BOOK ONE: YESTERDAY 59 fore them, ludicrous as his appearance was, spoke from the heart. They did not laugh. They looked, instead, with a certain abashed and inquisitive air at this fellow, their teacher. When the school-bell rang, Bernd Vogelsang had the im- pression that he had won all along the line. He had got the Lower Sixth of a liberal, hostile Berlin school weIl in hand. Rector Francois, that milksop, would be astonished. The class was, of course, already deeply corrupted by the subversive poison of Berlin intellectualism. But Bernd Vogelsang was full of confidence: he would manage to rock his nurseling's cradle. In the quarter of an hour's recess which followed he sent for the two boys who were scheduled to give the next lectures. Talking is more important than writing. He considered that thesis of the Leader of the Nationalist party sacrosanct, he took the lectures very seriously. He soon came to an under- standing with the first boy, who intended to speak on the Nibelung legend, on the subject: "What is the lesson for modern times of the struggle of the Nibelungs with King Etzel?" IIBon/" said Vogelsang. "We can do a great deal with that." But what was the intention of the other boy, that grey- eyed one? "Humanism and the Twentieth Century"? He took a good look at the grey-eyed boy. A tall chap, of striking ap- pearance. The black hair and the grey eyes didn't go together. A boy like that might fit all right in Berlin: in a band of young men, marching in step, he would be incongruous. "I beg your pardon?" asked Dr. Vogelsang. "Humanism and the Twentieth Century? How can one usefully discuss such a gigantic theme in a mere hour?" "Dr. Heinzius gave me a few tips," said Berthold modestly, his fine, deep, manly tones much subdued. "I am surprised that my predecessor approved of subjects of such an abstract character," continued Dr. Vogel- sang. His voice sounded sharp, squeaky, and pugnacious. Berthold was silent. What could one answer ? Dr. Heinzius,

60 THE OPPERMANNS who would certainly have had something to say, lay in the cemetery at Stahnsdorf. Berthold himself had thrown a shovel of earth on the coffin. Dr. Heinzius could not help him now. "Have you been working long at the subject?" the squeaky voice asked again. "I have pretty nearly finished the lecture," Berthold answered. "I was to give it next week," he added almost apologetically. "I'm sorry for that," said Vogelsang, courteously enough. "I don't like such abstract subjects. I should like to forbid thern on principle," Berthold pulled himself together, but he could not prevent his chubby features from twitching just the tiniest bit. Vogelsang noticed it, not without a certain satisfaction. T 0 conceal it, he repeated: "I am sorry you have gone to so much trouble. But, principiis obsta. After all, work is its own re- ward." Berthold had really grown a little pale. But the other was right. One could hardly explain humanism in an hour. Vogel- sang was not a sympathetic figure to Berthold; but he was a devil of a fellow, he had shown that during the lesson. "What subject would you suggest to me, sir?" he asked. His voice sounded hoarse. "Let's see," meditated Dr. Vogelsang. "What's your name, by the way?" he asked. Berthold Oppermann told him, Ah, thought the teacher, that explains it. That was the reason for choosing that odd subject. He had already noticed the name, particularly, in the class-list, There were Jewish Opperrnanns and there were Christian Oppermanns. No need for a long in- vestigation. The Jew, the despoiler, the enemy, betrays himself to the expert at a glance. Humanism and the Twentieth Century. They always hide themselves behind masks of long words. "How would it be," said he lightly, in the tone of a com- rade-in dealing with this dangerous boy it was worth while