal to see my parents and to get my laundry. On the way back, I came across the market square of Hohenstein.

There, they were singing. The students' choir stood in front of a house. There was a corpse, which was to be buried. I knew the house. Downstairs lived a man selling flour and upstairs lived a gentleman, who had moved here from out of town and was sometimes referred to as a barber, then as an army-surgeon, physician, or doctor. He did not shave just anybody, and it was well known that he could do even much more than this. His name was Pollmer. He had a daughter, who was considered to be the most beautiful girl of both towns; I knew this. She was now to be buried.

Therefore, I stopped. Two women, who also wanted to listen and watch, came and stood behind me. A third woman joined them, who was from a village, she asked whose funeral this would be.

"Pollmer's daughter", answered one of the first two women.

"Oh?! The dentist's? Whatever did she die of?"

"Of her own child. It would be better if the child was dead, but she was still alive. There can never be a blessing on such a child, the mother has died for; that'll bring nothing but mischief for everyone."

"What's the father's profession?"

"Him? But it has no father!"

"Good G.o.d! This as well? If that's so, thing would surely be better, if the nickel [a] could be buried right alongside with the mother!"

[a] The word "Nickel" used to have many different meanings of questionable origin in the German language. Nowadays, the word is only used for the chemical element. One definite source of this word is a short form of the name Nicholas (in German: Nikolaus). According to one dictionary, it also used to mean an imp or small, obstinate person. Another dictionary lists these meanings: "(1) short for Nikolaus, (2) a no-good b.u.m, (3) a stubborn malcontent, (4) a small, old, evil spirit, who lives under water, (5) the metal." A dictionary from 1808 distinguishes these meanings: "(1) short for Nikolaus, (2) an ore, (3) a hollow top (a toy which is spun around), also a hit or push in certain combinations with other words, (4) a small horse and possibly, in older times, a small thing in general, (5) an indecent woman."

Now, the singing stopped. The coffin was brought out. The funeral procession formed. Upstairs, in the open window of the living-room, a woman appeared, carrying something in her arms.

This was the child, the "nickel", who had killed her own mother and meant nothing but mischief for everyone! I understood nothing of all this. What does a fourteen year old boy know of the prejudice of this kind of people! But when the funeral procession had pa.s.sed me by, and I continued on my way, I took something with me, which later often occupied my mind; this was the question why one had to be suspicious of a child who has no father and who was to blame for her mother's death. On account of my youth and inexperience, I believed in what the women were saying, and felt some kind of a horror, whenever I thought of this burial and this unfortunate "nickel". Later, whenever I came across the market square of Hohenstein, I quite involuntarily looked up to that certain window in the upper apartment of the flour-merchant's house. After several years had pa.s.sed, I once saw the head of a child, of a girl, looking out. I stopped for a moment to have a look at the face. It was unexpressive and had neither anything pleasant nor anything terrifying about it. Later, I once came across a tall man of strong build in the street, leading an about twelve year old girl by the hand. This was the old Pollmer with his "nickel". The old man looked very grim, but the child was very chipper and friendly; she had nothing at all about her from which one could have told "that her mother had died of her".

Then, I had seen her a few more times, in the beginning of the second half of her teens, pale, grown tall, extremely thin, entirely uninteresting, a person, perfectly indifferent to me. I never would have thought that this girl could ever play even the most irrelevant role in my life. And now that I lived at my sister's place, upon a visit with one of her friends, several young girls were introduced to me, among which there was also a "Miss Pollmer". This was the "nickel"; but she looked so different than before. She sat so quietly and modestly at the table, was very busy crocheting, and hardly said a word. I liked that. This face blushed easily. She had a quite peculiar, mysterious way of opening her eyes. And whenever a word came over her lips, it sounded cautiously, calculated, and not at all like with other girls, who just babble out with everything, as it crosses their tongues. I liked this a lot. I was told that her grandfather, Pollmer this is, had read my "Geographical Sermons"

and read them over and over again. I liked this even more. She seemed to me to be so entirely different from her friends.

Looking beyond the forms of the latter, I did not see even a trace of a mind and just a hint of a soul. But behind Miss Pollmer's facade, there was psychological ground, whether it was a high or a low ground, a desert or a fertile soil, I could not discern, but there was a ground; I saw this clearly, and the wish formed in me to get to know this ground. That she was not from a prosperous or even respected family, could not hold me back, after all, I myself was also nothing but the poor son of a weaver and, basically, even much less than this.

The next day, her grandfather came to see me. She had told him about me and had kindled the wish in him, to get to know me in person as well, after having read my "sermons". He seemed to be satisfied by me, for he asked me to return the visit. I did so.

A steady contact developed between us, which, after I had ended my visit and had gone back to Dresden, changed from a personal to written one. But Pollmer did not like to write. The letters I received were by his granddaughter's hand. Who would have ever thought that I would start corresponding with the "nickel", who "brought nothing but mischief"!

Her letters made an extraordinarily good impression. There, she wrote about my "beautiful, highly important profession", about my "glorious tasks", about my "n.o.ble goals and ideals". She quoted pa.s.sages from my "Geographical Sermons" and extended them with her own thoughts, which astonished me by being right on the mark.

What a natural gift for being an author's wife! Though I occasionally had the impression that only a male author, and a very educated one at that, could write such letters, I was was not able to consider her capable of such a deception. My sister wrote me, too. She was overflowing with praise for "Miss Pollmer" and invited me to visit her again for the Christmas holidays. I did so. I forgot that Christmastime in particular had rarely been a friend of mine, and that I had been warned against the place of my birth. This Christmas decided my fate, though I did not get engaged right away. After all, I had time. This time, I mostly spent travelling, until I called on my home again for Whitsuntide, to continue studying the soul of the "nickel" again, who was now supposed to become "my nickel". But this continuation was not to be, but rather a decision had to be made right away, the likes of which is otherwise only found on stage. This came about like this: When Pollmer found out that I had returned, he visited me and invited me for lunch at his place. He had been a widower for a long time, and his family only consisted of him and his granddaughter. I knew that he only talked most favourably about me wherever he went and that my prior convictions did not keep him at all from regarding me as a good, trustworthy person. But I also knew that he considered his grandchild to be the most beautiful and precious being in the entire area, and that he had perfectly fairy-tale-like thoughts in respect to whom she should marry. He was on the opinion that such radiant beauties were the greatest wealth of their family and might only be married to a husband who was as rich and n.o.ble as possible. Quite naturally, this opinion of his could not have failed to influence his granddaughter; I noticed this very well; and perhaps, it was high time to get her away from this influence. Therefore, when he asked me to have this day's lunch as his place, I answered:

"I'd very much like to come, but only under the condition that I may not only come for your, but also for your daughter's sake."

He listened up in surprise.

"For Emma's sake?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What do you mean by this? Do you have any designs on her? Do you perhaps even want to marry her?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Heavens! This is the first time I hear of this! But, I'd think, that this is only your intention! Whatever does she say about all this?"

"She agrees with me."

At this, he sprang up from his chair, became dark red all over his face, and exclaimed:

"I won't have it, no way, no way! My daughter has not been born and has not been brought up to toil her way through life with a poor devil! She can get other men. I won't have her marrying an author, who, if all turns out well, only lives by his fame and otherwise starves!"

"Might it be that you are also considering my prior convictions in this?" I asked. "This, I would accept!"

"Nonsense! I don't care about that. Hundreds of thousands are walking about in freedom, who ought to be in prison! No, that's not it. I have entirely different reasons. You won't get my daughter!"

He shouted these words very loudly.

"Oho!" I answered.

"Oho? There is no oho! I'm telling you again, you won't get my daughter!"

He pounded his walking stick on the floor with every one of these words, to increase their effect. I was very tempted to place my hand on his shoulder and to tell him laughingly: "Well, so keep her!" But my father's legacy within me rebelled against this, the tough, unreflected rage, which never does the right thing. I now also became enraged:

"If you won't give her to me, then I'll take her!"

"Just try it!"

"I won't just try it, but I will do it, actually do it!"

Then, he laughed.

"You won't dare to come to my place. From now on, any kinds of visits on your part are not welcome any more!"

"This goes without saying. But I predict: The time will come, when you'll come to me in person and beg me to visit you. But for now, farewell!"

"Me, begging you? Never, never, no way!"

He left. But I wrote three lines and sent them to his daughter.

They read: "Choose between me and your grandfather; if you choose him, stay; if you choose me, come to Dresden right away!"

Then I left town. She chose me; she came. She left the man who had brought her up and whose only treasure she was. This flattered me. I felt as if I had been the winner. I put her up with a minister's widow, who had two grown-up, highly educated daughters. By the contact with these ladies, she was enabled to easily obtain everything she did not possess yet. This gave her the opportunity, to mange a household by herself. I also worked with much, even very much success. I became well known and earned very decent royalties. I had started my "traveller's tales", which were also published right away in Paris and Tours, translated into French. The word of this got around; this even impressed the "old Pollmer". He was told by experts, that I was about to become a prosperous, perhaps even a rich man. So he wrote to his daughter. He forgave her for leaving him for my sake, and asked her to come to Hohenstein, to visit him, and to bring me along. She fulfilled his wish, and I accompanied her.

But I did not come to see him, but rather went to Ernstthal to my parents. He sent for me; but I answered, I knew very well what I had predicted to him. If he wanted to have me at his place, he would have to come in person, to invite me. And he came!

Again, I felt as if I had been the winner. How foolish was I! It was not me who had won here, but only the calculated thought that I was likely to obtain a fortune, and for me, there even was the danger that it was not just the grandfather who was thus calculating. Aside from this, he asked her to stay with him in Hohenstein, until we would get married. I had no objections and gave up my lodgings in Dresden, to live with my parents in Ernstthal. This was a time of rather strange internal and external developments for me. I wrote and travelled. Returning from one of these travels, I was told, as soon as I had stepped off the train, that the night before the "old Pollmer" had died; he had suffered a stroke. I rushed to his apartment. I had been told too much. He was not dead; he was still alive, but he could neither speak nor move. His grandchild sat in the next room, rather materially busy. She had searched for his money and found it. It was not much; I believe it was less than two hundred marks. I pulled her away from this, over to the sick man. He recognised me and wanted to talk, but only achieved an inarticulate babble. His eyes expressed a terrible fear. Then, the physician who treated him came. He had already examined him the first thing early in the morning, did it now again, and informed us that all hope was in vain. After he had left, the dying man's daughter fell on her knees before me and begged me that I should by no means leave her. I promised this to her and have kept my word. I have even done more than this. I fulfilled her wish to stay in Hohenstein. We rented one floor at the upper market square and could have lived there in infinite happiness, if such happiness had been in our destiny.

At this time, I had already been writing for Pustet in Regensburg for several years, who published my "traveller's tales" in his magazine "Deutscher Hausschatz". Pustet is a Catholic publisher, and the "Deutscher Hausschatz" is a Catholic family magazine. But this religious affiliation was most irrelevant to me. The reason why I have remained faithful to this highly decent company was not religion, but merely business. This was because, as early as after my second short story, Councillor of Commerce [a] Pustet had his editor Vinzenz Muller [b] inform me that he would agree to purchase all of my ma.n.u.scripts; he wanted me to sent them to no other publis.h.i.+ng company. And he promised to pay instantly. In case of longer ma.n.u.scripts, which I was to send him one installment after another, he would very much like to pay for every part individually; as much money as there are pages!

Probably, there will not be too many authors who are made such an offer. I happily agreed. For about twenty years, whenever I mailed a ma.n.u.script, the royalties arrived precisely two days later. I do not remember a single time, when it would have come later. And never, there has been even the slightest disagreement concerning the royalties among us. I never demanded more than what we had agreed upon, and when Pustet suddenly doubled it, it was his own, free decision, without me ever having stated any wish in this respect. An author will remain faithful to such a publisher, even without asking them for his faith or religious affiliations.

[a] Kommerzienrat: a t.i.tle, not connected with any public office, which was awarded to businessmen in recognition of their work by the German government up until 1919.

[b] Venanz Muller (1831-1906?), not Vinzenz.