about that, at the age of nineteen, Charles Griffes was sent to Germany. Here in the land of Beethoven, Bach and Brahms, the young American found himself, not only as a musician, but also as a person. For Germany was not only the land of the three B's but also the home of Kraaft-Ebing, of freundschaft, and of a young man named Konrad.

The shy dark-haired American boy was much impressed when the blond young German began taking him to concerts. Suave and sophisticated, the older man, a student of engineering, became Charles' guide to German culture and language. Konrad bought expensive symphony scores for Charles, and they followed the music at concerts, heads bent together, hands touching on the pages. Charles' admiration slowly grew into something deeper, and their friendship became the most important thing in his life, after music. Now at last the veil was lifted from the mysteries of love and

sex.

Like many a homosexual, Charles Griffes was later to look back on those years of his first love as the happiest of his life. With Konrad, he rode the trolley to the Gruenewald in the long German twilights, together they went to the circus, rode in that new invention, the taxicab. When Charles' father died in Elmira, Konrad was sympathetic; and the death of Konrad's mother in Berlin drew the youths closer together. Charles' support from home was cut off, and Konrad was able to tide the young American over, and established him with paying pupils. No doubt it was with Konrad that Charles Griffes first saw and photographed, in the Berlin zoo, that rare bird, the white peacock. Konrad it was who convinced the young American that he should become, not a performing artist, but a creator, a composer. In return for Konrad's many gifts, Charles dedicated his first big

one

work, "to my only Friend, this, the child of our Love."

All too soon the halcyon days came to an end. Charles returned to America in 1904, warm with memories of Konrad and Germany. Meanwhile the German turned to other proteges, and to the matter of a family. When Konrad's first son was born, he was named after Charles, who returned to Berlin for the christening. Though love waned with time, and Charles came to find Konrad's photo no longer exciting, the experience gained in Germany was all to the good. Griffes began a lifelong study of homosexual problems, and ruled his life with stern discipline according as his understanding grew. No longer the uncertain boy, the twenty-three year old man now had no trouble in passing in a world of normal people.

After the fat years, came the lean. Griffes' first fateful step on returning to America was to take a position teaching music in a boys prep school outside New York. He told himself it was temporary, a means of maintaining himself until established as a composer, little dreaming that the short fifteen years of life remaining to him were to be spent at Hackley School. If he had anticipated pleasure in his new work, he was soon disillusioned. Only a handful of indifferent pupils studied piano, and Charles' boredom grew with each year. He was popular with the boys, however, and the Sunday evening musicals when he played informally in his studio were highlights of the week.

If, in the all-male world of prep school, Charles had looked forward to other experiences like those with Konrad, here too he was to be disappointed. One or two friendships ripened and outlasted school days; but even these were often more painful than pleasant. Hikes and trips to the city with a special student of his choice were marred by the desire to

14