Panorama, p.27
Panorama, page 27
But tonight the friends walk along without saying a word, moving as fast as the tumultuous streets surrounding the tower building will allow, themselves almost at the door, as below the sound of a tango whispers as it snakes its way upward as they enter through the sliding door, neither again having the right coins for the elevator, as they slowly climb up six floors and Thomas knocks three times. This time they don’t have to wait very long, Frieda already there to open the door, all the doors of the apartment standing open, lights turned on everywhere, some voices audible, the door to the left leading into the kitchen, something that Josef didn’t notice last time, though today Thomas takes his somewhat wary friend by the hand and heads in, Johannes there with two men and two women as he greets him heartily and says a couple of friendly words, to which Josef responds, “I’m so happy, Herr Tvrdil, that I could come again.” But Johannes laughs and says, “What? My friends never speak to me so formally. To you I am Johannes and to me you are Josef.” Josef wants to protest, but Thomas grabs him hard by the arm so that Josef knows that he shouldn’t say anything.
One of the men in the kitchen is Herr Haschke, who quickly asks Josef, “Are you also interested in the true path? If so, you have found the right place here with Johannes. You have no idea how much I owe to him!” Josef is somewhat embarrassed, but he is spared from having to reply, for Herr Haschke rushes on about the incredible experiences he has had, though one should not think that it’s that easy to remain on the true path, you must be careful not to lose hold of it and concentrate every moment in order to make sure that you are not led astray by false thoughts, people being so easy to seduce, such that you have to resist, for afterward you are disburdened and can float like an angel above the thorny way of everyday life. As he speaks, Herr Haschke’s face goes all misty, and then he asks Josef gravely, “How long have you been on the true path?” Josef doesn’t understand right away, and looks questioningly at Herr Haschke. “I mean, how long have you concentrated on it?” Josef replies to the query with a vague answer, though it doesn’t satisfy Herr Haschke, who announces, “You have to devote yourself to the path, and that indeed requires concentration. That’s most important in the morning when you first wake up, and in the evening before going to sleep. For then it functions all through the night. You sink inside yourself and think of nothing but the highest self that slumbers inside you and that through concentration will awaken. When you wake up, your aimless wandering is over. Oh, how lost I have been, but now I am somewhat enlightened! Oh, it’s wonderful, it’s so wonderful, such that I cannot describe it to you. Worldly matters disappear, and only the pure spirit is there. You must search for it! But it is incredibly hard, for evil spirits wish to distract you at first. Try reading the mystical writings of Kerning and Eckartshausen in order to be inspired!” Herr Haschke closes his eyes blissfully, his mouth open with rapture, his tongue licking a corner of it.
Josef doesn’t know whether to laugh or be appalled, but then an old woman named Yolanda turns to him and says, “You really should know that Herr Haschke is the biggest fanatic among us. For a long while he had lost his way, but now he lives in bliss. I’ve not experienced it like him, for I was always God-fearing, but in a more churchly sense. I believed in the holy sacraments and in the grace of God. Then I had an epiphany. It was a genuine vision in which a white hand appeared to me, around which there was a soft light. The hand touched my forehead in order to bless me, and a voice said to me, ‘Yolanda, you must not sleep any longer! My daughter, wake up!’ Then I knew it was God’s voice. But belief is not enough, you must also act within the world and engage yourself. Thus I devoted myself to the path. I always keep at it, and then it simply occurs. I am at it when I do housework, when I make batter for a cake, when I shop in the market, when I cook, iron, even set the table and relax on the settee, even then I am still on the path and at it. Then all my thoughts are with God, who gives me the strength for my work and his blessing.” Herr Haschke looks up and takes Yolanda’s hands. “Yolanda, Yolanda, it’s all so wonderful. Your life is like the sun. I envy your husband and your son, Schorschl, who get to live within the circle of your light. With you at home, everyone must be on the true path. What a blessing! But no one at my house is on the true path. I have tried to lead my parents and my brother to it. But my brother is a total extrovert and loves going to the movies most of all. And my father says he just wants to rest after work. I have often wanted to explain to him that real and true relaxation comes through concentration, which sparks godliness. But my father doesn’t believe it and doesn’t understand me. Eckartshausen’s Mystical Nights, which I gave him, he didn’t read. He only reads the newspaper, and Johannes says I should leave my father in peace. But I suffer as a result. My mother has said that she has nothing against my being on the true path, yet she has no path at all, and so, end of story. Oh, Yolanda, your family enjoys God’s true blessing!”
Johannes is caught up in other conversations, but toward the end he also hears Haschke, and says, “You should not be envious of anyone or complain about their family. It’s simple. Each is granted the circumstances that best suit him. It only matters to recognize them and to make something good out of them. On one’s way one shouldn’t melt into sentimentality.”—“Oh, you’re so right, Johannes, you are always right! Don’t think that I am really envious of Yolanda and her family! I’m happy that she has it so good. I also have it good when my sins are so great. For then is the grace of God even greater. Martin Luther was right, even if I never was a Protestant, when he said that one should sin deeply, in order to truly experience grace.” Johannes only says softly that one should watch out for one’s tongue getting caught up in idle chatter and parroting, especially when repeating mistaken ideas. Meanwhile more and more people arrive, Frieda responding to the doorbell and opening the door, but then it rings once more, and because Frieda isn’t there Haschke walks out to answer, as guests pour into the kitchen and then leave it, lively voices filling every room in the apartment, as Frieda appears with a woman named Greta, and they announce that it’s almost eight o’clock, almost everyone is there whom they expected, so they should all gather in the tower room and begin, during which time Frieda and Greta will get tea ready in the kitchen, at which Johannes gets up and turns to all those around him with a soft smile and says, “Yes, indeed, let us devote ourselves to the path!” Everyone heads into the studio, in the foyer and waiting room the lights are turned off, while in the tower room only the two standing lights and the eternal light are lit, chairs having been brought in from the other rooms, everyone gathering around the table except two or three, Haschke being one of them.
Josef is introduced to the regular guests, among whom is Spiridion von Flaschenberg, who animatedly turns to him, “Josef? Josef is a wonderful name. From both the Old and the New Testament. Have you ever thought about your name before? I don’t want to spoil it for you, but you should look into it. I hope you’ll soon come to visit me. Sunday mornings everyone—and by that I mean everyone, people, gods, spirits, and demons—are welcome to visit. The entire cosmos gathers at my place. Take down the address: Flaschenbergianeum, Balbinggasse 6, Electrical Number 8 to the final stop, then right on the first street you come to, and then the next left, where you’ll already see the address, Flaschenbergianeum 9-11, home of the cosmos.” At this Herr von Flaschenberg abruptly turns away from Josef and talks with other guests, making elaborate sweeping gestures with his hands, as Josef meets another man, Herr Ringel, who with his red beard looks sort of like a professor of history, though he is in fact an academic painter, he also inviting Josef to visit him, saying, “I live a quite humble existence. Today no one values artists. Raphael’s paintings were, in a word, met with triumph when they emerged from his studio. Back then people knew how to honor the great, but today the world is awash in mediocrity. Hardly anyone believes in me, though indeed future times will erect a memorial and place my paintings in the most honored and sanctified places. That will no longer be galleries and museums, which are to blame more than anything for why no one understands painting today. Everyone is caught up in naturalism. And whoever doesn’t paint in a naturalist manner is considered an outrage, mad, or just a fool—that is to say, an artiste. People have gotten used to looking at even the work of the past as naturalistic. Above all, no one knows anything about color. If you want to understand painting, then please don’t visit any gallery, but instead come to me. I live for the most part in squalor, but no one buys paintings these days. And instead of Master Ringel I’m called Herr Ringel, which is really an insult, for art is mastery, not the pedestrian. The path to art has three stages: apprentice, assistant, and master. Painting is also a craft, not a trade. Through its nature as a craft it differs from arts like poetry and music, where there are no masters in this sense. In music the nonsense about maestro usually signifies a decline, it being diametrically opposed to the ancient notion of music. Musicians use it, I agree, but to err is human. But certainly it would sound ridiculous to say ‘Master Goethe,’ yet painters are indeed called masters. The term ‘Old Masters’ is still commonly used even today.”
Haschke then interrupts, saying, “Oh, Ringel’s paintings are epiphanies. He paints only while lost in concentration. It’s marvelous! Oh, what paintings they are!” Ringel adds, “I don’t mean to praise my own work. But in all modesty I can say that since my days at the academy I have not done a single naturalistic painting. I have dissolved all forms, I work only with color. Color is light, and thus it is divine. Each single color is a mystery that God, as it were, manifests in the rainbow. God himself cannot be painted, the Jews and Muhammad being correct about this. One can’t even paint the sun, the ultimate symbol of Him. But God’s manifestations can be painted, which share the colors we see in the rainbow. This is, as it were, my mission. I paint the path to God, and in a truly modern way, through bright colors and not in the illuminated darkness of Rembrandt, who for all his greatness was no painter. The Old Masters were also not genuine painters, but rather illuminators or colorists, they used color only for coloration, as a surface element, without having experienced it as a spiritual essence. That’s also true of Titian, who attained the most, but I have made a considerable step beyond, as it were.” Haschke then interrupts again, saying, “Oh, it’s marvelous! You have to see it! I have one of Ringel’s paintings, naturally just a small one, but for me it is greater than all the other paintings in the modern gallery. It hangs above my bed between a reproduction from a Sistine Chapel Madonna and the Mona Lisa. Ringel’s painting is not done in oils but rather pastels, like the dust of a butterfly on colored paper. I tell you, it’s like a dream. I have it framed in a magenta frame, for Ringel says that magenta is the color of the future. The painting is titled The Awakening of the Soul. Oh, it’s marvelous! One figure lifts another one high, both pointing upward to where light pours down. It’s deeply symbolic. At night I dream about it and am in a good mood when I wake up, look at the painting, and begin to concentrate.”
Ringel wants to continue to explain his marvelous painting to Josef with the help of Haschke, but things are about to get under way, as Yolanda declares soothingly that there will be plenty of time later on to talk about painting, and that Josef can indeed visit Ringel if he’s interested in modern painting. Then everyone quiets down and gathers together, though Herr von Flaschenberg uses the time for an extended explanation of a very important poem that came to him, which just yesterday he wrote down while on the streetcar, a cosmic poem whose inspiration came to him as he rode home with Achter from the registry. Spiridion is a registrar at an insurance firm and often explains in reference to his position that, through his work, insurance is tied to the entire cosmos and to eternal justice, but just yesterday while on his way home, as he thought to himself, it occurred to him to compose a poem in much the same manner that the electrical winds its way through the chaos of the city and finds its way to the harmony of the spheres. Meanwhile the other members of the group grow impatient, they don’t want to delay the evening any longer, some asking to hear the poem, which they know Herr von Flaschenberg has in his briefcase, since he always carries his new poems around with him until there are enough to fill a new book, which happens at least once a year, he urging everyone he knows to take a subscription, writing long dedications to them in their copies which end “with exceptional love” or “in burning brotherhood.” Spiridion also wants to say something quite brief about his poem, but he has to shut up, because Johannes, who smiles continually, gives a sign for all to quiet down, he wants to read something, as someone hands him the writings of Meister Eckhart, whom even Ringel recognizes with the title “Meister.” Johannes reads aloud an excerpt quietly in a graceful flowing voice and concludes, “And so one must penetrate to the truth, to the one and only, which is God himself, without seeking a manifest being, for thus one arrives at a unique state of wonder. One should remain immersed in this wonder, because human understanding doesn’t have the ability to get to the heart of the matter. Whoever wants to truly understand the wonder of God, he easily attains such knowledge within himself.” Johannes closes the book and smiles again, a smile seeming to continually rest upon his face, though it’s not frozen there but rather is joyfully alive, as he shakes his head in mild surprise and says, “That’s wonderful. Yes, it is all that simple. One doesn’t need big words. In the end, we all arrive at the same place.”
Some guests try to comment on the reading, Johannes listening silently to most of them, now and then nodding lightly in agreement or disagreement. Once he says that it’s good to discuss such matters, but one should also just listen, it’s the truth that speaks and not the person, it being the beauty of truth that it doesn’t say anything, one can’t interfere with it, or search for God, but only search within himself for the God that is there. Yolanda then tries to elaborate, saying, “If you search for the truth as part of your day’s work, that is good. As a housewife I can’t afford to neglect my duties. The saying is true: first God, then others. But if you want to genuinely serve God, then you must serve others, and the work of a housewife does just that by managing the household. Then I think of that part of God’s will that wanted me to be a housewife. That is the wonder that keeps me going. It makes me happy and gives me hope when my dear husband and my Schorschl are happy.” Both nod to her and say as one, “Through Mother we are able to concentrate all the better.” The opaque, smiling Johannes appears to agree, but then Haschke lets out, “Through Meister Eckhart one sees precisely how wonderful it all is! We humans are always lost in a duality, for we cannot concentrate well enough and listen too much to people who end up confusing us. Because it simply is, one should not search for Being, which is hard, for at the same time one does want to search for Being. But one should just act in the knowledge that the truth is inside us, and thus God as well, for God speaks to those who can speak the truth. Oh, it’s wonderful, Johannes! How wondrous it is, just as your reading describes!” Johannes only replies that one should be careful not to just turn himself into a wonder as well.
Frieda and Greta arrive with the tea, Yolanda and two other women jumping up to help them, plates with store-bought baked goods handed out, it being meager fare, sweet and salty, as Yolanda says, “Goodness, I have a cake in my bag outside that I baked for you all! Schorschl, be so good as to bring me my bag!” Schorschl runs out, the tea is poured, and each person is asked how many sugars he would like, followed by slices of lemon, which are handed out in little bowls, and raspberry juice in dark-red bottles, which almost looks like schnapps, some taking lemon, though more dribble some of the rich raspberry juice into their tea, others taking some of each, Schorschl appearing again and calling out, “Mama, I’m really sorry, but I can’t find either the cake or the bag. I looked everywhere, your coat is in the kitchen, and I found your hat on the floor in the foyer. Someone must have stepped on it, because it was smushed. I straightened it out right away, but one of the berries on it is cracked and can’t be fixed. I cleaned off the hat, but the bag is nowhere to be found.” Frieda asks if Yolanda remembers where she put the bag, or if perhaps she left it at home, but Yolanda’s husband knows better, saying, “No, no, my precious, you certainly didn’t leave it at home. I took some paper out of the drawer and helped you pack it. We wrapped the cake twice so that it wouldn’t leak any butter. Schorschl, do you remember whether Mama had the bag on the electrical?”—“Papa, I’m not sure. But I think Mama had it with her.” Frieda asks, “Do you think, Yolanda, that you left the bag lying somewhere?” Greta declares, “No, I know she brought the bag here. I remember that Yolanda had this beautiful big bag with her, and I even asked, ‘What’s in the bag, Yolanda?’And Yolanda said, ‘It’s a cake, Greta. It’s a new recipe I tried, which my family thought tasted really good. I also made one for you all at the same time.’ Don’t you remember, Yolanda? I then asked you about the recipe, and you said you’d give it to me, but first I had to try the cake and guess what was in it.” Yolanda recalls, “You’re right, Greta, I did promise you the recipe.” Spiridion declaims, “Yolanda, it’s a victim of God’s mysterious ways. The cake has disappeared into the cosmos. Accept the sacrifice selflessly!” Yolanda replies, “I’m happy to make a sacrifice. But that’s ridiculous. I made the cake for you all. And I’m pained about the bag, for Schorschl gave it to me for Christmas.” Schorschl says, “Don’t worry about the bag, Mama. I’ll get you another one. But the cake, the one you made for everyone, you were so pleased with it!” Frieda appeases her, saying, “We know that the good Yolanda always wants to surprise us. But it’s the thought that counts!” August adds, “My dear Yolanda, you all know her well! How well she takes care of Schorschl and me, always putting the family first and loving us with God’s love. Yolanda put a great deal of fresh butter into that cake which she got from her sister-in-law from the village by Wlaschim. However, one must take it all in stride, whatever happens is to the good.” Haschke recommends, “Yolanda, make a good example of yourself and concentrate until you think of where the bag is!” Yolanda responds, “I’m trying already. But as long as you all keep talking I can’t help being confused. The next time I bake a cake I won’t let it out of my hands.” Johannes has listened to it all with a smile and says, “We thank you, Yolanda, but we have enough to eat already. The bag will turn up, it most likely is out among the coats.” Then Thomas says emphatically, “We should all search at once, that’s the best thing to do!” Most everyone then begins to look around, but at this Yolanda claps her hands together and yells, “I think I know! I washed my hands in the bathroom!” She runs out, the bag is found in the bathroom, everyone gathers round as Yolanda gleefully swings the bag back and forth.
