Ottmar and Vincenz agreed in this, and added that Theodore had committed a breach of Serapiontic rule by speaking so fully on a subject to some extent strange to the other brethren, in this manner giving himself up to impulses of the moment, and damming up the flow of other communications.
Cyprian, however, look Theodore's part, maintaining that the subject on which, for the most part, he had been speaking, might be thought to possess such an amount of interest (though, as far as he himself was concerned, he must say it was of an uncanny character) that even those to whom the person to whom it had referred had never been known, could not but feel themselves very much attracted and affected by it.
Ottmar thought that he could have felt a certain amount of interest about it if it had been written in a book. Cyprian said that the sapienti sat, was enough as regarded it.
In the meantime, Theodore had gone into the next room, and now came back with a veiled picture, which he placed on a table against the wall, setting two candles in front of it. All eyes were bent upon it, and when Theodore quickly removed the cloth from before it an "Ah!" came from all their lips.
It was the author of the 'Soehne des Thales,' a life-size half-length, a most speaking likeness, as if it had been stolen out of a looking-glass.
"Is it possible!" cried Ottmar, enthusiastically. "Yes, from under those bushy eyebrows there gleams from the dark eyes the strange fire of that unlucky mysticism which dragged the poet to his destruction. But the goodness, the kindliness, the lovableness and the talents which beam out of the rest of his features, and this charmingly 'roguish' smile of real humour which plays about the lips, and seems to try unsuccessfully to hide itself in the long, projecting chin, which the hand is stroking so quietly. Of a truth I feel myself more and more drawn to this mystic, who grows the more human the longer one looks at him."
"We all feel the same," cried Lothair and Vincenz.
"Yes, yes," cried the latter, "those sorrowful, gloomy eyes get brighter. You are right, Ottmar, he grows human--homo factus est. See, he looks with his eyes--he smiles; presently he will say something that will delight us; some heavenly jest; some fulminating sally of wit is playing about his lips. Out with it, out with it, good Zacharias! Stand on no ceremony! We are your friends, master of reserved irony! Ha! Serapion Brethren! let us elect him, glasses in hand, an honorary member of our Society; we will drink to our brotherhood, and I will pour a libation before his picture, and bedew with a few glittering drops my own varnished Parisian boots into the bargain."
The friends took their filled glasses in hand to carry out Vincenz's suggestion.
"Stop!" cried Theodore. "Let me say a word or two first. To begin with, I hope you will by no means apply that psychical problem of mine (which I perhaps stated somewhat too forcibly) directly to our author here. Rather take it that my object was to show you very vividly and convincingly how dangerous it is to form conclusions about phenomena in a man of which we know nothing as to their deep psychic origin; nay, how heartless, as well as senseless, it is to persecute, with silly scorn and childish derision, one who has been the victim of a depressing influence, such as we ourselves would probably have resisted less successfully. Who shall cast the first stone at one who has grown defenceless because his strength has ebbed away with the heart's-blood flowing from wounds inflicted by his own self-deception? My end is gained now. Even you--Lothair, Ottmar, Vincenz, severe inflexible critics and judges, have quite altered your opinions now that you have seen my poet face to face. His face speaks truth. I must testify that, in the happy days when he and I were friends, he was the most delightful and charming of men in every relation of life. All the oddities, and strange eccentricities of his exterior, and of his whole being (which he himself, with delicate irony, tried to bring to light, rather than to conceal) only produced the effect of rendering him, in the most various surroundings and most diverse circumstances, always in the most attractive manner, utterly delightful. Moreover, he was full of a subtle humour which rendered him the worthy confrère of Hamann, Heppel, and Scheffner. It is impossible that all that blossom of promise can be withered and dead, blighted by the poison breath of a miserable infatuation. No! If that picture could come to life--if the poet were to walk in and sit down actually amongst us here, life and genius would coruscate out of his discourse as of yore. I fain would hope that I see the dawn of a new and brilliant day! May the rays of true wisdom break out more and more brightly; may recovered strength and renewed power of labour produce work which shall show us the poet in the pure glory of the verily inspired singer, even if it does not happen before the late autumn of his days! And to this, ye Serapion Brethren, let us drink in happy expectation."