208
PARTISAN REYIEW
and wooden wagons in a corner of the room. They looked pale and
tired. Perhaps one really ought to have some consideration for them.
I was struck by the idea that they might perhaps be replaced by
wax dolls of the kind one sees in the windows of drugstores as adver–
tisements for powdered milk and skin lotions. It seems to me those
look quite natural.
As
a matter of fact I intend to call the family's attention to the
possible effect on the children's temperament of this unnatural daily
excitement. Although a certain amount of discipline does no harm,
it seems to me that they are being subjected to excessive demands.
I left my observation post when the people inside began to
sing: "Silent Night." I simply could not bear the song. The air was
so mild-and for an instant I had the feeling that I was watching
an assembly of ghosts. Suddenly I had a craving for sour pickles and
this gave me some inkling of how very much Lucie must have
suffered.
I have now succeeded in having the children replaced by wax
dolls. Their procurement was costly-Uncle Franz hesitated for some
time- but one really could not go on irresponsibly feeding the chil–
dren on marzipan every day and making them sing songs which in the
long run might cause them psychic injury. The procurement of the
dolls proved to be useful because Carl and Lucie really emigrated
and Johannes also withdrew his children from his father's house–
hold. I bade farewell to Carl and Lucie and the children as they
stood amid large traveling trunks. They seemed happy, if a little
worried. Johannes, too, has left our town. Somewhere or other he
is engaged in reorganizing a Communist cell.
Uncle Franz is weary of life. Recently he complained to me
that people are always forgetting to dust off the dolls. His servants
in particular cause
him
difficulties, and the actors seem inclined to
be undisciplined. They drink more than they ought, and some of
them have been caught filling their pockets with cigars and cigarettes.
I advised my uncle to provide them with colored water and card–
board cigars.
The only reliable ones are my aunt and the prelate. They chat
together about the good old times, giggle and seem to enjoy them–
selves, interrupting their conversation only when a song is struck up.
