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see him. I could not conceal the fact from myself that Heinrich Muoth was an unhappy and perhaps desperate person who wanted and needed me, and at times I felt I ought to obey the call and that I was contemptible not to do so. Yet I did not go. Another feeling prevented me: I could not give Muoth what he sought from me. I was quite different from him and even if in many ways I was also isolated and not fully understood by other people, even if I was different from everyone else and separated from most people by fate and my talents, I did not want to make an issue of it. Though the singer might be demonic in some ways, I definitely was not, and an inner necessity made me resist the spectacular and unusual. I had a feeling of aversion and repugnance toward Muoth’s vehement manner. He was a man of the theater and an adventurer, I thought, and he was perhaps destined to live a tragic and public life. On the contrary, I wanted a quiet life; excitement and audacious talk did not suit me—resignation was my lot. That was how I argued with myself to set my mind at rest. A man had knocked at my door. I was sorry for him and perhaps I ought to put him before myself, but I wanted peace and did not want to let him in. I threw myself energetically into my work but could not rid myself of the tormenting idea that someone stood behind me and tugged at me.
    As I did not come, Muoth again took the initiative. I received a note from him written in large bold characters, which read:
    Dear Sir,
    I usually celebrate my birthday on the 11th January with a few friends. Would you like to come along? It would give us pleasure if we could hear your new sonata on this occasion. What do you think? Have you a colleague with whom you could play it, or shall I send someone to you? Stefan Kranzl would be agreeable. It would please me very much.
    HEINRICH MUOTH
    I had not expected that—to play my music, which no one yet knew about, before experts, and to play the violin with Kranzl! Ashamed and grateful, I accepted the invitation, and only two days later I was requested by Kranzl to send him the music. After another two days, he invited me to visit him. The well-known violinist was still young. He was very pale and slender and looked like a virtuoso.
    As soon as I entered, he said, “So you are Muoth’s friend! Well, let us start straight away. If we pay attention, we’ll have it after playing it two or three times.”
    Then he placed a stand before me, gave me the second-violin part, marked time and began with his light sensitive touch, so that in comparison I was quite feeble.
    â€œNot so timidly!” he shouted across to me without stopping, and we played the music right through.
    â€œThat’s all right!” he said. “It’s a pity you haven’t a better violin. But never mind. Now let us play the allegro a little faster, so that no one takes it for a funeral march. Ready!”
    I then played my music quite confidently with the virtuoso, my modest violin sounding quite well along side his valuable one. I was surprised to find this distinguished-looking man so natural, indeed, almost naïve. As I began to feel more at home and gathered up courage, I asked him with some hesitation what he thought about my composition.
    â€œYou will have to ask someone else, my dear sir. I don’t understand much about it. It’s a little unusual, but people like that. If Muoth likes it, you can feel flattered. He is not easily pleased.”
    He gave me some advice regarding the playing and showed me a few places where alterations were necessary. We arranged to have another rehearsal the following day, and I then departed.
    It was a comfort to me to find this man so natural and sincere. If he was one of Muoth’s friends, perhaps I could also find a place among them. To be sure, he was an accomplished artist and I was a beginner without any great prospects. I was sorry that no one would give me an honest