Two Worlds

I will begin my story with an event of the time when I was ten or eleven years old and went to the Latin school of our little town. Much of the old-time fragrance is wafted back to me, but my sensations are not unmixed, as I pass in review my memories—dark streets and bright houses and towers, the striking of clocks and the features of men, comfortable and homely rooms, rooms full of secrecy and dread of ghosts. I sense again the atmosphere of cosy warmth, of rabbits and servant-girls, of household remedies and dried fruit. Two worlds passed there one through the other. From two poles came forth day and night.

I will begin my story with an event from when I was ten or eleven. I attended the Latin school in our little town. Much of the fragrance of those days comes back to me, but my feelings are mixed as I recall them. I remember dark streets, bright houses and towers, striking clocks and people’s faces. I remember comfortable, homely rooms, and rooms full of secrets and fear of ghosts. I sense again the cozy warmth, the rabbits and servant girls, the household remedies and dried fruit. Two worlds mingled there. Day and night came from two opposite poles.

The one world was my home, but it was even narrower than that, for it really comprised only my parents. This world was for the most part very well known to me; it meant mother and father, love and severity, good example and school. It was a world of subdued lustre, of clarity and cleanliness; here were tender friendly words, washed hands, clean clothes and good manners. Here the morning hymn was sung, and Christmas was kept.

One world was my home, but it was even narrower than that. It really included only my parents. I knew most of this world very well. It meant mother and father, love and strictness, good examples and school. It was a world of gentle brightness, clarity and cleanliness. There were kind, friendly words, washed hands, clean clothes and good manners. We sang the morning hymn and celebrated Christmas there.

In this world were straight lines and paths which led into the future; here were duty and guilt, evil conscience and confession, pardon and good resolutions, love and adoration, Bible texts and wisdom. To this world our future had to belong, it had to be crystal-pure, beautiful and well ordered.

In this world, straight lines and paths led into the future. Here were duty and guilt, a guilty conscience and confession, forgiveness and good intentions, love and worship, Bible passages and wisdom. Our future had to belong to this world. It had to be crystal clear, beautiful, and well ordered.

The other world, however, began right in the midst of our own household, and was entirely different, had another odor, another manner of speech and made different promises and demands. In this second world were servant-girls and workmen, ghost stories and breath of scandal. There was a gaily colored flood of monstrous, tempting, terrible, enigmatical goings-on, things such as the slaughter house and prison, drunken men and scolding women, cows in birth-throes, plunging horses, tales of burglaries, murders, suicides. All these beautiful and dreadful, wild and cruel things were round about, in the next street, in the next house. Policemen and tramps passed to and fro, drunken men beat their wives, crowds of young girls flowed out of factories in the evening, old women were able to bewitch you and make you ill, robbers dwelt in the wood, incendiaries were rounded up by mounted policemen—everywhere seethed and reeked this second, passionate world, everywhere, except in our rooms, where mother and father were. And that was a good thing. It was wonderful that here in our house there were peace, order and repose, duty and a good conscience, pardon and love—and wonderful that there were also all the other things, all that was loud and shrill, sinister and violent, yet from which one could escape with one bound to mother.

The other world, however, began right in the middle of our own household. It was entirely different. It had a different smell, a different way of speaking, and made different promises and demands. In this second world were servant girls and workmen, ghost stories and hints of scandal. There was a brightly colored flood of monstrous, tempting, terrible, mysterious happenings. There were places like the slaughterhouse and the prison, drunken men and scolding women, cows giving birth and horses rearing. There were tales of burglaries, murders, and suicides. All these beautiful and dreadful, wild and cruel things were nearby, in the next street, in the next house. Policemen and tramps came and went. Drunken men beat their wives. Crowds of young girls streamed out of factories in the evening. Old women could cast spells on you and make you ill. Robbers lived in the woods. Mounted policemen rounded up people who set fires. This second, passionate world seethed and stank everywhere, except in our rooms, where mother and father were. And that was a good thing. It was wonderful that our house held peace, order and rest, duty and a clear conscience, forgiveness and love. It was also wonderful that all the other things existed. They were loud and shrill, sinister and violent, yet you could escape them in a single leap to mother.

And the oddest thing was, how closely the two worlds bordered each other, how near they both were! For instance, our servant Lina, as she sat by the sitting-room door at evening prayers, and sang the hymn with her bright voice, her freshly washed hands laid on her smoothed-out apron, belonged absolutely to father and mother, to us, to what was bright and proper. Immediately after, in the kitchen or in the woodshed, when she was telling me the tale of the headless dwarf, or when she quarreled with the women of the neighborhood in the little butcher’s shop, then she was another person, belonged to the other world, and was enveloped in mystery. It was the same with everything and everyone, especially with myself. To be sure, I belonged to the bright, respectable world, I was my parents’ child, but the other world was present in everything I saw and heard, and I also lived in it, although it was often strange and foreign to me, although one had there regularly a bad conscience and anxiety. Sometimes I even liked to live in the forbidden world best, and often the homecoming into the brightness—however necessary and good it might be—seemed almost like a return to something less beautiful, to something more uninteresting and desolate. At times I realized this: my aim in life was to grow up like my father and mother, as bright and pure, as systematic and superior. But the road to attainment was long, you had to go to school and study and pass tests and examinations. The road led past the other dark world and through it, and it was not improbable that you would remain there and be buried in it. There were stories of prodigal sons to whom that had happened—I was passionately fond of reading them. There the return home to father and to the respectable world was always so liberating and so sublime, I quite felt that this alone was right and good and desirable. But still that part of the stories which dealt with the wicked and profligate was by far the most alluring, and if one had been allowed to acknowledge it openly, it was really often a great pity that the prodigal repented and was redeemed. But one did not say that, nor did one actually think it. It was only present somehow or other as a presentiment or a possibility, deep down in one’s feelings. When I pictured the devil to myself, I could quite well imagine him down below in the street, openly or in disguise, or at the annual fair or in the public house, but I could never imagine him with us at home.

And the strangest thing was how closely the two worlds bordered each other, how near they both were! Take our servant Lina, for instance. During evening prayers, she sat by the sitting-room door and sang the hymn in her bright voice. Her freshly washed hands rested on her smoothed-out apron. Then she belonged completely to father and mother, to us, to everything bright and proper. But right afterward, she would tell me the story of the headless dwarf in the kitchen or woodshed. Or she would quarrel with the neighborhood women in the little butcher’s shop. Then she was a different person. She belonged to the other world and was wrapped in mystery. It was the same with everything and everyone, especially with me. Of course, I belonged to the bright, respectable world. I was my parents’ child. But the other world was present in everything I saw and heard, and I lived in it too. It often felt strange and foreign to me, and I regularly felt guilty and anxious there. Sometimes I even preferred living in the forbidden world. Coming home to the brightness was necessary and good, but it often felt like returning to something less beautiful, more boring and desolate. At times I understood this: my goal in life was to grow up like my father and mother. I wanted to be as bright and pure, as orderly and superior as they were. But the way to reach that goal was long. You had to go to school, study, and pass tests and exams. The way led past the other, dark world and through it. And it was quite possible that you would stay there and be buried in it. There were stories about prodigal sons to whom that had happened, and I loved reading them. In those stories, the return home to the father and the respectable world was always so freeing and noble. I felt completely that this alone was right, good, and desirable. But the parts of the stories about wickedness and a life of excess were by far the most tempting. If one had been allowed to admit it openly, it was often a great pity when the prodigal son repented and was redeemed. But one did not say that, or even really think it. It was only there somehow, deep down, as a feeling or a possibility. When I imagined the devil, I could easily picture him down in the street, openly or in disguise. I could picture him at the annual fair or in the public house. But I could never imagine him at home with us.

My sisters also belonged to the bright world. It often seemed to me that they approached more nearly to father and mother; that they were better and nicer mannered than myself, without so many faults. They had their failings, they were naughty, but that did not seem to me to be deep-rooted. It was not the same as for me, for whom the contact with evil was strong and painful, and the dark world so much nearer. My sisters, like my parents, were to be treated with regard and respect. If you had had a quarrel with them, your own conscience accused you afterwards as the wrongdoer and the cause of the squabble, as the one who had to beg pardon. For in opposing my sisters I offended my parents, the representatives of goodness and law. There were secrets which I would much sooner have shared with the most depraved street urchins than with my sisters. On good, bright days when I had a good conscience, it was often delightful to play with my sisters, to be gentle and nice to them, and to see myself under a halo of goodness. That was how it must be if you were an angel! That was the most sublime thing we knew, to be an angel, surrounded by sweet sounds and fragrance like Christmas and happiness. But, oh, how seldom were such days and hours perfect! Often when we were playing one of the nice, harmless, proper games I was so vehement and impetuous, and I so annoyed my sisters that we quarreled and were unhappy. Then when I was carried away by anger I did and said things, the wickedness of which I felt deep and burning within me, even while I was doing and saying them. Then came sad, dark hours of remorse and contrition, the painful moment when I begged pardon, then again a beam of light, a peaceful, grateful happiness without discord, for minutes or hours.

My sisters also belonged to the bright world. They often seemed closer to father and mother than I was. They seemed better and better behaved, with fewer faults. They had their faults and could be naughty, but those faults did not seem deep-rooted to me. It was different for me. My contact with evil was strong and painful, and the dark world was much closer to me. My sisters, like my parents, deserved consideration and respect. If I quarreled with them, my conscience accused me afterward. I was the one at fault, the cause of the quarrel, the one who had to beg forgiveness. By opposing my sisters, I offended my parents, who represented goodness and law. There were secrets I would much rather have shared with the most depraved street children than with my sisters. On good, bright days, when my conscience was clear, I often delighted in playing with my sisters. I loved being gentle and kind to them and seeing myself surrounded by a halo of goodness. That must be what it was like to be an angel! Being an angel was the most wonderful thing we knew. Angels were surrounded by sweet sounds and the fragrance of Christmas and happiness. But, oh, how rarely were those days and hours perfect! Often, when we played one of our nice, harmless, proper games, I became too wild and impulsive. I annoyed my sisters so much that we quarreled and were unhappy. Then anger carried me away, and I did and said wicked things. Even as I did and said them, I felt their wickedness burning deep inside me. Then came sad, dark hours of regret and remorse, and the painful moment when I begged forgiveness. After that came another beam of light, a peaceful, grateful happiness without conflict, lasting minutes or hours.

I used to go to the Latin school. The sons of the mayor and of the head forester were in my class and sometimes used to come to our house. They were wild boys, but still they belonged to the world of goodness and of propriety. In spite of that I had close relations with neighbors’ boys, children of the public school, whom in general we despised. With one of these I must begin my story.

I used to attend the Latin school. The mayor’s son and the head forester’s son were in my class. They sometimes came to our house. They were wild boys, but they still belonged to the world of goodness and proper behavior. Even so, I was close to some boys in the neighborhood who attended the public school. We generally looked down on children from that school. I must begin my story with one of these boys.

One half-holiday—I was little more than ten at the time—I went out with two boys of the neighborhood. A public-school boy of about thirteen years joined our party; he was bigger than we were, a coarse and robust fellow, the son of a tailor. His father was a drunkard, and the whole family had a bad reputation. I knew Frank Kromer well, I was afraid of him, and was very much displeased when he joined us. He had already acquired manly ways, and imitated the gait and manner of speech of the young factory hands. Under his leadership we stepped down to the bank of the stream and hid ourselves from the world under the first arch of the bridge. The little bank between the vaulted bridge wall and the sluggishly flowing water was composed of nothing but trash, of broken china and garbage, of twisted bundles of rusty iron wire and other rubbish. You sometimes found there useful things. We had to search the stretch under Frank Kromer’s direction and show him what we found. He then either kept it himself or threw it away into the water. He bid us note whether the things were of lead, brass or tin. Everything we found of this description he kept for himself, as well as an old horn comb. I felt very uneasy in his company, not because I knew that father would have forbidden our playing together had he known of it, but through fear of Frank himself. I was glad that he treated me like the others. He commanded and we obeyed; it seemed habitual to me, although that was the first time I was with him.

One afternoon off from school, when I was a little over ten, I went out with two boys from the neighborhood. A public school boy of about thirteen joined us. He was bigger than we were, a rough, strong fellow, and the son of a tailor. His father was a drunk, and the whole family had a bad reputation. I knew Frank Kromer well and was afraid of him. I was very unhappy when he joined us. He already acted like a man. He walked and talked like the young factory workers. Frank led us down to the bank of the stream. We hid from the world beneath the first arch of the bridge. The narrow bank between the curved bridge wall and the slowly flowing water was covered in trash. There was broken china, garbage, twisted bundles of rusty wire, and other rubbish. You could sometimes find useful things there. Frank Kromer made us search the area under his direction and show him what we found. He then either kept each thing or threw it into the water. He told us to check whether anything was made of lead, brass, or tin. He kept everything we found made of those metals, as well as an old horn comb. I felt very uneasy around him. It wasn't because I knew Father would have forbidden us to play together if he had known. It was because I was afraid of Frank himself. I was glad that he treated me like the others. He gave orders, and we obeyed. It seemed natural to me, although it was the first time I had spent time with him.

At last we sat down. Frank spat into the water and looked like a full grown man; he spat through a gap in his teeth, directing the sputum in any direction he wished. He began a conversation, and the boys vied with one another in bragging of schoolboy exploits and pranks. I was silent, and yet, if I said nothing, I was afraid of calling attention to myself and inciting Kromer’s anger against me. My two comrades had from the beginning turned their backs on me, and had sided with him; I was a stranger among them, and I felt my clothes and manner to be a provocation. It was impossible that Frank should like me, a Latin schoolboy and the son of a gentleman, and the other two, I felt, as soon as it came to the point, would disown me and leave me in the lurch.

At last we sat down. Frank spat into the water and looked like a grown man. He spat through a gap in his teeth, aiming the spit wherever he wanted. He started a conversation, and the boys competed to brag about their exploits and pranks at school. I stayed silent, but I was afraid that saying nothing would draw attention to me and make Kromer angry. My two companions had sided with him and turned their backs on me from the start. I was a stranger among them, and I felt that my clothes and manner offended them. Frank could not possibly like me, a Latin schoolboy and the son of a gentleman. And I felt that the other two would disown me and leave me stranded when it came to it.

At last, through mere fright, I also began to relate a story. I invented a long narration of theft, of which I made myself the hero. In a garden by the mill on the corner, I recounted, I had one night with the help of a friend stolen a whole sack of apples, and those none of the ordinary sorts, but russets and golden pippins, the very best. In the danger of the moment I had recourse to the telling of this story, which I invented easily and recounted readily. In order not to have to finish off immediately, and so perhaps be led from bad to worse, I gave full scope to my inventive powers. One of us, I continued, always had to stand sentinel, while the other was throwing down apples from the tree, and the sack had become so heavy that at last we had to open it again and leave half the apples behind; but we returned at the end of half an hour and took the rest away with us.

At last, frightened as I was, I began to tell a story too. I made up a long tale of theft, with myself as the hero. I said that one night a friend and I had stolen a whole sack of apples from a garden by the mill on the corner. They were not ordinary apples, either, but russets and golden pippins, the very best. In that dangerous moment, I resorted to this story, inventing it easily and telling it without hesitation. I let my imagination run free so I would not have to finish too soon and perhaps be led from bad to worse. I went on to say that one of us always had to keep watch while the other threw apples down from the tree. The sack became so heavy that we finally had to open it and leave half the apples behind. But half an hour later, we returned and took the rest away.

I hoped at the end to gain some little applause, I had warmed to my work and had let myself go in my narration. The two small boys waited quiet and expectant, but Frank Kromer looked at me penetratingly through half-closed eyes and asked me in a threatening tone:

I hoped for a little applause at the end. I had gotten caught up in my story and let myself go as I told it. The two little boys waited quietly, eager to hear more. But Frank Kromer looked at me intently through half-closed eyes and asked me in a threatening tone:

“Is that true?”

“Is that true?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Really and truly?”

“Really, truly?”

“Yes, really and truly,” I asserted defiantly, though inwardly I was stifling through fear.

“Yes, really and truly,” I said defiantly, though inside I was choking with fear.

“Can you swear to it?”

“Can you swear to it?”

I was terribly frightened, but I answered without hesitation: “Yes.”

I was terrified, but I answered without hesitation: “Yes.”

“Then say: ‘I swear by God and all that’s holy’!”

“Then say: ‘I swear by God and all that’s holy’!”

I said: “I swear by God and all that’s holy!”

I said, “I swear by God and all that’s holy!”

“Aw, gwan!” said he and turned away.

“Oh, come on!” he said, turning away.

I thought that everything was now all right, and was glad when he got up and made for the town. When we were on the bridge I said timidly that I must now go home. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” laughed Frank, “we both go the same way.” He dawdled on, and I dared not tear myself away, especially as he was actually taking the road to our house. As we arrived, I looked at the heavy brass-knocker, the sun on the window and the curtains in my mother’s room, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Home at last! What a blessing it was to be at home again, to return to the brightness and peace of the family circle!

I thought everything was all right now, and I was glad when he got up and headed for town. On the bridge, I timidly said that I had to go home. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” Frank laughed. “We’re both going the same way.” He walked slowly, and I didn’t dare leave him, especially since he was taking the road to our house. When we arrived, I looked at the heavy brass knocker, the sun on the window, and the curtains in my mother’s room. I sighed with relief. Home at last! What a blessing to be home again, back in the brightness and peace of my family!

As I quickly opened the door and slipped inside, ready to shut it behind me, Frank Kromer forced his way in as well. He stood beside me in the cool, dark stone corridor which was only lighted from the courtyard, held me by the arm and said softly: “Not so fast, you!”

I quickly opened the door and slipped inside. As I was about to shut it behind me, Frank Kromer forced his way in too. He stood beside me in the cool, dark stone corridor, which was lit only from the courtyard. He held me by the arm and said softly: “Not so fast, you!”

Terrified, I looked at him. His grip on my arm was one of iron. I tried to think what he had in his mind, whether he was going to maltreat me. I wondered, if I should scream, whether anyone would come down quickly enough to save me. But I gave up the idea.

Terrified, I looked at him. His grip on my arm was like iron. I tried to figure out what he was thinking and whether he was going to hurt me. I wondered if anyone would come down quickly enough to save me if I screamed. But I gave up the idea.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “What d’you want?”

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much. I only want to ask you something—something the others needn’t hear.”

“Nothing much. I just want to ask you something the others don’t need to hear.”

“Well, what do you want me to tell you? I must go upstairs, you know.”

“Well, what do you want me to tell you? I have to go upstairs, you know.”

“You know, don’t you, whose orchard that is by the mill on the corner?” said Frank softly.

“You know who owns the orchard by the mill on the corner, don’t you?” Frank said softly.

“No, I don’t know; I think it’s the miller’s.”

“No, I don’t know. I think it’s the miller’s.”

Frank had wound his arm round me, and he drew me quite close to him, so that I had to look up directly into his face. His look boded ill, he smiled maliciously, and his face was full of cruelty and power.

Frank put his arm around me and pulled me close, so I had to look up into his face. His look was threatening. He smiled maliciously, and his face was full of cruelty and power.

“Now, kid, I can tell you whose the garden is. I have known for a long time that the apples had been stolen, and I also know that the man said he would give two marks to anyone who would tell him who stole the fruit.”

“Now, kid, I can tell you who owns the garden. I’ve known for a long time that the apples were stolen. And I also know the man said he’d give two marks to anyone who told him who stole them.”

“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “But you won’t tell him anything?” I felt it was useless to appeal to his sense of honor. He came from the other world; for him betrayal was no crime. I felt that for a certainty. In these matters people from the “other” world were not like us.

“Good heavens!” I cried. “But you won’t tell him anything?” I felt there was no point appealing to his sense of honor. He came from the other world. To him, betrayal was no crime. I was sure of that. In these matters, people from the “other” world were not like us.

“Say nothing?” laughed Kromer. “Look here, my friend, d’you think I am minting money and can make two shilling pieces myself? I’m a poor chap, and I haven’t got a rich father like yours, and when I get the chance of earning two shillings I must take it. He might even give me more.”

“Say nothing?” Kromer laughed. “Look here, my friend, do you think I can make my own two-shilling coins? I’m poor, and I don’t have a rich father like you do. When I get the chance to earn two shillings, I have to take it. He might even give me more.”

Suddenly he let me go free. Our house no longer gave me an impression of peace and safety, the world fell to pieces around me. He would report me as a criminal, my father would be told, perhaps even the police might come for me. The terror of utter chaos menaced me, all that was ugly and dangerous was aligned against me. The fact that I had not stolen at all did not count in the least. I had sworn to it besides. O dear, O dear!

Suddenly he let me go. Our house no longer felt peaceful or safe. The world was falling apart around me. He would report me as a criminal. My father would be told, and perhaps even the police would come for me. The terror of complete chaos threatened me. Everything ugly and dangerous was against me. The fact that I had not stolen anything did not matter at all. Besides, I had sworn that I had. Oh dear, oh dear!

I burst into tears. I felt I must buy myself off. Despairingly I searched all my pockets. Not an apple, not a penknife, absolutely nothing. All at once I thought of my watch. It was an old silver one which wouldn’t go. I wore it for no special reason. It came down to me from my grandmother. I drew it out quickly.

I burst into tears. I felt I had to pay my way out. In despair, I searched all my pockets. No apple, no pocketknife, nothing at all. Suddenly, I thought of my watch. It was an old silver watch that didn’t work. I wore it for no particular reason. It had belonged to my grandmother. I pulled it out quickly.

“Kromer,” I said, “listen, you mustn’t give me away, that wouldn’t be nice of you. Look here, I will give you my watch; I haven’t anything else, worse luck! You can have it, it’s a silver one; the mechanism is good, there is one little thing wrong, that’s all, it needs repairing.”

“Kromer,” I said, “listen, please don’t tell on me. That wouldn’t be nice of you. Look, I’ll give you my watch. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything else! You can have it. It’s silver, and the mechanism works well. There’s just one little thing wrong with it. It needs repairing.”

He smiled and took the watch in his big hand. I looked at his hand and felt how coarse and hostile it was, how it grasped at my life and peace.

He smiled and took the watch in his big hand. I looked at his hand and felt how rough and hostile it was, how it reached for my life and peace.

“It’s silver,” I said, timidly.

“It’s silver,” I said shyly.

“I wouldn’t give a straw for your silver and your old watch!” he said with deep scorn. “Get it repaired yourself!”

“I wouldn’t give a penny for your silver and your old watch!” he said with deep scorn. “Get it fixed yourself!”

“But, Frank,” I exclaimed, quivering with fear lest he should go away. “Wait a minute. Do take the watch! It’s really silver, really and truly. And I haven’t got anything else.” He gave me a cold and scornful look.

“But, Frank,” I cried, trembling with fear that he might leave. “Wait a minute. Please take the watch! It’s real silver, really and truly. And I don’t have anything else.” He gave me a cold, scornful look.

“Very well, then, you know who I am going to; or I can tell the police. I know the sergeant very well.”

“All right, then, you know who I’m going to. Or I can tell the police. I know the sergeant very well.”

He turned to go. I held him back by the sleeve. I could not let that happen. I would much rather have died than bear all that would take place if he went away like that.

He turned to leave. I grabbed his sleeve to stop him. I couldn’t let him go. I would much rather have died than face everything that would happen if he left like that.

“Frank,” I implored, hoarse with emotion, “please don’t do anything silly! Tell me it’s only a joke, isn’t it?”

“Frank,” I pleaded, my voice hoarse with emotion, “please don’t do anything stupid! Tell me it’s just a joke, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, a joke, but it might cost you dear.”

“Oh, yes, a joke, but it could cost you dearly.”

“Do tell me, Frank, what to do. I’ll do anything!” He examined me critically through his screwed-up eyes and laughed again.

“Please tell me what to do, Frank. I’ll do anything!” He squinted at me, studying me critically, and laughed again.

“Don’t be silly,” he said with affected affability. “You know as well as I do. I’ve got the chance of earning a couple of marks, and I’m not such a rich fellow that I can afford to throw it away, you know that well enough. But you’re rich, why, you’ve even got a watch. You need only give me just two marks and everything will be all right.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, pretending to be friendly. “You know as well as I do. I have a chance to earn a couple of marks. And you know I’m not rich enough to pass up the chance. But you’re rich. You even have a watch. Just give me two marks, and everything will be all right.”

I understood his logic. But two marks! For me that was as much, and just as unobtainable, as ten, as a hundred, as a thousand marks. I had no money. There was a money box that my mother kept for me, with a couple of ten and five pfennig pieces inside which I received from my uncle when he paid us a visit, or from similar sources. I had nothing else. At that age I received no pocket-money at all.

I understood his reasoning. But two marks! To me, two marks were just as much money as ten, a hundred, or a thousand marks. They were just as impossible to get. I had no money. My mother kept a money box for me. It held a couple of ten and five pfennig coins, which I got from my uncle when he visited, or from similar sources. I had nothing else. At that age, I got no pocket money at all.

“I have nothing,” I said sadly. “I have no money at all. But I’ll give you everything I have. I’ve got a book about red Indians, and also soldiers, and a compass. I’ll get that for you.”

“I have nothing,” I said sadly. “I don’t have any money at all. But I’ll give you everything I have. I have a book about Native Americans, and soldiers, and a compass. I’ll get them for you.”

But Kromer only screwed up his evil mouth, and spat on the ground.

But Kromer only twisted his evil mouth and spat on the ground.

“Quit your jawing,” he said commandingly. “You can keep your old trash yourself. A compass! Don’t make me angry, d’you hear? And hand over the money!”

“Shut up,” he ordered. “You can keep your junk. A compass! Don’t make me angry, do you hear? Now hand over the money!”

“But I haven’t any. I never get money. I can’t help it.”

“But I don’t have any. I never get money. I can’t help it.”

“Very well, then, you’ll bring me the two marks in the morning. I shall wait for you in the market after school. That’s all. If you don’t bring any money, look out!”

“All right, then. Bring me the two marks in the morning. I’ll wait for you at the market after school. That’s all. If you don’t bring any money, watch out!”

“Yes; but where shall I get it, then? Good Lord! if I haven’t any——”

“Yes, but where can I get it? Good Lord! If I don’t have any...”

“There’s enough money in your house. That’s your business. To-morrow after school, then. And I tell you: If you don’t bring it——”

“There’s enough money in your house. That’s your business. Tomorrow after school, then. And I’m telling you: If you don’t bring it...”

His eyes darted a terrible look at me, he spat again and vanished like a shadow.

He gave me a terrifying look, spat again, and vanished like a shadow.

I could not go upstairs. My life was ruined. I wondered if I should run away and never come back, or go and drown myself. But these thoughts were not clearly formulated. I sat crouched in the dark on the bottom step and I surrendered myself to my misfortune. There Lina found me in tears as she came down with a basket to get wood.

I couldn't go upstairs. My life was ruined. I wondered whether I should run away and never come back, or drown myself. But the thoughts weren't clear in my mind. I sat crouched in the dark on the bottom step, giving in to my misery. Lina found me there, crying, when she came downstairs with a basket to get wood.

I begged her to say nothing on her return and I went up. My father’s hat and my mother’s sunshade hung on the rack near the glass door. All these things reminded me of home and tenderness, my heart went out to them imploringly and, grateful for their existence, I felt like the prodigal son when he looked into his old homely room and sensed its familiar atmosphere. All this, the bright father-and-mother world, was mine no longer, and I was buried deeply and guiltily in the strange flood, ensnared in sinful adventures, beset by enemies and dangers, menaced by shame and terror. The hat and sunshade, the good old sandstone floor, the big picture over the hall cupboard, and the voice of my elder sister in the living-room, all this was dearer and more precious to me than ever, but it was no longer consolation and secure possession. All of it was now a reproach. All this belonged to me no more, I could share no more in its cheerfulness and peace. I carried mud on my shoes that I could not wipe off on the mat, I brought shadows in with me, of which the home-world had no knowledge. How many secrets had I already had, how many cares—but that was play, a mere nothing compared with what I was bringing in with me that day.

I begged her not to say anything when she returned, and I went upstairs. My father’s hat and my mother’s parasol hung on the rack near the glass door. These things reminded me of home and tenderness. My heart reached out to them in longing, and I was grateful they were there. I felt like the prodigal son looking into his familiar old room and sensing its familiar atmosphere. The bright world of my father and mother was no longer mine. I was buried deep in a strange flood, guilty and caught up in sinful adventures. Enemies and dangers surrounded me, and shame and terror threatened me. The hat and parasol and the good old sandstone floor were dearer to me than ever. So were the big picture above the hall cupboard and my older sister’s voice in the living room. But these things no longer comforted me, and I could no longer feel sure they were mine. Now they all seemed to reproach me. None of them belonged to me anymore. I could no longer share in their cheerfulness and peace. I carried mud on my shoes that I could not wipe off on the mat. I brought shadows with me that the world of home knew nothing about. How many secrets I had already had, how many worries. But those had been mere play, nothing compared with what I was bringing home that day.

Fate was overtaking me, hands were stretched out after me, from which even my mother could not protect me, of which she was to be allowed no knowledge. It was all the same, whether my offense was thieving, or a lie (had I not taken a false oath by God?). My sin was not this or that, I had tendered my hand to the devil. Why did I follow him? Why had I obeyed Kromer, more than ever I did my father? Why had I falsely invented the story of the theft? Why had I plumed myself on having committed a crime, as if it had been a deed of heroism? Now the devil had me by the hand, now the evil one was pursuing me.

Fate was catching up with me. Hands were reaching for me, and even my mother could not protect me from them. She could not be allowed to know about them. It made no difference whether my offense was theft or a lie. Hadn’t I sworn a false oath by God? My sin was not one thing or another. I had given my hand to the devil. Why did I follow him? Why had I obeyed Kromer more than I ever obeyed my father? Why had I made up the story of the theft? Why had I bragged about committing a crime, as if it were an act of heroism? Now the devil had me by the hand. Now the evil one was pursuing me.

For a moment I felt no further dread of the morrow, but I had the terrible certainty that my way was leading me further and further downhill and into the darkness. I realized clearly that from my wrongdoing other wrongdoings must result, that the greetings and kisses I gave to my parents would be a lie, that a secret destiny I should have to conceal hung over me.

For a moment, I no longer feared tomorrow. But I was terribly certain that my path was leading me further downhill and into darkness. I saw clearly that my wrongdoing would lead to more wrongdoing. My greetings and kisses to my parents would be a lie. A secret fate hung over me, and I would have to hide it.

For an instant confidence and hope came to me like a lightning flash as I gazed at my father’s hat. I would tell him everything, would accept his judgment and the punishment he might mete out; he would be my confidant and would save me. Confession was all that would be necessary, as I had made so many confessions before—a difficult bitter hour, a serious, remorseful plea for forgiveness.

For an instant, confidence and hope came to me like a flash of lightning as I looked at my father’s hat. I would tell him everything and accept his judgment and whatever punishment he gave me. He would be my confidant and save me. All I had to do was confess, as I had done so many times before. It would be a difficult, bitter hour, with a serious, remorseful plea for forgiveness.

How sweetly that sounded! How tempting that was! But nothing came of it. I knew that I should not do it. I knew that I had now a secret, that I was burdened with guilt for which I myself would have to bear the responsibility alone. Perhaps I was at this very moment at the cross-roads, perhaps from this hour henceforth I should have to belong to the wicked, forever share secrets with the bad, depend on them, obey them, and become as one of themselves. I had pretended to be a man and a hero, now I had to take the consequences.

How sweet that sounded! How tempting it was! But nothing came of it. I knew I shouldn’t do it. I knew I now had a secret. I was burdened with guilt, and I alone would have to take responsibility for it. Perhaps I was at a crossroads at that very moment. Perhaps from now on I would have to belong to the wicked and forever share secrets with them. Perhaps I would have to depend on them, obey them, and become one of them. I had pretended to be a man and a hero. Now I had to face the consequences.

I was glad that my father, as he entered, found fault with my wet boots. It diverted his attention from something worse, and I allowed myself to suffer his reproach, secretly thinking of the other. That gave birth to a peculiar new feeling in me, an evil cutting feeling like a barbed hook. I felt superior to my father! I felt, for an instant’s duration, a certain scorn of his ignorance; his scolding over the wet boots seemed to me petty. “If you only knew!” I thought, and looked upon myself as a criminal who is being tried for having stolen a loaf of bread, while he ought to confess to having committed murder. It was an ugly and repugnant feeling, yet strong and not without a certain charm, and it chained me to my secret and my guilt more securely than anything else. Perhaps Kromer has already gone to the police and given me away, I thought, and a storm is threatening to break over my head, while here I am looked upon as a mere child!

I was glad when my father came in and scolded me for my wet boots. They distracted him from something worse. I let him scold me while secretly thinking about that other thing. This gave me a strange new feeling, an evil, cutting feeling like a barbed hook. I felt superior to my father! For a moment, I felt a certain scorn for his ignorance. His scolding about my wet boots seemed petty to me. “If you only knew!” I thought. I saw myself as a criminal on trial for stealing a loaf of bread, when he should confess to murder. It was an ugly, repulsive feeling, yet it was strong and had a certain charm. It bound me to my secret and my guilt more securely than anything else. Perhaps Kromer has already gone to the police and turned me in, I thought. A storm may be about to break over my head, while here I am treated as just a child!

This was the important and permanent element of the whole event up to this point of my narration. It was the first cleft in the sacredness of parenthood, it was the first split in the pillar on which my childhood had reposed, and which everyone must overthrow, before he can attain to self-realization. The inward, fundamental basis of our destiny is built up from these events, which no outsider observes. Such a split or cleft grows together again, heals up and is forgotten, but in the most secret chamber of the soul it continues to live and bleed.

This was the important and lasting part of everything that had happened so far in my story. It was the first crack in the sacred image of my parents. It was the first split in the pillar that had supported my childhood. Everyone must bring down that pillar before they can realize who they truly are. Events like these, which no outsider notices, form the deep inner foundation of our destiny. Such a crack may close up, heal, and be forgotten. But in the most secret chamber of the soul, it continues to live and bleed.

I myself felt immediate terror in the presence of this new feeling, I would have liked to embrace my father’s feet there and then, to beg his forgiveness. But one cannot beg pardon for something fundamental, and a child knows and feels that as well and as deeply as any adult.

I was immediately terrified by this new feeling. I wanted to throw myself at my father’s feet then and there and beg his forgiveness. But you cannot ask forgiveness for something fundamental. A child knows and feels that just as deeply as any adult.

I felt the need to think over the affair and to consider ways and means for the morrow; but I did not get around to it. My whole evening was taken up solely in accustoming myself to the changed atmosphere of our living-room. Clock and table, Bible and looking-glass, bookcase and pictures seemed all to be saying good-bye to me. With freezing heart I had to stand by and watch my world, the good happy time of my life, sever itself from me, to be relegated to the past. I was forced to realize that I was being held fast to new sucking roots in the darkness of the unfamiliar world outside. For the first time I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for it is birth, with the terror and fear of a formidable renewal.

I felt I needed to think over what had happened and consider what to do tomorrow, but I never did. I spent the whole evening just getting used to the changed atmosphere in our living room. The clock and table, the Bible and mirror, the bookcase and pictures all seemed to be saying goodbye to me. My heart grew cold as I stood by and watched my world, the good, happy time of my life, break away from me and become part of the past. I had to realize that new roots were holding me fast, drawing nourishment from me in the darkness of the unfamiliar world outside. For the first time I tasted death, and death tasted bitter. For death is birth, with all the terror and fear of a daunting renewal.

I was glad to be lying at last in bed. But first I had passed through purgatory in the form of evening prayers, and we had sung a hymn, one of my favorite ones. Alas! I did not join in, and each note was gall and poison for me. I did not join in the common prayer, either, when my father gave the blessing, and when he finished: “Be with us all!” I tore myself convulsively from the circle. The grace of God was with them all, but with me no longer. Cold and very tired, I went away.

I was glad to finally be in bed. But first I had been through the purgatory of evening prayers. We had sung one of my favorite hymns. Alas! I did not sing along, and every note was bitter and poisonous to me. I did not join in the prayer, either, when my father gave the blessing. When he finished with “Be with us all!” I tore myself from the circle, shaking. God’s grace was with all of them, but no longer with me. Cold and exhausted, I went away.

After I had lain awhile in bed, wrapped around in warmth and safety, my troubled heart strayed back once again, and fluttered uneasily in the past. Mother had wished me good-night, as she always did, her step sounded yet in the room, the light of her candle gleamed through the crack in the door. Now, I thought, now she will come back again—she has felt my need, she will give me a kiss and will ask, in tones kind and full of promise, what is the matter. Then I can weep, the lump in my throat will melt away, I will throw my arms about her and will tell her, and everything will be right—I shall be saved! And when the crack in the door had become dark again I still listened for a while and thought—she must come, she must.

After I had lain in bed for a while, wrapped in warmth and safety, my troubled heart drifted back to the past and fluttered uneasily. Mother had wished me good night, as she always did. I could still hear her footsteps in the room, and her candlelight shone through the crack in the door. Now, I thought, she will come back. She has sensed that I need her. She will kiss me and ask what is wrong, her voice kind and full of promise. Then I can cry, and the lump in my throat will melt away. I will throw my arms around her and tell her, and everything will be all right. I will be saved! Even when the crack in the door went dark again, I kept listening for a while. I thought, she must come, she must.

Then I came back to reality, and looked my enemy in the face. I saw him clearly, he had one eye closed, his mouth laughed uncouthly. While I gazed at him and the inevitable gnawed at my heart, he became bigger and more ugly, and his wicked eye lit up devilishly. He was close beside me, until I dropped off to sleep. But I did not dream of him, nor of the day’s events. I dreamed instead that we were in a boat, my parents, my sisters and I, lapped in peace and the brightness of a holiday. I woke up in the middle of the night, with the aftertaste of bliss. I still saw the white summer dresses of my sisters glistening in the sun, and then fell from my paradise back to reality, and the enemy with the wicked eye stood opposite me.

Then I came back to reality and looked my enemy in the face. I saw him clearly. One eye was closed, and his mouth twisted into a crude laugh. As I stared at him, the inevitable gnawed at my heart. He grew bigger and uglier, and his wicked eye lit up like the devil’s. He stayed close beside me until I fell asleep. But I did not dream of him or of the day’s events. Instead, I dreamed that my parents, my sisters, and I were in a boat. We were wrapped in peace and the brightness of a holiday. I woke in the middle of the night, still feeling that bliss. I could still see my sisters’ white summer dresses glistening in the sun. Then I fell from my paradise back to reality, and the enemy with the wicked eye stood facing me.

I looked ill when mother came in quickly in the morning and told me how late it was and wanted to know why I was still in bed, and when she asked what was the matter with me, I vomited.

I looked sick when Mother hurried in that morning. She told me how late it was and asked why I was still in bed. When she asked what was wrong with me, I vomited.

But I seemed to have gained a point. I rather liked to be somewhat ill and to be allowed to spend the morning in bed drinking chamomile tea, to listen to mother clearing-up in the next room, and to hear Lina outside in the corridor opening the door to the butcher. To stay away from morning school was rather like a fairy-story, and the sun which played in the room was not the same you saw through the green curtains at school. But to-day all this had lost its charm for me. It had a false ring about it.

But I seemed to have gained something. I rather liked being a little ill and being allowed to spend the morning in bed, drinking chamomile tea. I liked listening to Mother tidying up in the next room. I also liked hearing Lina open the door to the butcher out in the hallway. Missing school in the morning was rather like a fairy tale. The sunlight playing in my room was not the same as the sunlight I saw through the green curtains at school. But today, all of this had lost its charm for me. It felt false.

If I had died! But I was only slightly ill, as I had often been before, and nothing was gained by that. It prevented me from going to school, but it did not protect me in any way from Kromer, who would be waiting for me in the market at eleven o’clock. And mother’s friendliness was this time without comfort; it was burdensome and painful. I soon pretended to be asleep again, and thought the matter over, but all to no purpose—I had to be in the market at eleven o’clock. For that reason I got up at ten, and said that I was better. As usual in such cases I was told that either I must go back to bed or go to school in the afternoon. I said I would rather go to school. I had formed a plan.

If only I had died! But I was only slightly ill, as I had often been before. That gained me nothing. It kept me from going to school, but it did nothing to protect me from Kromer. He would be waiting for me in the market at eleven o’clock. And this time, Mother’s kindness was no comfort. It was a burden and caused me pain. I soon pretended to be asleep again and thought the matter over. But it was no use. I had to be in the market at eleven o’clock. So I got up at ten and said I was feeling better. As usual in such cases, I was told to either go back to bed or go to school that afternoon. I said I would rather go to school. I had made a plan.

I dared not go to Kromer without money. I had to get possession of the little savings box which belonged to me. There was not enough money in it, far from enough, I knew; but it was still a little, and something told me that a little was better than nothing; for at least Kromer had to be appeased.

I didn't dare go to Kromer without money. I had to get my little savings box. I knew there wasn't nearly enough money in it. But there was still a little, and something told me a little was better than nothing. At least I had to appease Kromer.

I felt horrible as I crept in my socks into my mother’s room and took my box from her writing table; but it was not so horrible as the previous day’s experience. My heart beat so fast I nearly died, and it was no better when I found, at the first look, down below on the stairs, that the box was locked. It was easy to break it open, it was only necessary to cut through a thin plate of tin; but the action caused me pain, for only in doing this was I committing theft. Up to then I had only taken lumps of sugar and fruit on the sly. Now I had stolen something, although it was my own money. I realized I had taken a step nearer Kromer and his world, that I was slipping gradually downwards—and I adopted an attitude of defiance. The devil could run away with me if he liked, there was no way out. I anxiously counted the money, it had sounded so much in the box, now in my hand it was miserably little. There were sixty-five pfennigs. I hid the box in the basement, held the money in my closed fist and went out of the house, with a feeling different from any with which I had ever left the portal before. Someone called to me from above, I thought, but I went quickly on my way.

I felt horrible as I crept into my mother’s room in my socks and took my box from her writing desk. But it was not as horrible as what I had experienced the day before. My heart beat so fast I thought I would die. I felt no better when I looked at the box downstairs and saw at once that it was locked. It was easy to break open. I only had to cut through a thin piece of tin. But doing it hurt, because breaking it open was what made me a thief. Until then, I had only sneaked lumps of sugar and fruit. Now I had stolen something, even though it was my own money. I realized I had taken a step closer to Kromer and his world. I was gradually slipping downward, so I became defiant. The devil could take me if he liked. There was no way out. I counted the money anxiously. It had sounded like so much in the box, but now it looked like a miserably small amount in my hand. There were sixty-five pfennigs. I hid the box in the basement, gripped the money in my fist, and left the house. I felt different from every other time I had gone out through the doorway. I thought someone called to me from above, but I hurried on.

There was still plenty of time. I sneaked by a roundabout way through the streets of a changed town, beneath clouds I had never seen before, by houses which seemed to spy on me, and people who suspected me. On the way I recollected that one of my school friends had once found a thaler in the cattle market. I would have liked to pray to God to work a miracle and allow me to make such a treasure-trove. But I had no longer the right to pray. And even then the box would not be made whole again.

There was still plenty of time. I took a roundabout route, sneaking through the streets of a changed town. Clouds I had never seen before hung overhead. The houses seemed to spy on me, and the people seemed to suspect me. On the way, I remembered that a school friend had once found a thaler at the cattle market. I wanted to pray for God to work a miracle and let me find such a treasure. But I no longer had the right to pray. And even then, the box would not be whole again.

Frank Kromer saw me in the distance. However, he came along very slowly and seemed not to be looking out for me. As he approached me he beckoned me commandingly to follow. He passed on tranquilly, without once looking round, went down Straw Street and over the bridge, and stopped on the outskirts of the town in front of a new building. No one was working there, the walls stood bare, without doors or windows. Kromer looked round and then went through the doorway. I followed him. He stepped behind the wall, beckoned to me and stretched out his hand.

Frank Kromer saw me in the distance. But he walked slowly and did not seem to be looking for me. As he approached, he gestured for me to follow him. He walked on calmly without looking back. He went down Straw Street and across the bridge. On the outskirts of town, he stopped in front of a new building. No one was working there. The walls were bare, with no doors or windows. Kromer looked around and went through the doorway. I followed him. He stepped behind the wall, beckoned me over, and held out his hand.

“That makes sixty-five pfennigs,” he said and looked at me.

“That makes sixty-five pfennigs,” he said, looking at me.

“Yes,” I said timidly. “That’s all I have—it’s too little, I know, but it’s all. I haven’t any more.”

“Yes,” I said timidly. “That’s all I have. I know it’s too little, but it’s all I have. I don’t have any more.”

“I thought you were cleverer than that,” he exclaimed, blaming me in what were almost mild terms. “Between men of honor there must be honest dealing. I will not take anything from you, except what is right. You know that. Take your pfennigs back, there! The other—you know who—doesn’t try to beat me down. He pays.”

“I thought you were smarter than that,” he exclaimed, scolding me almost mildly. “Honorable men must deal honestly with each other. I won’t take anything from you except what’s fair. You know that. Here, take your pfennigs back! The other one, you know who, doesn’t try to bargain me down. He pays.”

“But I have absolutely nothing else. That was my money box.”

“But I have absolutely nothing else. That was my piggy bank.”

“That’s your affair. But I don’t want to make you unhappy. You still owe me one mark thirty-five pfennig. When can I have it?”

“That’s your business. But I don’t want to make you unhappy. You still owe me one mark and thirty-five pfennigs. When can you pay me?”

“Oh, you will soon have it, certainly, Kromer. I don’t know yet—perhaps to-morrow, or the day after, I shall have some more. You understand that I can’t tell my father, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’ll have it soon, Kromer, I’m sure. I don’t know yet. Perhaps I’ll have some more tomorrow or the day after. You understand I can’t tell my father, don’t you?”

“That’s no concern of mine. I don’t want to harm you. If I liked, I could get the money before noon, you see, and I’m poor. You wear nice clothes, and you get something better to eat for dinner than I do. But I won’t say anything. I am willing to wait a few days. The day after to-morrow, in the afternoon, I will whistle for you, then you will bring it along. You can recognize my whistle?”

“That’s none of my concern. I don’t want to hurt you. If I wanted to, I could get the money before noon, you see, and I’m poor. You wear nice clothes, and you eat a better dinner than I do. But I won’t say anything. I’m willing to wait a few days. The day after tomorrow, I’ll whistle for you in the afternoon. Then you’ll bring the money. Can you recognize my whistle?”

He gave me a whistle that I had often heard before.

He gave me a whistle that I had often heard before.

“Yes,” I said, “I know it.”

“Yes,” I said, “I know it.”

He went away, as if I didn’t belong to him. It had been only a transaction between us, nothing further.

He walked away as if I didn’t belong to him. It had only been a transaction between us, nothing more.

Even to-day, I believe, Kromer’s whistle would terrify me if I heard it again suddenly. From then on I heard it often. It seemed I heard it continually and always. No place, no game, no work, no idea in which this whistle would not sound. I was dependent on it, it was now the messenger of my fate. On mild, glowing autumn afternoons I was often in our little flower garden, which I loved dearly. A peculiar impulse made me take up again boyish games which I had played formerly. I played, as it were, that I was a boy who was younger than I, who was still good and free, innocent and secure. But in the middle of the game, always expected and yet always terribly disturbing and surprising sounded Kromer’s whistle, destroying the picture my imagination had painted.

Even today, I believe Kromer’s whistle would terrify me if I suddenly heard it again. From then on, I heard it often. It seemed I heard it constantly, all the time. There was no place, no game, no work, no idea in which the whistle did not sound. I was at its mercy. It was now the messenger of my fate. On mild, glowing autumn afternoons, I was often in our little flower garden, which I loved dearly. A strange impulse made me take up the boyhood games I used to play. I pretended, in a way, that I was a younger boy, one who was still good and free, innocent and safe. But in the middle of the game, Kromer’s whistle always sounded. I always expected it, yet it was always terribly disturbing and surprising. It destroyed the picture my imagination had painted.

Then I had to go, I had to follow my tormentor to evil and ugly places, had to render an account and let myself be dunned. The whole business may have lasted a few weeks, but it seemed to me like a year, or an eternity. I seldom had money—a five or ten pfennig piece stolen from the kitchen table when Lina left the market basket standing there. Each time I was blamed by Kromer, and heaped with abuse; it was I who deceived him and kept back what was his due, it was I who robbed him and made him unhappy! Seldom in life has need so oppressed me, seldom have I felt a greater helplessness, a greater dependence.

Then I had to go. I had to follow my tormentor to evil, ugly places, report to him, and endure his demands for payment. The whole ordeal may have lasted a few weeks, but it felt like a year, or an eternity. I seldom had any money. When I did, it was a five or ten pfennig coin stolen from the kitchen table, where Lina had left the market basket. Each time, Kromer blamed me and hurled insults at me. I was the one who deceived him and kept back what I owed him. I was the one who robbed him and made him unhappy! Seldom in my life have I felt so burdened by need, so helpless or so dependent.

I had filled up the savings box with toy money—no one made any enquiries. But that as well could be discovered any day. I was even more afraid of mother than of Kromer’s harsh whistle, especially when she stepped up to me softly—was she not going to ask me about the money box?

I had filled the savings box with toy money. No one asked about it. But the toy money could still be discovered any day. I was even more afraid of mother than of Kromer’s harsh whistle, especially when she came quietly up to me. Was she going to ask me about the money box?

As I presented myself to my evil genius several times without money he began to torment and to make use of me after a different fashion. I had to work for him. He had to see to various things for his father. I did that for him or he made me do something more difficult, hop on one leg for ten minutes, or fasten a scrap of paper on to the coat of a passer-by. Many nights these torments realized themselves in my dreams, and I wept and broke out in a cold sweat in my nightmare.

After I showed up several times without money, my evil genius began to torment and use me in a different way. I had to work for him. He had to take care of various things for his father, and I did them for him. Or he made me do something harder, like hopping on one leg for ten minutes or fastening a scrap of paper to a passerby's coat. Many nights, these torments appeared in my dreams. I wept and broke out in a cold sweat during my nightmares.

For a time I was ill. I often vomited and felt cold, but at night I lay in a fever, bathed in perspiration. Mother felt that something was wrong and displayed much sympathy on my behalf, but this tortured me because I could not respond by confiding in her.

For a while I was ill. I often vomited and felt cold, but at night I lay feverish and soaked in sweat. Mother sensed that something was wrong and showed me a lot of sympathy. But her sympathy tortured me because I could not confide in her.

One evening, after I had already gone to bed, she brought me a piece of chocolate. This action was a souvenir of former years when, if I had been good, I was often rewarded in this way before going off to sleep. Now she stood there and held the piece of chocolate out to me. This so pained me that I could do nothing but shake my head. She asked what was the matter with me and stroked my hair. I could only sob out: “Nothing! nothing! I won’t have anything.” She put the chocolate on my bed table and went away. When she wished subsequently to question me on the matter I made as if I knew nothing about it. Once she brought the doctor to me, who examined me and prescribed cold ablutions in the morning.

One evening, after I had gone to bed, she brought me a piece of chocolate. It reminded me of earlier years, when I was often rewarded with chocolate at bedtime if I had been good. Now she stood there, holding the chocolate out to me. The gesture pained me so much that I could only shake my head. She asked what was wrong and stroked my hair. I could only sob: “Nothing! Nothing! I don’t want anything.” She put the chocolate on my bedside table and went away. Later, when she tried to ask me about it, I pretended I knew nothing about it. Once, she brought the doctor to see me. He examined me and prescribed washing with cold water in the morning.

My state at that time was a sort of insanity. I was shy and lived in torment like a ghost in the midst of the well-ordered peace of our house. I had no part in the others’ lives, and could seldom, even for as much as an hour, forget my miserable existence. In the presence of my father, who often took me to task in an irritated fashion, I was reserved and wrapped up in myself.

At the time, I was in a kind of madness. I was shy and suffered like a ghost amid the orderly peace of our home. I was not part of the others’ lives. I could rarely forget my miserable existence, even for an hour. My father often scolded me with irritation. When I was with him, I was quiet and withdrawn.