“Oh, is that so?”
“You swear by that school which does not believe in the power of individuals to influence the history of nations? It is your idea, that the nameless masses, that all-powerful Necessity, and the like, condition the course of history....”
“There you are again with your ‘history.’ If you mean by it the changes that result from universal conditions, then, certainly, the laws of nature and the nameless masses, unconsciously obeying them, form the motive power; but if it concerns the events that are brought about by the intrigues of diplomats and despots and the newspapers that are subservient to them, then I grant that this kind of history is made by ambitious and unscrupulous individuals.”
“Well, then, if that is understood, my Romeo Rinotti is just a history-maker. ‘Unscrupulousness’ is his fetish ... in fact, it is the reasonable basis of all real politics. Rinotti is not as yet at the helm, else a portentous chapter in the history of our century would have been written long ago; but he will yet come to the helm, and then ... well, he makes no secret of the lofty aims which he has conceived for the grandeur and glory of his country. Whether he will attain them is, indeed, another question; I have my doubts; for fortunately we in Austria, we also have resolute men in leading positions ... a fine, proud imperialism has flowered since Aehrenthal’s great stroke of genius; and our military strength, as well as that of our allies, is to be reckoned with.... Our fleet of airships also makes a good showing. So Rinotti’s bold plans will scarcely be fulfilled, in spite of all Slavic assistance ... but whatever the consequences may be, the impulse will suffice, as I said, to produce a mighty chapter in history. I must say, although the man is really our enemy, he inspires me with respect, because of his powerful will: universal history needs such chaps. At the same time, he is a fascinating man.... The women are all crazy over him ... that Baltic woman, for example.... Did you notice how her eyes were riveted on him? If the Countess Solnikova has not fallen under his spell, it is only thanks to her fancy for your composer.... But here I am chattering away and you do not say a word ... apparently you are up in the clouds again, your favorite habitation, and probably have not been listening to what I said.”
“On the contrary, I have been listening with all attention. What you tell me of Rinotti interests me immensely. It proves clearly, once more, how our official world is still entangled in the ancient concepts and methods, how men cannot see what the needs of the age are. They do not suspect that the epoch of cabinet intrigues is just as obsolete, though not so far removed from us, as the Tertiary or the Miocene period. Or are we really still in the very midst of it? Am I the one who does not see the actuality, because my eyes are fixed too eagerly on the future, just as the eyes of the Rinottis and their admirers are directed toward the past? However, I am very grateful to you, for what you have told me shows how imperative the work is which must be the outcome of the Rose-Week.”
“You incorrigible visionary! Do you really imagine that Toker, Helmer, and Company are going to lift the world out of its hinges? I have permitted myself to compare the undertaking of this worthy firm to Hagenbeck; I might have said that it is a great cosmopolitan variety-show ... well, I am curious; especially for your number on the programme:—‘Mr. Chlodwig Helmer, prestidigitator on the poets’ ladder.’ But here we are at your lodgings—I will leave you. No offense, I hope....”
Helmer shrugged his shoulders: “I know you of old, and if I am inwardly annoyed at your cynicism, I don’t lay it up against you.”
“And I likewise pardon you for calling my modicum of common sense and mother wit cynicism. Such a long-established comradeship isn’t going to be broken up by such quizzing. The earth would be boresome if it contained nothing but mere practical people—a few dreamers must be allowed to practice their somnambulism. Servus, old fellow.”
Bruning said good-bye at the entrance door of the Rose-Palace; Helmer, however, did not go in, but walked off in another direction. The conversation with his boyhood friend had given a serious trend to his thoughts, and he was not inclined at the moment to meet any of Mr. Toker’s guests and converse with them. He preferred a solitary walk.
He knew a path which led from the shore of the lake to a distant grove where it was very silent and pleasant: thither he directed his steps. He had often in his life found that when he was vexed with men—either with individual men or with human society at large—he was immediately pacified by taking refuge with Nature. To him Nature, the mother of all creatures—Nature, the generous, the life-abounding, the sublime, the unfathomable, the inexorable keeper of her own mysteries, the never disobedient servant of her own laws, the spendthrift and miser of her own treasures—to him Nature was not some thing, but some one. A some one whom he loved with awe and whose magical gifts he accepted as the token of some measure of reciprocal love.