your vest, Melchior.
Ha!–How clothes make one puff up!
God knows, it's growing so dark that one can't see one's hand before one's eyes. Where are you?–Do you believe, Melchior, that the feeling of shame in man is only a product of his education?
I was thinking over that for the first time the day before yesterday. It seems to me deeply rooted in human nature. Only think, you must appear entirely clothed before your best friend. You wouldn't do so if he didn't do the same thing.–Therefore, it's more or less of a fashion.
I have often thought that if I have children, boys and girls, I will let them occupy the same room; let them sleep together in the same bed, if possible; let them help each other dress and undress night and morning. In hot weather, the boys as well as the girls, should wear nothing all day long but a short white woolen tunic with a girdle.–It seems to me that if they grew up that way they would be easier in mind than we are under the present regulations.
I believe so decidedly, Moritz!–The only question is, suppose the girls have children, what then?
How could they have children?
In that respect I believe in instinct. I believe, for example, that if one brought up a male and a female cat together, and kept both separated from the outside world–that is, left them entirely to their own devices–that, sooner or later, the she cat would become pregnant, even if she, and the tom cat as well, had nobody to open their eyes by example.
That might happen with animals–
I believe the same of human beings. I assure you, Moritz, if your boys sleep in the same bed with the girls, and the first emotion of manhood comes unexpectedly to them—I should like to wager with anyone–
You may be right—but after all–
And when your girls reached the same age it would be the same with them! Not that the girls exactly—one can't judge that the same, certainly—at any rate, it is supposable—and then their curiosity must not be left out of account.
A question, by the way–
Well?
But you will answer?
Naturally!
Truly?!
My hand on it.–Now, Moritz?
Have you written your composition yet??
Speak right out from your heart!–Nobody sees or hears us here.
Of course, my children will have to work all day long in yard or garden, or find their amusement in games which are combined with physical exercise. They must ride, do gymnastics, climb, and, above all things, must not sleep as soft as we do. We are weakened frightfully.–I believe one would not dream if one slept harder.
From now until fall I shall sleep only in my hammock. I have shoved my bed back of the stove. It is a folding one. Last winter I dreamed once that I flogged our Lolo until he couldn't move a limb. That was the most gruesome thing I ever dreamed.–Why do you look at me so strangely?
Have you experienced it yet?
What?
How do you say it?
Manhood's emotion?
M—'hm.
Certainly!
I also – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I've known that for a long while!–Almost for a year.
I was startled as if by lightning.
Did you dream?
Only for a little while—of legs in light blue tights, that strode over the teacher's desk—to be correct, I thought they wanted to go over it. I only saw them for an instant.
George Zirschnitz dreamed of his mother.
Did he tell you that?
Out there on the gallow's road.
If you only knew what I have endured since that night!
Qualms of conscience?
Qualms of conscience??–The anguish of death!
Good Lord–
I thought I was incurable. I believed I was suffering from an inward hurt.–Finally I became calm enough to begin to jot down the recollections of my life. Yes, yes, dear Melchior, the last three weeks have been a Gethsemane for me.
I was more or less prepared for it when it came. I felt a little ashamed of myself.–But that was all.
And yet you are a whole year younger than I am.
I wouldn't bother about that, Moritz. All my experience shows that the appearance of this phantom belongs to no particular age. You know that big Lämmermeier with the straw-colored hair and the hooked nose. He is three years older than I am. Little Hans Rilow says Lämmermeier dreams now only of tarts and apricot preserves.
But, I ask you, how can Hans Rilow know that?
He asked him.
He asked him?–I didn't dare ask anybody.
But you asked me.
God knows, yes!–Possibly Hans, too, has made his will.–Truly they play a remarkable game with us. And we're expected to give thanks for it. I don't remember to have had any longing for this kind of excitement. Why didn't they let me sleep peacefully until all was still again. My dear parents might have had a hundred better children. I came here, I don't know how, and must be responsible because I didn't stay away.–Haven't you often wondered, Melchior, by what means we were brought into this whirl?
Don't you know that yet either, Moritz?
How should I know it? I see how the hens lay eggs, and hear that Mamma had to carry me under her heart. But is that enough?–I remember, too, when I was a five year old child, to have been embarrassed when
