Books: My Life and My Efforts
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Karl May >> My Life and My Efforts
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I must conclude that those four years of undisturbed seclusion and
focused concentration have allowed me to advance very, very much.
Every book I needed for my studies was available to me. I
completed the schedule of my work and then started to carry it
out. I wrote manuscripts. As soon as one of them was finished, I
sent it home. My parents then acted as middlemen between me and
the publishers. I did not write to them directly, because they
were not meant to find out, yet, that the author of these tales,
they printed, was a prisoner. But one of them nevertheless found
out about it, because he visited my parents in person. This was
the bookseller of colportage [a] literature H.G. Muenchmeyer from
Dresden, about whom there is still much more to be said later. He
had been a journeyman carpenter, had blown the key-bugle at
village dances, and had then become a colporteur. In this
capacity, he also came to Hohenstein-Ernstthal and met a maid
servant in a neighbouring village, whom he married. This tied him
to this area. He got to know its people and also found out about
me. The crazy things he was told here he regarded as
extraordinarily well suited for his colportage. He came to see my
father and sought his acquaintance. Thus, my manuscripts got into
his hands. He read them. Some of it was beyond his
comprehension. But other parts of it he liked so much, that it,
as put it, delighted him. He asked for the permission to print it
and got it. He wanted to pay right away and placed the money on
the table. But father did not take it. He pushed it back and
told him to give it to me in person, after my release.
Muenchmeyer was very pleased to agree with this. He assured my
father that I was the man he needed; he would come to see me
after my return home and discuss all the details with me.
[a] colportage (French): novels published as a series of
booklets and sold to subscribers by door-to-door salesmen
(colporteurs).
I am telling this and just stating it for a fact for now. For
many upcoming events, it is of the utmost importance to know that
Muenchmeyer did not only precisely know about my past, the truth
of it, but had also heard all the lies which had been added to it.
As far as the condition of my soul was concerned, there was quiet,
perfect quiet. In the first four weeks of the previous four
years, there had still been occasions when the dark characters had
tormented me internally and had forced me to listen to what they
were shouting at me; but, by and by, this had ceased, and finally
it had quieted down, without ever stirring again. When I thought
about this, without being sidetracked by psychology, I came to
understand that those spectres could only influence me for as long
as I was caught in the views which they represented. But once
those were overcome, the frightful visions would have to fade.
And this seemed to be the right thing; the Bible teacher was of
the same opinion. I had not told him about my internal struggle,
as I generally never confide in another person concerning purely
personal and family matters. But yet, occasionally, a word was
dropped, which was not meant to give any indication, but
nevertheless did. He started to notice something. At one time in
the course of a conversation, I got to talk about my dark
characters and their tormenting voices; but I pretended to talk
about someone else, not myself. This made him smile. He knew
just too well whom I was referring to. The next day, he brought
me a little book, the title of which read: "The so-called split
of a person's interior, a representation of the split in mankind
in general." I read it. What pleasure this was! How much did it
clarify matters for me! Now, I knew all of a sudden what was
wrong with me! Now, let them return, these voices; I had no
cause to fear them any more! Later, when he came to get his book
back, I thanked him, according to the joy I felt about it. So, he
asked me:
"Isn't it so, it was yourself you were talking about?"
"Yes", I answered.
"Did you understand everything?"
"No, not yet."
"What about this here?"
He opened a page, where it read: "He who suffers of these severe
afflictions, shall keep clear of the place where he was born. He
shall never live there for a longer time. And most of all, if he
should ever get married, he should by no means get his wife from
this place!"
"No, I don't understand this yet", I admitted.
"Nor do I", he conceded. "But think about it!"
This thinking, he had advised me to do, brought me no results.
This was a purely psychological question. In this, experience is
the only knowing teacher, and I had to make this experience,
before I understood; unfortunately, unfortunately! - - -
VI. Working for the Colportage
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
Muenchmeyer 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, Muenchmeyer 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 Muenchmeyer 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".
Muenchmeyer 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"
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" . 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!" Muenchmeyer 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, Muenchmeyer 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, Muenchmeyer 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. Muenchmeyer's four
daughters, still school-girls and children at this time, read them
and played with them, and when I warned Mrs. Muenchmeyer 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. Muenchmeyer
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" and "Feierstunden" Celebration>, and a technical as well as entertaining magazine for
miners, smelters, and iron-workers, which I gave the title
"Schacht und Huette" . 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 Huette", 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 Muenchmeyer 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 Muenchmeyer 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 Muenchmeyer 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.
Muenchmeyer 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 Muenchmeyers 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 Muenchmeyer's colportage
into a decent publishing house. Muenchmeyer 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. Muenchmeyer. In order to
achieve this, my father was invited to Dresden. For two weeks, he
was allowed to live as a guest with the Muenchmeyers and was
offered the friendship [a] of the father of Mrs. Muenchmeyer.
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 Muenchmeyers, 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 Muenchmeyer,
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] Bruederschaft: 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.
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