Friedrich Benda was again in Europe. All the newspapers contained
accounts of the discoveries made on the expedition. Last autumn Arab
dealers in ivory had found him in the land of Niam-Niam, taken an
interest in him, and finally brought him, then seemingly in the throes
of imminent death, back to the Nile. In England he was celebrated as a
hero and a bold pioneer; the Royal Geographical Society had made him an
honorary member; and the incidents of his journey were the talk of the
day.
Toward the close of April he came to Nuremberg to visit his mother. The
blind old woman had been carefully and cautiously prepared for his
coming. She nevertheless came very near dying with joy; her life was in
grave danger for a while.
Benda had not wished to stay more than a week: his business and his
work called him back to London; he had lectures to deliver, and he had
to see a book through the press, a book in which he had given a
description of the years spent in Africa.
At the urgent request of his mother he had decided to stay longer.
Moreover, during the first days of his visit to Nuremberg, he suffered
from a severe attack of a fever he had brought with him from the
tropics, and this forced him to remain in bed. The news of his presence
in the city finally became generally known, and he was annoyed by the
curiosity of many people who had formerly never concerned themselves
about him in the slightest.
He was eager to see Daniel; every hour of delay in meeting his old
friend was an hour of reproach. But his mother insisted that he stay
with her; he had to sit near her and tell of his experiences in Africa.
When he heard of the outer events in Daniel's life he was filled with
terror. The fact that made the profoundest impression on him was
Daniel's marriage to Dorothea Doederlein. People told him a great many
things about their life and how they were getting along, and with each
passing day he felt that it would be more difficult to go to Daniel. One
evening he got his courage together and decided to go. He got as far as
AEgydius Place, when he was seized with such a feeling of sadness and
discomfort at the thought of all the changes that time and fate had made
that he turned back. He felt as if he might be deceived by a picture
which would perhaps still show the features of Daniel as he looked in
former years, but that he would be so changed inwardly that words would
be unable to bring the two together.
He longed to talk with some one who loved Daniel and who had followed
his career with pure motives. He had to think for a long while: where
was there such a person? He thought of old Herold and went to him. He
directed the conversation without digression to a point that was of
prime importance to him. And in order to put the old man in as
confidential a frame of mind as possible, he reminded him of a night
when the three of them, Daniel, Herold, and Benda, had sat in the Mohren
Cellar drinking wine and discussing things in general, important and
unimportant, that have a direct bearing on life.
The old man nodded; he recalled the evening. He spoke of Daniel's genius
with a modesty and a deference that made Benda's heart swell. He raised
his finger, and said with a fine fire in his eye: "I'll stand good for
him. I prophesy on the word of the Bible: A star will rise from Jacob."
Then he spoke of Eleanore; he was passionately fond of her. He told how
she had brought him the quartette, and how she had glowed with
inspiration and the desire to help. He also had a good deal to say about
Gertrude, especially with regard to her mental breakdown and her death.
Benda left the old man at once quiet and disquieted. He walked along the
street for a long while, rapt in thought. When he looked up he saw that
he was standing before Daniel's house. He went in.