On this final evening of the Rose-Festival, all the guests were assembled on the platform, the host in their midst. It had been determined that on this last evening there should be no long addresses by individual speakers, but that all the members of the Rose Order, whether their voices had been heard during any of the sessions or not, should make brief speeches to the audience: speeches in which, if possible, by a few short sentences, each individual should declare what was his loftiest aim in life and what he would most of all wish to have carried away as a message to his fellow-men from that far-sounding tribune. John Toker announced his programme to the public and added:—

“We regard this last evening of ours as a special opportunity for us to communicate with the outside world and to grasp in compact form the things that have been revealed to us during this Rose-Week.

“I will use this opportunity to comment on what we heard yesterday from the mouth of my young fellow-countryman. He spread out before us a whole cargo of precious gifts; he handed us a gigantic ingot of gold and said: ‘Go hence and coin it.’

“Now the question arises: ‘How?’ Above all, a new valuation is required for the new coins which are to be minted. The whole system, the whole principle on which the social life of the present time is built up, must be invalidated so as to give place to another system, another principle. Economical and political intercourse of men with one another at the present time still rest on robbery, imposture, fraud, distrust, unscrupulous extermination of competitors, and all this supported by the spirit of envy, which runs through the whole gamut from ill will to hatred. And do you know what we need in order to coin the new currency?—the spirit of good will. And that is certain to come. It will not create the new social intercourse, but it will grow out of the soil of the changed circumstances, as ill will flourishes in the morass of to-day.

“Inestimable is what has been given to mankind by the unlimited control of the powers of nature, creating wealth and labor; all the forces which may be spent in doing mutual harm, in mutual attack and defense, in deceiving, in betraying, in robbing, in destroying one another—all these forces are now to be free for the common task of coining that ingot of gold into current coin.

“It will be no small trouble, no brief work, to reorganize the world on this quite changed principle. Stupidity, routine, and malignity will resist for a long time; but just as radium can annihilate microbes, so will the radiant element of the human spirit, aroused to comprehension, annihilate the microbes of malignity. We shall become healthy, physically and spiritually.

“I am glad that the awakening call, the shout of the herald, rings forth from here. The tidings of triumph are to sound back from the victorious van; a vast new country is ours; we must make it fertile; let us take possession!

“But to do so, the old methods and the old utensils are useless; we must first train the whole race till it is fit for its new destiny. Practical work must be expanded in this direction. May all those to whom our summons comes, clearly ringing, gird their loins to take hold of this work! Domestic colonization, garden-cities, hygiene along the whole line, extermination of the last vestige of illiteracy. And then, high schools will be established for the nurture of High Thinking and world-journals will be founded for its propaganda. And temples will be built dedicated to the cult of good will.

“The problem must be worked out intensively, strenuously. It is not sufficient that from here and there more ideas fly forth; ideas are all right, for they are the seed from which things spring—but actually, what now opens up before us consists already in things, and they demand to be executed: above all, they want to be grasped. I intend to seize upon them: as soon as I reach home, I intend to take measures to found the free academy of High Thinking. May this become the mint which my young friend requires for the store of gold which he displayed before our eyes.

“And now shall the knights of my Wartburg have their chance to speak. Let Wolfram von Eschenbach begin—I mean you, Mr. Helmer.”

Chlodwig stepped forward:—

“I should like once more to sum up in a single sentence—if possible in a single word—the substance of my whole poetic dream, of my whole vision of the future. But here I find an obstacle in the limitations of language, for it has as yet no words for the coming things that now only project their shadows and are attainable only by longing and by forebodings. The word always comes into existence after the thing. The thing follows the conception, and this in turn is followed by the expression. For example—first there had to be a knight and the especial nature of his bearing and of his sentiments had to be conceived before the term ‘knightly’ was adopted.

“And thus before my vision stands the coming man—the man of the heights—der HÖhenmensch—whose qualities correspond to the magnificent achievements which literally lift him above the clouds. What will be his characteristic quality? The term for it does not as yet exist. For it will not concern any peculiar quality already known to us, but rather a combination of qualities to which will be added possibly one never before discovered: the new combination will grow into a concept and the concept will be grasped in one word—a word which will be as current among our descendants and as clear to them as the word ‘knightly’ is to us. I recently spoke of ‘goodness.’ This word, as it is used among us, is far from expressing what my mind conceives of it. It is as yet, too, incomposite. I should want to command a term in which, besides ‘goodness,’ much else would be understood—distinction, gentleness, courage, good will, force, magnanimity—all in combination; and, moreover, that soul-material which will come into activity by the new impulses of the Age of Flying—this is to be the characteristic quality of the ideal man of the future, but what its name will be, that we do not know.

“How the ideals of spiritual greatness change may be seen in a single example: Vico, the founder of the philosophy of history, who wrote at the end of the seventeenth century,—hence not so very long ago,—thus described the heroes: ‘They were to the highest degree rough, wild, limited in intelligence, but possessing enormous power of imagination and the liveliest passionateness; as a consequence of these qualities they had to be barbarous, cruel, wild, proud, difficult to deal with.’

“That was the picture of hero-greatness which awakened the admiration of earlier times. This admiration has not entirely died out, but it is fading away, sinking out of sight, slowly changing into detestation. Much that is barbarous still lives amongst us, but we try to deny it. The word ‘barbarous’ has become a term of reproach. The man who knows no pity does not seem to us worthy of regard; the wider the range of his commiseration, the nobler is his heart. The good will of a noble soul extends even to the dumb creation. He who cannot love a good, faithful dog is not a worthy man, and whoever is cruel to an animal—how can I express my detestation of him?—well, I will quote Hermann Bahr—‘Such a person, whoever he be, I cannot regard as my kind.’ In the third ‘Kingdom’ to which our aspirations are soaring, there is no room for barbarism.

“And now, if as our host desires, I must sum up in one phrase all that I have brought to you here, then I say:—There is no High Thinking without likewise Kind Thinking.”

“The man has a touch of the feminine in his make-up,” remarked some one in the audience, disapprovingly.

The next speaker was Franka Garlett. With a smiling face, betraying the gleam of her new happiness, she stepped forward: “You young girls, listen to me!” she began. “You must not be alarmed, because I repeat my appeal to you, that I am going to repeat my entire address. No, I am not going even to make a resumÉ of it, but I am going to say something which will interest all girls, all, all! There is a magic word which will not find one of you indifferent: if it is spoken you must listen—joyfully or woefully, with curiosity or with yearning, but never with indifference... and yet it is something quite simple, quite commonplace. Truly, the one whom it concerns will find it unique, will find it all-important, something world-convulsing—that world which is our own little Ego. This thing has happened to me this morning—and I cannot help myself—it fills me so—I must tell you, ye sisters of mine:—I am betrothed.”

A flutter went through the hall. Among the inarticulate words also rang out distinctly, “Congratulations!” and the question—“To whom?”

Franka’s face grew still more animated: “Thanks for the congratulations, and, if I heard correctly, some one asked ‘To whom?’—a quite justifiable curiosity: in such family chronicles we must find names. My chosen husband is the poet of ‘Schwingen’—Chlodwig Helmer. And since he, as he told you a moment ago, has a kind feeling for every worthy little beastie, he will assuredly be kind to me.”

The speaker’s gayety communicated itself to the audience, and a wave of laughter swept over the hall. But now her features took on a serious expression and in altered voice she went on:—“But here another question demands to be answered: How is it that I venture to speak of my own little private affairs from this tribune where such lofty problems have been treated and when a whole world is listening to me? I justify myself thus: On this tribune I have advised the young persons of my own sex to use their brains, to learn, to see clearly in scientific, social, and political matters; even to take part in public affairs, and this has certainly awakened in many minds the notion that woman, in doing so, would suffer a loss in her affections and in her family relations; that those young girls who might devote themselves to studies and callings hitherto reserved for men alone, might be lost for love and domestic happiness. On this very spot from which I have disseminated my teachings, and before the very same listening world-audience, I now come forward to combat that erroneous notion; not in words, but as a living witness. The doctrine that ‘You are in the world to share in all thought’ cannot be so very perilous since the exponent of it stands here, happily betrothed.”

She bowed and went back to her seat, heartily cheered by the audience.

Now, one after the other, brief parting farewell addresses were made and each speaker gave pregnant expression to his favorite and leading thought. All these thoughts, without exception, were turned by different ways in the one direction: Excelsior!

Then Toker announced that he would speak the final word, but first they would enjoy the usual intermission. This was employed by the speakers and the audience in unrestrained social intercourse. Here are a few snatches of conversation:—

Bruning, hurrying up to Helmer:—“Most heartfelt and respectful congratulations, my young genius! My old dream and good advice are fulfilled. You have won her—the pretty heiress; you snatched her away just in time from the prince who was so madly in love with her! Superb!”

“I shall have to withdraw my friendship from you, Franz! You have a trick of blighting everything in bloom.”

“And you of talking in exalted figures. We shall not let our twenty-years-old good-fellowship drop for that! There have to be different kinds of owls!”

In a group of politicians:—

A. “Don’t you find that there is a little too much preaching of morality to us during this Rose-Week? Of course we know that the destinies of the nations are not fulfilled in accordance with moral laws, that they are not conducted by ethical impulses, but that they obey economical necessities.”

B. “Economical necessities? Yes, but not wholly so. One is usually mistaken if one tries to reduce complicated phenomena to one single factor. For instance: Did the crusades take place because of economic causes?”

C. “I should like to make one observation. Morality is nothing else than the result of the recognized conditions of collective life. When two or more are dependent on one another, then the conduct which promotes their welfare is elevated to the rank of a moral rule, and whatever impedes it is proscribed as immoral. The nations have treated one another unlovingly and immorally, because they have as yet no realization of their interdependence. Have you, for instance, ever entered into any ethical relationship with the inhabitants of Mars?”

In the corner where the two Russian widows were sitting with their suitors, the marchese whispering in his soft fervid Italian:—

“Annette, gracious lady, what have you done to me? The blood is storming through my veins as if I were a boy. I quite forget my advancing years. You can make me forget everything.... I could even renounce my ambition in order to give myself up forever to the sweet intoxication which I find in your eyes. But no, just for your sake I will get as much glory as I possibly can.... The man who is to be worthy of you must be like the sun in the radiance of his glorious power, the head that rests in your lap must be crowned with laurel. You, madonna, must be surrounded with splendor, you must be raised to the highest rank so that all may look up to you in worship and envy. A world must tremble before the man who trembles before you.... There is no price which I would not pay, no deed that I would not venture, no multitude that I would not sacrifice relentlessly, merely to place one more pearl in your diadem, Monna Anna.”

The little Baltic widow quivered under this avalanche of sweet-brutal cinquecento phrases.

Baron Gaston de la RochÈre came up and joined the group, putting an end to this sentimental cooing:—

“I have just arrived. Am I very late? I don’t understand the English and German speeches and the French guests present are distasteful to me. But I came to look you up, for I must share my happiness with you. I have just received by the evening mail some wonderful news from Paris. Just imagine: things are coming to a climax. The Ministry—that bunch of heretics—has fallen. Perhaps God will take his France under his protection again. The situation is so threatening that external or domestic war may break out any minute, and this is the favorable moment to proclaim royalty. My friends write me that everything is all ready, that even a part of the garrison is won over to swear fealty to the standard of the king—in short, great events are impending. The genius of my glorious country has awakened once more. Of course, you already know all about these circumstances, Marchese di Rinotti?”

“Of course, I know what is taking place and what is proposed; but weeks must elapse before anything decisive can come about. The men in charge must reckon with the resistance of the democratic parties.”

“But the men in charge will act with vigor, Marchese.”

“Well, I hope so, Baron.”

“Oh, gentlemen,” said Vera Petrovna, beseechingly; “don’t be tedious; pray don’t talk politics.”

Malhof accosted Franka and Helmer, who, arm in arm, were promenading up and down the corridors. “Am I interrupting the gushing fountains of love? You will have all your lives for that, and I must express my surprise and delight. I am, indeed, a very old friend and admirer of your betrothed, dear Helmer, and I have always desired her happiness.... How unexpectedly this came upon us! Yesterday evening, while they were manipulating with radium on the platform, we three sat so cozily together, and I had not the slightest idea of your being a bridal pair. You played your cards mighty well, you young people!”

“Neither did we have the slightest idea,” protested the two in absolute sincerity.

After the half-hour’s intermission, Toker again mounted the platform—quite alone; his guests remaining below in the hall.

“It is my privilege,” he began, “to utter the last word in conclusion of this our Rose-Week. I feel myself compelled to express before the whole world my deepest thanks to the illustrious contemporaries who have come at my call. And I must also thank you, my honored audience, for the lively interest and the sympathetic reception which you have accorded our offerings.

“But let us end our coÖperation not with a discourse, but rather with a deed. You all know that a war-cloud pregnant with storm is rising on the horizon. We must not allow this well-worn metaphor to strengthen the current impression that we have to deal with anything elementary; we have to deal with human intentions, with the direction of human wills. These can be paralyzed by counter-intentions, by the putting forth of still stronger wills. Such an exercise of will-power has been created in our circle: in order to make it efficient, we must use the apparatus of wide publicity which is here at our service. Two statesmen, of uncontested reputation in their service for promoting the organization of peace in the Old World and the New, have drawn up a manifesto, protesting against the letting loose of the war-demon which is planned in various quarters, and at the same time pointing out the way in which the conflict may be solved in an amicable manner. This manifesto has been signed by the entire membership of the Rose Order, and at this moment is being telegraphed to all regions of the world. If the masses agree to it, it can grow into a hurricane of public opinion. I am not going to delay you by reading the message, the paper which will now be distributed through the hall contains its text. I also refrain from any explanations; neither shall I ask you to vote. Only this I will say: If this wish, this command, this storm-cry which goes forth from here is obeyed, that is to say, if the approaching contest is submitted to arbitration, and if the decision by force is given up, though, indeed, this may not prevent the recurrence of dangers in the future, and not as yet introduce a new political order—still, time will be gained. And that is the main thing in this crisis. For in order to appreciate and to apply the new treasures which of late have been won from nature, in order to cultivate the lofty thoughts to which the human mind has already begun to attain in its flights, and in order to transform in accordance with these thoughts the intercourse, the laws, the opinions of men, in a word, the whole social life, time is above all required. A time of peaceful, quiet development. If now a world-conflagration should break out, the development would be not only delayed, but would be set back enormously—instead of a lofty flight, we should have a terrible fall! Once more a bed for the stream of hatred and horror and destruction would be excavated, and this flood might carry away with it all that has been so painfully constructed.

“One can formulate an idea of the consequences of such a conflagration by hearing what H. G. Wells tells us in his ‘War in the Air.’ ‘Oh, a piece of fiction, a romance of the future!’ Granted, it will all come out differently. No one can take account of all the millions of interweaving threads out of which the web of the future may be woven. But the poet and the thinker, if he creates such pictures, does not at all pretend prophecy. He does not predict that it will come in this way or that: he only shows how under given conditions things must come, if this way or that is chosen.

“So, then, we want to gain time!—time for the building-up of future happiness, time to rescue men from the woe that threatens. Indeed, the majority will not listen to the warning, the chiding, the aid-promising voices... these annoying calls only disturb them in their pursuits of business, work, pleasure.... ‘Why don’t the birds of evil omen leave us alone—let things take their course—what comes must come—merely let every one see to it that he does his work where Fate puts him’... this is about the way in which the passive resistance expresses itself; a resistance against which all those who speak the warning words constantly stumble. But they are not to be frightened away; they cannot help themselves, they must speak.

“I will use a parable:—

“Let us imagine we are on a noble ship bound for the promised land. The journey is long. There is much work and much amusement on board of the ship. It must be steered and must be maneuvered; much promenading and flirting and reading and feasting are carried on; all are busy and each one thinks his work or his pleasures highly important.

“But the ship springs a leak. If help is not afforded, the proud vessel must sink.

“It would not be difficult to get help. But the people refuse to see the leak. Is it not natural that those who do see it should not weary in calling for help? Is it not the height of unreason that the others should leave the leak unheeded, so that they may not be disturbed in their customary pursuits, and that they should zealously devote themselves to steering and clearing the ship instead of trying first of all to save it from sinking?

“Our civilization is such a ship, my honored fellow-passengers. Its engines are working better all the time, its flags are flying ever more triumphantly, swelling out with lofty thoughts. But it has a leak—namely, the time antiquate rÉgime of force: through this rent annihilating floods pour in and threaten to draw it into the deep! Therefore, every man on board and all hands to the repair of the damage!

“And when that has been accomplished—and it shall be accomplished!—then onward, and ‘happy voyage!’”