Living My Life - Emma Goldman [184]
Subsequently my backers informed Ben that I had “missed the opportunity of a lifetime.” They had induced the “wealth and influence of Chicago” to attend my lectures, “the rich Rosenwalds among them.” They would have helped to secure my drama work for the rest of my life, and then “Emma Goldman had to spoil in ten minutes all that we had worked weeks to achieve.”
I felt as if I had been put up on the block for sale. The incident had a most depressing effect on me. Try as I would, I could not get my usual intensity into my further drama talks. It was different when I discussed the war. In my own hall, under no obligations to anyone, I could freely express my abhorrence of slaughter and frankly discuss whatever phase of the social question I took up. At the close of my drama course we reimbursed my “patrons” for their outlay. I did not regret the experience; it taught me that patronage is paralysing to one’s integrity and independence. [ ... ]
CHAPTER XLII
Helena and our young folks in Rochester always brought me back to that city even when I did not have to lecture there. This year there were additional reasons for visiting my home town: an opportunity to speak on the war, and the great family event of David Hochstein’s first concert with the local symphony orchestra. [ ... ]
On my arrival in Rochester I found my people in anxious suspense over David’s forthcoming concert. Well I knew how my sister Helena yearned for the dreams and aspirations of her own frustrated life to be realized in her youngest son. At the first signs of his talent my timid sister had developed determination and strength to defy every difficulty that beset the beloved child’s artistic career. She drudged and saved to enable her children, particularly David, to have the opportunities she herself had been deprived of in life, and she was consumed by a great longing to give herself to the uttermost. On my visits she would sometimes pour out her heart to me, never complaining, but only regretting that she was able to do “so little” for her dear ones.
Now the crowning moment of her struggle had arrived. David had returned from Europe the finished artist she had slaved to help him become. Her heart trembled for his triumph. The cold critics, the unappreciative audience—what would her darling’s playing mean to them? Would they understand his genius? She refused seats in a box. “It might disturb him to see me,” she said. She would feel more comfortable with Jacob in the gallery.
I had heard David in New York and I knew how his playing had impressed everyone. He was truly an artist. Handsome and of good appearance, he made a striking figure on the platform. I felt no anxiety about his Rochester engagement. My sister’s excitement, however, had communicated itself to me, and all during the concert my thoughts were with her whose fierce love and hope were now being fulfilled. David’s violin charmed the audience and he was acclaimed with an enthusiasm seldom accorded a young artist in his native town. [ ... ]
The tenth anniversary of Mother Earth was approaching. It seemed nothing short of a miracle for our magazine to have survived a whole decade. It had faced the condemnation of enemies and the unfriendly criticism of well-wishers and had had a hard struggle to keep alive. Even most of those who had helped at its birth had expressed misgivings about its continued existence. Their fears were not groundless, in view of the reckless founding of the magazine. Blissful ignorance of the publishing business, combined with the ridiculous nest-egg of two hundred and fifty dollars—how could anyone hope to succeed with such a start? But my friends had overlooked the most important factors in the heritage of Mother