Appendix G

When as a child I roamed about in the mountains, woods and meadows I always felt as if I received answers to questions which I could ask nobody but the earth. This time even heaven spoke to me. Heaven and earth are father and mother of man, I thought, and I rejoiced to be a human being and jubilantly raced the rapid brooks down into the valley.

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All this I experienced as a child and I shall never forget it.

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I remember a room in my grandparents’ house which became decisively important later in my life. It was a large oval-shaped music room with golden wallpaper and white doors and standing in a niche there was a life-sized marble figure of a youth holding a lyre. I was free to use this room as I liked. I began to try out various familiar tunes on the grand-piano until at last melodies of my own came to me. The golden room became the scene of strange dreams. The marbel-god was to me the most noble image of and earthly creature and I often felt as if the lyre emitted soft sounds and that my melodies came from it to me.

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One day it became a roar, reminding me of my adventure near the giant’s eye. I saw a solemn throng of children of the earth, transparent, luminous human souls. They called beseechingly to the demon of heaven. They tried to rise higher and higher, nearer to him, into the clouds. But the giants on earth seized them and they crashed down in terrible confusion into the deep valleys.

The earth groans and the spirits break into a chant:

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“Demon, Demon, create thy creature!”

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Then the song of the demon rings out. He creates the soul of the animal.

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Yet the song of the animal eluded me. I imagined it should be wild and strong and gigantic, but the marble-god behind me had become silent.

 

(Laban, 1975: 16–17)