Camera Work: A Photographic Quarterly (1904 (Heft 6))

midnight approached and all hopes of providing against one of Pennsylvania's dry
Sundays vanished, the Knights looked sadder and more bored. But, behold!
Knight White of Ohio produced from his knapsack one little flask which saved
the day. The rest of the sojourn was largely devoted to gourmandizing. It was
permitted me to sit with them at the Round Table and to gather many interesting
facts of the ins and outs of pictorial photography. I Iearned that King Amfortas
subsists almost entirely upon mutton-chops and English breakfast tea; that Titurel-
Steichen had really missed his vocation, as he could indubitably have become the
Champion Ice-cream Eater of America if he would train for it.
Later on, foot-races were arranged before the Shrine in which Knight White
beat Parsifal-Coburn by a nose and I had the pleasure of defeating Titurel-Steichen
by half the Iength of the Shrine. In the meantime, King Amfortas had purchased a
wagon-Ioad of papers, and for hours the Knights bravely fought their way through
an avalanche of news to discover if public opinion had bestowed upon them the
high esteem in which they held themselves. As could have been expected, they
were not quite satisfied with the chronicles, but who could foresee that the Baltimore
fire and the Russo-Japanese war would occur at the same time?
Thereupon the Knights set out upon a trip of exploration to discover the
beauties of Pittsburg. Parsifal-Coburn dlsappeared into the back-yard to snap at
some old door-way , or was it a Pittsburg flower-maiden? Amfortas, whose wound
did not seem to cause him any inconvenience for the time being , climbed up the
trestle-work of a bridge to photograph some highly interesting smoke in the valley
below, which, however, did not seem a tangible enough excuse to the policeman who
saw him do it, and, traveling incognito, as he was, he would have been arrested as
an anarchist if the faithful Gurnemanz had not been there to initiate the blue-coat
into mysteries beyond his beat.
Then night came. Pittsburg wrapped itself in a denser cloud than ever. And
the Knights departed. On the train I had once more the opportunity to see what
wonderful artists they really are. For hours they peered into the darkness where
nothing whatever could be seen, exclaiming over and over again: " Look over there!
Isn't it wonderful? A genuine Secessionist composition, good enough to be put into
the Shrine!" Then I made my way to my berth through the long, narrow aisles,
wondering whether some Secessionist pictures, some " Dawn-flowers," might not be
hidden behind the curtains that enshrouded everything in ominous silence. After
having seen the Shrine, nothing can amaze me. And, wondering, I fell into a deep
Secession sleep. My pilgrimage had come to an end.
Klingsor, The Magician.

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