BOOK ONE: YESTERDA Y 37 manuel Oppermann would get on in our times?" she added thoughtfully. That was by no means a stupid remark. It was interesting to reflect how a man of Immanuel's type might fare nowadays, Nevertheless, this remark of Sybil's gave Gustav another slight pang. Yes, ir was a bygone era, that in which Immanuel Opper- mann had lived, in spite of the fact that it was still very much alive to him, Gustav. How trifling their anxieties seemed, how simple their problems. How slow, regular, and dull was a career like that of Immanuel Oppermann in comparison with the life of an average man of today! Sybil's observation had of course been quite innocent, it came automatically to the mind in contemplaring the picture, And yet Gustav had, quite unjusti- fiably~ the impression that it was directed against hirnself. The clock ticked, the God's Eye moved from side to side and watched how they spent their time, Sybil stood before the pic- ture of the dead man. He experienced again the feeling of uselessness, that slight, disturbing uneasiness, the feeling of futility, which he had had that morning. He was glad when Schlüter announced that luncheon was served, It was a cheerful meal. Gustav Oppermann was a judge of good food. Sybil Rauch was full of amusing ideas and knew how to express them charmingly and aptly. Her South German accent sounded pleasantly in Gustav's ear. He was fifty years old and still very young. He beamed. His happiness was complete when Professor Arthur Mühl- heim, his friend, dropped in during dessert and brought Fried- rich Wilhelm Gutwetter, the novelist, with him, The two were excellent foils to Gustav and Sybil. Arthur Mühlheim, a brisk little man with a wrinkled, cheer- ful, and clever face, was a few years older than Gustav. He was never still, was ready for any number of practical jokes, was one of the best lawyers in Berlin, and had similar tastes to

THE OPPERMANNS Gustav's. They belonged to the same club, liked the same books and the same warnen. Arthur Mühlheim was also interested in politics, Gustav Oppermann in sport, so that they always had plenty to talk to each other about. Mühlheim had sent Gustav a large consignment of special cognac and brandy, vintages which were actually of the year of Gustav's birth. He consid- ered it beneficial to drink liquor of the same age as oneself. Friedrich Wilhelm Gutwetter, a small man of about sixty, very careful of his person, wore noticeably old-fashioned clothes and had huge, childlike eyes in his placid face. He was the author of scrupulously polished tales, highly praised by the critics, but read and valued by very few people. In the rare moments when Gustav worried about the bristling emptiness of his life, he would tell himself that he had not lived in vain because he had helped Gutwetter to get on. The fact was that Gutwetter, without Gustav's support, would have had to en- dure the bitterest privation. Friedrich Wilhelm Gutwetter sat quietly and happily, looked admiringly and covetously at Sybil out of his big eyes, often had to have Mühlheim's nimble sallies explained to hirn before he could understand them, and interjected slow observations of a general poetic character into the others' noisy and lively talk. He had brought a present for his friend, but he did not mention it for twenty minutes or half an hour; the rapid talk of the others and the sight of Sybil had made hirn quite forget about his present. It was this: he told them he had had an interview with Dr. Dorpmann, his publisher, the head of the Minerva Press. They had spoken of the Lessing biography. Dr. Dorpmann, as is the way of publishers, wanted to give an evasive answer. But he, Gutwetter, stuck to his point. It was a fact, it was as certain as death, the existence of the soul, and the resurrection, that the Minerva Press would bring out the Lessing biography. In his quiet, gentle voice, he told them the