No assignments for today in my diary; no work and next month one more hungry day. I expect I won’t be able to acquire anything else new for my wardrobe next month but a few more holes in my shoes. I shall remain at home today. But what shall I do with myself? I don’t feel like working on my novel; I don’t seem to be able to concentrate on any one subject. My thoughts are traveling.
Reading? Yes, but what? Let me see, the new review books which I brought home with me from the office. Poems? Bah! these are not in season. A history of the city of Prague? Too dry! A novel by K.? I’ll wait until I’m married and blase before reading it. Here is a cookery book. How the dickens did that get among the bunch? Look, who is here! The window across the street is open and I can explore the mysteries of my little neighbor’s abode.
“You are not very polite, Miss, to turn your back on me.” She stands near the tiny stove; she cooks something—it must be mush. Now she pours it into a dish of the kind used for feeding babies. She turns her face, and I see her plainly.
A beautiful girl!
Her face is pale and oval; her eyes are blue. Wonderful eyes! Why don’t they look over to me?
My sister, who died as a young girl, had such eyes, and people tell me that my mother, whom I never knew, had beautiful blue eyes. How often have I kissed her picture and yearned for the sound of her voice!
That prosaic mush over there for the baby! Why do such insignificant things recall memories of days long past by? The love of my dear sister and her care for me—her little, orphaned brother!
These same blue eyes bring memories of the past, of the time when she watched me with sisterly love while her small beautiful hands kept the needle busy and earned a living for both of us.
How I must have annoyed her with my dreams and my constant questions? Oh, yes, I too once was young in thought. Now I am only young in years.
Youth! Youth! Your memories rest up on us heavily like a leaden burden, or they warm us like the sunshine of an early August noon. Youth brings the saddest and the loveliest memories at the same time. A lovely memory for the happy man; a sad one for him who prefers to walk the straight path rather than the crooked. If one did not realize the dreams of youth, the early years of life would seem paradise lost.
The dreams of youth! Are they not like the birds that escape from their cages and are now singing in the branches of some tree beyond a yawning abyss; happily and mockingly?
And my own dreams? What were they? Ah, Yes! Immortality! They were rather commonplace. But the end is rather commonplace too.
If I am not mistaken, I am beginning to feel sentimental. This is ridiculous, and—as they say, misfortune is ridiculous too.
Only Youth and Love are the proper subjects for sentimentalities. Love! Must every blue eye charm love for me?
I have discussed love for so long and from so many angles that there remains nothing for love in me.
I must have slept for hours. My poor feet, how well they have rested! Head and heart do not suffer from work—they have little or nothing to do with it. It is half past four! I have missed lunch. Hungry? No! I shall stay home; back to the bed and . . . Oh! Dear. What a voice! But why this fine old song now, which I knew so well many years ago? I know you, melancholy melody. So sweet and so sad. How often have I listened to you until my eyes filled with tears! It is “The Rose of Zion”, the touching melody of the Hebrews.
My blue-eyed neighbor is the singer. She fondles the little child and rocks it to sleep with a lullaby that was composed for a whole nation.
I can see her distinctly in her little garret. Her features certainly remind one of the Orient. And the song of Zion! I must make inquiries tomorrow. Yes! Go on! A thousand thanks, neighborly stranger, for beginning over again. I shall close my eyes and . . . Damn the swallows. There she goes again. Only why did the dear Lord create swallows? All the pleasure is over! Do I feel hungry? Yes, very hungry. Quick! my boots, and out of the house!
Dame Fortune was very kindly inclined as she made me choose my new rooms. In
