ke the world no happier, and only render the
individual wretched. The only pure and noble calling left for such a
superfluous mortal as myself to choose, is _pure envy_. In that I have
hitherto made considerable progress, and, as I said before, I expect to
attain in it a tolerable degree of eminence."

"Upon my word," laughed Edwin, "this is a novel way of attaining
happiness."

"Don't laugh, wiseacre," sighed Mohr, impressively. "You see, my child,
everybody in this miserable world, which all about us is so unfinished
and incomplete, is endeavoring to the best of his ability, at least to
perfect his own perishable self. The really gifted individuals have a
surplus, from which they impart a portion to others, and thereby help
them to patch up their poverty, and perhaps even scantily to complete
themselves. I, for my part, can only obtain repose when I fervently
envy every thing that is great, entire, exuberant. Through this envy I
shall become, in a certain sense, allied to it; for if I appreciated,
tasted, felt, and deserved to possess no portion, how could I envy it?
Only those things that are somewhat homogenous attract each other. And
when I have sat during an entire morning, thoroughly permeated with the
sense of my own insignificance, sincerely envying a Shakespeare, a
Goethe, or a Mozart, have I not fulfilled the purpose of my life better
than if I had spent the same time in composing a poor tragedy, some
wretched love-songs, or a mediocre sonata?"

He went to the window and gazed at the top of the acacia-tree.

"You are right," said Balder's clear voice. "Only you ought not to give
the name of envy to what is really love, reverence, and the most
beautiful and unselfish enthusiasm."

"Balder has hit the nail on the head, as usual," said Edwin.

Mohr turned. The brothers noticed that he was winking rapidly, as if
desiring to make way with a suspicious moisture.

"It would be beautiful, if it were true," said he. "But this is only
the bright side of my virtuosoship; it has its shadows too, and they
grow broader than I like. I can see nothing that is complete and in
harmony with itself, without envy; no self-satisfied stupidity, no
broad-mouthed falsehood, no snobbish faces. And as if these worthies
had really no right to be happy, the demon of envy induces me to say
something cutting, merely to show them their own pitifulness. Thus in a
short time I had all my worthy fellow-citizens about my ears, and
where