“Yes, Papa—or too far from the library!” laughed his daughter.

“Ah yes, the library,” said the baron. “Let’s go in—it’s just here on our left.”

He opened the tall door across from Sabina’s chambers and walked into the expansive library. Both Thaddeus and Matthew gazed around them with wonder as the baron led them slowly through such a maze of ceiling-high shelves and bookcases as neither had imagined could exist in such an out-of-the-way place.

“It’s remarkable, Baron!” said the American. “I’ve never seen such an extensive private collection of books. What do you have—there must be, I would think, twenty or thirty thousand volumes here!”

“Actually, it’s closer to fifty thousand,” returned the baron.

They continued to wander randomly through the rows and rows of tall shelves. The smells of dust and mold, leather and paper, all combined to produce olfactory sensations known and loved by those who haunted libraries and old bookstores. Such individuals, Sabina and Baron von Dortmann among their number, enjoyed nothing more than to bury their nose among the pages and between the boards of the books giving off such subtle odors of age.

It was not merely the smell that drew family and visitors to this place, however, but the collected ideas of the ages that resided on its shelves. As the Wisdom of Proverbs called aloud in the streets to those who would listen, here Wisdom was calling silently from the secret chambers of many minds, living and dead, inviting all who could hear her voice to partake and sample of her intellectual, literary, poetic, theological, and historical wares. Here were authors and nations, epics and ideas, philosophies and stories and poems and journals and histories. Here were friends of the spirit, sojourners who had traveled similar pathways in years gone by, inviting companionship by their mere presence, but making no claim upon the attention until the mood was right.

“This is truly remarkable, Baron,” said Thaddeus in scarcely more than a whisper. “It must be worth a fortune. Many of the volumes, it is easy to see, are of ancient date and, unless I am mistaken, extremely rare.”

“It is not for their rarity nor their monetary value that they are a treasure to us, but for what they contain. To be truthful, the vast majority of these volumes are from my father’s and grandfather’s time and, though worth a great deal, do not consume much of my time or interest. But the works of those authors with whom I have discovered a camaraderie of spirit, I would not part with for a million reichsmarks, pounds, or dollars.”

“Are they mostly in German?”