Free City of Nets by Otto Friedrich Page B

informed him that the composer was living right in Los Angeles, a humble professor at UCLA, he wanted him summoned. Important executives always need intermediaries on such occasions, and since Schoenberg had no agent or business manager, Thalberg invoked a mutual acquaintance, Salka Viertel. Thalberg knew Mrs. Viertel as the writer of several Garbo films, among them Queen Christina and Conquest, but she was also the sister of Eduard Steuermann, an eminent pianist and advocate of Schoenberg’s music.
    â€œHow much would they pay?” Schoenberg asked Mrs. Viertel when she told him of Thalberg’s desire to hire him for The Good Earth.
    â€œAbout twenty-five thousand dollars, I suppose,” she answered.
    Schoenberg, who was earning less than one fifth of that sum for a year’s teaching, agreed to be interviewed. Mrs. Viertel had to arrange the protocol. An M-G-M car was assigned to bring Schoenberg to the M-G-M studio. An appointment was made for 3 P.M. , and Thalberg promised not to keep the composer waiting. (Schoenberg once became furious at Jascha Heifetz for sending a note that said, “You are expected at two o’clock.” “Russian peasant!” cried Schoenberg. “In Vienna, an invitation from Franz Josef would read, ‘We request the honor of your presence. ’ ”) By 3:30 P.M. , when Schoenberg had not appeared, Thalberg began to get irritated. Secretaries started telephoning. They soon discovered that the composer had wandered by mistake into a guided tour of the studio. He seemed to regard the tour as a perfectly appropriate gesture by Thalberg, an invitation to see whether M-G-M was a studio for which he would like to compose music.
    Brought finally to Thalberg’s imperial office, Schoenberg took a seat in front of the producer’s desk. He kept both hands clasped on the handle of an umbrella, which he refused to give up. Thalberg began explaining his idea.
    â€œLast Sunday, when I heard the lovely music you have written—”
    â€œI don’t write ‘lovely’ music,” Schoenberg interrupted.
    Thalberg looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled politely and started again. The Good Earth was the story of China, he said, so he wanted music that sounded distantly Oriental. Chinese themes. Since Paul Muni and the other characters were supposed to be peasants, there was not much dialogue but lots of action. There was a scene, for example, in which swarms of locusts invaded the fields and ate all the grain. That would require music of a special kind . . .
    Mrs. Viertel tried translating all this into German, but Schoenberg stopped her. He said he understood perfectly. And now he would have to explain the problem of music in films. It was generally terrible, he told Thalberg; dull, meaningless. Furthermore, the producers didn’t seem to understand that the dialogue also suffered from a certain monotony. He would work on The Good Earth, he said, only if he was given complete control of all sound, the dialogue as well as the music.
    â€œWhat do you mean by complete control?” Thalberg asked in wonderment.
    â€œI mean that I would have to work with the actors,” Schoenberg said. “They would have to speak in the same pitch and key as I compose it in. It would be similar to Pierrot Lunaire, but of course less difficult.”
    Schoenberg turned to Mrs. Viertel and asked her if she could remember and recite any of the Sprechstimme from Pierrot Lunaire. She could and did, valiantly starting to wail and quaver, “Der Mond, den Mann mit augen trinkt . . .”
    â€œWell, Mr. Schoenberg,” Thalberg managed to say, “the director and I have different ideas, and they may contradict yours. You see, the director wants to handle the actors himself.”
    â€œHe could do that,” Schoenberg said grandly, “after they had studied their lines with me.”
    Thalberg, who was not accustomed to being