way, when it gradually dawned upon me that the
"natural music," coming from the philosopher's bench had lost its
original character and travelled to us in much more piercing and
distinct tones than before. Suddenly I became aware that I was
listening, that I was eavesdropping, and was passionately interested,
with both ears keenly alive to every sound. I nudged my friend who was
evidently somewhat tired, and I whispered: "Don't fall asleep! There
is something for us to learn over there. It applies to us, even
though it be not meant for us."

For instance, I heard the younger of the two men defending himself
with great animation while the philosopher rebuked him with ever
increasing vehemence. "You are unchanged," he cried to him,
"unfortunately unchanged. It is quite incomprehensible to me how you
can still be the same as you were seven years ago, when I saw you for
the last time and left you with so much misgiving. I fear I must once
again divest you, however reluctantly, of the skin of modern culture
which you have donned meanwhile;--and what do I find beneath it? The
same immutable 'intelligible' character forsooth, according to Kant;
but unfortunately the same unchanged 'intellectual' character,
too--which may also be a necessity, though not a comforting one. I ask
myself to what purpose have I lived as a philosopher, if, possessed as
you are of no mean intelligence and a genuine thirst for knowledge,
all the years you have spent in my company have left no deeper
impression upon you. At present you are behaving as if you had not
even heard the cardinal principle of all culture, which I went to such
pains to inculcate upon you during our former intimacy. Tell me,--what
was that principle?"

"I remember," replied the scolded pupil, "you used to say no one would
strive to attain to culture if he knew how incredibly small the number
of really cultured people actually is, and can ever be. And even this
number of really cultured people would not be possible if a prodigious
multitude, from reasons opposed to their nature and only led on by an
alluring delusion, did not devote themselves to education. It were
therefore a mistake publicly to reveal the ridiculous disproportion
between the number of really cultured people and the enormous
magnitude of the educational apparatus. Here lies the whole secret of
culture--namely, that an innumerable host of men struggle to achieve
it and work hard to that end, ostensibly in their