Daniel returned to Eschenbach, and moved into the house of his parents.
His pupils took rooms with the residents of the village.
He was regarded by the natives as a peculiar individual. They smiled
when they spoke of him, or when they saw him passing through the streets
absorbed in his own thoughts. But it was not a malicious smile. If there
was the faintest tinge of ridicule in it at first, it soon gave way to a
vague feeling of pride.
He gained a mysterious influence over people with whom he came in
contact; many sought his advice when in trouble. His pupils especially
adored him. He had the gift of holding their attention, of carrying them
along. The means he employed were the very simplest: his splendid,
cheerful personality, the harmony between what he said and what he did,
his earnestness, his humanness, his resignation to the cause that lay
close to his heart, and his own belief in this cause--those were the
means through which and by which he gained a mysterious influence over
those with whom he came in touch.
He became a famous teacher; the number of pupils who wished to study
under him increased from year to year. But he admitted very few of them
to his classes. He took only the best; and the certainty with which he
made his selections and differentiated was wellnigh infallible.
No inducements of any kind could persuade him to leave the isolated
place where he had elected to live.
He was almost always in a good humour; he was never distracted; and the
preciseness and sharpness with which he observed whatever took place was
remarkable. The one thing that could throw him into a rage was to see
some one abuse a dumb beast. Once he got into trouble with a teamster
who was beating his skinny old jade in order to make it pull a load that
was far in excess of its strength. The boys on the street made fun of
him; the people laughed with considerable satisfaction, and said: "Ah,
the professor: he's a bit off."
Agnes kept house for him; she was most faithful in looking out for his
wants. When he would leave the house, she would bring him his hat and
walking stick. Every evening before she went to sleep, he would come in
to her and kiss her on the forehead. It was rare that they spoke with
each other, but there was a secret agreement, a peaceful harmony,
between them.
Gottfried grew up to be a strong, healthy boy. He had Daniel's physique
and Eleanore's eyes. Yes, they were the eyes with that blue fire; and
they had Eleanore's elfin-like chastity and her hatred of all that is
false and simulated. Daniel saw in this a freak of nature of the
profoundest significance. All the laws of blood seemed unsubstantial and
shadowy. His feelings often wandered between gratitude and astonishment.
Of Dorothea he heard one day that she was making her living as a
violinist in a woman's orchestra. He made some inquiries and traced her
as far as Berlin. There he lost her. A few years later he was told that
she had become the mistress of a wealthy country gentleman in Bohemia,
and was driving about in an automobile on the Riviera.
He was also informed of the death of Herr Carovius. His last hours were
said to have been very hard: he had kept crying out, "My flute, give me
my flute!"