“Is not papa a dear little old philosopher?” whispered Gwendoline, who sat at the other end of the table, to her neighbor, a famous English novelist.
“Feelings regulate actions,” continued Mr. Toker;—“granted; but frequently feelings are ruled by thoughts. Ideas, among them illusory ideas, are what kindle the enthusiasm of the masses, and are fought for. Forth from ideas proceeds that sublime endeavor which is called the ideal. What was striven for yesterday is the attained to-day, and gives way to new endeavor, to new-born ideas, and that is equivalent to saying to new ideals.”
“Now he has said enough, don’t you think so?” murmured Gwendoline again. “One should not bore one’s guests.”
The novelist glanced at her reprovingly: “It does not bore me.”
“Thoughts are the begetters of sensations; above all, they are the foundations of knowledge. Therefore, whoever scatters thoughts into the world, scatters seed from which grow all those fruits that we enjoy under the name of culture. There is much bitter fruit in with it, because still many unworthy thoughts are floating about. Progressive humanity requires high thinking! Soaring thoughts....
“This year, just as every year, a volume is to be published which will contain your addresses: I propose to entitle this volume, ‘Menschliche Hochgedanken’—‘Thoughts that soar.’ The beginning of our Rose-Weeks coincided with the conquest of the air. You know that the impulse of your joint action was given to me by the flights which were accomplished by the first ‘dirigible’ through the sea of ether. Now it is for us to bring about some victorious records by our flights into the azure realm of the ideal. Thoughts are the vehicle for this—thoughts which soar above the clouds—that is to say, high above the vapors of petty private interests, above the flats of national contentions—in a word, thoughts that soar! And so I close with one word, the war-cry which must be the war-cry of the new, height-conquering age: the cry, ‘Upward!’”
“Upward!” responded the whole Table Round.
Thereupon all adjourned into the adjoining hall.
An illustrious company, indeed. There were few young people among them, and not many women. The wreaths of unquestioned glory are usually twined around masculine heads, and there mostly when they are bare.
The youngest of the thirty Rose-Knights was Chlodwig Helmer; the youngest among the six ladies of the Roses—all of them wearing an enameled rose on the left breast—was Franka Garlett.