I had suffered through it. I returned home. It was a stormy day
in spring, it was raining and snowing. Father came towards me.
This time, it also did not cross his mind to give my any reproach.
He had read my manuscripts, and he almost knew my letters by
heart. He knew now that he had nothing to fear any more
concerning my future. He also used this opportunity to talk about
Münchmeyer and about the fact that he wanted to come to see me.
"Nothing will come out of it", I said. "This man wants trashy
novels, exciting love-stories, nothing else. I won't write this
kind of stuff. He'd probably think that I'd be so dishonourable,
to piece together a colportage novel out of the gibberish the
people have said about me, which would surely earn him a lot of
money, but be my destruction. There, he's mistaken. I have
entirely different purposes and goals!"
Father agreed with me. When he had reached the hill before the
town and saw it lying before us, he pointed at the next village,
at a single, newly build house at a distance from the others and
asked me:
"Do you know this over there?"
"Isn't this the place where that fire had been?"
"Yes. A few days after you were gone, they found out who had
started it. The perpetrator was very swiftly sentenced. He got
to prison even before you did. Mother will tell you about it."
"Oh no! I don't want to know anything, nothing at all. Ask her
to keep silent about this!"
As early as the very same night, I found out that the local police
sergeant had been boasting in the public bar, how harshly he would
receive and supervise me for the next two years; he would not let
me out of his sight for a single day! He came as soon as the next
morning and took on such a haughty posture, that really no person
being treated in such a manner could be blamed if he would be
turned back to life of crime by this. He asserted that he was my
superior for two years, with whom I had to report daily. Than, he
pulled a book with the relevant articles of the law out of his
pocket, to lecture me on my duties. I did not say a word, but
opened the door and motioned him to leave. When he hesitated to
comply, I left. I went to the mayor and put an end to this
matter. I demanded a passport to travel abroad, and when I was
informed that this could not be done as easy as this, I went on
my way as early as the next day without any passport.
On the train, I sat in an otherwise empty compartment. I went
across the border. Then, suddenly, raging mad voices started to
scream loudly inside of me, shouting and roaring like in a village
inn, where the farm-hands are beating each others up with the legs
of the chairs. There were hundreds of characters and hundreds of
voices, who made this sound. I past times, it would have
horrified me; but today I kept cool. These reminiscences of the
morasses, who did not want to set me free, had lost their power
over me. I did not react to them, and thus, they were to turn
quiet one after another all by themselves.
Where this journey took me and what happened on it, shall be
reported in the second volume. In the meantime, Münchmeyer came
to ask for me. I was already gone. So, he payed the royalties
and went back home without having achieved anything further.
About three quarters of a year later, he appeared again, and not
alone, but with his brother. This time, he found me at home,
because I had returned to write my "Geographical Sermons" and to
have them printed. His brother had been a tailor and had after
that also become a colporteur. The business had been running well
up to that time, even extraordinarily well; but now it was in
danger of collapsing all of a sudden. They needed someone to save
them, and this was supposed to be me, me out of all persons! This
was incomprehensible to me, because I have had never anything to
do with Münchmeyer before and also did not want to have anything
to do with him and neither knew him nor the situation he was in.
He explained it to me. He was a cleverly calculating, very
eloquent man, and his brother assisted him in such an excellent
manner that I did not simply tell them to leave, but allowed them
to state their case. But after they had done this, I was - - - in
their web, though I had never thought it possible before that I
could ever engage in any kind of business with the "colportage".
Münchmeyer had worked his way up and now owned a not too small
printing-office with a large composing room, stereotype printing,
etc. But what he published was indeed the lowest form of
colportage. He talked about a so-called "Black Book" with lots of
stories about criminals, about a so-called "Venustempel" <Temple
of Venus>, which would be a real goldmine, and about a few other
productions of the same kind. But for today, he was concerned
with a weekly magazine, which he published under the title "Der
Beobachter an der Elbe" <The Observer by the River Elbe>. Founder
and editor of this magazine was an author from Berlin by the name
of Otto Freytag, a very skilful, hard working, but in business
matters extremely dangerous person. This man had turned against
him, had suddenly run out of the office, had taken all manuscripts
with him, and now wanted to publish a magazine very similar to the
"Observer by the River Elbe", to destroy him. "If I don't get
another editor right away, who is better than that person and can
take him on, I'm lost!" Münchmeyer concluded his report.
"But why do you come to me out of all persons?" I inquired. "I'm
neither an editor, nor have I proven my abilities in any other
manner!"
"Let me worry about this! I've heard much about you, and, most of
all, I've read your manuscripts. I know about these things.
You're the one I need!"
"But I'm planning entirely different things, and no one will
persuade me to work for the colportage!"
"Because you don't know it. Good things can just as well be
achieved by it. What are your plans anyway?"
I explained my plans to him. This kindled his enthusiasm; he
became passionate for them. He was one of these people, who enjoy
talking ravingly about the higher matters, but make their living
of the low things.
"That's really excellent, perfectly excellent!" he exclaimed.
"And you can achieve all of this with me, the best and fastest way
is with me!"
"Why?"
"You'll have this stuff printed by me, and you'll destroy this
Freytag and his new magazine with this!"
"This would really make things easier. But what if I don't like
your `Observer by the River Elbe'? After all, I don't know it."
"So, we'll discontinue it, and you'll found a new magazine in its
place!"
"What kind of a magazine?"
"Whatever you please, as you see fit for your purposes!"
I confess that by this promise he had already won me over more
than half of the way. In respect to my plans, this sounded almost
like a gift from heaven! He added even further promises, by means
of which he made it easy for me to agree to his wishes. In
addition, there were my own considerations. Quite unexpectedly, I
was hereby offered this most outstanding opportunity to get
acquainted with printing, typesetting, stereotyping, and
everything else which was a part of this, in the most comfortable
manner. For me as an author, this was a very valuable experience,
and such an offer would probably never come to me again. The
salary, Münchmeyer could afford to pay me, was not so very much,
but I was earning enough in royalties on the side that I did not
really need it at all. And I was not tied to him at all. He
offered me the right to quit quarterannually. Thus, I could have
left after every three month, if I should not like it.
"Give it a try! Say yes!" he urged me, counting one month's
salary onto the table.
"When would I have to start?" I asked.
"The day after tomorrow or sooner. It's urgent. This Freytag
mustn't get the jump on us."
"But you do know that I've been to prison!"
"I know everything. But this doesn't matter."
"And I'm even under police supervision!"
"I didn't know that; but that doesn't matter either. You're the
one I'd like to have most of all for this job, not in spite, but
because of this! Let's shake hands on it!"
This sounded perfectly moving. He stretched out his hand to me;
father and mother nodded to me, asking me to do it; so, I shook
hands with him; I was - - - an editor.
When I came to Dresden, I took a furnished room at first, but very
soon afterwards, Münchmeyer supplied me with several rooms as the
editor's apartment, and I bought the furniture for it. The
publishing company struck me as immensely ugly. The "Black Book"
was downright revoltingly criminal. The "Temple of Venus" turned
out to be an abominable project, aiming at the lowest pleasures of
the senses, with ribald descriptions and horribly nude, exciting
illustrations. It was supplemented with remedies for sexually
transmitted diseases, with which such large amounts of money were
earned, that it seemed almost unbelievable to me. These shameless
booklets and pictures were lying around all over the place. The
workers, both male and female, took them home. Münchmeyer's four
daughters, still school-girls and children at this time, read them
and played with them, and when I warned Mrs. Münchmeyer of the
consequences, she answered: "What are you thinking! This is our
best book! It earns us a lot of money!" I was resolved that this
would either have to change or I would leave again without a
formal resignation. As far as the "Observer by the River Elbe"
was concerned, the editor of which I had become, I saw right away
at the first glance that it would have to disappear. Münchmeyer
was reasonable enough to admit this. We discontinued the
magazine, and I founded three others in its place, these were two
decent, entertaining magazines, which were entitled "Deutsches
Familienblatt" <German Family Paper> and "Feierstunden" <Hours of
Celebration>, and a technical as well as entertaining magazine for
miners, smelters, and iron-workers, which I gave the title
"Schacht und Hütte" <Pit and Foundry>. These three magazines were
designed to satisfy mainly the spiritual needs of their readers
and to bring sunshine into their houses and hearts. Concerning
"Schacht und Hütte", I travelled through Germany and Austria to
get the large companies e.g. Hartmann, Krupp, Borsig, etc.
interested in it, and since there was a need for such a magazine
at that time, I was so successful that even I myself was
astonished at it. The circulation of our magazines increased so
much that Münchmeyer gave me a piano for Christmas. His
competitor Freytag tried his best, had some success in the
beginning, but had to discontinue his magazine after just a short
time.
It was in this time of development, that Münchmeyer was sued by
authorities from out of town for the publication of the "Temple of
Venus". The author of this shameful and trashy piece of
literature had been that very same Otto Freytag, who had cut off
his affiliation with Münchmeyer only because the latter would not
allow him to share in the profits this publication was yielding.
The book contained a lustfully written segment on "prostitution",
which was practically asking for a complaint with the police.
Münchmeyer 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 Münchmeyers 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 Münchmeyer's colportage
into a decent publishing house. Münchmeyer sought my friendship,
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 space 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. Münchmeyer. In order to
achieve this, my father was invited to Dresden. For two weeks, he
was allowed to live as a guest with the Münchmeyers and was
offered the friendship [a] of the father of Mrs. Münchmeyer. 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 Münchmeyers, 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
manuscripts, and then went on a journey. Passing through my home
town, I was there summoned to the local Inferior Court as a
witness and was told that Freytag, the author, and Münchmeyer, 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] Brüderschaft: 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 God! 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
bum, (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 passed 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 passed, 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 "noble goals and ideals". She quoted
passages 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 noble 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 Müller [b] inform me that he would agree to
purchase all of my manuscripts; he wanted me to sent them to no
other publishing company. And he promised to pay instantly. In
case of longer manuscripts, 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 manuscript, 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 title, 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 Müller (1831-1906?), not Vinzenz.
But even more valuable to me than this punctuality was the fact
that all of my manuscripts were ordered in advance and would
surely be accepted and printed. This enabled me to, now finally,
carry out my plans concerning my "traveller's tales". Now, I
could be sure to have the necessary space in a magazine for a long
time to come at my disposal. Who would later publish these tales
in the form of books, was a question which might just as well
remain unanswered for the time being. There are hostile people
who have said that I had only sought contact with this Catholic
publisher for the sake of money. This is such an unconscientious
and reprehensible lie that I cannot find the words to answer it.
I have done the very opposite of what I am here accused of. I
have made sacrifices for the "Deutscher Hausschatz" and its
publisher, the extent of which the Pustet family did not even
suspect. Before me, I have a letter which Professor Josef
Kürschner, the well known, famous publicist, I used to be a very
close friend of, has written to me on October the 3th, 1886. He
was writing about the magazine "Vom Fels zum Meere" <From the
Mountains to the Sea>, which was published by Spemann in Stuttgart
and for which I used to work. The letter reads as follows:
"Dear Sir!
"In the meantime, you have once again supplied other companies
with material, while you are still keeping me waiting for what you
have already promised a long time ago. This is not exactly the
right thing to do, and I am asking you urgently to make good on
your promise to me, now. I do not want to miss this opportunity
to ask you, whether you would not be inclined to start writing a
rather thrilling, gripping, and eventful novel. In this case, I
would be able to guarantee YOU royalties of up to a thousand marks
per sheet of the magazine, if you would write something of the
kind.
"Most sincerely
your most devoted
Josef Kürschner."
The royalties I received from Pustet were, compared with these
thousand marks, so insignificant that I cannot bring myself to
naming the amount here. The fact that I nevertheless preferred
Pustet is surely more than a sufficient proof that I did not write
for the "Hausschatz" to "make more money than I received from
others". My other publishers also payed significantly more than
Pustet. I hereby have to state this for a fact, to confront these
vicious rumours. I will tell you about the contents of these
tales I wrote for the "Hausschatz" elsewhere. Obeying the logic
of the facts, I have have to turn from Pustet back to Münchmeyer.
The year was 1882, when I reached Dresden with my wife on a
recreational trip. I had described Münchmeyer thus vividly to
her, that she could picture him quite correctly, though she had
not seen him yet. But she wished very much to get to know him,
the man about whom others had told her as well that he was a
handsome fellow, a splendid conversationalist, and felt
enthusiastically about beautiful women. At this time of the year,
he was in the habit of frequenting a certain garden restaurant at
nightfall. When I told her about this, she asked me to escort her
there. I did so, though I felt reluctant about showing him the
one I had preferred over his sister-in-law. I was not mistaken.
He was there. The only guest in the entire garden. His joy to
see me gain was sincere; this was plain to see. But might there
not also have been reasons relating to his business for this joy?
He had been sitting there so very much slouching and depressed,
with his head in both of his hands. But now, he was suddenly
happy and alert. He was radiating with pleasure. In his
colportage-style, he gave me the most impossible compliments, for
having such a beautiful wife, and he congratulated my wife in the
same expressions for the good fortune of having a husband who had
become famous so quickly. He knew my success, but exaggerated it,
to flatter the two of us. He impressed my wife, and she impressed
him just the same. He began to talk enthusiastically, and he
began to become honest. He told her that she was as beautiful as
an angel, and that she was to be his rescuing angel, yes, his
rescuing angel whom he needed in this present dire need. She
could save him by asking me to write a novel for him. And now he
told his story:
After I had left his business, he had not found a suitable editor
for the magazines I had founded. He himself had no gift for
editing. They very quickly lost in value; the subscribers
cancelled; they were discontinued. But this was not all.
Nothing at all seemed to work out for him. One loss followed
after another, and now, the situation was thus that he could no
longer evade Hamlet's question of "to be or not to be". Just in
this very moment, he had pondered the matter by whom or what he
could be saved, but in vain. Then, the two of us had come in,
like being heaven-sent. And now he knew, that he would be saved,
saved by me, by a novel of mine, by the beautiful, young, kind
woman of my heart, who would not leave me alone with this matter,
until the novel was in his hands. This sly fellow had, by means
of this crude praise, completely assured himself of my
inexperienced wife's assistance. He urged me to fulfil his wish,
and she joined in. He was clever enough to suggest to me that
basically it was only me who was to blame for his present bad
situation. Six years ago, everything had been extraordinary well;
but when I refused to marry his sister-in-law and left my job as
an editor, everything had turned completely into the opposite. To
undo this damage, he said, I was morally practically obliged, to
give him a hand, now.
As far as this final thought was concerned, I felt very well that
there was some truth in it. My willingness to marry the sister of
Mrs. Münchmeyer had, at that time, been taken so much for granted,
that they were talking about it everywhere. By rejecting this
plan, not just this girl, but the entire family as well, had
suffered an almost public humiliation, which, though it was not my
fault, moved me to do Münchmeyer some kind of a favour to repair
the damage. Furthermore, there had been no argument between us,
but we had parted as friends. So there could be no personal
reason, only perhaps one relating to business, to reject his wish.
But concerning business, there also was no compelling reason to
refuse. I had time; I just had to take it. The fact that
Münchmeyer published colportage did not compel me to write for him
nothing but a trashy colportage-novel. It could be something
better, an evolving sequence of traveller's tales, as I delivered
to Pustet and other publishers. If I did so, this would at the
same time serve my life's work as well, and just it had been
planned for the Hausschatz-tales, I could, what I wrote for
Münchmeyer, also have published in books later on for my own
benefit.
These ideas went through my head, while Münchmeyer and my wife
were trying to persuade me. I finally declared that I might
perhaps decide to write the desired novel, but only under the
condition that after an appointed time, all right would revert to
me. Absolutely no word was allowed to be changed from my
manuscript; but, after all, he would know about this from my
previous work, I said. Münchmeyer stated that he would agree to
this, but I should not be too hard on him concerning the
royalties. He was in need and could not pay much. Later, if my
novel should turn out to be a success, he could balance this out
with a "fine gratification". This sounded not too bad. He asked
me not to impose a time, when the novel should revert to me, but
rather to agree on a number of subscribers; once this would have
been reached, he would have to stop and return my rights to me.
He figured out that with six to seven thousand subscribers, he
would break even; everything beyond this was profit. Therefore,
I suggested that, in case I should write this novel, Münchmeyer
should be allowed to sell up to twenty thousand subscriptions, not
more; then, he would have to pay me a "fine gratification", and
all of the rights to the novel would revert to me. Whether I
would then, for appropriate royalties, continue having it
published with him or another publisher, was entirely up to me.
Münchmeyer immediately agreed to this, but did not definitely
consent yet; I declared that I wanted to think about the matter
thoroughly and give him my decision the next day.
As early as the next morning, Münchmeyer came to our hotel, to get
my decision. I said yes, to equal parts voluntarily and forced.
My wife had been keeping at it, until I had given her the promise
to fulfil his wish. He got the novel at the desired conditions,
which was only up to the twenty thousandth subscriber. For this,
he had to pay 35 marks per issue and a "fine gratification" in the
end. We shook hands. Thus, our contract was not in writing, but
an oral agreement. He said that we were both honest men and would
never cheat one another. It would sound like an insult to him to
ask him for a signature. I had two good reasons for agreeing to
this. The first one was that, according to the Saxonian law at
that time, only a thousand copies were allowed to be printed
without a contract; thus, Münchmeyer would have only defrauded
himself, if he had intended to be dishonest; so I thought. And
secondly, I could easily and inconspicuously obtain the missing
written contract by means of letters. I, quite simply, only had
to style my business letters to Münchmeyer in such a way, that his
answers, in one letter after another, would contain everything we
had agreed upon. And so I did, safely keeping all of his answers.
He was very eager that I should start with the novel right away.
I did him this favour and quickly returned to Hohenstein, to start
without delay. My wife urged me almost even more than Münchmeyer
himself. He had a personal preference for the meaningless title
"Das Waldröschen" <The little rose of the forest> [a]. I agreed
to this as well, but was careful not to make any further kinds of
concessions to him. After just a few weeks, there were good news.
The novel "went". This "went" is a term of the business, which
means a not too commonplace success. I received no proof-sheets
for correction or revision, and this was just all right with me,
because I had no time for this. Copies of the finished booklets
were not sent to me, because they would have interrupted my
concentration. I was to receive my free copies after the novel
was finished in one complete set. I agreed to this. Of course,
this gave me no opportunity to compare my original manuscript with
the printed text, but I did not worry about this. After all, we
had agreed that no word of mine was to be changed, and I was so
trusting in those days to think that this was enough.
[a] An English translation was published in 1886 under the title
"Rosita" in America.
The success of the "Waldröschen" did not just seem to turn out
well, but even quite extraordinarily. Münchmeyer wrote in his
letters that he was very satisfied. He repeatedly wrote that he
considered himself to be saved even now, after such a short time,
for he did hope that the novel would continue to attract as many
readers as it had up to now. He suggested that we should not stay
in Hohenstein, but move to Dresden, since he wanted me to be near
him. My wife enthusiastically jumped on the idea and made sure
that it was carried out as quickly as possible. By no means, I
offered any resistance. Especially since during my time in
Hohenstein, I had to think more and more often of the warning,
which was to be read in the Bible teacher's book. In spite of
this warning, I had not just settled down at the place of my
birth, but had also taken a wife from there. For some time, I had
tended towards regarding the contents of this passage of the book
as a superstition, but soon afterwards, I regarded it again with
the eyes of an psychologist and was finally, by the weight of the
facts, forced to realize that a single swimmer can at any rate
cross muddy waters easier than when he has to take a second person
along who can neither swim nor is willing to swim. Therefore,
this move was rather what I had wanted, and yet, as a matter of
caution, I did not move to Dresden itself, but rather to
Blasewitz, to have more freedom. Even there, Münchmeyer called on
me right away, and repeated his visits several time a week. A
contact developed between him and us, which was quite advantageous
in the beginning. I worked to hard that I did almost never
permitted myself to relax. This novel progressed very rapidly,
and its success grew to such an extent that Münchmeyer asked me to
write a second one and possibly even several more. I did not
suspect that my decision concerning this wish of his would be a
highly important one for me and that a positive answer could
become a source of unspeakable misery and unpronounceable torture
for me. I only looked at the alleged advantages, but did not see
the danger.
This danger developed, as it did once before, out of my literary
plans. Münchmeyer had not forgotten these plans; he still knew
them very well. Now, he reminded me of them. Because I had given
up my job in his business, I had not been able to carry them out,
then. But now, I was no employee, but a free man, who could not
be kept from doing as he pleased by anything. And the most
important thing was: I did not need to stretch what I wanted to
write, as I had to do with Pustet, over many annual sets of a
magazine, but I could swiftly write it all, one thing after
another, to publish what was now printed in booklets, later, in
the form of books. This enticed me. On top of it, there was the
constant insistence of my wife, who could very easily silence the
minor objections I had to make. In short, I gave my consent to
write several novels more and this at the very same conditions as
the "Waldröschen". So, these works also had to revert to me after
the twenty thousandth subscriber with all rights included, and
then, I was to payed a "fine gratification". There was just a
single change, and this was that I received royalties of fifty
marks per booklet for these novels, instead of just thirty-five
for the "Waldröschen".
Due to this agreement, this was the beginning of a time for me, of
which I cannot think today without satisfaction, but also not
without a feeling of deep shame. I am not asking, whether I am
hurting my reputation by being thus honest; it is my duty to say
the truth, nothing else. At this time, I worked with an almost
feverish zeal. I did not have to spent much effort on looking for
topics like other authors; after all, I had made extensive lists
of topics for myself, I only had to turn to, to instantly find
what I was looking for. And all of them were already completely
thought out; I only had to carry them out; I only needed to
write. And I did the latter with an eagerness, which did not let
me look either left or right, and this in particular, this was the
very thing I wanted. I had to realize that there was no other
happiness for me in life than only this one, which was derived
from my work. Therefore, I worked, I worked so much and with so
much pleasure, so much pleasure! This restless zeal enabled me to
forget that I had been mistaken concerning my life's bliss and was
now leading an even much, much lonelier life than ever before.
This deep, internal loneliness urged me to be restlessly busy, to
fill the dreary desolation, and it unfortunately made me
indifferent in respect to the necessity of having to be cautious
in matters of business. In Münchmeyer's company, so many things
happened which might have caused me to be vigilant, so that I had
more than a sufficient reason to ensure as much as possible the
future accessibility and integrity of everything I wrote for him.
Not thinking of this was a mistake, which I can excuse, but cannot
forgive myself for, even up to this day.
Münchmeyer had become a regular caller of ours. In Blasewitz, he
had rented some kind of a bachelor's apartment, to be able to
spent his Saturdays and Sundays more comfortably with us. He also
came in the evenings of other days, and almost always, he brought
his brother along and very often other persons as well. Though he
wished that, by no means, I should allow this to disturb me in my
work, he could not keep me from being the master of my apartment,
and then, when this had become impossible to me, I did not
hesitate to give the apartment up and to move away from Blasewitz,
to the city. My new apartment was in one of the most quiet and
most remote streets, and my new landlord, a very forceful owner of
a castle and a manorial estate, did not permit any disturbing
noise and generally nothing he deemed unnecessary in his house.
This was the very thing I had been looking for. There, I found
the internal and external quiet and concentration I needed.
Münchmeyer came a few more time, than he stayed away. Instead, I
do not know why, we received invitations from Mrs. Münchmeyer, to
accompany her on her Sunday walks through the forest and the
heath. She had been advised to take these walks by a physician,
who had prescribed deep breaths of fresh air for her. Whether I
liked it or not, I had to take part in them, because this was my
wife's wish, whose reasons I unfortunately was unable to
appreciate. She did not get used to the seclusiveness of our
present apartment; she got into an argument with the landlord. I
had to terminate the lease. We moved out, to a noisy apartment of
the American quarter, which was right above a public bar, so that
I could not work. Then, she became ill. The physician advised
her to take very early walks in the "Large Garden", the
world-famous park of Dresden. Such prescriptions of a physician
have to be obeyed. I had no reason to prevent these walks, which
started between four and five o'clock in the morning and lasted
for about three hours. I did not know that Mrs. Münchmeyer had
also been ill and that she, too, had been instructed by her
physician to go on early morning walks in the "Large Garden".
Only after a long, very long time, I found out what had happened
during those walks. I had not just lost touch with my wife's
soul, but I had also lost her in business matters. Every day,
early in the morning, the two ladies sat together in a cafe of the
"Large Garden" and practised a kind of housewife's business
politics, the effects of which I did not get to feel until much
later. I put an end to it and moved away from Dresden, to
Kötzschenbroda, the outermost point of the periphery of Dresden's
suburbs.
Even before this, I had managed to finish my last novel for
Münchmeyer. I had written five of them for him, in a time of only
four years. In regard to the later allegations in court that I
had not been working hard for Münchmeyer, but had been lazy, just
name me an author who has coped with a larger workload and has, at
the same time, been working for other publishers as well. With
this, let me put an end to my "time at the colportage" for today.
- - -