"And this was the beginning of my acquaintance with this strange man, whom I now may call my friend. We have ever since that day met daily, as long as I remained in Grunwald, and I value the deep insight into one of the most remarkable characters which was thus afforded me by the intimate intercourse with him, far more highly than the practical advantages which I derived from my friendship with so great a scholar. I am almost afraid there must exist some affinity between him and myself, or we would not so quickly have discovered what was sympathetic in each of us; nor would we have learnt so soon to speak with such unreserved candor, and to understand each other by a mere word or a hint. I say I am afraid, because Berger is a most unhappy man. The bright lights of his brilliant wit play upon a dark background full of storms. He is standing alone in the world, misjudged by everybody, feared by many, loved by none. Why that is so, I dare not tell even you, for friendship is a temple to which no third person can be admitted. But I shudder whenever I think of the dark night that must break down upon him as soon as old age dims the light of the bright torch which now alone illumines the terrible waste of his miserable heart. Perhaps, however--who knows?--that may prove fortunate for him. Perhaps the words which he now often quotes, half in bitter irony and half in melancholy conviction: 'Blessed are the poor in spirit!' may yet become a truth for him. "My intimacy with the learned man had surrounded me, in the eyes of the world, with a halo, which made me hope that under such protection I might, like the heroes of Homer, safely pass through the dangers of the impending battle--the examination. On the morning of the decisive day, Berger said to me: 'Do you know, dear Stein, I have a great mind to reject you?' "'Why?' "'Because I fear to lose you--to lose you twice. Great God! what changes may not happen to a man whom we seat in the easy-chair of an office, and whom we crown with the night-cap of a dignity! You may actually see the day when you will consider Horace a great poet and Cicero a distinguished philosopher--why, you may in due time, and from sheer disgust of life, become a learned professor like myself.' "The examination had been held, and I had received, as Berger called it, license to thresh empty straw. One day he came to me, an open letter in his hand, and asked: "'Would you like to become a tutor in a nobleman's family?' "'I hardly think I would.' "'Perhaps so; but the offer is so tempting that it is at least worth your while to consider the matter. You would have to bind yourself for four years.' "'And you call that a tempting offer? Four years? Not four weeks!'