TWO

 

WALDZELL

 

"BUT WALDZELL BREEDS the skilful Glass Bead Game players," runs the old saying about the famous school.  Among the Castalian schools of the second and third levels, it was the one most devoted to the arts.  That is to say, whereas at other schools a particular branch of scholarship was distinctly dominant, such as classical philology in Keuperheim, Aristotelian and Scholastic philosophy in Porta, mathematics in Planvaste, Waldzell traditionally cultivated a tendency towards universality and towards an alliance between scholarship and the arts.  The highest symbol of these tendencies was the Glass Bead Game.  Even here, as at all the other schools, the Game was by no means taught officially and as a compulsory subject.  But Waldzell students devoted their private studies almost exclusively to it.  Then again, the town of Waldzell was after all the seat of the official Glass Bead Game and its institutions.  The famous Game Hall for the ceremonial games was located here, as was the enormous Game Archives, with its officialdom and its libraries.  Here, too, was the residence of the Ludi Magister.  And although these institutions existed altogether independently and the school was in no way attached to them, the spirit of the institutions permeated the school.  Something of the hallowed atmosphere of the great public Games spread over the whole area.  The town itself was very proud of being the home not only of a school, but of the Game also.  The townspeople called the students "scholars" and referred to those who attended the Game School as "lusors" - a corruption of lusores.

        The Waldzell school was, incidentally, the smallest of the Castalian schools.  The number of students rarely exceeded sixty, and undoubtedly this circumstance also helped to lend it an air of uniqueness and aristocracy, of special distinction, for here was the very elite of the elite.  Moreover, during the past several decades this venerable school had produced many Masters and the majority of Glass Bead Game players.  Not that Waldzell's brilliant reputation was entirely uncontested.  Some thought that the Waldzellers were priggish aesthetes and pampered princes, useless for anything but the Glass Bead Game.  At times there would be a vogue among the schools for making sardonic comments on the Waldzell students; but the very harshness of the jokes and criticisms proves that jealousy and envy underlay them.  All in all, the transfer to Waldzell in itself implied a certain distinction.  Joseph Knecht, too, realized that, and although he was not ambitious in the vulgar sense of the word, he accepted the distinction with a measure of joyous pride.

        Along with several schoolmates, he arrived in Waldzell on foot.  Full of high expectation and ready for whatever might come, he walked through the southern gate and was instantly enchanted by the dark-brown aspect of the town and the great bulk of the former Cistercian monastery in which the school had been established.  Even before he had been given his new uniform, immediately after the reception snack in the porter's lodge, he set out alone to explore his new home.  He found the footpath that ran along the remains of the ancient town wall above the river, stood on the arched bridge and listened to the roaring of the millrace, walked past the graveyard and down the lane of linden trees.  He saw and recognized, beyond the tall hedges, the Vicus Lusorum, the adjacent little settlement of the Glass Bead Game players.  Here were the Festival Hall, the Archives, the classrooms, the houses for guests and teachers.  He saw coming from one of these houses a man in the dress of the Glass Bead Game players, and decided that this must be one of the fabulous lusores, possibly the Magister Ludi in person.  The spell of this atmosphere exerted a tremendous force upon him.  Everything here seemed old, venerable, sanctified, rich with tradition; here one was quite a bit closer to the Centre than in Eschholz.  And as he returned from the Glass Bead Game district, he began to feel other spells, possibly less venerable, but no less exciting.  They came from the town itself, this sample of the profane world with its business and commerce, its dogs and children, its smells of stores and handicrafts, its bearded citizens and fat wives behind the shop doors, the children playing and clamouring, the girls throwing mocking looks.  Many things reminded him of remote worlds he had once known, of Berolfingen.  He had thought all that entirely forgotten.  Now deep layers in his soul responded to all this, to the scenes, the sounds, the smells.  A world less tranquil than that of Eschholz, but richer and more colourful, seemed to be awaiting him here.

        As a matter of fact, the school at first turned out to be the exact continuation of his previous school, although with the addition of several new subjects.  Nothing was really new there except the meditation exercises; and after all the Music Master had already given him a foretaste of these.  He accepted meditation willingly enough, but without regarding it as more than a pleasant, relaxing game.  Only somewhat later - as we shall see in due time - would he have a living experience of its true value.

        The headmaster of Waldzell, Otto Zbinden, was an unusual, somewhat eccentric man who inspired a certain amount of fear.  He was nearing sixty at the time Knecht entered.  A good many of the entries we have examined concerning Joseph Knecht are set down in his handsome and impetuous handwriting.  But at the beginning the young man's curiosity was captured far less by the teachers than by his fellow students.  With two of these in particular Knecht struck up a lively relationship, for which there is ample documentation.  The first of these was Carlo Ferromonte, a boy his own age to whom he became attached during his very first months at Weldzell.  (Ferromonte later rose to the second-highest rank on the Board, as deputy to the Music Master; we are indebted to him for, among other things, a History of Styles in Sixteenth-Century Lute Music.)  The other boys called him "Rice Eater" and prized him for his aptitude at sports.  His friendship with Joseph began with talks about music and led to joint studying and practicing which continued for several years; we are informed about this partly by Knecht's rare but copious letters to the Music Master.  In the first of these letters Knecht calls Ferromonte a "specialist and connoisseur in music rich in ornamentation, embellishments, trills, etc."  The boys played Couperin, Purcell, and other masters of the period around 1700.  In one of the letters Knecht gives a detailed account of these practice sessions and this music "in which many of the pieces have some embellishment over almost every note."  He continues: "After one has played nothing but turns, shakes, and mordents for a few hours, one's fingers feel as if there are charged with electricity."

        In fact he made great progress in music.  By his second or third year at Waldzell he was reading and playing the notations, clefs, abbreviations, and figured basses of all centuries and styles with tolerable fluency.  He had made himself at home in the realm of Western music, as much of it as has been preserved for us, in that special way that proceeds from practical craftsmanship and is not above taking utmost heed of a piece of music's sensuous and technical aspects as a means for penetrating the spirit.  His intense concern with the sensuous quality of music, his efforts to understand the spirit of various musical styles from the physical nature of the sounds, the sensations in the ear, deterred him for a remarkably long time from devoting himself to the elementary course in the Glass Bead Game.  In one of his lectures in subsequent years he remarked: "One who knows music only from the extracts which the Glass Bead Game distils from it may well be a good Glass Bead Game player, but he is far from being a musician, and presumably he is no historian either.  Music does not consist only in those purely intellectual oscillations and figurations which we have abstracted from it.  All through the ages its pleasure has primarily consisted in its sensuous character, in the outpouring of breath, in the beating of time, in the colorations, frictions, and stimuli which arise from the blending of voices in the concord of instruments.  Certainly the spirit is the main thing, and certainly the invention of new instruments and the alteration of old ones, the introduction of new keys and new rules or new taboos regarding construction and harmony are always mere gestures and superficialities, even as the costumes and fashions of nations are superficialities.  But one must have apprehended and tasted these superficial and sensuous distinctions with the senses to be able to interpret from them the nature of eras and styles.  We make music with our hands and fingers, with our mouths and lungs, not with our brains alone, and someone who can read notes but has no command of any instrument should not join in the dialogue of music.  Thus, too, the history of music is hardly to be understood solely in terms of an abstract history of styles.  For example, the periods of decadence in music would remain totally incomprehensible if we failed to recognize in each one of them the preponderance of the sensuous and quantitative elements over the 'spiritual element'."

        For a time it appeared as if Knecht had decided to become nothing but a musician.  In favour of music he neglected all the optional subjects, including the introductory course in the Glass Bead Game, to such an extent that towards the end of the first semester the headmaster called him to an accounting.  Knecht refused to be intimidated; he stubbornly insisted on his rights.  It is said that he told the headmaster: "If I fail in any official subject, you could rightly reprimand me.  On the other hand, I have the right to devote three quarters or even four quarters of my free time to music.  I stand on the statutes of the school."  Headmaster Zbinden was sensible enough not to insist, but he naturally remembered this student and is said to have treated him with cold severity for a long time.

        This peculiar period in Knecht's student days lasted for more than a year, probably for about a year and a half.  He received normal but not brilliant marks and - to judge by the incident with the headmaster - his behaviour was marked by a rather defiant withdrawal, no noteworthy friendships, but in compensation this extraordinary passion for music-making.  He abstained from almost all private studies, including the Glass Bead Game.  Several of these traits are undoubtedly signs of puberty; during this period he probably encountered the other sex only by chance, and mistrustfully; presumably he was quite shy - like so many Eschholz pupils if they do not happen to have sisters at home.  He read a great deal, especially the German philosophers: Leizbiz, Kant, and the Romantics, among whom Hegel exerted by far the strongest attraction upon him.

        We must now give some account of that other fellow student who played a significant part in Knecht's life at Waldzell: the hospitant Plinio Designori.  Hospitants were boys who went through the elite schools as guests, that is, without the intention of remaining permanently in the Pedagogic Province and entering the Order.  Such hospitants turned up every so often, although they were quite rare, for the board of educators was naturally averse to the idea of educating students who intended to return home and into the world after they finished their studies at the elite schools.  However, the country had several old patrician families who had performed notable services for Castalia at the time of its foundation and in which the custom still prevailed (it has not entirely died out to this day) of having one of the sons educated as a guest in the elite schools.  It had become an established prerogative for those few families, although of course the boys in question had to be gifted enough to meet the standards of the schools.

        These hospitants, although in every respect subject to the same rules as all elite students, formed an exceptional group within the student body if only because they did not grow increasingly estranged from their native soil and their families with each passing year.  On the contrary, they spent all the holidays at home and always remained guests and strangers among their fellow students, since they preserved the habits and ways of thinking of their place of origin.  Home, a worldly career, a profession and marriage awaited them.  Only on very rare occasions did it happen that such a guest student, captivated by the spirit of the Province, would obtain the consent of his family and after all remain in Castalia and enter the Order.  On the other hand, in the history of our country there have been several statesmen who were guest students in their youth, and now and then, when public opinion for one reason or another had turned against the elite schools and the Order, these statesmen came strongly to the defence of both.

        Plinio Designori, then, was one such hospitant whom Joseph Knecht - slightly his junior - encountered in Waldzell.  He was a talented young man, particularly brilliant in talk and debate, fiery and somewhat restive in temperament.  His presence often troubled Headmaster Zbinden, for although he was a good student and gave no cause for reprimands, he made no effort to forget his exceptional position as a hospitant and to fall into line as inconspicuously as possible.  On the contrary, he frankly and belligerently professed a non-Castalian, worldly point of view.

        Inevitably, a special relationship sprang up between these two students.  Both were extremely gifted and both had a vocation; these qualities made them brothers, although in everything else they were opposites.  It would have required a teacher of unusual insight and skill to extract the quintessence from the problem that those arose and to employ the rules of dialectics to derive synthesis from the antitheses.  Headmaster Zbinden did not lack the talent or will: he was not one of those teachers who find geniuses an embarrassment.  But for this particular case he lacked the important prerequisite: the trust of both students.  Plinio, who enjoyed the role of outsider and revolutionary, remained permanently on his guard in his dealings with the headmaster; and unfortunately the headmaster had clashed with Joseph Knecht over that question of his private studies, so that Knecht, too, would not have turned to Zbinden for advice.

        Fortunately, there was the Music Master.  Knecht did turn to him with a request for help and advice, and the wise old musician took the matter seriously and directed the course of the game with masterly skill, as we shall see.  In the hands of this Master the greatest danger and temptation in young Knecht's life was converted into an honourable task, and the young man proved able to cope with it.  The psychological history of the friendship-and-enmity between Joseph and Plinio - a sonata movement on two themes, or a dialectical interplay between two minds - went somewhat as follows.

        At first, of course, it was Designori who attracted his opponent.  He was the elder; he was a handsome, fiery, and well-spoken young man; and above all he was one of those "from outside", a non-Castalian, a boy from the world, a person with father and mother, uncles, aunts, brothers, and sisters, one for whom Castalia with all its rules, traditions, and ideals represented only a stage along the road, a limited sojourn.  For this rara avis Castalia was not the world; for him Waldzell was a school like any other; for him the "return to the world" was no disgrace and punishment; the future awaiting him was not the Order but career, marriage, politics - in short, that "real life" which every Castalian secretly longed to know more about.  For the "world" was the same thing for a Castalian that it had long ago been for the penitents and monks: something inferior and forbidden, no doubt, but nonetheless mysterious, tempting, fascinating.  And Plinio truly made no secret of his attachment to the world; he was not in the least ashamed of it.  On the contrary, he was proud of it.  With a zeal still half boyish and histrionic, but also half consciously propagandistic, he stressed his own differentness.  He seized every pretext for setting his secular views and standards against those of Castalia, and contending that his own were better, juster, more natural, more human.  In these arguments he bandied about words like "nature" and "common sense", to the discredit of the overrefined, unworldly spirit of the school.  He made use of slogans and hyperbole, but had the good taste and tact not to descend to crude provocations, but more or less to give the methods of disputation customary in Waldzell their due.  He wanted to defend the "world" and the unreflective life against the "arrogant scholastic intellectuality" of Castalia, but he also wanted to prove that he could do so with his opponents' weapons.  He did not want to be thought the dull-witted brute blindly trampling around in the flower garden of culture.

        Now and then Joseph Knecht had stood, a silent but attentive listener, on the edge of small groups of students whose centre was Designori.  Plinio usually did most of the talking.  With curiosity, astonishment, and alarm Joseph had heard Plinio excoriating all authority, everything that was held sacred in Castalia.  He heard everything questioned, everything he believed in exposed as dubious or ridiculous.  Joseph soon noted that many in the audience did not take these speeches seriously; some, it was clear, listened only for the fun of it, as people listen to a barker at a fair.  Frequently, too, he heard some of the boys answer Plinio's charges sarcastically or seriously.  Still, there were always several schoolmates gathered around this boy Plinio; he was always the centre of attention, and whether or not there happened to be an opponent in the group, he always exerted an attraction so strong that it was akin to seduction.

        Joseph himself was as much stirred as those others who gathered around the lively orator and listened to his tirades with astonishment or laughter.  In spite of the trepidation and even fear that he felt during such speeches, Joseph was aware of their sinister attraction for him.  He was drawn to them not just because they were amusing.  On the contrary, they seemed to concern him directly and seriously.  Not that he would inwardly have agreed with the audacious orator, but there were doubts whose very existence or possibility you had only to know about and you instantly began to suffer them.  At the beginning it was not any serious suffering; it was merely a matter of being slightly disturbed, uneasy - a feeling compounded of powerful urge and guilty conscience.

        The time had to come, and it came when Designori noticed that among his listeners was one to whom his words meant more than rousing entertainment and the fun of argument: a fair-haired boy who looked handsome and finely wrought, but rather shy, and who blushed and gave terse, embarrassed replies when Plinio said a friendly word to him.  Evidently the boy had been trailing after him for some time, Plinio thought, and decided to reward him with a friendly gesture and win him over completely by inviting him to his room that afternoon.  To Plinio's surprise the boy held off, would not linger to talk with him, and declined the invitation.  Provoked, the older boy began courting the reticent Joseph.  Possibly he did so at first only out of vanity, but later he went about it in all seriousness, for he sensed an antagonist who would be perhaps a future friend, perhaps the opposite.  Again and again he saw Joseph hanging around near him, and noted the intensity with which Joseph listened, but the shy boy would always retreat as soon as he tried to approach him.

        There were reasons behind his conduct.  Joseph had long since come to feel that this other boy would mean something important to him, perhaps something fine, an enlargement of his horizon, insight or illumination, perhaps also temptation and danger.  Whatever it was, this was a test he had to pass.  He had told his friend Ferromonte about the first stirrings of scepticism and restlessness that Plinio's talks had aroused in him, but his friend had paid little attention; he dismissed Plinio as a conceited and self-important fellow not worth listening to, and promptly buried himself in his music again.  Instinct warned Joseph that the headmaster was the proper authority to whom to bring his doubts and queries; but since that little clash he no longer had a cordial and candid relationship with Zbinden.  He was afraid the headmaster might regard his coming to him with this question as a kind of talebearing.

        In this dilemma, which grew increasingly painful because of Plinio's efforts to strike up a friendship, he turned to his patron and guardian angel, the Music Master, and wrote him a very long letter which has been preserved.  In part, it read:

        "I am not yet certain whether Plinio hopes to win me over to his way of thinking, or whether he merely wants someone to discuss these matters with.  I hope it is the latter, for to convert me to his views would mean leading me into disloyalty and destroying my life, which after all is rooted in Castalia.  I have no parents and friends on the outside to whom I could return if I should ever really desire to.  But even if Plinio's sacrilegious speeches are not aimed at conversion and influencing, they leave me at a loss.  For to be perfectly frank with you, dear Master, there is something in Plinio's point of view that I cannot gainsay; he appeals to a voice within me which sometimes strongly seconds what he says.  Presumably it is the voice of nature, and it runs utterly counter to my education and the outlook customary among us.  When Plinio calls our teachers and Masters a priestly caste and us a pack of spoon-fed eunuchs, he is of course using course and exaggerated language, but there may well be some truth to what he says, for otherwise I would hardly be so upset by it.  Plinio can say the most startling and discouraging things.  For example, he contends that the Glass Bead Game is a retrogression to the Age of the Feuilleton, sheer irresponsible playing around with an alphabet into which we have broken down the languages of the different arts and sciences.   It's nothing but associations and toying with analogies, he says.  Or again he declares that our resigned sterility proves the worthlessness of our whole culture and our intellectual attitudes.  We analyze the laws and techniques of all the styles and periods of music, he points out, but produce no new music ourselves.  We read and exposit Pindar or Goethe and are ashamed to create verse ourselves.  Those are accusations I cannot laugh at.  And they are not the worst; they are not the ones that wound me most.  It is bad enough when he says, for example, that we Castalians lead the life of artificially reared songbirds, do not earn our bread ourselves, never face necessity and the struggle for existence, neither know or wish to know anything about that portion of humanity whose labour and poverty provide the base for our lives of luxury."

        The letter concluded: "Perhaps I have abused your friendliness and kindness, Reverendissime, and I am prepared to be reproved.  Scold me, impose penances on me - I shall be grateful for them.  But I am in dire need of advice.  I can sustain the present situation for a little while longer.  But I cannot shape it into any real and fruitful development, for I am too weak and inexperienced.  Moreover, and perhaps this is the worst of all, I cannot confide in our headmaster unless you explicitly command me to do so.  That is why I have troubled you with this affair, which is becoming a source of great distress to me."

        It would be of the greatest value to us if we also possessed the Master's reply to this cry for help in black and white.  But the reply was given orally.  Shortly after Knecht wrote, the Magister Musicae himself arrived in Waldzell to direct an examination in music, and during the days he spent there he devoted considerable time to his young friend.  We know of this from Knecht's later recollections.  The Music Master did not make things easy for him.  He began by looking closely into Knecht's grades and into the matter of his private studies as well.  The latter, he decided, were much too one-sided; in this regard the headmaster had been right, and he insisted that Knecht admit as much to the headmaster.  He gave precise directives for Knecht's conduct towards Designori, and did not leave until this question, too, had been discussed with Headmaster Zbinden.  The outcome was two-fold: that remarkable joust between Designori and Knecht, which none who looked on would ever forget; and an entirely new relationship between Knecht and the headmaster.  Not that this relationship ever partook of the affection and mystery that linked Knecht to the Music Master, but at least it was lucid and relaxed.

        The course that had been traced for Knecht determined the shape of his life for some time.  He had been given leave to accept Designori's friendship, to expose himself to his influence and his attacks without intervention or supervision by his teachers.  But his mentor specifically charged him to defend Castalia against the critic, and to raise the clash of views to the highest level.  That meant, among other things, that Joseph had to make an intensive study of the fundamentals of the prevailing system in Castalia and in the Order, and to recall them to mind again and again.  The debates between the two friendly opponents soon became famous, and drew large audiences.  Designori's aggressive and ironic tone became subtler, his formulations stricter and more responsible, his criticism more objective.  Hitherto Plinio had been the winner in this contest; coming from the "world", he possessed its experience, its methods, its means of attack, and some of its ruthlessness as well.  From conversations with adults at home he knew all the indictments the world could muster against Castalia.  But now Knecht's replies forced him to realize that although he knew the world quite well, better than any Castalian, he did not by any means know Castalia and its spirit as well as those who were at home here, for whom Castalia had become both native soil and destiny.  He was forced to realize, and ultimately to admit, that he was a guest here, not a native; that the outside world had no exclusive claim on self-evident principles and truths arrived at through centuries of experience.  Here too, in the Pedagogic Province, there was a tradition, what might even be called a "nature", with which he was only imperfectly acquainted and which was now being upheld by its spokesman, Joseph Knecht.

        Knecht, for his part, in order to cope with his part as apologist, was obliged to put a great deal of study, meditation, and self-discipline into clarifying and deepening his understanding of what he was required to defend.  Designori remained his superior; his worldly training and cleverness supported his natural fire and ambition.  Even when he was being defeated on a point, he managed to think of the audience and contrive a face-saving or witty line of retreat.  Knecht, on the other hand, when his opponent had driven him into a corner, was apt to say: "I shall have to think about that for a while, Plinio.  Wait a few days; I'll come back to that point."

        The relationship had thus been given a dignified form.  In fact, for the participants and the listeners the dispute had already become an indispensable element in the school life of Waldzell.  But the pressure and the conflict had scarcely grown any easier for Knecht.  Because of the high degree of confidence and responsibility that had been placed upon him, he mastered his assignment, and it is proof of the strength and soundness of his nature that he carried it out without any visible damage.  But privately, he suffered a great deal.  If he felt friendship for Plinio, he felt it not only for an engaging and clever cosmopolitan and articulate schoolmate, but also for that alien world which his friend and opponent represented, with which he was becoming acquainted, however dimly, in Plinio's personality, words, and gestures: that so-called "real" world in which there were loving mothers and children, hungry people and poorhouses, newspapers and election campaigns; that primitive and at the same time subtle world to which Plinio returned at every vacation in order to visit his parents, brothers, and sisters, to pay court to girls, to attend union meetings, or stay as a guest at elegant clubs, while Joseph remained in Castalia, went tramping or swimming, practised Froberger's subtle and different fugues, or read Hegel.

        Joseph had no doubt that he belonged in Castalia and was rightly leading a Castalian life, a life without family, without a variety of legendary amusements, a life without newspapers and also without poverty and hunger - though for all that Plinio hammered away at the drones' existence of the elite students, he too had so far never gone hungry or earned his own bread.  No, Plinio's world was not better and sounder.  But it was there, it existed, and as Joseph knew from history it had always been and had always been similar to what it now was.  Many nations had never known any other pattern, had no elite schools and Pedagogic Province, no Order, Masters, and Glass Bead Game.  The great majority of all human beings on the globe lived a life different from that of Castalia, simpler, more primitive, more dangerous, more disorderly, less sheltered.  And this primitive world was innate in every man; everyone felt something of it in his own heart, had some curiosity about it, some nostalgia for it, some sympathy with it.  The true task was to be fair to it, to keep a place for it in one's own heart, but still not relapse into it.  For alongside it and superior to it was the second world, that of Castalia, the world of Mind - artificial, more orderly, more secure, but still in need of constant supervision and study.  To serve the hierarchy, but without doing an injustice to that other world, let alone despising it, and also without eyeing it with vague desire or nostalgia - that must be the right course.  For did not the small world of Castalia serve the great world, provide it with teachers, books, methods, act as guardian for the purity of its intellectual functions and its morality?  Castalia remained the training ground and refuge for that small band of men whose lives were to be consecrated to Mind and to truth.  Then why were these two worlds apparently unable to live in fraternal harmony, parallel and intertwined; why could an individual not cherish and unite both within himself?

        One of the rare visits from the Music Master came upon a day when Joseph, exhausted by his task, was having a hard time preserving his balance.  The Master diagnosed his state from a few of the boy's allusions; he read it even more plainly in Joseph's strained appearance, his restive looks, his somewhat nervous movements.  He asked a few probing questions, was met by moroseness and uncommunicativeness, and gave up that approach.  Seriously concerned, he took the boy to one of the practice rooms under the pretext of telling him about a minor musicological discovery.  He had Joseph bring in and tune a clavichord, and involved him in a long tutoring session on the origin of sonata form until the young man somewhat forgot his anxieties, yielded, and listened, relaxed and grateful, to the Master's words and playing.  Patiently, the Music Master took what time was needed to put Joseph into a receptive state.  And when he had succeeded, when his lecture was over and he had concluded by playing one of the Gabrieli sonatas, he stood up, began slowly pacing the little room, and told a story.

        "Many years ago I was once much preoccupied with this sonata.  That was during the period of my free studies, before I was called to teaching and later to the post of Music Master.  At the time I was ambitious to work out a history of the sonata form from a new point of view; but then for a while I stopped making any progress at all.  I began more and more to doubt whether all these musical and historical researches had any value whatsoever, whether they were really any more than vacuous play for idle people, a scanty aesthetic substitute for living a real life.  In short, I had to pass through one of those crises in which all studies, all intellectual efforts, everything that we mean by the life of the mind, appear dubious and devalued and in which we tend to envy every peasant at the plough and every pair of lovers at evening, or every bird singing in a tree and every cicada chirping in the summer grass, because they seem to us to be living such natural, fulfilled, and happy lives.  We know nothing of their troubles, of course, of the elements of harshness, danger, and suffering in their lot.  In brief, I had pretty well lost my equilibrium.  It was far from a pleasant state; in fact it was very hard to bear.  I thought up the wildest schemes for escaping and gaining my freedom.  For example, I imagined myself going out into the world as an itinerant musician and playing dances for wedding parties.  If some recruiting officer from afar had appeared, as in old tales, and coaxed me to don a uniform and follow any company of soldiers into any war, I would have gone along.  And so things went from bad to worse, as so often happens to people in such moods.  I so thoroughly lost my grip on myself that I could no longer deal with my trouble alone, and had to seek help."

        He paused for a moment and chuckled softly under his breath.  Then he continued: "Naturally, I had a studies advisor, as the rules require, and of course it would have been sensible and right as well as my duty to ask him for advice.  But the fact is, Joseph, that precisely when we run into difficulties and stray from our path and are most in need of correction, precisely then we feel the greatest disinclination to return to the normal way and seek out the normal form of correction.  My adviser had been dissatisfied with my last quarterly report; he had offered serious objections to it; but I had thought myself on the way to new discoveries and had rather resented his objections.  In brief, I did not like the idea of going to him; I did not want to eat humble pie and admit that he had been right.  Nor did I want to confide in my friends.  But there was an eccentric in the vicinity whom I knew only by sight and hearsay, a Sanskrit scholar who went by the nickname of 'the Yogi'.  One day, when my state of mind had grown sufficiently unbearable, I paid a call on this man, whose solitariness and oddity I had both smiled at and secretly admired.  I went to his cell intending to talk with him, but found him in meditation; he had adopted the ritual Hindu posture and could not be reached at all.  With a faint smile on his face, he hovered, as it were, in total aloofness.  I could do nothing but stand at the door and wait until he returned from his absorption.  This took a very long time, an hour or two hours, and at last I grew tired and slid to the floor.  There I sat, leaning against the wall, continuing to wait.  At the end I saw the man slowly awaken; he moved his head slightly, stretched his shoulders, slowly uncrossed his legs, and as he was about to stand up his gaze fell upon me.

        "'What do you want?' he asked.

        "I stood up and said, without thinking and without really knowing what I was saying: 'It's the sonatas of Andrea Gabrieli.'

        "He stood up at this point, seated me in his lone chair, and perched himself on the edge of the table.  'Gabrieli?' he said.  'What has he done to you with his sonatas?'

        "I began to tell him what had been happening to me, and to confess the predicament I was in.  He asked me about my background with an exactness that seemed to me pedantic.  He wanted to know about my studies of Gabrieli and the sonata, at what hour I rose in the morning, how long I read, how much I practised, when were my mealtimes and when I went to bed.  I had confided in him, in fact imposed myself on him, so that I had to put up with his questions, but they made me ashamed; they probed more and more mercilessly into details, and forced me to an analysis of my whole intellectual and moral life during the past weeks and months.

        "Then the Yogi suddenly fell silent, and when I looked puzzled he shrugged and said: 'Don't you see yourself where the fault lies?'  But I could not see it.  At this point he recapitulated with astonishing exactness everything he had learned from me by his questioning.  He went back to the first signs of fatigue, repugnance, and intellectual constipation, and showed me that this could have happened only to someone who had submerged himself disproportionately in his studies and that it was high time for me to recover my self-control, and to regain my energy with outside help.  Since I had taken the liberty of discontinuing my regular meditation exercises, he pointed out, I should at least have realized what was wrong as soon as the first evil consequences appeared, and should have resumed meditation.  He was perfectly right.  I had omitted meditating for quite a while on the grounds that I had no time, was too distracted or out of spirits, or too busy and excited with my studies.  Moreover, as time when on I had completely lost all awareness of my continuous sin of omission.  Even now, when I was desperate and had almost run aground, it had taken an outsider to remind me of it.  As a matter of fact, I was to have the greatest difficulty snapping out of this state of neglect.  I had to return to the training routines and beginners' exercises in meditation in order gradually to relearn the art of composing myself and sinking into contemplation."

        With a small sigh the Magister ceased pacing the room.  "That is what happened to me, and to this day I am still a little ashamed to talk about it.  But the fact is, Joseph, that the more we demand of ourselves, or the more our task at any given time demands of us, the more dependent we are on meditation as a wellspring of energy, as the ever-renewing concord of mind and soul.  And - I could if I wished given you quite a few more examples of this - the more intensively a task requires our energies, arousing and exalting us at one time, tiring and depressing us at another, the more easily we may come to neglect this wellspring, just as when we are carried away by some intellectual work we easily forget to attend to the body.  The really great men in the history of the world have all either known how to meditate or have unconsciously found their way to the place to which meditation leads us.  Even the most vigorous and gifted among the others all failed and were defeated in the end because their task or their ambitious dream seized hold of them, made them into persons so possessed that they lost the capacity for liberating themselves from present things, and attaining perspective.  Well, you know all this; it's taught during the first exercises, of course.  But it is inexorably true.  How inexorably true it is, one realizes only after having gone astray."

        The story had just enough effect upon Joseph for him to apprehend the risk he himself was running, so that he turned to his meditation exercises with renewed seriousness.  What really impressed him was the fact that the Master had for the first time revealed to him something of his personal life, of his youth and early studies.  For the first time Joseph fully realized that even a demigod, even a Master, had once been young and capable of erring.  He felt gratitude, too, for the confidence the revered Master had placed in him by making this confession.  It was possible for one to go astray, to flag, to make mistakes, to break rules, and still to deal with all such difficulties, to find one's way back, and in the end even to become a Master.  Joseph overcame the crisis.

        During the two or three years at Waldzell during which the friendship between Plinio and Joseph continued, the school watched the spectacle of these combative friends like a drama in which everyone had at least some small part, from the headmaster to the youngest freshman.  The two worlds, the two principles, had become embodied in Knecht and Designori; each stimulated the other; every disputation became a solemn and symbolic contest which concerned everyone at the school.  From every contact with his native soil on the holiday visits home Plinio would bring back new energy; and from every withdrawal for reflection, from every new book, every meditation exercise, every meeting with the Magister Musicae, Joseph also derived new energy, made himself better fitted to be the representative and advocate of Castalia.  As a child he had experienced his first vocation.  Now he experienced the second.  These years shaped and forged him into the perfect Castalian.

        He had also some time ago completed his elementary lessons in the Glass Bead Game and even then, during holidays and under the eye of a Games Director, had begun sketching out his own Glass Bead Games.  In this activity he now discovered one of the most abundant sources of joy and relaxation.  Not since he had insatiably practised harpsichord and piano pieces with Carlo Ferromonte had anything done him so much good, so refreshed, strengthened, reassured, and delighted him as did these first advances in the starry firmament of the Glass Bead Game.

        During these same years young Joseph Knecht wrote those poems which have been preserved in Ferromonte's copy.  It is quite possible that there were originally more of them than have come down to us, and it may be assumed that the poems, the earliest of which dates back to a time before Knecht's introduction to the Glass Bead Game, helped him to carry out his role and to withstand the many tests of those critical years.  Here and there in these poems, some skilfully wrought and some hastily scribbled, every reader will discover traces of the profound upheaval and crisis through which Knecht was then passing under the influence of Plinio.  A good many of the lines sound a note of profound disturbance, of fundamental doubts about himself and the meaning of his life - until, in the poem entitled "The Glass Bead Game", he seems to have attained belief and surrender.  Incidentally, a measure of concession to Plinio's world, an element of rebellion against certain unwritten laws of Castalia, is contained in the mere fact that he wrote these poems and even on occasion showed them to several schoolmates.  For while Castalia has in general renounced the production of works of art (even musical production is known and tolerated there only in the form of stylistically rigid composition exercises), writing poetry was regarded as the most impossible, ridiculous, and prohibited of conceivable acts.  Thus these poems were anything but a game, anything but an idle calligraphic amusement; it took high pressure to start this flow of productivity, and a certain defiant courage was required to admit to the writing of these verses.

        It should also be mentioned that Plinio Designori likewise underwent considerable change and development under the influence of his antagonist.  This was reflected in more than the refinement of his methods of argument.  During the comradely rivalry of those school years Plinio saw his opponent steadily rising and maturing into an exemplary Castalian.  The figure of his friend more and more vigorously and vividly embodied for him the spirit of the Province.  Just as he himself had infected Joseph with some of the atmospheric turbulence of his own world, he for his part inhaled the Castalian air and succumbed to its charm and power.  In his last year at the school, after a two-hour disputation on the ideals and perils of monasticism, fought out in the presence of the highest Glass Bead Game class, Plinio took Joseph out for a walk and made a confession to him.  We quote it from a letter of Ferromonte's:

        "Of course I've known for a long time, Joseph, that you are not the credulous Glass Bead Game player and Castalian saint whose part you have been playing so splendidly.  Each of us stands at an exposed spot in this battle, and each of us probably knows that what he is fighting against rightfully exists and has its undeniable value.  You yourself take the side of intensive cultivation of the mind, I the side of natural life.  In our contest you have learned to track down the dangers of the natural life and have made them your target.  Your function has been to point out how natural, naive living without discipline of the mind is bound to become a mire into which men sink, reverting to bestiality.  And I for my part must remind you again and again how risky, dangerous, and ultimately sterile is a life based purely upon mind.  Good, each defends what he believes to be primary, you mind and I nature.  But don't take offence - it sometimes seems to me that you actually and naively consider me an enemy of your Castalian principles, a fellow who fundamentally regards your studies, exercises, and games as mere tomfoolery, even though he briefly joins in them for one reason or another.  How wrong you would be if you really believed that, my friend.  I'll confess to you that I am infatuated with your hierarchy, that it often enthrals me like happiness itself.  I'll confess to you that some months ago, when I was at home with my parents for a while, I had it out with my father and won his permission for me to remain a Castalian and enter the Order if this should be my desire and decision at the end of my schooldays.  I was happy when he at last gave his consent.  As it happens, I shall not make use of his permission; I've recently realized that.  Not that I've lost my taste for it, not at all.  But I more and more see that for me to remain among you would mean escaping.  It would be a fine, a noble escape perhaps, but still an escape.  I shall return and become a man of the outside world, but one who continues grateful to your Castalia, who will go on practising a good many of your exercises, and will come every year to join in the celebration of the great Glass Bead Game."

        Knecht informed his friend Ferromonte of Plinio's confession with deep emotion.  And Ferromonte himself added, in the letter we have just cited: "To me, as a musician, this confession of Plinio, to whom I had not always been entirely fair, was like a musical experience.  The contrast of world and Mind, or of Plinio and Joseph, had before my eyes been transfigured from the conflict of two irreconcilable principles into a double concerto."

        When Plinio had come to the end of his four-year course and was about to return home, he brought the headmaster a letter from his father inviting Joseph Knecht to spend the coming vacation with him.  This was an unusual proposal.  Leaves for journeys and stays outside the Pedagogic Province did exist, chiefly for purposes of study.  They were not so very rare, but were exceptional and generally granted only to older and more seasoned researchers, never to younger students still at school.  But since the invitation had come from so highly esteemed a family and personage, Headmaster Zbinden did not presume to reject it on his own, but presented it to a committee of the Board of Educators.  The reply was a laconic refusal.  The friends had to say goodbye to each other.

        "We'll try the invitation again sometime," Plinio said.  "Sooner or later it will work out.  You must someday see my home and meet my family, and realize that we are not just commercial-minded scum.  I shall miss you very much.  And make sure, Joseph, that you rise quickly in this complicated Castalia of yours.  Of course you're highly suited to become a member of the hierarchy, but in my opinion more at the top than the bottom of the heap - in spite of your name.  I prophesy a great future for you; one of these days you'll be a Magister and be counted among the illustrious."

        Joseph gave him a sad look.

        "Go ahead and make fun of me," he said, struggling with the emotion of parting.  "I am not so ambitious as you, and if I should ever attain to some office, you will long since have become president or mayor, university professor or deputy.  Think kindly of us, Plinio, and of Castalia; don't become entirely estranged from us.  After all, there have to be a few people in the outside world who know more about Castalia than the jokes they make up about us there."

        They shook hands, and Plinio departed.

        For his last year in Waldzell, Joseph remained out of the limelight.  His exposed and strenuous function as a more or less public personality had suddenly come to an end.  Castalia no longer needed a defender.  Joseph devoted his free time during that year chiefly to the Glass Bead Game, which enthralled him more and more.  A notebook of jottings from that period, dealing with the meaning and theory of the Game, begins with the sentence: "The whole of both physical and mental life is a dynamic phenomenon, of which the Glass Bead Game basically comprehends only the aesthetic side, and does so predominantly as an image of rhythmic processes."