Page:Edward Prime-Stevenson - The Intersexes.djvu/331

 Fridolin stopped. All at once he thought again of Fraüiein Ottilie. But what a transformation had come to him! The thought of Ottilie now gave him no pain! He was himself again—the bachelor Fridolin, who neither should nor would marry. He was no longer the handsome "Count Egmont" type of man, sighing for a girl, but the "Professor Socrates" individuality, whose whole being could sink only into the soul of some youth. He collected himself, and thensmiled. For, it seemed to him that Nature, behind her veil, bent her calm eyes on him, and whispered, "See, my son! So do I sport with thee! So do I tempt thee back again, from the girl to the boy—and therewith do I lead thee back to thyself, and rocking thy spirit thus to and fro, so do I hold thee fast in a compact between thyself and thyself, as—Two. What wouldst thou from Ottilie? Here she stands, in another shape! Look on this gentle-natured, innocent youth here!—beautiful and noble-natured as thyself, Vivify his soul, educate it, All it, win it for thyself—why, it is indeed already thine! Was Socrates happy with Xantippe? No! Good, noble youths, to whom to be teacher, master, father, friend—there was his joy. And that is thine. It faces thee here again. Fulfil thy vocation!"

"The wine is capital. Herr Professor," said young Ferdinand gently, breaking the deep silence between them, but you are not drinking any of it."

Professor Fridolin came to outward things of life again: then he fixed his pleesant, gentle eyes on the boy—"You have called me "Herr Professor" for the first time. Be it the last, Ferdinand—for it sounds to me too unnatural—too inhuman—from your lips. "Herr Professor" indeed! How fortunate were those old 'Greeks who knew no use of titles!—who were just man and man, when together. Ah, call me from this moment "Fridolin"—and nothing else! All my young friends call me so—and I regard you already as my friend! Speak to me so, I pray you! Only as "Fridolin."

"Fridolin" cried young Ferdinand springing up in his exciteent, "what kind of mortal being are you? Can it be possible—ah, if it only were possible!—that you could ever really—care for me?"

Whereupon the two new Mends, in this hellenic mood, throw themselves into one another's arms—as master and pupil, friend and lover, the older spirit and the younger mutually seeking and surrendering. The episode, like all the story, is of charming psychologic vivacity and grace.