Chapter 128: Christian Gottlob Heyne

That afternoon, Francisco and his grandfather walked toward the library where Christian usually spent his free time. When they reached the entrance, one of the librarians stepped in front of them.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked.

Johann replied in his loud, booming voice, “We’re looking for Christian. Do you know where he is?”

The librarian frowned. “Sorry, sir… are you referring to our director?”

Johann frowned back. “Yes, that guy. Do you know where he is?”

“Do you have an appointment with him? Our director is very busy and doesn’t have much time to receive visitors.”

Clearly displeased, Johann said, “Tell him Johann Krugger is here to see him—and that he owes me a favor.”

The librarian narrowed his eyes but still nodded. It was better not to provoke this burly man, who was obviously a soldier. He went off to look for Christian.

Francisco stared at his grandfather, a little speechless. “Grandpa… even if he’s your friend, you shouldn’t call him by his name without his title. That librarian clearly felt disrespected. It’s better to show some respect.”

Johann shrugged. “The man owes me his life. I have the right to call him however I want.”

Francisco shook his head. “But they don’t know that. To them, the director is a legend—someone who brought the Enlightenment to Germany with his own hands.” Francisco pointed discreetly at the other librarians, who were glaring at Johann. “Let’s put it differently: how would you have felt during your years serving Frederick the Great if someone walked in and said he was looking for ’that guy Frederick’?”

Johann frowned. “I would’ve kicked his ass and sent him to meet his ancestors.”His sudden hostility washed over the room, making the librarians look away quickly. As a seasoned soldier, Johann’s bloodlust was hard to ignore.

Francisco, slightly startled, still continued, “That’s exactly why they’re looking at you like that. For them, Director Christian is the equivalent of His Majesty Frederick the Great for you.”

Johann nodded slowly in understanding.

A calm voice sounded behind them.

“You’re a clever young man. I’m sure you’ll be a valuable addition to my rhetoric class.”

Christian had appeared at some point, observing them with an appreciative look before turning to Johann.

“And you should learn a thing or two from this boy I assume is your grandson.”

Johann grinned. “Christian—”Every librarian shot him a hostile look. Johann awkwardly cleared his throat.”Director Christian.”

Christian nodded and smiled. “Come, follow me. I’m working through the new books that arrived for the library.”

Francisco and Johann followed Director Christian inside, both taking in the surroundings. The library was far larger than Francisco had imagined; the last time he’d only managed a quick glance through the doorway. Now that he was inside, the scale impressed him.

When they reached the archives section, a civilian who seemed to be acting as a guard stood by the door, watching everyone with suspicious eyes. As soon as Christian approached, the man stood up respectfully.

“Director Christian—so soon?”

Christian gave him a friendly nod. “That’s right. These two here are Johann Krugger—you may have heard of him, he has a bit of a reputation in the Prussian army—and the boy is Francisco, his grandson and a future student of the university.”

The guard looked at both of them with a scrutinizing expression before nodding. “Do they need temporary permission to enter the archives?”

Christian nodded. “Yes. It seems my old friend came here to ask me for a favor, so he’ll probably be staying for a while.”

The man wrote something down on a sheet of paper and slid it forward. “Please sign here.”

Francisco nodded, took the quill, and wrote his signature neatly. He then handed the quill to his grandfather, who took it and scrawled his name in a simple, rough script—no signature flourish at all.

Seeing this, Christian chuckled. “It seems you never learned penmanship after all these years, eh?”

Johann shrugged. “You know me. I don’t care about fancy things. Only the battlefield is worthy of my efforts.”

Christian sighed, though not without affection. “I know your knowledge of military strategy is formidable… but if you’d learned a few more things, perhaps His Majesty Frederick would have granted you a noble title.”

Johann said, “At the time, I didn’t care. My wife and daughter were presumed dead, and out of respect for her, I never remarried. Without sons, I had no reason to accept such a title. His Majesty did offer me one—but I refused.”

Christian exhaled softly. “Perhaps it was fate. In the end, you found a grandson.”

Johann nodded, but neither of them noticed that Francisco had grown distracted. A parchment nearby had caught his eye. On it, written in large, careful letters, was a sentence that read

“Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem!””Hoc Ithacus velit, et magno mercentur Atridae.””Tu quoque litoribus nostris, Aenea, nutricas,””Et nostros nescis honores perferre dolores.””Mene incepto desistere victam?”

Francisco repeated the lines softly, then translated them under his breath:”Esto querría el de Ítaca (Ulises), y los Atridas (Agamenón y Menelao) lo comprarían caro… Tú también, en nuestras costas, Eneas, te nutres, y no sabes soportar los dolores por nuestros honores. ¿Yo, vencida, desistir de mi propósito?”

He didn’t understand much about poetry—only the little taught in church lessons—but the verses sounded compelling. Christian, who had noticed Francisco lingering over the parchment, walked closer. When he heard the translation, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You know Latin? That’s rare these days,” Christian remarked.

Francisco nodded. “In Spain it’s pretty common for the upper classes—merchants and bureaucrats alike—to learn Latin. I was taught by a priest since I was young. But it was always centered on the Bible. This is the first time I’ve seen something more… secular.”

Christian nodded, intrigued. “What do you think of this poem?”

Francisco shrugged. “It sounds impressive, but I never learned much about poetry. I don’t really understand it.”

Christian accepted that with a thoughtful nod. “The official interpretation is that Virgil wrote this to convey the greatness of Rome and the effort required to build the Roman people. Look here—Romanam condere gentem—it highlights the sacrifice behind Rome’s foundation. And Hoc Ithacus velit mocks the Greeks, comparing the fall of Troy to the impossibility of destroying this new Troy—Rome. The last lines belong to Juno, showing her determination regarding Rome’s destiny.”

Francisco looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t understand how you can pull so much meaning out of a handful of lines. It’s amazing. But… you said that’s the official reading. Is there another?”

Christian smiled. “There is. My own. You see, in Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem! the phrase is assigned to Juno, yes—but Virgil deliberately chose molis, a word that conveys physical and moral weight. He’s telling us that Rome was not a fortunate accident—it was a heavy, tragic inevitability that demanded suffering. For Virgil, suffering isn’t disgraceful—it’s the price of glory.”

He pointed again at the verses.

“And as for Juno—she is not frustrated, she is wounded in her pride. She compares her divine struggle to the efforts of a mortal, Ulysses. This is ancient religious psychology. To understand a myth, we can’t judge Juno through Christian morality. For the Romans, the gods were embodiments of human passions. Her jealousy is as real—and as sharp—as the steel of a sword.”

Francisco looked at him in awe. “So for them the gods weren’t perfect, omnipotent, omniscient beings, but more like… representations of human desires?”

Christian nodded, pleased. “Exactly. You’re quite perceptive. My work here is to understand the mentality of those who came before us—and to reinterpret their world through a more secular lens.”

Behind them, Johann coughed loudly. “Can you two discuss this later? Listening to you talk gives me a headache.”

Francisco and Christian exchanged a chuckle and nodded. Christian then picked up a cup of tea and asked, “Very well. Tell me, Johann—what brings you here?”

Johann sat down, took a sip of the tea, and immediately frowned. “Why do you drink this flavored water? I’ll never understand.”

Francisco tried the tea as well, and his eyes lit up. “It’s not bad at all.”

Christian chuckled. “It’s good for the mind. Helps keep it sharp. Even the nobility drink it these days.”

Johann waved a hand. “I still don’t get it. Anyway—let me tell you why I’m here. As you know, my grandson will enter the university next year. But he’s a bit too excited about the books in this library, and it seems he can’t enter until he’s officially registered, unless a director grants him permission. So I was hoping you could give him access.”

Christian took another thoughtful sip. “So he wants access to the library? I’d be happy to help. In fact, I’m conducting some research on Virgil and his poetry, and I need people who know Latin. In exchange, he can work under me for these months.”

Johann shrugged and looked at Francisco. “That depends on him.”

Francisco nodded without hesitation. “I’d be glad to help. I’m actually interested. Most of the poetry I was exposed to as a child was religious. I’ve never had access to poems from ancient civilizations.”

Christian smiled, satisfied. “Very well. You can start tomorrow. But let me be clear—I’m extremely demanding when it comes to scholarship. I won’t give you any slack.”

“Don’t worry,” Francisco said. “I understand how lucky I am to learn from you, sir.”

Christian nodded in approval, then shifted his attention to Johann, chatting briefly before standing up. “I still have work to do, old friend. I’m afraid I must return to it. Later today or tomorrow, I’ll send an apprentice with a letter that will grant Francisco his access for tomorrow morning.”

Johann stood and embraced Christian in a firm, friendly hug. Then he and Francisco stepped outside into the cool afternoon air.

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