ose in which Ruediger, the
geometrician, who had always been an ardent champion of Feuerbach, took
the artist's part. It finally reached the point where Ruediger left the
city, swearing he would never return. His daughters had all three loved
Feuerbach from the time he lived in their father's house.

"As a matter of fact, if there ever was an amiable artist," Benda said
in conclusion, "it was Anselm Feuerbach. Would you like to see him?
Come, then."

They were near the Cemetery of St. John. The gate was open, and Daniel
followed Benda. They walked along a narrow path, until Benda pointed to
a flat stone bearing the name of Albrecht Duerer. After this they came to
Feuerbach's grave. A bronze tablet, already quite darkened with age and
weather, bore Feuerbach's face in profile. Beneath it lay a laurel
wreath, the withered leaves of which were fluttering in the wind.

"What a life he lived!" said Benda in a low tone. "And what a death he
died! The death of a hunted dog!"

As they walked back to the city, night came on. Daniel had removed his
hat, and was walking along at Benda's side looking straight ahead. Benda
was as nervous as he had ever been in his life.

"A German life, and a German death," he exclaimed. "He stretched out his
hand to give, and the people spat in it. He gives and gives and gives,
and they take and take and take, without gratitude, yea, rather with,
scorn. The only thing they study is their consanguinity table. They make
the microscope and the catechism copulate; their philosophy and their
police systems live in _mesalliance_. Good demeanour they know not; of
human agreements they have never heard. They decide to do something, and
they do it. That is all. There is no longer a place for me in Germany. I
am leaving."

"You are going to leave? Where are you going?" asked Daniel, in faithful
amazement. Benda bit his lips, and was silent.

"Do you see these big white spots here? They have neither mountains nor
rivers on them. Those are places that have never been trod upon by
European feet. There is where I am going." He smiled a gentle smile.

"Really? When?" asked Daniel, filled with dismay at the thought of
losing his friend.

"I have not decided when, but it will be soon. I have work to do over
there. I need air, room, sky, the free animal and the free plant."

Benda's mother came in. She was rather tall, walked with the
difficulties of age, had sharp features and deep-set eyes.

She looke