“In face of all this, serious doubts arise in my mind.  Is it for me to speak with superciliousness and superiority of Paul, or to look down upon him?  I ask you, as I have been asking myself every day these three weeks—­is he not the wise man and I the fool?  He the useful member of society, and I the mere hanger-on?  His life the real, mine the shadow?  That he is happy I have already said; that I am not, I know.  His system therefore leads to peace and contentment, mine does not.  He has set a child into the world, and though, of course, he does not know what its ultimate fate will be, he sees for the present, as do I and everybody else who is not blind, that it fills his home with sunshine and warmth.  He provides hundreds with their daily bread.  That is, I know, of no moment to the universe; it is of very little importance whether a few more obstruse human creatures walk the face of the earth or not.  But meanwhile, the creatures in question enjoy more agreeable sensations, if, thanks to Paul’s exertions, they have a comfortably spread table every day.  I cannot boast of any such achievements.  The only good I ever did my fellow-men did not proceed from me but from our friend Dorfling, who simply used my hand as an instrument for carrying out his charitable designs.  My personal compassion, my love for my companions in ignorance and suffering bears no fruit, benefits no one, and it frequently seems to me that, if the truth were known, I am an egoist of the deepest dye.

“If I could at least act consistently with the philosophy which directs nay views of life!  But I am not even capable of that.  Systematically, I concede no importance to outward forms.  Maja does not count me among her devotees.  What are houses?  What are the phantoms who inhabit them?  A transient semblance, a delusion of the senses!  And yet, I am conscious that I miss just those houses which happen to stand, in Berlin and that I feel an unspeakable longing for the phantom called Dr. Schrotter.  Once again it has been proved to me that I am an unconscious plaything in the hands of unknown powers, for again, as more than once in my life, and always at decisive moments, some outside agency has interfered in my fate, and disposed of me contrary to my own intentions, by sending me out of Berlin and away from you.  But, nevertheless, my appreciation of this fact does not give me the strength to accept the inevitable in silence and without repining.

“Enough—­I will not pain you.  Only this much I should like to add that life is really harder to bear than I had thought for.

“Farewell, dear and honored friend; remember me affectionately to Bhani, who, I trust, does not suffer too severely from this hard winter, and always believe in the faithful friendship and devotion of your

“Wilhelm Eynhardt.”

Three days later Wilhelm received the following answer from Schrotter: 

“Dearest friend:  Your long and welcome New Year’s letter troubled me much on account of the state of mind I see revealed in it.  I think, however, that it is explained by the fact of your being rooted up out of your accustomed surroundings that you are oppressed by Haber’s hospitality, and that you have as yet made no plans for the future, and I trust that your spirits will improve when these three circumstances are altered.