SECRETARY.  Your father is not at home?

CLARA.

No!

SECRETARY.

I bring you good news.  Your brother—­No, Clara, I cannot talk to you in this formal way.  All these tables, chairs, and cupboards that I know so well—­Good day, old friend!

[He nods to a cup-board.]

How are you?  You have not changed a bit!—­around which we used to romp as children—­it seems to me they will put their heads together and deride me as a fool, unless I quickly assume another tone.  I must “thou” you, as I used to do!  If you do not like it, just say to yourself:  The big boy is dreaming, I will awaken him, I will step in front of him and draw myself up to my full height [With gestures], and let him see that it is no longer a little child that stands before him—­[He points to a scratch on the door]—­that shows how big you were at eleven!—­but a very proper, grown-up girl, who could reach the sugar when it is upon the sideboard!  Surely you remember!  That was the place, the firm fortress, where it was safe from us even without being locked up.  We used to amuse ourselves by slapping flies, when it stood there, because we could not endure to see them flying around happily and enjoying what we ourselves were unable to reach.

CLARA.

I should think people would forget about such things when they had hundreds and thousands of books to study.

SECRETARY.

Indeed they do forget it!  To be sure, what does one not forget over Justinian and Gaius?  Small boys who persistently resist their A B C’s know very well why they do it; they have a presentiment that if they do not apply themselves too hard to the primer they will never have to struggle with the Bible.  But it is a downright shame!  People deceive the innocent souls!  They are shown the red rooster with the basket full of eggs on the last page, so that of their own accord they say:  “Ah!” And then there is no more holding back; they go tearing down the hill to Z, and so forth and so forth, until all of a sudden they find themselves in the midst of the Corpus Juris, and are horrified when they realize what a wilderness the accursed twenty-four letters have enticed them into—­the letters, which, in the beginning, formed themselves, in a merry dance, only into nice-tasting and nice-smelling words such as “cherry” and “rose.”

CLARA.

And [Absent-mindedly, and without interest]—­what happens then?

SECRETARY.

That depends upon the difference of temperament.  Some work themselves through.  Those usually come forth into daylight again after three or four years, but looking somewhat thin and pale; however, one must not blame them for that; I myself am one of that kind.  Others lie down in the middle of the forest; they intend merely to rest themselves, but they seldom get up again.  I myself have a friend who has been drinking his beer for three years already in the shade of the Lex Julia; he selected the place on account of its name—­it recalls pleasant memories.  Still others give up in despair and turn back; those are the stupid ones; people let them out of one thicket only on condition that they will run at full speed into another.  And then there are some who are still worse, and who don’t get anywhere!