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Page 53
No, I am a small woman in front of a big thing. One of the biggest,
genius. And the force of it, relentless as nature, made me what I am.
_Paul._ Oh, Vera, when I think of his music, tempestuous as the sea,
healing as spring.... And now where is it? He had what all the world wants
most, _flight_, and the world stalled him in its own mud. You saw it....
That's why I shall stay here. It's the only place with _his_ atmosphere.
All these things are _he_. I face them here in silence, and I bare my
breast to the arrow. Here I am, the only one who knows Paul's music in its
possibility. To the rest, it is a heap of stones by the roadside. The
architect is dead.
VERA
But didn't he ever ... why didn't he...?
JEAN
You ask it, of course. You have the right. Sometimes I ask it, too, why
Paul never _succeeded_. While we were struggling along, the things that
held him back seemed only details. Only now do I see them as a whole.
In the first place, Paul never aimed directly at success. He was
all-round. If it had been merely a question of exploiting his talent,
sticking to the one idea day in, day out, never letting an opportunity
slip by of meeting the right people and getting to the right places ...
that would have been easy. He had tremendous energy. I used to grudge his
interest in other things. I hated to see him lose the chances and let them
be snapped up by littler men. He seemed to waste himself, right and left,
prodigally. But it wasn't that, it wasn't waste. It was all as much a part
of him as his music. He detested the stupidity of wealth and poverty, he
rebelled against laws that aren't laws, but only interests enforced by
authority, he fought against the sheer deadness of prejudice. How he hated
all that! And why not? You see, Vera, he was sensitive to it not only as a
thinker, but as a musician, too. It was all a part of the discord, and
what I used to think his wasting himself was really an effort to create a
larger harmony. He used to say that the beauty of music is only the image
of beauty in life, and that life must come first. He couldn't endure
discords anywhere. Paul despised the musicians who scream at a flatted
_f_ but hunger for the flesh pots after the performance. No, he was never
_that_. And people resented it. The very people who ought to have
understood.
VERA
But he didn't neglect his music, that is...?
JEAN
No. He made enormous efforts to get his violin before the public. And
several times he was "discovered" by men who could have made him famous
overnight. We all believe that genius will out, despite anything, but it
doesn't always. Musicians respected him, but they were afraid of him, too.
He criticized them for their shortcomings in other things, just as he
criticized others for their shortcomings in art. He wouldn't accept any
talent, no matter how fine, if it went with anything small or destructive.
You can imagine the china shops he left in fragments! Just think! Once in
Berlin it was all arranged for him to have a recital--he was working
furiously on his program and I was dancing on air--when just at the last
moment he heard the director make some light remark or other about women.
Paul was raging! He threw the words back in the fellow's teeth, and made
him apologize, but there we were. They called off the recital, naturally.
And I couldn't blame Paul. I was just beginning to understand. Another
time ... no, he never had luck. Paul had bad luck. I often think of the
Greek tragedies.
VERA
Another time?
JEAN
Another time--it was in Warsaw--we had gone with a letter of introduction
to Sbarovitch--
VERA _The_ Sbarovitch?
JEAN
Yes. It was a chance in ten thousand. We pawned stuff to get there. Well,
Paul played like a god. Sbarovitch was quite overcome. He swore he would
compose something especially for Paul. We had visions of playing before
the Czar.
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