Since the
death of his father he had first had Paul, and then Dr. Schrotter,
whom he had seen daily, and thus had always had some one to share
his mental life. Now he was separated from Schrotter by distance,
and from Paul by the great change in their views, and found no
sufficient support when left to himself. If at times the sight of
Paul's perfect self-content and happiness roused in him the wish to
follow his example, it was quickly overruled by the conviction that
neither Paul's commonplace, practical occupations, nor his worldly
success, would afford him, Wilhelm, the smallest satisfaction.
He passed his days and weeks in self-communings and spiritual
loneliness, in spite of Paul's and Malvine's endeavors to interest
him in men and things. He allowed himself to be drawn into Malvine's
afternoon receptions, and the two or three parties they gave during
the winter; but refused to accompany them to other people's balls
and dinners. He was happiest of all with Willy, who was very fond of
Uncle Eynhardt. He took him for walks, told him stories, was never
tired of answering his endless questions, amused him with little
chemical experiments, and in default of the riding lessons let him
ride upon his knee. And as he passed his fingers through the child's
long curls, he often thought, in spite of all his philosophic
doubts, how wonderfully pleasant it must be after all, to bring
forth some such sweet golden-haired mystery that would cling to its
parent and break away from him--a continuation and yet a wholly new
departure that had its roots in the past, and yet struck out boldly
into the future, and whose bright gaze would be trying to penetrate
the riddle of the universe when he himself had long since sunk into
oblivion.
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