After the summer vacation he returned to Goettingen refreshed and
encouraged. On his pilgrimage he had learned that while he was still
unknown, many of his songs were gaining popularity. In one of the
taverns a pretty waitress hummed one of his love songs.
Everything now moved so smoothly; the professors were so kind to him,
the dean of the Faculty had invited him to his home and expressed
admiration for his ballads—he had compared them to Goethe’s—and the
old inner struggles had left him entirely. In a friendly talk the Dean
had hinted that there was a great future for him if—the learned
gentleman was kind and sensitive and hesitated—“if”—he stammered
again.
“If I were not a Jew,” Albert came to the rescue, an ironic smile on his
face.
“Yes,” the kindly man intoned. “You see,” he continued, “sooner or later
all these disabilities will disappear but in the meanwhile your—your
nominal faith is in the way.” He knew Albert’s faith was but nominal.
Albert dwelt on this remark but rather objectively. He only thought
subjectively when he suffered deeply. Of late nothing stirred his
depths. He followed the lectures of the Goettingen Solons, made merry
with the students, was praised for his wit and his verses, and wrote but
little; in fact, he had written almost nothing in the past nine months.
And then a letter came from Uncle Leopold with a bill of exchange for
his support. The letter irritated him even though the money enclosed
afforded him immediate relief. There was something between the lines of
his uncle’s letter that intimated that a young man who passed his
twenty-seventh year should be self-sustaining. This letter was the first
real cause of irritation in months. He had heard that his uncle gave
away tens of thousands of _Thalers_ to charity and he begrudged his poor
nephew a few marks! Yes, he must rid himself of his uncle’s bounty—and
rid himself at any cost.
He grew morose and thoughtful and applied himself at once to his studies
preparatory for his Doctor’s degree and to the writing of a series of
travel sketches. He burned the candle at both ends. He would show his
rich uncle that he could get along without him. He felt particularly
hopeful because he had received a nattering letter from the Minister of
Justice in Bavaria, who was also a poet. The fates had turned their
bright faces upon him. Like Goethe he would obtain a government
position, and thus made independent, would pursue the muses. His brain
was feverish, his whole being on fire. He felt the approach of a severe
headache—from studying and thinking and writing—but he did not care.
His dreams were coming true, and the fire of the gods burned luminously.
He felt inspired as he penned his sketches. Never before had writing
come to him so spontaneously, so free from effort. Again and again the
hint dropped by the Dean recurred to him. It no longer offended him nor
did the memory of it arouse antagonism within him. Why suffer because of
mere formalism? What was it but formalism to him? His faith was only
nominal, as the Dean had put it. In what respect was he a Jew? vaguely
passed through his mind. He was more Greek than Jew. Certainly the
Jewish faith had no tangible meaning to him. Nothing but dogmatism! Why
should this meaningless dogmatism stand between him and independence?
One day he woke with a sudden determination. He must not hesitate any
longer. He could hope for no assistance from his parents—his mother’s
letter a few days before had made that plain enough—and he could not
bear the humiliation of further dependence upon his uncle. He was
irritable that morning but that was because of his ceaseless work the
past few months. He was nervous from too much thinking. No, he must not
let this thing trouble him any longer. He laughed grimly to himself. He
would change his religion—change non-belief in one for non-belief in
another! He laughed but not without bitterness. The next moment the
humor of it awakened curiosity. He was to be baptised! He had already
talked to a clergyman about his conversion, and noticed with amusement
the glow on the good clergyman’s face—the glow on the face of an angler
at sensing a nibble. Albert thought of this and laughed to himself. The
clergyman suggested a new name for the newly born child—John Baptist
Zorn! Albert stood before the open window in his room, looking dreamily
in front of him——
It was morning, the sun was shining gloriously upon the Wender Tower,
serious-faced students on their way to lectures, a woman with an armful
of provisions for breakfast, two flaxen-haired children playing horse,
and he was going to have his name changed that day! There was a flutter
in his heart and he laughed nervously. The comedy of life struck him
forcibly—all life was but a jest of the gods, and he himself was one of
the jesters! “John Baptist Zorn!” he murmured to himself, and laughed
hysterically. Tears appeared in his eyes. Oh, God, what a comedy life
was!
He started to carry out his resolution but suddenly paused. He blushed
in the privacy of his room. No, he would not go through this farce. No,
no, he could not be false to himself. He did not care for the opinion of
others—why should he care for the opinion of the imbeciles to whom not
religion but theology mattered, to whom religion was not the
consciousness of the glory of the universe and its Creator, but mere
heathen ceremonies?—Indeed, it was not the opinion of the masses but he
feared his inner self. No, he would not go through with this
contemptible farce.
He sat down on his bed, a throbbing at his temples. He was fatigued, a
pain in his head, weary of life. He heaved a sigh. His eyes rested on
his clothes. They were shabby. His uncle’s stipend had not been
sufficient to afford him new clothes and allow him the elegance to which
he had been accustomed. Besides, he was so impractical and never did
know how his money slipped from between his fingers. In a month the
degree of Doctor of Laws was to be conferred upon him. To what purpose?
To what purpose had he spent so much valuable time on the dry study of
the law? It had a definite meaning for the other students, his friends
at the university. Many of them would at once obtain government
appointments—there was one awaiting his friend Christian Lutz; another
friend, a poet, had already procured a lucrative appointment—and others
would follow their careers as lawyers—they all would use their
vocations as a means of subsistence in this complex system of civilized
life. But of what use would it be to him? A bitter laugh escaped him. In
a month he would be addressed as Doctor Zorn! A title would be conferred
on him—to what purpose? He was a Jew and under the Prussian law could
not hold office, nor could he practice his profession. Ah, the irony of
it! He was still in Egypt under the Pharaohs. Straw was not given him
and the tale of bricks had to be delivered!
He jumped out of his bed, stretched his arms, and gnashed his teeth.
Jest for jest! Let the foolish angler have his catch!