I once secretly followed the organist as he left the church. He continued his way to the outskirts of the town and entered a little tavern. I could not resist the temptation to go in after him. For the first time I had a clear view of him. He sat at the table in the corner of the little room, a black felt hat on his head, a measure of wine before him, and his face was just as I had expected it to be. It was ugly and somewhat uncouth, with the look of a seeker and of an eccentric, obstinate and strong-willed, with a soft and childish mouth. The expression of what was strong and manly lay in the eyes and forehead; on the lower half of the face sat a look of gentleness and immaturity, rather effeminate and showing a lack of self-mastery. The chin indicated a boyish indecision, as if in contradiction with the eyes and forehead. I liked the dark brown eyes, full of pride and hostility. Silently I took my place opposite him. There was no one else in the tavern. He glared at me, as if he wished to chase me away. Nevertheless I maintained my position, looking at him unflinchingly, until at last he growled testily: “What the deuce are you staring at me for? Do you want anything of me?” “I don’t want anything,” I said. “You have already given me much.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Ah, you’re a music enthusiast, are you? I think it’s disgusting to go mad over music.” I did not let myself be intimidated. “I have so often listened to your playing, there in the church,” I said. “But I don’t want to bother you. I thought perhaps I should discover something in you, something special, I don’t know exactly what. But please don’t mind me. I can listen to you in the church.” “Why, I always lock the door!” “Just lately you forgot, and I sat inside. Otherwise I stand outside or sit on the curb-stone.” “Is that so? Another time you can come inside, it’s warmer. You’ve simply got to knock on the door. But loudly, and not while I’m playing. Now--what did you want to say? But you’re quite young, apparently a schoolboy or student. Are you a musician?” “No. I like music, but only the kind you play, absolute music, where one feels that someone is trying to fathom heaven and hell. I like music so much, I think, because it is not concerned with morals. Everything else is a question of morals, and I am looking for something different. Whatever has been concerned with morals has caused me only suffering. I don’t express myself properly. Do you know that there must be a god who is at the same time god and devil? There must have been one, I have heard so.” The organist pushed back his broad hat and shook the dark hair from his forehead. He looked at me penetratingly and bent forward his face towards me over the table. Softly and tensely he questioned: “What’s the name of the god of whom you are talking?” “Unfortunately I know practically nothing about him really, only his name. His name’s Abraxas.”