Here everything was full of life.
He first fell in with Knopf, who said to him:—
"I haven't slept a wink the whole night on your account. Ah, that question of yours! Theoretically it cannot be solved, since all the real relations of life are made up not of whole numbers, but of fractions only, and can only be expressed in fractions. So the total also cannot be expressed in one whole number. I can't make out, and it turns my head to think of what I should do if I were possessed of many millions. To found benevolent institutions, that is hardly enough; the whole world shouldn't be a vast almshouse, a piously endowed establishment. I would have joy and beauty everywhere; men should be not only fed and clothed, they should also be happy. In the first place, I would found in every town a good salary for the teacher who leads the singing-club, and a pint of wine for every member on Sunday; and I would build a concert-hall in every town, with lofty summer-saloons, and well-heated rooms in winter, ornamented with beautiful paintings; and in them should be hung up the prizes gained by the club.
"I would also erect an institute for poor children, and make myself director of it; and then I would found a refuge for deserving tutors. I have even fixed on the name it should go by,—'The Home for Eventide.' Oh, that will be magnificent; how the old teachers will wrangle and each extol his system as the best! I have also decided to let the principal lie, and take a million from it to go travelling with. I would take with me a dozen or more companions, honest, capable men, naturalists, painters, sculptors, merchants, politicians, teachers—in a word, capable men from all callings. I would have them equipped with everything needful, and we would stop wherever and as long as we chose. In this way I would learn what are the best social arrangements in the world, and when I came home I'd establish similar ones. I do not expect to find it out all at once. Only think what a fine thing such a journey would be, with a dozen or more right clever men, with our own ship for the sea, and with mules for the mountains. In a word, it would be splendid, and useful at the same time. And when Roland comes home he must turn agriculturist; it is altogether the best life; that is to say, man has in that life the best basis to stand upon—the most natural basis. But, as I said, I am counting my chickens before they are hatched."
Eric hardly heard what Knopf was saying, and for the first time woke up out of his dreams when Knopf asked him,—
"Where is Roland? I promised to wake him in time for the departure of Doctor Fritz and his child."
"Just let him sleep."
"On your responsibility?"
"On my responsibility."
"Very well," rejoined Knopf. "Indeed, I had rather not wake him. In that way Roland will have to suffer a pretty little bit of romantic pain. I cannot tolerate this sentimental nonsense between children. Now he has taken his leave, or rather not taken his leave in the night, and while he was sleeping she disappeared; that is a bit of romantic pain. This taking leave! In the morning, shivering and shaking on the steamer-landing, or at the railroad station, you take leave; then the ship or the train moves off, then you stand there like one who has been robbed, and then you have got to go back. Ah, it is so absurd! I shiver a whole day after a farewell. But now if Roland wakes up and the child has flown away, that may leave a sweet, strong, ecstatic remembrance behind in the soul; and we too, you, Doctor, and I, are both giants in this children's story."