H. Adler - Panorama

Thomas doesn’t know how the loose circle around Johannes came together, but supposedly after his departure from the society of friends some of them would visit him now and then, eventually doing so on a regular basis, others also hearing about the group, such as Thomas, who one day showed up at the studio uninvited, Frieda greeting him when he announced in the waiting room that he wished to speak with Herr Tvrdil, though Frieda thought he was a customer as she observed curtly that Herr Tvrdil was not available, but was there something she could help him with, though Thomas countered that there was nothing he wanted other than to see Johannes, because he had the feeling that he should talk with Herr Tvrdil, though he didn’t really know what it was he wanted to ask of him, it being hard to explain what had brought him there. Then Frieda said warmly that she would be happy to let Herr Tvrdil know, upon which he welcomed Thomas like an old friend. In such manner the circle was formed, some bringing along friends, though it grew to no more than twenty people. Frieda is happy to welcome male visitors, and she’s friendly to women as well, though she keeps an eye on them with poorly concealed distrust, especially if they are young and pretty, though such worries are pointless, for Johannes treats men and women the same, speaking to all of them with natural ease, noting Frieda’s mild jealousy, though he ignores her and says, in case it should appear that he is discriminating against anyone, he first and foremost values all people equally, and that whoever senses envy or jealousy is not on the true path and should look inward in order to see how badly he is handling himself.

Now Thomas and Josef stand before Frieda, who lets the guests enter and tells them to take off their coats, then she stretches out her hand to each and says that Johannes will be pleased, for she has heard a lot about Josef, Thomas having said many nice things about him. She leads the guests out of the foyer decorated with photos and into the waiting room, in which there stands a large round table, a cupboard, a desk, and many chairs, prize-winning photos hanging on the walls, Frieda already having opened the door to the studio, telling the friends to sit, she will get Johannes. This, then, is the renowned tower room, a grand room with a great bay full of windows, another window that is half draped to the side, bookshelves and cupboards appearing to line the walls, though it’s hard to see, since the tower room contains several folding screens, though there are not the odd kinds of shelves that photographers so often use. Meanwhile the room is covered with a thick carpet, the middle of which is kept as an open space, a photographic apparatus shoved into the corner with a black cloth covering it, two floodlights standing there as well. The bay is cut off from the rest of the room by heavy curtains, though they are pulled open, such that one can see the semicircular bench tucked into it, covered with pillows, and before it a wooden frame with an unusually large gong with a black-and-gold finish hanging from it. In the studio there are two standing lamps, but they are not lit, the gentle light that suffuses the room coming from a covered fixture in the ceiling, as Josef looks at a long, broad divan covered with a dark glowing throw made of an Indian fabric, a small, low table running the length of the divan before which sits a row of chairs, many more chairs standing around the room, the divan reaching to a corner platform on which some books rest, while across from it there hangs from the ceiling an eternal light framed by a soft red glow, no pictures on the wall nearby, the quiet ceremonial flame setting the tone of the room and not seeming strange but quite the opposite, causing Josef to feel safe and at home.

The visitors wait for only a short while, then Johannes steps through a door as Josef observes him, greeting the guests quietly and simply. To Josef he says that he is pleased to meet him, Thomas had indeed said good things about him, and how nice it was that he has come, today is the right day to get to know someone. Josef knows through Thomas that Johannes is over fifty, yet he doesn’t look that old at all, his manner not seeming at all like that of someone his age, Josef having the feeling that he was sitting across from someone his own age. Thomas had in fact never said anything about Johannes’s outward appearance, and so Josef is surprised, observing a man of medium height with delicate features, his skin as pale as that of a woman, the eyes fiery and almost mischievous, the head somewhat small, with a large pointed nose, unusually long ears that are well shaped and almost ornamental, the hair just touching them and rather plain, it being hard to decide if it’s dirty blond or silver gray, it nonetheless lending the face a certain glow. Johannes wears a dull red silk housecoat, long pants, and a soft smock, his bare feet covered by small, soft leather sandals. Josef had heard that Johannes rarely wears city clothes, but that he wears different silk coats according to his mood, choosing warmer ones for winter, but never wearing socks, not even when it’s bitter cold.

Johannes notices how closely he is being observed, but it doesn’t seem to disturb him, he perhaps revealing a slight smile as he turns from Josef and speaks with Thomas, the two of them talking quietly, making a constant chirping, though Josef doesn’t try to listen in but simply sits there quietly, feeling at ease, if not somewhat sleepy, until soon he feels left out and suddenly and without invitation he erupts with a question for Johannes: “Tell me, Herr Tvrdil, what is it that you experience?” Josef is shocked by his own question and is embarrassed, but he doesn’t want to make a fuss and adds in a forced, cheery manner with a steady tone, “You have a very nice place. I’ve never seen such a big gong before.” Johannes replies with a smile that he also finds it a warm and welcoming place, he always wanting his surroundings to be subdued, though it doesn’t take much to accomplish that, it’s the tone of the atmosphere that suffuses the house which matters, the gong functioning as a large, above all wonderful disk that serves to pacify unruly hearts, he having at one time struck the gong quite often, though now usually only when Thomas and the other friends were there, Johannes hoping that Josef might also come again in the future. Josef then thanks him for the invitation and wants to know more about the gong, to which Johannes says he has another, smaller gong that has a more silvery tone, but he puts out the larger gong because the number and quality of its overtones make for a richer sound and acoustical color, it being possible to play symphonies on it, for it’s as good as any orchestra and far better than any organ when you know how to handle it, as you need to avoid hitting it exactly in the middle, because that never sounds good, but if you strike it just to the side you’ll experience the fullest sound. Johannes explains that each different spot on the disk has its own special sound, which you then have to take advantage of, there being totally different results coming from hitting it near the edge and right on the edge, while to muffle the sound you use your hand by placing it on the gong lightly or more heavily, for you can just barely touch it with your fingertips or increase the muffling by pressing it with your whole hand, how hard or soft you strike also determining a great deal, as well as the speed with which you hit it, all of it leading to the louder or softer tones. Johannes prefers to play it very quietly, though he knows that in Burma and Bali they do it differently, beating it wildly and thunderously, it also being done in the open or in a temple, whereas for him it is music for the house which is best played con sordino , a lot depending on the right drumsticks, Johannes preferring kettle drumsticks wrapped with soft cloth, normal drumsticks resulting in a raw sound, but not the music that he likes, everything else a matter of the heart which cannot be talked about, mechanical means so often distracting people and not leading them inward, the result being neither a major nor a minor tone but instead much finer gradations or flowing sequences of sound, the most genuine music being a single tone, such as from a gong, though within this single tone there exists the mystical array of overtones implicit within all sound, and as soon as this and those overtones appear they melt again into the central tone, whoever really knows the art of playing the gong knowing true music as well.