It was as though he had in view a coming reckoning--his
reckoning with something far out in eternity--and he must see to it that
when that time came he could feel free--free.
On Sunday mornings, when the church bells began to ring, he would
turn hastily to his books, as if to find peace in them.
Knowledge--knowledge--could it stay his hunger for the music of the
hymn? When he had first started work at the shops, he had often and
often stood wide-eyed before some miracle--now he was gathering the
power to work miracles himself. And so he read and read, and drank in
all that he could draw from teacher or book, and thought and thought
things out for himself. Fixed lessons and set tasks were all well
enough, but Peer was for ever looking farther; for him there were
questions and more questions, riddles and new riddles--always new,
always farther and farther on, towards the unknown. He had made as yet
but one step forward in physics, mathematics, chemistry; he divined that
there were worlds still before him, and he must hasten on, on, on. Would
the day ever come when he should reach the end? What is knowledge? What
use do men make of all that they have learned? Look at the teachers, who
knew so much--were they greater, richer, brighter beings than the rest?
Could much study bring a man so far that some night he could lift up a
finger and make the stars themselves break into song? Best drive ahead,
at any rate. But, again, could knowledge lead on to that ecstasy of the
Sunday psalm, that makes all riddles clear, that bears a man upwards
in nameless happiness, in which his soul expands till it can enfold the
infinite spaces? Well, at any rate the best thing was to drive ahead,
drive ahead both early and late.
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