The day before the Actus offered as it were the proof-shot and
sample-sheet of the Wednesday. Persons who on account of dress could
not be present at the great school-festival, especially ladies, made
their appearance on Tuesday, during the six proof-orations. No
one can be readier than I to subordinate the proof-Actus to the
Wednesday-Actus; and I do anything but need being stimulated suitably
to estimate the solemn feast of a School; but, on the other hand, I am
equally convinced that no one, who did not go to the real Actus of
Wednesday, could possibly figure anything more splendid than the
proof-day preceding; because he could have no object wherewith to
compare the pomp in which the Primate of the festival drove in with
his triumphal chariot and six--to call the six brethren-speakers
coach-horses--next morning in presence of ladies and Councillor
gentleman. Smile away, Fixlein, at this astonishment over thy today's
_Ovation_, which is leading on to-morrow's _Triumph_; on thy dissolving
countenance quivers happy Self, feeding on these incense-fumes; but a
vanity like thine, and that only, which enjoys without comparing or
despising, can one tolerate, will one foster. But what flowed over all
his heart, like a melting sunbeam over wax, was his mother, who after
much persuasion had ventured in her Sunday's clothes humbly to place
herself quite low down, beside the door of the Prima class-room. It
were difficult to say who is happier, the mother, beholding how he whom
she has borne under her heart can direct such noble young gentlemen,
and hearing how he along with them can talk of these really high things
and understand them too;--or the son, who, like some of the heroes of
Antiquity, has the felicity of triumphing in the lifetime of his
mother. I have never in my writings or doings cast a stone upon the
late Burchardt Grossmann, who, under the initial letters of the stanzas
in his song "_Brich an, du liebe Morgenröthe_," inserted the letters of
his own name; and still less have I ever censured any poor herb-woman
for smoothing out her winding-sheet, while still living, and making
herself one twelfth of a dozen of grave-shifts. Nor do I regard the man
as wise--though indeed as very clever and pedantic--who can fret his
gall-bladder full because every one of us leaf-miners views the leaf
whereon he is mining as a park-garden, as a fifth Quarter of the World
(so near and rich is it); the leaf-pores as so many Valleys of Tempe,
the leaf-skeleton as a Liberty-tree, a Bread-tree, and Life-tree, and
the dewdrops as the Ocean. We poor day-moths, evening-moths, and
night-moths fall universally into the same error, only on different
leaves; and whosoever (as I do) laughs at the important airs with which
the schoolmaster issues his programmes, the dramaturgist his playbills,
the classical variation-alms-gatherer his alphabetic letters,--does it,
if he is wise (as is the case here), with the consciousness of his own
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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