Books: My Life and My Efforts

K >> Karl May >> My Life and My Efforts

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So much, I had been looking forward to presenting the plans of my
work to grandmother; now she was dead. Thus, I discussed them
with my parents and sisters. Father had other things on his mind
now. He was going through some kind of a social transformation
and therefore of no use to me, especially since he never stayed at
home in the evening. The sisters also had other interests. My
entire train of thought was incomprehensible to them. So, I was
just left with mother. In the evening, she sat, quietly knitting
stockings, by the table, where I wrote. I enjoyed so very much
putting the thoughts to her I kept my pen busy with. She calmly
listened to me. She nodded in agreement. She smiled
encouragingly. She said a dear, consoling word. She was like a
saint. But she did not understand me either. She only felt it,
had a hunch of it. And she wished with all of her heart that
everything should turn out the way I yearned for it to be. And
when she saw how firmly and unwaveringly I believed in my future,
she believed as well and was as glad as a mother can be whose
child is still thus fortunate, to be able to rely on God, mankind
and himself. But I felt lonely, lonely as always; because even
in the entire town, there was not a single person who would have
been willing or even able to understand me. And for me, for me in
particular, being thus harshly besieged in my inner self, this
loneliness was dangerous in the highest degree. There was nothing
I needed more than the company of someone who would understand me.
But I was always on my own, though not externally, but internally,
and thus, I was almost incessantly and unprotectedly subjected to
those characters, who wanted to subdue me. And in the midst of
all this vulnerability, I was now also seized by other enemies,
which, though they were not internal, but external, were still to
the same extent out of the grasp of my hands.

Due to her profession, my mother had to visit other families all
of the time. They confided in her. They liked her. She was told
everything, without feeling the need to explicitly ask her to keep
it confidential. She got to know everything which happened in our
little town and the surrounding area. Somewhere, there had been a
burglary. Everyone talked about it. The perpetrator had escaped.
Soon, there was another one, carried out in the same manner. In
addition, there were some cases of fraud, probably pulled off by
impoverished, young craftsmen. I did not even listen, when the
conversation turned to this, but noticed after some time that
mother was even more serious than usual and regarded me, when she
thought she was unobserved, with such a peculiar, pitiful look.
In the beginning, I stayed quiet, but soon, I thought that I had
to ask her for the reason. She did not want to answer; but I
asked her, until she did. There was a rumour going around, an
incomprehensible rumour, that I was this burglar. Who else should
be suspected but me, the former prisoner? Externally, I laughed
about it, but internally I was outraged, and I had a few hard
nights. There was a roaring inside of me from nightfall until
morning. The voices screamed out to me: "Fight us as much as you
will, we won't let you go! You belong to us! We will force you
to get even! To the world, you are a scoundrel and have to
continue being a scoundrel, if you want to have your peace!" So I
heard it at night. When I wanted to work by day, I could not
achieve anything. I could not eat. Mother had told it to father
as well. Both asked me not to let this matter be so hard on me.
They could speak up for me. After all, they knew very well that I
had not left the house at the times in question. What we found
out, was all said in confidence. No name was given. Therefore,
there was nothing tangible, I could have used to defend myself.
But it got worse. The local police was against me. I had been
dismissed with an attestation of trustworthiness, and therefore, I
had escaped their supervision. Now they thought to have a reason
for investigating me. A few new pranks were pulled off, the
perpetrators of which necessarily had to possess some
intelligence. It was believed that this would point to me. This
was at the same time when the before mentioned "Luegenschmiede"
started to form. New rumours circulated with
romantic embellishments. The sergeant inquired unofficially,
where I had been on certain days and at certain times. I was
stared at, wherever I went in public; but as soon as I returned
these looks, they swiftly turned away. Then, I met a poor, but
decent fellow, a schoolmate, who had always liked me, and even
now, still felt close to me. He was literally clumsy and
unforgiveably honest. He thought it was everyone's duty to be
crude. He could not stand it any longer. He came to me and told
me, after I had given him my word by shaking hands that I would
not tell on him, everything what had been said about me. This was
so stupid and yet so outrageous, so careless and unscrupulous, so
- - so - - so - - so - - - I found no words to thank this poor,
well-meaning person for his painful honesty. But when he saw my
face, he ran off as quickly as he could.

This was a hard, a fateful day. I felt the urge to run out of the
house. I ran about the forest and did not return home until late
at night, deadly tired, and went to bed, without having eaten
anything. In spite of my tiredness, I found no sleep. Ten,
fifty, or even a hundred voices mocked me from inside with
incessant laughter. I jumped up from my bed and ran away again,
out into the night; where to, where to? I did not even pay any
attention to this. It seemed to me, as if the characters from
inside of me had left my body and were running next to me. Ahead
of them all ran the pious principal of the seminary, followed by
the accountant who had denied letting me borrow his watch, a pack
of bowlers with bowling balls in their hands, and the
robber-knights, robbers, monks, nuns, ghosts, and spooks from the
trashy library at Hohenstein. These pursued me all about; they
chased me to and fro. They screamed and cheered and mocked, so
that my ears were ringing. At sunrise, I found myself climbing up
a deep, steep quarry. I was trapped; I could not get out. There
they got me, and they would not let me get back down either.
There I was stuck between the sky and the ground, until the
workers came and got me down with the help of a few ladders.
Then, it went on, on and on and on, all day long, all of next
night; then, I collapsed and fell asleep. Where, I do not know.
It was on the narrow ridge between two fields of rye. A thunder
woke me up. It was night again, and the rain of a thunder-storm
was pouring down. I hurried away and reached a field of turnips.
I was hungry and pulled out a turnip. With it, I reached the
forest, crawled under the densely growing trees, and ate. After
this, I fell asleep again. But I did not sleep tight; I kept on
waking up. The voice woke me up. They mocked me constantly:
"You've turned into a beast, eating turnips, turnips, turnips!"
When the morning broke, I got a second turnip, returned to the
forest, and ate. Then, I sought a clearing and let the sun shine
on me, to get dry. Here, the voices kept silent; this calmed me
down. I found a long, though only light sleep, during which I
kept on tossing and turning from one side to another and was
tortured by the short, upsetting images of a dreams, which
suggested to me that at one time I was a bowling-pin, being
knocked down, then again a gipsy from Preziosa, and then again
something even worse. This sleep only made me even more tired,
instead of strengthening me. I broke out of it, when night fell,
and left the forest. Stepping out from under the trees, I saw the
sky red as blood; smoke rose up to it. Surely, there was a fire.
This had a rather peculiar effect on me. I did not know where I
was; but I felt compelled to go there, to look at the fire. I
reached a rocky slope, which seemed familiar to me. There, I sat
on a rock and stared into the blaze. Though it was a house which
was burning, the fire was inside of me. And the smoke, this
thick, suffocating smoke! It was not over there with the fire,
but here with me. It enveloped me and invaded my soul. There it
clustered into shapes, which developed arms and legs and eyes and
faces and moved inside of me. They spoke. But what? Only later,
much later, I came to understand how such internal abominations
are generated. Then, I did not understand it yet, and thus they
could have this horrible effect, against which my nerves, though
being strained to the extreme, had no power to resist any more. I
collapsed, just as the burning house over there collapsed, once
the flames became smaller and smaller and finally were
extinguished. Then, I gathered my strength to get up and leave.
Inside of me, everything was extinguished as well. I was stupid,
perfectly stupid. My head was as if it had been enveloped in a
thick layer of clay and chaff. I could not find any thoughts. I
did not even look for them. I walked unsteadily. I walked
without knowing where to. I stumbled on, until I finally reached
a town, the churchyard of which was by the side of the road I had
been walking along. I leaned against the cemetery's wall and
wept. This might have been unmanly, but I did not have the
strength to prevent it. These were no liberating tears. They
brought me no relief; but they seemed to cleanse and to
strengthen my eyes. I suddenly saw that it was the churchyard of
Ernstthal, where I stood. I was just as familiar with it as with
the road, where it was at; but today, I recognised neither.

The morning dawned. I slowly went down the path the funeral
processions took, across the market square, and quietly opened the
door of our house, walked just as quietly up the stairs, to our
lodgings, and there, I sat on a chair by the table. I did this
without plan, without a free will, like a puppet, pulled by its
strings. After a while, the door to the bedroom opened. Mother
came in. She was in the habit of getting up early on account of
her profession. When she saw me, she was startled. She quickly
pulled the door shut behind herself and said excitedly, but
quietly:

"For God's sake! You? Has anybody see you come in?"

"No", I answered.

"How do you look like! Quickly, get out of here again, as far
away as possible! Over to America! Or else they'll catch you!
If they'd lock you up again, I wouldn't survive that!"

"Go away? Why?" I asked.

"What have you done; what have you done! This fire, this fire!"

"What about the fire?"

"You have been seen! In the quarry - - in the forest - - in the
field - - and yesterday, also by the house, before it burnt down!"

This was really horrible, nothing less than horrible!

"Mo - - ther! Mo - - ther!" I stuttered. "You wouldn't believe
that - - - "

"Yes, I believe it; I have to believe it, and father, too", she
interrupted me. "Everybody is saying it!"

She said this hastily. She did not cry, and she did not whine;
she was so strong when she had to bear a burden on her soul. She
continued without catching a breath:

"For God's sake, don't let them catch you, most of all not here
with us in the house! Go, go! Before the people wake up and see
you! I mustn't say that you've been here; I mustn't know where
you are; I mustn't see you any more! So go, go! When it has
come under the statute of limitations, you'll come back!"

She quietly rushed back into the bedroom, without having touched
me and without waiting for another word from me. I was alone and
grabbed my head with both hands. There, I felt so very clearly
this thick layer of clay and chaff. This person standing there,
this wasn't me, or was it? Him, in whom even his own mother did
not believe any more? Who was this fellow, who looked like a
tramp in his dirty, wrinkled clothes? Get him out of her, just
out! Be gone, be gone!

I still had enough of my mental faculties left to open the
wardrobe and to change into another, a clean suit. Then, I left.
Where to? My memory fails me. Again, I was as sick as I used to
be. Not sick in the mind, but in the soul. The internal
characters and voices had me completely under their control. When
I make an effort to remember these times, I feel like someone who
has seen some play at the theatre fifty years ago and is now,
after all of this time, expected to know what had happened from
one moment to another and how the scenery had changed. Single
images are left in my memory, but they are so blurred that I
cannot say for certain what part of them is true and what is not.
In those times, I have obeyed those dark characters, who lived
inside of me and controlled me. What I have done, will seem
unbelievable to everyone who has not made such an experience. I
was accused of having stolen a baby carriage! What for? An empty
purse, containing only three pfennig! Other things are more
credible and some have been proven directly. I had been arrested,
and wherever something had happened, I was brought there, hoping
that I was the perpetrator. This was a very interesting time for
the regulars or the Luegenschmiede of Ernstthal. There, almost
every day, new stories were told or new variations of old ones
were created on all the stuff I was supposed to have done. Every
tramp who entered the area of these fairy-tales used my name to
sin on my behalf. Even for a man who was a prisoner externally as
well as internally this was too much. During a transport, I broke
my bonds and disappeared. Where I went, I intend to report
extensively in the second volume, where I will be giving an
account of my travels. For now, there is nothing more to tell
than what I have mentioned before, this is that my soul became
just the more free, the more I distanced myself from my home, that
out there, far from home, I was seized by an irresistible urge to
return home, and that I was just the more freed from this, the
closer I came again to the place where I was born. Is there
anybody who could get to the bottom of this? I partly followed
that incomprehensible compulsion, partly I returned out of my own
free will, for the sake of my good plans and my future. If I had
sinned, I had to do penance for it; this went entirely without
saying. And before this penance was not done away with, there
could not be any profitable work and no future for me. So, I
returned home five months later, to give myself up to the court of
law, but unfortunately, I did not do this straight away, as it
would have been the right thing to do, but I was again subdued by
these forces within me, which appeared again and prevented me from
doing what I had been planning. The consequence of this was that
I was apprehended, instead of being able to give myself up
voluntarily. This worsened my situation to such an extent that I
fully comprehend the severity which the judge, who was pronouncing
my sentence, applied. But just as much, the behaviour of the
lawyer, who had been appointed by the court as my defence
attorney, cannot be comprehended. He did not defend, but
incriminate me, and did so in the worst way. He had the delusion
that he could or should practice criminal psychology at this
welcome opportunity, and yet, he lacked basically everything which
is needed to solve such a task even to some extent. I very well
might have denied it all, but rather confessed to everything I was
accused of straight out. I did this, to get rid of this affair,
no matter what the price may be, and to lose as little time as
possible. The lawyer was unable to comprehend me or what was
going on in any other not entirely commonplace soul. The verdict
was four years in prison and two years under police supervision.
However hard it is for me to write this down for the public to
read, I cannot relieve myself of this duty; it has to be this
way. I do not feel sorry for myself, but for my poor, law-abiding
parents and sisters, my parents whom I still feel sorry for in
their graves, because their son, for whom they had such great,
perhaps not entirely unfounded hopes, had been forced by the
infinite cruelty of the facts and conditions to make such
confessions.

I would not think of listing the misdeeds, I had been accused of,
here. To my executioner, flayer, and knacker, is something I will
leave up to this abysmal lack of honour, which has crucified me
ten years ago and has not stopped for a single moment during all
of this time inventing ever new ways to torture me. Let it
continue digging through these faeces, to delight all of those
base creatures who sustain their lives on these matters. And just
the same, I am not willing to make a sensation out of this renewed
imprisonment of mine. I simply have to report of it, to tell the
truth, and then, to hurry on, bidding my farewell to this apparent
abyss, which is actually no abyss at all.

My punishment was hard and long, and the additional two years
under police supervision could not possibly have been interpreted
in my favour, when was committed to prison. So, I was expecting a
strict treatment. It turned out to be severe, but it did not
hurt. An institution's management acts quite right in showing no
prejudice, but waiting calmly whether and how a new prisoner
complies with its rules. Well, I did comply! Of course, this
time my profession got me no special consideration. I was
assigned to the occupation, where they happened to need workers at
that time. I became a cigar-maker. I asked for a cell for
myself; my wish was granted. For four years, I have inhabited
the same cell, and even today, I still think back on it with that
peculiar, grateful sentiment which a quiet, not cruel place of
suffering deserves. I also started to like my work. It was most
interesting to me. I became acquainted with all blends of tobacco
and learnt to manufacture all kinds of cigars, from the cheapest
to the most expensive. The daily workload had not been set too
high. It depended on the kind of cigar, the willingness to do a
good job, and on one's skillfulness. Once I had enough training,
I easily fulfilled my quota and still had hours or half days left.
To be able to use this time for myself, was my most heartfelt
wish, and it was granted to me sooner, much sooner than I had
thought possible.

Let me emphasise here once and for all, that to me, nothing
happens by chance. Every one of my readers knows this. To me,
there is only providence. So it also was in this case. The
church of the penitentiary of Waldheim had a Protestant and a
Catholic congregation. The Catholic Bible teacher played the
organ during the Catholic services. But by now, he had become
more and more overburdened with new obligation and lots of work
that he had to look for someone who could take over playing the
organ in his place, especially since he had to read the sermon
whenever the priest was unable to come and therefore could not
play the organ as well. The warden's office allowed him to look
for a substitute among the prisoners. He did so. There was quite
a number of sentenced teachers among the prisoners. They were
examined. Why they did not take anybody else, I do not know.
They had all been there for a longer amount of time than I and
thus had time to obtain the trust which is needed for filling such
a position. But I had been committed with nothing less than good
attestations of character, could not possible escape the future
police supervision, and had not found any time yet to show that I
nevertheless deserved their trust. This is for me the reason why
I presume that it was no coincidence, but providence. The Bible
teacher came into my cell, talked to me for a while, and then
left, without telling me anything. A few days later, the Catholic
priest came as well. He also left after a short while, without
mentioning the reason for his visit. But the next day, I was
escorted to the church, seated in front of the organ, was
presented with sheet music, and had to play. The officials sat
below in the nave of the curch, so that I did not see them. Only
the Bible teacher was with me, who presented me with my tasks. I
passed the test and had to appear before the warden, who informed
me that I had been assigned to playing the organ, and that I
therefore had to conduct myself very well, to be worthy of this
trust. This was the beginning, out of which so very much for
myself and for my inner self has developed.

I, the Protestant, was the organ player in a Catholic church! The
first thing I got out of this was a certain freedom to move around
the prison building. After all, they could not place an watchman
next to me at the organ! But I got even more out of it, respect
that is, and the kind of consideration I was seeking in regard to
certain appearances. The watchman of our "visitation" was a
quiet, earnest man, I liked rather well; when he read in the
registration book, that I had been made the Catholic organ player,
he astonishedly came into my cell, to ask, whether a mistake might
have occurred in the files of my commitment; there I was listed
as evangelical-Lutheran. I denied that this was a mistake. At
this, he looked at me with big eyes and said:

"We've never had this before! You must be - - - h'm, YOU [a] must
be a very talented musician!"

[a] The most important part of this line is rather untranslatable.
In German there is an informal "you" (du) and a formal "you"
(Sie). It makes roughly the same difference as being on a
first name basis or on a second name basis. Here, the
watchman switches from the informal "du" to the more
respectful "Sie".

The prisoners are of course called "Du"; but from now on, he said
"Sie", and others followed his lead. This was a seemingly small,
but nevertheless very valuable step ahead, because from this, many
other things ensued. Soon, to my pleasant surprise, it turned out
that my watchman was the conductor of the brass band. I told him
about my musical occupation in Zwickau. Then, he swiftly brought
me sheet music, to put me to the test. I passed this test as
well, and from now on everything was so arranged that I was not
kept from working towards my own goals in my spare time. This
watchman has been a dear, fatherly friend to me, and we kept in
contact in a kind, respectful manner for a long time, once he had
retired and moved to Dresden.

The name of the Catholic Bible teacher was Kochta. He was just a
teacher, without any academic background, but a man of honour in
every respect, humane as there is rarely one to be found, and thus
rich in experience as an educator and in a psychological regard,
that his opinion was much more valuable to me than entire stacks
of learned books. He never talked about the peculiarities of the
denominations with me. He regarded me as a Protestant and did not
make the slightest attempt to influence my religious beliefs. And
as he acted towards me, so I acted towards him. I never posed a
question concerning Catholicism to him. Whatever I had to know on
this matter, I already knew or was able to find out in other ways.
The beautiful relationship, which by and by formed between us, not
allowing any obstructive differences to sneak into this purely
human benevolence, was sacred to me. He served in church, I
served at the organ, but otherwise religion remained entirely
untouched between us and could thus have its effect just the more
directly and purely upon me. It was this, his very silence, which
was so eloquent, because it allowed his actions to speak, and
these were the actions of a nobly spirited person, who might just
work his effect on a small circle of people, but who knows how to
treat even small things in a great manner.

I had never played Catholic hymns before; now I got to know them.
What pieces of music, especially or the organ, did I get my hands
on! I had thought, I would understand music. What a fool I was!
This simple Bible teacher gave me many a nut which was very hard
for me to crack. What music essentially is, I just now began to
get a glimpse of, and music is by no means the lowest tool the
church uses to perform its work.

The Catholic priest only came to me when a special arrangement in
regard to accompanying the hymns on the organ had to be made. He
never spoke more than what was absolutely necessary and never
about religion at all; but whenever he entered my cell, I always
felt as if the sun started to to shine on me. Such sunny people
are rare, and yet, every minister ought to be such a sunny person,
because a layman will just too easily regard and judge the church
by the way its priest behave towards him. I am going to skip the
differences between the Protestant and the Catholic religious
services, but to every reasonable person it will be entirely
natural and self-evident that I could not participate and even be
an active part in the latter for four years, without being
influenced by it. After all, we are no rocks, from which all soft
things bounce back! And even such a rock becomes warm, when it is
hit by a ray of sunshine! And these religious services actually
were rays of sunshine! Still today, I feel an infinite gratitude
for this warmth and this kindness, which cared for me and had not
a single reproach for me, when everything else was against me. I
have been blessing it up until this day and will bless it for as
long as I will live! How poor must those people be inside who
maintain that I would be spreading a Catholic ideology! It is
entirely impossible that they should know the human soul and the
sacred places which it contains. Besides, I have written nothing
at all about the Catholic faith, but entire volumes about
Mohammedanism. Thus, the allegation that I would spread the Islam
might appear much more justified than the one that I would promote
Catholicism! Why am I not accused of this? The Madonna has been
depicted by hundreds of Protestant painters and was the topic of
hundreds of Protestant poets, even of Goethe. Why are those not
said to promote Catholicism? I have thanked the Catholic church
for the high-minded hospitality, it granted me, the Protestant,
for four years, by means of a single Ave Maria, which I wrote for
my novel "Winnetou". Is that a reason for accusing me of
religious hypocrisy? And to make matters even worse, to suggest
that I did it for money! I repeat: How poor must these people
be, how infinitely poor! - -

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