The two boys of the year 1913, having no idea what their ends were to be, wandered happily over the hills and valleys which run back from this coast. There was an endless variety of scenes: swift rivers, deep gorges, broad valleys; olive groves and vineyards, forests of cork oak and eucalyptus, meadows full of flowers; crowded villages, with terraced land cultivated to the last precious inch; palaces of Carrara marble with elaborate gardens and flowering trees — so many things to look at and ask questions about! Kurt couldn't talk to the peasants, but Lanny would translate for him, and the women noted the bright blue eyes and yellow hair of the strange lad from the North, and had the same thought as Pope Gregory, who had inspected the war prisoners and remarked: “Not Angles, but angels.”
IV
High above Antibes is an ancient monastery, with a church, Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Port, from which the sailors of Antibes, barefooted and wearing white shirts, carry an image of the Virgin in a procèssion, so as to enjoy her protection from storms. From here there is a view of all the seas, the white cities of the Riviera, and distant Italian mountains capped with snow. To this place the boys brought their lunch, and Lanny pointed out the landmarks: to the west the Estèrels, mountains of blood-red porphyry, and to the east the large city of Nice, and beyond it Monaco on its rock. Directly below them, in the bay, French warships were anchored; it was their favorite resting place, and sailors swarmed in the little town.
The boys spent the afternoon on this height, talking not merely of the scenery, but of themselves and what they planned to make of their lives. So serious they were, and so conscientious! Kurt was an ethical person, and when he revealed the moral compulsions of his soul, Lanny was quite awe-stricken.
“Did you ever think how few really cultured persons there are in the world?” inquired the German boy. “There are whole races and nations with practically none, and in the rest just a handful, holding aloft the banner of good taste, among so many millions of Hottentots.”
“What are Hottentots?” asked Lanny, naively.
Kurt explained that this was a way of referring to persons without culture or ideals. The great mass of men were like that, and civilization was kept going by the labors of a devoted few. “Suppose they were to fail — what then?”
“I never thought about it,” admitted the other, worried.
“We should sink into barbarism again, into another dark age. That is why the mission of art is such a high one, to save humanity by teaching a true love of beauty and respect for culture.”
Lanny thought that was a very wonderful way to look at it, and said so. Kurt went on: