CHAPTER VIII.
A WALK IN THE OPEN AIR.
The rider approached, and was soon by the side of Knopf, who, unable toutter a word, looked in surprise at the noble figure. Eric said,however,--
"Have I the honor of seeing my colleague, Herr Knopf?"
"Yes, I am he."
Eric swung himself quickly from the saddle, and held out his hand.
"I thank you," he said; and at every word which he spoke, at every toneof his voice, Knopf's face brightened; more and more knots and seamsshowed themselves all over it, as Eric continued,--
"It was my intention to visit you very soon; but I did not want to doso, until I had made my own independent observations on all sides."
"Very right," answered Knopf, "every judgment received from others is aprejudice." With constantly increasing admiration, Knopf looked atEric, saying,--and the words sounded like a confession of love,--
"I am glad that you are really a handsome man. Ah, you may smile andshake your head, but that counts a great deal in this family, andespecially with Roland. The Spartans had the wise law,--horribleindeed, but embodying a deep principle--that no deformed child shouldbe allowed to live. All men ought properly to be handsome."
Eric placed his hand on Knopf's shoulder, unable to answer a word;admiration and a desire to laugh contended within him, but admirationconquered. A man of such an appearance must have overcome much inhimself to be able to express himself in this way. He went with Knopfto the village, telling him that he ought to have come to see him atthe villa, and that he would have found him quite alone, if he wishedto avoid the family, for they had gone with Herr von Pranken to theconvent, to bring Manna home.
"Ah, poor girl!" said Knopf, pityingly. "I can venture to say, that Ihave already had more than fifty lovely noble maidens as pupils, andnot one-half, no, not one-quarter of them have married as I should havewished. Ah, Herr Colleague, you see I have never in my life repeated inone house what happened in another, and you can understand that it hasbeen a difficult duty. Mothers always want to find out what goes onhere and there, but I have refrained, on principle, from tellinganything. Whoever gossips to me will gossip about me, my mother alwayssaid. I have taken heed of that, and so have got on very well."
Eric was delighted with the true-hearted man, and he quickly drove awaythe thought that Pranken was going to bring the rich bride for himselffrom the convent. What was the maiden to him?
He left his horse at the village inn, and Knopf conducted him to a spotunder the lindens on the hill-top, and there explained his views aboutRoland.
"I must, like a child," he began, "tell you of my last observation, andmy last trouble. You are not in a hurry? I must honestly confess toyou, that nothing in our time vexes me so much, as to find peoplealways in a hurry."
Eric set his mind at rest, by telling him that he had the whole day athis disposal, concluding,--
"Now, go on."
"Then for my last trouble. As I walked hither over the mountain, pastthe forest-chapel yonder, all was fresh with dew, the birds weresinging undisturbed, heedless of the ringing of the matin bell in thechapel above, and of the railroad bell below. What did self-sufficingnature, in this season of early spring love, care for these sounds? Butthat isn't exactly what I meant to say to you," he interrupted himself,placing his hand upon his tablets, which undoubtedly contained a poemin this strain. "Only this--as I was walking along the wood-path, Iheard children's voices, clear and merry, and a mild and gentle oneseemed to have control over them. There came up the mountain abeautiful maiden--no, I beg your pardon, I did not see that she wasbeautiful till afterwards--I was just taking it comfortably, and hadremoved my spectacles in the green forest; now I put them on again, andsaw first some beautiful, plump, white hands. The girl saw me, and Idon't know what she may have thought, but she seemed frightened, andtook the hand of her oldest brother, a boy of thirteen; two youngerboys were following her. I passed them with a greeting; the maiden madeonly a slight acknowledgment, but the boys said 'good-morning,' aloud.We went our different ways, and I looked long after them.
"I turned back to the chapel. The quiet and order reigning there, whereno human beings dwell, everything ready for their devotion, those holyvessels, the pictures, the candles, and the good priest. I don'tbelieve a man who so bows down, kneels, and raises his hands in prayer,can be wholly a hypocrite; the lowest criminal in the jail would be anangel compared with him. The sermon itself was only a milk-and-wateraffair. But would you believe it? my real reason for going back hadbeen a wish to see the maiden again, but I felt ashamed of havingentered the church from such a motive, and I slipped out on tip-toe.And then all personal feeling dropped from me, and the great troublecame over me."
"What do you mean?"
"The trouble caused by our freedom oppressed me. The girl, hardly outof school, walks, in the fresh morning, through the mountain wood withher three young brothers, and they wander to the forest chapel, whencethe bell calls to them. Think, if these four young creatures had had nosuch goal for their morning walk, none so safe and beautiful, whatwould it have been? a walk in the open air, nothing more! In the openair--what is that? It is nothing and nowhere. But to enter a firmlyfounded temple, where the organ is sounding, and holy hymns are sung,this must give fresh life to the youthful souls, and they bring homefrom their morning walk, leading through the open air, to a fixed goal,a wholly different refreshment for their spirits. And up there a divineservice goes on, whether men come to it or not; nothing depends on thespecial character of a congregation, nor on the particular degree ofculture of a particular man. It holds its course, uncaring whether itis received or not, like eternal nature; whoever comes may take part init; no one asks, no one need know, whence he comes. If I could be abeliever, I would be a Catholic, or a Jew of the old faith. But what isour life? a walk in the open air, without limit, but also without adestination! You see that I cannot but be sad, for I cannot compelmyself to anything different, to anything positive. And as it is withme, so is it with this age, and yet we must regain something different;our life ought not be simply a walk in the open air, but through theopen air to a firm, safe, home-like destination about which humanspirits may gather. Oh, if I could only define it, seize upon it, andthe millions of thirsting, pining human souls with me! And do youknow," Knopf concluded, "then I thought of you and Roland? Do you nowunderstand me?"
"Not perfectly."
"Ah, I have been too vague again. Plainly, then, this has been and isnow my thought,--whither can you lead Roland? Into the open air. Butwhat is he to do there? What will he find? What will he have? What willrestrain or draw him onward? That is the point, there lies the hardriddle. The religion, the moral fortress, whither we have to lead therich youth, has no walls, no roof; it has no image, no music, noconsecrated form of words--there's the trouble! Do I make it clear toyou?"
"Yes, yes, I understand you perfectly," said Eric, seizing the hand ofhis companion. "You express my very deepest thoughts; I hope, though,that it may be granted us to give a human being something that he mayhold to within himself, without leaning on any outside support. Havenot we two, who now stand here, this inward hold?"
"I believe so, or rather, I am sure of it. I thank you, you make mequite content," cried Knopf, with animation. "Ah, world! here we sit,and look off into the distance, watching for some sign, some word,which may penetrate and renew all our being; it comes not from without,it comes only from within ourselves. And in Roland there lies acomplete human being, a genuine, primitive nature, in spite of all thathas been done to smother it; he has bold presumption and wonderfultenderness, at the same time. He has many fine feelings, but youthcannot explain its feelings; if it could, it would be no longer youth.All sorts of elements exist in Roland, but we grown people cannotunderstand a child's heart. Let us ask ourselves whether, in ourchildhood, our best friends understood us as we really were. You willaccomplish this, you are called to it."
"I?"
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"Yes, it is so. A great, inscrutable plan guides all existence andbinds it together. A wonderful law in the world, which some men callProvidence, others fate, decrees that a man like you must be led infar-off paths, through various callings, and armed for his work, tillhe stands ready in his noble beauty. Ah, do not shake your head, let mego on; it is a holy thought, that a mysterious power, which we mustname God, has led you hither to train a beautiful human being, anApollo-like creature, who is to have nothing to do in the world but tobe noble and to feel nobly. I did not rightly manage Roland; I sowedbefore I knew whether the soil was prepared. Today, as I saw a manraking in the vineyards, I thought, there is Copernicus."
"Copernicus?" asked Eric, in perplexity.
"Understand me aright; the first man who dug up the ground with pointedstick, horn, bone, or stone, in order to plant seeds, he moved theearth, he was the father of our culture, as Copernicus at lastdiscovered that the whole planet is in motion."
"What do you think, then, is now to be made of Roland?" said Eric,bringing him back to the subject.
"What is to be made of him? A noble man. Is it not a mistakencourse to drive a human being to goodness, by the sight of all sorts ofmisery and weakness? That makes him morbid, sentimental, and weak.The Greeks had a different method, that of energy, cheerfulness,self-reliance,--that makes him strong. Our virtue is no longer'virtus,' but only a feminine hospital-work. Ah," continued Knopf, "thegenuinely noble man, or the genuine man, is the unexamined man, aspecies no longer to be found in Europe. We are all born to beexamined. That was the greatness of the Greek, that they had noexamination commissions. Plato took no degree, and do you know, that isthe greatness which is bringing forward a new Greece in America, that_there_ also, properly speaking, there are no examinations."
"Don't wander so far," interposed Eric.
"Yes," Knopf went on unheeding, "Roland is the unexamined human being;he need learn nothing in order to be questioned about it. Why mustevery modern man become something special? '_Civis Romanus sum_,' thatought to be sufficient."
Again Eric drew him back from his digression, asking,--
"Can you suggest any vocation for Roland?"
"Vocation! vocation! The best that can be learned is not found in anyplan of study, and costs no school-fees. The division of callings, onwhich we so much pride ourselves, is nothing but a Philistine tyranny,a compulsory virtue. Common natures return payment by what they do,noble ones by what they are. Thus it is, if a noble being exists, andfreely acts out his nature, he adorns humanity and benefits it. I havetried to guard in Roland a simple unconsciousness of wealth; we are notplaced here merely to train ourselves to be brothers of mercy. Notevery one need serve; to perfect one's self is a noble calling. Irespect Cicero's maxim: 'He who does nothing is the free man.' The freeman is the idler."
Eric disputed this, and Knopf was no little surprised, that Eric hadthe exact passage from Cicero in his memory, and could prove thatCicero only made the assertion that no man was free who was notsometimes idle: _non aliquando nihil agit._ He said besides that thestatement of the German poet, that there could be a noble life withoutactivity, without labor, was still more an error. He tried, however, toput an end to these general considerations. What effect could theirthoughts and discussions, as they sat there on the hill-side, bringabout concerning the vocation of humanity?
Knopf remarked assentingly that he had wandered too far, and said,--
"You ought to take Roland away from here."
"It would certainly be best, but you must know that it cannot bebrought about."
"Yes, yes. I have tormented myself much with the idea whether there isany possibility of making Roland imagine himself poor, but, if anegation is logically susceptible of the comparative degree, that isstill more impossible. I have read Jean Jacques Rousseau's _Emile_, andhave found much that is good in it; I have also studied the treatise onRiches which is ascribed to Plato; and in Aristophanes there is to befound deep insight into poverty and wealth. If you will sometime cometo Mattenheim, I will show them all to you."
Eric made some slight inquiries as to the causes which had removedKnopf from the family, but Knopf did not tell him; he only gave him tounderstand that Roland had been led astray by the French valet Armand,who had since been dismissed from the house. With unusual haste, hethen left the subject, and said that he had hesitated about coming toEric, but Herr Weidmann had read the wish in his face, and hadencouraged him in it.
Eric promised soon to go to Mattenheim. Knopf was very happy to hear ofRoland's industry and obedience, and Eric told him how from the life ofFranklin he was giving him not only a personal ideal, but also takingoccasion to lead him, as they studied Franklin's course of education,to perceive, acknowledge, and supply his own deficiencies.
"Do you know," exclaimed Knopf, springing up, "what can make onehappier than those great words of Archimedes,--I have found it! Stillmore blessed are the words. _Thou_ hast found it! Yes, you have foundit!" he cried, drawing up his trousers; he would have liked to embraceEric, but he did not venture.
And when Eric told him that he had been drawn to this most simplemethod by some notes of his father's, Knopf exclaimed, looking up intothe free air,--
"Blessings on thy father! Blessings on thee, eternal Spirit! O world,how great and noble thou art! Now we know what one becomes, when onewalks in the open air; one grows into a free man, a Benjamin Franklin.Here are two people on a hilltop by the Rhine, and they send a greetingto thee in eternity. Ah, pardon me!" said he, "I am not generally, likethis, you may depend upon it. But, Herr Captain, if you ever, desireanything great and difficult of me, remind me of this hour, and youshall see what I can do."
Eric changed the subject by asking Knopf to tell him about his presentpupils.
"Yes," said Knopf, "there it is again. Her parents have sent the childto Germany, because there was danger that yonder, in the land offreedom, her spirit would be fettered, for Dr. Fritz and his wife holdliberal opinions in religion, and are patterns of nobility of mind. Thechild was in an English school, and after the first half year, shebegan to wish to convert her parents, and constantly declared herdetermination to become a Presbyterian. She wept and prayed, and saidshe could find no repose because her parents were so godless. Is notthis a most noteworthy phenomenon? Now her parents have sent the childto Germany, and certainly to the best home that could be found."
Knopf took a letter from his pocket; it was from Dr. Fritz, who, as arepresentative of German manhood and philanthropy, was busily workingin the New World for the eradication of that shame which still rests onthe human race in the continuance of slavery. Dr. Fritz gave theteacher an exact sketch of his little girl's character, which showedgreat impartiality in a father. He also pointed out how the child oughtto be guided. In the letter there was a photograph of Dr. Fritz, asubstantial-looking man, with a full beard, and light, crispy curlinghair; something of youthful, even ideal aspiration spoke in theexpression of the strong and manly face.
With an air of mystery Knopf then confided to Eric, that the child hadlived in the New World within the magic circle of Grimm's tales,and it was strange--he could not find out whether it was pure fancy orfact--but the child had had an adventure on her journey that seemed tobelong to a fairy tale.
"Her name is Lilian," said Knopf, "and you know that in English ourmayflower is called the lily of the valley, and the child received amayflower from some being in the wood who did not know her name. Awonderful story she has woven together in her little blond head, forshe constantly insists that she has seen the wood-prince."
"You are secretly a poet," said Eric.
Involuntarily Knopf's hand went to his breast-pocket, where his tabletslay hidden, as if he suspected that Eric had stolen them from him.
"I allow myself now and then to string a verse together; but don't befrightened, I've never troubled any one else with them."
Eric felt cordially attracted towards this man, so dry in outwardappearance, and yet so deeply enthus
iastic; and as the bells rang againin the village, he said,--
"Now come and make me acquainted with the schoolmaster."