Unfortunately, I have not the smallest particle of
ambition, and have no desire to be either famous or mighty, or to
make triumphal progresses. If I could really do anything for you,
believe me, I would do it gladly. But I assure you I possess neither
the philosopher's stone, nor a prescription for a universal panacea.
I do not believe either that the remedies they recommend so highly
to you are very effectual, so I am much obliged to you for your
confidence in me, and beg you to leave me in my obscurity."
Hessel gave him a dark look, stood up, turned slowly away, and left
him without one word, or even offering him his hand.
Wilhelm had sent to Berlin for a box of books, and tried to go on
with his work, but found no real pleasure in it. A deep despondency
had come upon him, and the idea that his life was wholly purposeless
took more and more hold upon him. Often, after studying earnestly
for a day or two, and making extracts for his book, he would ask
himself, "Why take all this trouble? Who is going to be made wiser
or happier by this rigmarole?" and his pleasure in the work was gone
again for days. The consciousness of exile, instead of being blunted
by time, weighed ever more heavily upon him. He never realized till
now what an absolute necessity it was to his nature to lean upon a
kindred spirit, for he had never before been without one.
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