This natural, childlike old man never lectured; he was only a pedagogue in the sense of the ancients—­that is, a guide of boys.  Though precepts tinctured by philosophy mingled with his teachings, they only served as points of departure for statements which came to him from the soul and found their way to it.

He possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the religions of all nations, and described each with equal love and an endeavour to show us all their merits.  I remember how warmly he praised Confucius’s command not to love our fellow-men but to respect them, and how sensible and beautiful it seemed to me, too, in those days.  He lingered longest on Buddhism; and it surprises me now to discover how well, with the aids then at his command, he understood the touching charity of Buddha and the deep wisdom and grandeur of his doctrine.

But he showed us the other religions mainly to place Christianity and its renewing and redeeming power in a brighter light.  The former served, as it were, for a foil to the picture of our Saviour’s religion and character, which he desired to imprint upon the soul.  Whether he succeeded in bringing us into complete “unity” with the personality of Christ, to which he stood in such close relations, is doubtful, but he certainly taught us to understand and love him; and this love, though I have also listened to the views of those who attribute the creation and life of the world to mechanical causes, and believe the Deity to be a product of the human intellect, has never grown cold up to the present day.

The code of ethics which Middendorf taught was very simple.  His motto, as I have said, was, “True, pure, and upright in life.”  He might have added, “and with a heart full of love”; for this was what distinguished him from so many, what made him a Christian in the most beautiful sense of the word, and he neglected nothing to render our young hearts an abiding-place for this love.

Of course, our mother came to attend our confirmation, which first took place with the peasant boys—­who all wore sprigs of lavender in their button-holes—­in the village church at Eichfeld, and then, with Middendorf officiating, in the hall of the institute at Keilhau.

Few boys ever approached the communion-table for the first time in a more devout mood, or with hearts more open to all good things, than did we two brothers that day on our mother’s right and left hand.

No matter how much I may have erred, Middendorf’s teachings and counsels have not been wholly lost in any stage of my career.

After the confirmation I went away with my mother and Ludo for the vacation, and three weeks later I returned to the institute without my brother.

I missed him everywhere.  His greater discretion had kept me from many a folly, and my need of loving some one found satisfaction in him.  Besides, his mere presence was a perpetual reminder of my mother.

Keilhau was no longer what it had been.  New scenes always seem desirable to young people, and for the first time I longed to go away, though I knew nothing of my destination except that it would be a gymnasium.