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122 Frank Wedekind
Moritz. I was startled as if by lightning.
Melchior. Did you dream?
Moritz. Only for a little while of legs in light
blue tights, that strode over the cathedral to be cor
rect, I thought they wanted to go over it. I only saw
them for an instant.
Melchior. George Zirschnitz dreamed of his mother.
Moritz. Did he tell you that? ... 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 Mel
chior, the last three weeks have been a Gethsemane for
me. . . .
Truly they play a remarkable game with us.
And we re expected to give thanks for it. I don t re
member to have had any longing for this kind of excite
ment. Why didn t they let me sleep peacefully until all
was still again. My dear parents might have had a hun
dred better children. I came here, I don t know how,
and must be responsible myself for not staying away.
Haven t you often wondered, Melchior, by what means
we were brought into this whirl?
Melchior. Don t you know that yet either, Moritz?
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 have gone
through Meyer s
"
Little Encyclopedia
"
from A to Z.
Words nothing but words and words ! Not a single
plain explanation. Oh, this feeling of shame! What
good to me is an encyclopedia that won t answer me con
cerning the most important question in life?
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