In the winter of 1865 I left home to attend a session of the
Parliament.
My neighbor Funk, who was also a delegate, accompanied me.
It grieves me to be obliged to describe this man or even to mention
him.
He caused me much sorrow. He humiliated me more than any other man has
ever done, for he proved to me that I have neither worldly wisdom nor
knowledge of men. How could I have so egregiously deceived myself in
him? I am too hasty in determining as to the character of a man, and
when I afterwards find that his actions are not in keeping with my
conception of what they should be, the inconsistency torments me as if
it were an unsolved enigma. In one word, I have suffered much because
of a lack of reserve. Unfortunately I must give all or nothing. Even
now I cannot help thinking that he must be better, after all, than he
seems. I find, on comparing myself with him, that he has many an
advantage over me. He is twenty years younger than I am, and yet he
seems as if he had matured long ago. I shall never be that way, no
matter how long I live. I am always growing.
He had failed in the examination for a degree, and, disappointed and
vexed, had entered the teachers' seminary. He afterward actually became
a schoolmaster, but never forgot that he had once aspired to enter a
higher sphere of life.
When the revolution broke out he had hoped to find his reckoning in it.
He speedily found himself in a high position, and had no trouble in
accustoming himself to the princely palace in which the provisional
government had located itself.
I have already mentioned that I had brought Funk home from Strasburg
with me. I felt so firmly convinced of his innocence that I used all my
influence in his behalf, and even deposited a considerable sum as his
bondsman, in order that he might be tried without having to surrender
his liberty. He was pronounced innocent.
He made me shudder one day when he told me that the judges had
evidently imbibed my belief in his innocence.
Funk was a handsome man, and still retains his good looks. Annette, the
friend of my daughter Bertha, called him a perfect type of lackey
beauty. She was sure, she said, that he was born to wear a livery.
There was something so abject and cringing about him. She was not a
little proud of her discernment, when, some time after, I confirmed her
judgment by the announcement that Funk was actually a son of the Duke's
valet.
Funk did not resume his former position as a teacher. He became an
emigration agent. For during the first years of the reaction there was
a great increase in the number of emigrants from this country to
America.
Besides this, he had also become an agent for Insurances of all sorts
Fire, Life, Hail, and Cattle. His window-shutters were so covered with
signs that they presented quite a gay appearance.
He was chosen as one of the town-council, but the government did not
confirm him in office, which action of theirs gained him much credit
with the people. Two years after that, when he was elected burgomaster,
he knew how to bring it about that a deputation should wait upon the
Prince in person to urge his confirmation.
Funk induced his wife always to wear the old-time costumes of the
country people.
"That, you must know," he said to me one day, "awakens the confidence
of the country people." When I reproved him for this trick, he laughed
and showed his pretty teeth. There was, to me at least, always
something insincere and repulsive in his laugh, and in the fact
that he never wearied of repeating certain high-sounding phrases. But
what was there to draw me towards this man? I will honestly admit
that I have a certain admiration for combativeness, courage, and
shrewdness--qualities in which I am deficient.
My unsuspecting confidence in others is a mistake. But I have been thus
for seventy years, and when I reckon up results, I find that I am none
the worse for it. Although over-confidence in others has brought me
many a sorrow, it has also given me many a joy.
I have suffered much through others, and through Funk especially; but I
still believe that there are no thoroughly bad men, but that there are
thoroughly egotistical ones, and that the pushing of egotism beyond its
due bounds is the source of all evil.
If I had not helped him with all my influence, Funk would not have been
chosen a delegate to the Parliament. When he visited me, on the day
following the election, he addressed me in a tone of unwonted and
unlooked-for familiarity, much to the disgust of my wife.
After he had left she said to me, "I cannot understand you. I did not
interfere when I saw that you were trying to gain votes for Funk; that,
I presume, is a part of politics, and perhaps the party needs voters,
and just such bold and irreverent people. They can say things that a
man of honor would not permit himself to utter. But I cannot conceive
how you can allow yourself to be on so familiar a footing with that
man."
I assured her that the first advances had been made by him, and that
although they were undesired by me I did not choose to appear proud.
She said no more. But there was yet another reproof in store for me.
When I entered the stable Rothfuss said to me, "Why did you let that
grinning fellow get so near to you? Is he still calling out, 'God be
with thee, Waldfried! You will come to see me soon, will you not?' Such
talk from that quarter is no compliment."
I did not suffer him to go on with his remarks. My weak fear of hurting
the feelings of others had already worked its own punishment on myself.
When I left home for the session of 1865, Funk was waiting for me down
by the saw-mill. I found him with a young man, the son of a
schoolmaster who lived in the neighborhood. He took leave of his
companion, and turning to me exclaimed with a triumphant air, "I have
already saved one poor creature to-day. The simple-minded fellow wanted
to become a teacher. A mere teacher in a public school! A position
which is ideally elevated, but financially quite low. I convinced him
that he would be happier breaking stone on the road. We ought to make
it impossible for the Government to get teachers for its public
schools."
When I answered that he was wantonly trifling with the education of our
people, he replied, "From your point of view, perhaps you are quite
right." It was in this way that I first got the idea that Funk thought
he was controlling me. His subordination was a mere sham, and we were
really at heart opposed to each other.
He voted as I did in the Parliament, but not for the same reasons.
If Funk had been insincere towards me, it was now my turn--and that was
the worst of it--to be insincere towards him.
I was determined to break off my relations with him, and only awaited a
favorable opportunity for so doing. And yet while awaiting that
opportunity I kept up my usual relations with him.
It is x indeed sad, that intercourse with those who are insincere
begets insincerity in ourselves.
We reached the railway station, where we found numerous delegates, and
indeed two of our own party, who were cordially disliked by Funk. One
of them was a manufacturer who lived near the borders of Switzerland.
He was a strict devotee, but was really sincere in his religious
professions, which he illustrated by his pure and unselfish conduct. We
were on the friendliest footing, although he could not avoid from time
to time expressing a regret that I did not occupy the same religious
stand-point that he did.
The other delegate was a proud and haughty country magistrate--a man of
large possessions, who imagined it was his especial prerogative to lead
in matters affecting the welfare of the state. He had been opposed to
Funk during the election, and had ill-naturedly said, "Beggars should
have nothing to say." Funk had not forgotten this, but nevertheless
forced him, as it were, into a display of civility.
The two companions were quite reserved in their manner towards Funk,
and before we had accomplished our journey I could not help observing
that there was a pressure which would induce a clashing and a
subsequent separation of these discordant elements.