"No, my boy."
"But, father," asked Gerbrand, "when is it right to fight, and when is it not?"
"It is right, my boys, when that which is the dearest and most sacred must be protected from attack—whatever is dearer to us than our lives. That is what Æschylus and Socrates and Dante conceived to be their duty. They fought for freedom—the greatest freedom of their time. And should any beings come now and try to attack what we term our liberty and our rights, we also would fight for them."
"I wish that would happen," said Gerbrand.—And the others laughed.
"Did Beethoven fight, father?" asked Hugo.
"No, although his life, as well as that of Shelley, was a struggle in the cause of true liberty—at least for what he held to be true liberty."
"But Beethoven wore a high, black hat, did he not, father? And Bach had his hair cut off, and wore a wig," said Gerbrand.
"Mozart also," added Hugo. "I do not understand how kings could do such queer things."
"How was it possible," exclaimed Gerbrand, "for these people in their high hats and silly black clothes to look at one another and not burst out laughing?"
"My dear boys," said the father, "there is not a thing so foolish, so ugly, or so bad, but even the best of men will do it, or tolerate it, if only many take part in it, and it is a common error of their time. But that was a very queer age. At the time such great and wise kings as Goethe, Shelley, and Beethoven lived, ninety out of every hundred men lived like the very beasts. Some never bathed their entire bodies....