PARIS 1926

PARIS 1926 - 1928

Who knows how ideas are first thought of and implemented. Somehow the idea seemed to grow that study in Paris, France would be very good at this time and plans were being made to make it happen. The original impetus came from the Conservatory in Cincinnati through Jean Verd, the enthusiastic protagonist of all things French. Others caught up in these plans were Barrett Spach, sight singing teacher at the conservatory and Karl Young, fresh from two years study in New York. My stint with the Lakeside Orchestra was completed without incident and provided me with a bit of money to help with the expenses of the Paris adventure. As an important sub-plot to all this I must make note of the fact that Maxine did decide to come to Toledo and study with Mr. Ecker, but where would she live? I don't remember who thought of the solution, but my parents, bless their wonderful cooperation, agreed to have her live with them and enter the musical life of Toledo by developing a piano studio in my parents residence. This took place after I had left for Paris from New York on the steamer, "Minnekada" of British registry. As with my trip to Germany two years earlier, "the picturesque shore of France loomed up" only this time I was the debarkee, ready to take on the new experiences armed with no knowledge of French at all. But I was also armed with a letter from Charlotte Clagget, the girl I had met on the "Pittsburgh" two years earlier, recommending lodgings at number 3 rue Bertholet, not too far from the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a place where she had lived before her return to the U.S. several weeks earlier. Mme. Simon was the name of the landlady who was on the lookout for me through a letter from Charlotte. Hence, the problem of looking for a place to live was solved and all I had to do was to give Mme. Simon's address to the taxi driver at the Gare du Nord. I arrived with my trunk strapped on the side of the vehicle (it was probably one of the taxis that made the historic drive to the front during World War I to halt the German advance). I had memorized a statement in French to identify myself, to wit: "Je suis Karl Ahrendt." In response to my ringing the doorbell, Mme. Simon opened the door and before I could utter hardly a word, the doorway was flooded with her excited response, "Ah, je vous attendias. Venex, si'l-vous-plait dans la maison." It all sounded like a resonant jumble to me and I felt quite helpless. However, as luck would have it, Madame's daughter and son-in-law were visiting her from Syria where he was a doctor in the French army. He had also been stationed in Alsace and had picked up a little German, enough to speak to me about the room rent and related matters. With German as our common language, we managed to work out the necessary living arrangements. Here was the beginning of almost a two year stay in that most beautiful and intriguing of cities, Paris. One of the other roomers in Mme. Simon's apartment was a young Polish student by the name of George Ochendusko. We soon 'hit it off" very well. Our conversation was a mixture of French and English and in a short time I was able to get around in basic French. He introduced me to the famous rue Mufftard just a few blocks away were one could buy almost any kind of food in the sidewalk shops lining the street.

The next matter to claim my attention was to decide with whom to study violin. The problem was solved as follows: Our Cincinnati friend, Jean Verd, had given us the address of very close friends of his, the Riviers who lived in a beautiful house on the rue Pierre Currie. We got in tough and received an invitation to have lunch with them, Mr. and Mrs. Rivier senior and their son, Jean Rivier, a recognized composer and his wife. In the course of the conversation (in English) I mentioned by problem and received a prompt and enthusiastic recommendation to study with Andre Tourret, a former member of the Capet string quartet. Armed with such a recommendation, I got in touch with Tourret and arranged to study with him. Not only that, but I also decided to study harmony with Jean Rivier, the composer, and as a result, his modern apartment next to his father's house became very well known to me over the next year or so. Tourret lived with his wife, Lucy, in a fine house in another part of the city, the rue Haricart, near the Eiffel tower. I found the lessons with Rivier were challenging and very good for me. I learned the terminology in French from the Texts of Reber and Dubois. The four part harmony realizations had to be written out in four different clefs, the treble, also tenor and bass, giving one a new look at the inner voices. The lessons with Tourret were a delight and inspiration, filled with humanistic warmth. He too accompanied me with his violin with such inner beauty as almost to bring tears to my eyes. I became acquainted with two American students of his, Chester LaFollet and Ralph Silverman. Chester was also a painter of no little talent and Ralph had been a member of the Cleveland Orchestra under Sokoloff and was later to be a member of the famous N. B. C. orchestra under the baton of Toscanini. For my first Christmas, I decided to travel to Berlin, a good 24 hour train ride, to visit with my second cousins, the Pirchs. On the way back to Paris, I went to Mecklenburg to say hello to my second cousins there, Erna and Friedrich Knaack in Tewswoos. On New Year's Eve, I remember going out in the road, looking up at the sky and trying to establish contact with the mysterious Cosmos, by sending up my thanks for all my good fortune to date.

In both my Berlin and Paris sojourns, I tried to take advantage of attending as many concerts as I could. In Berlin, the emphasis was on opera and I found myself an eager patron of the Deutsches Opera Haus where most of the Wagner operas or music dramas as they are called were performed during the season. In Paris, I slacked off from the opera bias and attended more symphony and chamber music concerts plus a good share of solo recitals. I remember a stunning performance of Bach's B minor Mass in the St. Etienne du Mont cathedral. Worthy of Mention too was a concert by the Garde Republican Band in the Trocadero Hall (directly across the river from the Eiffel Tower) during which Maurice Ravel's Bolero was played and conducted by no less a person than Ravel himself. Ravel's conducting stance was like an automation. Later in the year, I had occasion to attend a recital by the famous violin virtuoso, Eugene Ysaye which was no doubt one of his last, for he played with a trembling bow arm, a sign of old age. Again, scuttlebutt had it that he had recently married a young woman and needed money. Only five or six years previously, he had been the conductor of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra that is, during the World War I years.

My landlady Madame Simon, had a friend, Madame Peach, a war widow who had a daughter and a son about my age. Through Madame Simon, I was introduced to his most interesting and sympathetic family. Soon I was making weekly visits to their small apartment to improve my French by reading to them aloud. How well I remember the book. It was Alfonse Daudet's "Le Petit Chose" and the daughter, Marcelle, would giggle over my embryonic French pronunciations. Andre, the son, would come to my room once a week and read in English to me for progress in that language.

The Spring of 1927, in May, to be more exact, proved to be a memorable time for the whole world. This was the Lindbergh arrival in Paris after his transatlantic flight. I was lucky to have witnessed it. Let me quote from a letter I wrote to my father describing the event. (Copy of a letter sent to my father in Toledo, Ohio from Paris where I was a music student from September 1926 to June 1928).

Paris, France

May 25, 1927

Dear Dad:

Your letter came to-day; I was so glad to know that my letter to you arrived just on your birthday.

This is Wednesday night and I've just returned from a little walk. Having no concert to attend or any place in particular to go, I worked this evening. When I got through, the night being very pleasant, I couldn't resist taking a turn or two around the block. The weather and Paris itself is simply wonderful in the Spring.

For the last four days, Paris has been celebrating the magnificent feat of Charles Lindbergh, who flew across the Atlantic. Gosh' the town simply went wild with enthusiasm. And just think - I had the rare chance last Saturday night to be on the flying field when he arrived. Let me tell you about it.

Saturday noon, Andre Pech stopped into see me and ask if I didn't want to go with him in the evening to the airport at le Bourget to await the arrival of Lindbergh. The idea sounded good to me, so at 7:30 I went with him to the Gare du Nord where we took a train (one of those suburban trains like the Stadt bahn in Berlin) for the le Bourget, about a fifteen minute ride. At the station we joined a perfect mob of people and walked to the filed which took twenty minutes.

The road in front of the entrance was already chocked with automobiles and traffic was at a stand-still. We arrived about nine o'clock and it was just getting dark. Overhead were two airplanes doing all kinds of stunt flying, which was extremely fascinating. There were already thousands of people in front of the entrance with hundreds more coming each few minutes. It didn't take us long to know that only those with special invitations were allowed to enter the gates. The next thing was how to get on the field, in other words, how to get through or past the gates. Finally, Andre motioned me to follow him and we followed in the tracks of some people with entrance passes who were elbowing their way through the dense crowd. The ruse almost worked. Andre got by, but just as I came by, a policeman blocked the way and said "Votre billet, si'l vous plait." Well, not having any, I was forced back. That was a hard job because ten or fifteen others right behind me were trying to get in too. Finally, though, after much pushing and shoving, they closed the iron gate on us. There was nothing to do but say in the crowd in front of the fence and await developments. Andre, not wanting to leave me behind, soon returned. We then went to a place along the fence where there were fewer people. Seeing some persons climbing the fence here, we thought to do the same and we did. It wasn't too difficult because the fence wasn't too high.

Once on the the field, we waited on the side lines, so to speak, with about ten thousand other persons who were there by fortune of a pass or who sneaked in as we did. The crowd outside the gate was getting larger each minute and the excitement mounted too.

It was by this time quite dark and flares were sent up every two minutes to guide Lindbergh to the field. It was now ten o'clock. Lindbergh was expected around nine if at all. We began to be a little discouraged. Ten-fifteen now.....All or a sudden we heard the roar of a motor over us, but we couldn't see a thing as all was dark above. Was it really he? Why it must be, because all other planes would be flying with running lights. Then the roar of the motor died away in the distance. But a minute later it returned, this time lower. All of a sudden, the plane burst into sight in the middle of the field about ten feet above the ground - and it was a monoplane!! Wow! With one enormous shout the crowd made a grand dash for this plane, which was just coming to a halt, madly hoping it would be the "Spirit of Saint Louis." Running swiftly, we gained on the crowd and soon found ourselves among the first fifty or hundred who were fast approaching the goal. When we arrived, yelling and out of breath, there, sure enough, in big plain letters - THE SPIRIT OF SAINT LOUIS - Well, we just went dippy with joy.

In a few seconds we found ourselves in the midst of a seething mob, helpless to get closer than fifteen or twenty feet from the plane....Lindbergh hadn't even had a chance to get out of his machine. With the mob shouting, "en triomphe," it started for the exit, shoving the plane along. For a few seconds Lindbergh was carried on the shoulders of those nearest him, then suddenly he disappeared and no one knew were he was. We learned later that he had escaped, assisted by an army officer, the the Administration Building. A detachment of soldiers fought its way through the crowd to the plane and set a guard over it. By that time we decided we had seen enough and worked our way toward the field entrance and the Administration Building.

The Administration Building was flooded with light thrown by the great projectors on the field. There the crowd waited in the hope that Lindbergh would show himself. Soon Mr. Herrick, the U.S. Ambassador, came to the window and waved to the crowd. He then disappeared and returned in a few moments with the helmet of Lindbergh in his hands. But they didn't want to see that - they wanted to see Lindbergh and kept yelling, "sur le balcon! sur le balcon!" It was no use. Satisfied he wouldn't appear, we decided to get back to the railroad station as quickly as possible. To disengage ourselves from the mob was a job. There was no longer any fence - it had been torn down in the enthusiasm of the arrival.

Finally though, we were free of the real dense crowd and started on the way to the station. The road was blocked by traffic trying to go in two directions at once. No order at all - just one grand mix-up. And the funny part of it was that these people on the outside did not know that Lindbergh had arrived. We were the first who actually saw the arrival to come away from the field. People asked us about it and when we told them they wouldn't believe us. One lady stuck her head out of a fine car and asked it he had arrived. "Mais oui, it est arrive" said I. Then she turned to her companions and said, "Oh he is an American and is trying to spoof us" or words in French to that effect. Andre then spoke up. "Mais mois, je suis Parisien et je vous donne ma parole que c'est vrai." Even that didn't convince them.

Oh! it was exciting and a lot of fun, those moments. We came, finally, to the station about 11:15 and had to wait 40 minutes before our train came. That brought us back to Paris just a few minutes after midnight. The people who returned by auto and street car didn't get back before three or four in the morning. Many had to walk. We were lucky, we saw Lindbergh and returned to Paris at a reasonable hour. By the time we returned, extras bout the stupendous news were already out. The papers estimated the crowds at le Bourget to number about two hundred thousand.

Well, Dad, I've discoursed a lot about Lindbergh because I think it will interest you. It certainly has interested me. I feel greatly elated to have been able to be among the first to greet him as he landed.

(Signed) Karl

The Summer of 1927 arrived and I decided to spend it in Germany. Mrs. Zeder, Maxine's mother had come to Munich to visit her family, a brother, a 'cellist in the Munich opera orchestra, another brother, a tenor in the Weimar opera and her husband from whom she had been separated. She issued a special invitation to me to visit Munich which I was glad to accept. Living quarters for me were in the apartment of Herr Zeder who proved to be a rather commanding figure physically and personally. He was the stage manager of the Gartner Platz Theater. Mrs. Zeder took me on several excursions, one to the fantastic castles of Neuschwanstein and Hohenschangua, and another to the 10,000 foot high Zugspitze Mountain on the border between Bavaria and Austria. Almost at the peak on the Austrian side was a hotel reached by cable car. We stayed there over night and the next morning I was awakened by a hotel employee going up and down the halls shouting, "Sonnen aufgang, Sonnen aufgang" meaning sunrise. I got dressed and went up to the roof balcony only to find the view blocked by the mountain summit. I engaged in conversation with a German girl, an enterprising Berlinerin, who expressed the desire to climb to the summit about a city block from the hotel and dared me to do it. Goaded by the macho in me, I was forced to say I would, even though I didn't have the proper mountain climbing attire. We should have had a professional climbing guide, but none was available at that time. The trail was easy enough at first, but gradually it seemed to peter out and finally disappeared altogether. Looking down, there was nothing but a deep, deep chasm and I realized we must have taken a wrong turn. We had no choice but to retreat backwards hugging the side of the mountain gingerly until we were on better ground and discovered the main trail. The remainder of the climb was successful and we soon reached the summit where there was a German weather station. Almost simultaneously we were greeted by the most spectacular sunrise ever as we looked over the peaks of the Bavarian Alps. All well worth waiting for. However, I still had the sinking feeling in my stomach, thinking about the close call we had, taking the wrong path earlier. The descent was accomplished without further incident, but I did discover that descending is a little more hazardous than ascending. Back at the hotel, I joined Mrs. Zeder in a hearty Austrian breakfast. The girl who was my climbing companion disappeared. I never did get her name.

Back in Munich we did more visiting and sightseeing, eating lunches several times at the Franciskaner restaurant and sat at the Stamtish with the prima donnas from the Munich opera. I was soon to be introduced to another opera milieu namely, that of Weimar, the center of 19th century musical fame. Mrs. Zeder's opera singer brother lived there. He and his wife, Inga, invited me to stay with them and mmes. Hochner. Inga did her best to show me the sights of the town, the Goethe house and Franz Liszt's quarters. We also attended the opera and witnessed a performance of Wagner's Rienzi. Inga treated me like one of the family and called herself the "alte Tunte," dialect for alte tante or old aunt. Back in Paris, I would receive letters from her later developing into letters from a tuberculosis sanatorium. Some months later she died there. Dear Inga, she was such a warm soul.

From Weimar I headed for Berlin with it's familiar landscape. On the way I stopped to visit Bach and Martin Luther country, Eisenach and the Wartburg vicinity. In Berlin I stayed with the Pirchs, my second cousins, in their Schoneberg apartment. This time I was able to converse with them via the German language rather creditable. In a few days I was ready to pull up stakes and head back to Paris and another season of music study. On the way it was an easy matter to stop in a pay a visit to my second cousin relatives on the farm in Mechlenburg.

A digression is in order here. I neglected to mention a trip Karl Young and I took to the sough of France during the Easter vacation the Spring of 1927. It was to Nice, Grasse and Maganosc to be exact. Jean Verd's home was at Magabosc and upon his invitation we decided to visit him and explore the Midi too. We went to Monte Carlo and tried to see the famous gambling room but were refused admission because our passports designated us as students. The Italian border is at the outskirts of Nice and we walked there just to be able to put one foot on Italian soil and say we were in Italy. Marcel Grandjany, the famous harpist, was a guest of Mr. Verd's at the same time and we arranged a trip with him through the rugged Gorges de Loups via motorcycle side car, an exciting was to see this fantastic Wolf's gorge. Returning to Paris, we stopped to see Avingnon in the Rhone valley and also Nimes with it's Roman Amphitheater. The trip back to Paris from Lyon where we boarded the train sticks in my memory because we couldn't find seats and had to sit on our suitcases the whole way because of the great traffic due to the Easter holiday. Rumor had it that half of Paris population left town during this "vacances de Pagues." I believe it. I had my much-sat-on valise for proof.

My second year in Paris 1927-28, was even better than the first. The language was no barrier any more and I met new and interesting people. I became better acquainted with my violin teacher, Andre Tourret and his charming wife wife, Lucy. They invited Ralph Silverman and me to have turkey dinner with them at their home on the U.S. Thanksgiving Day. The turkey (Dinde), was served complete with truffles and marked by introduction to this gastronomic delicacy, truffles that is. The Fall of 1927 was also memorable because a new American student was added to Mr. Tourret's list of budding geniuses. He was Fred Funkhouser of Dayton, Ohio and Oberlin College who became on of f my very esteemed friends. With him as violist, we formed a string quartet with Ralph Silverman and me violins and a 'cellist from the U.S. West Coast, Winston Petty, all fine performers and musicians. We called ourselves the American String Quartet of Paris and had rehearsals at the various domiciles of the members. At times we would get together with other musicians for chamber music sessions. I remember on in particular when we read through the Brahms piano quintet, my very first encounter with this wonderful work. I'll never forget the great "lift" I experienced in the last movement. At another time I was invited to a tea where other Americans were present. Here I first met Roy Harris, later to become so well known.

One night in February 1928, Fred Funkhouser came to my room with an exciting plan to take the train to the town of Chartres where we could view the famous cathedral there in all it's flying buttress glory. There was a full moon that night, the reason for Fred's choice of dates. Accordingly, we set out on what proved to be a memorial venture. We arrived in Chartres, about an hour away from Paris, around midnight. As we started pounding the pavements of that quaint little city with the moon shining brightly on that rather cold February night, we managed to view the amazing edifice from all sorts of angles. The rest of the night we walked the cobblestone streets, encountering no one, not even a policeman. Chartres cathedral is tucked away in my memory as one of the most impressive experiences of my 1926-28 sojourn in France. At five o'clock the next morning the railroad station cafe opened for business. Believe me, we were the first customers and hot coffee never tasted so good. The major portion of the day we spent in exploring this great pile of stone and stained glass windows, including a walk up one of the great towers. The stained glass windows were simply overwhelming in their impact on the senses, rivaled only by the stained glass in the Saint Chapel in Paris. In retrospect, I must call on Wordsworth to supply the right words: "And then my heart with pleasure thrills-----." Back in Paris my first priority was to catch up on sleep. The next day I had a violin lesson which, predictably, wasn't very good. But the sacrifice of practice time was worth it.

During my two seasons stay in Paris, I corresponded regularly with Maxine Zeder, living with my parents, with accounts from her of the latest news. As my second season in France drew to a close, she apprised me of her plan to visit her family in Germany during the Summer of 1928, stopping in Paris to see me on the way in June. This would coincide with my planned last few days at Mme Simon's and I found myself counting the days until her arrival. Arrive she did and great was my elation with only the following flaw: It seems that she had met a young man on the ship coming over who had invited her to the opera in Paris upon their arrival. Consequently, one of the first requests she made was for me to O.K. this invitation. The question had a benumbing effect on me and I weakly said, yes. For the first time I had an attack of jealously and made plans to to to the opera and spy on them during intermissions. Therefore I found myself in that role, hiding behind pillars to observe their conduct which seemed innocent enough. However, the later events proved that the seeds of distrust were sown not so much from the invitation itself, but that, after almost two years of separation, she would even think of asking what she did. So we separated, she to visit her relatives in Germany and I, via the ship "Empress of Canada" to Toledo. I landed in Quebec and then by train to Montreal where I, with my Parisian French, looked down upon the French patois spoken there. At least I had no trouble getting around. From Montreal there was the train ride to Detroit and then by bus to Toledo and home again. Details of my homecoming seem to fail me but I soon found myself making plans for the coming season which included staying at my maternal grandparent's house when Maxine returned, attending some classes at Toledo University with her and opening a studio. A downtown studio was arranged for, we matriculated for classes at the University and I occupied a room at my grandparents. For me the classes were English Literature and French Literature. The professor lectured in French and I was able to take notes in French. We continued this sequence for the full semester and did pretty well grade wise. My relationship with Maxine continued in a kind of holding pattern. From the outside appraisal we were considered to be engaged, but somehow I could never bring myself to "pop the question." It was a case of inner-felt doubt on my part which developed into quiet procrastination. However, in the month of March, 1929, a definite solution to the dilemma occurred.