I looked out of
the window into the dawn. The race had made its own surroundings.
These people who suffocated with laughter at the idea of one's knowing
no German, had produced, as it were, a German picture by the mere
influence of years and years of similar thoughts.
Out of my window I saw the eaves coming low down. I saw an apple-tree
against the grey light. The tangled grass in the little garden, the
dog-kennel, and the standing butt were all what I had seen in those
German pictures which they put into books for children, and which are
drawn in thick black lines: nor did I see any reason why tame faces
should not appear in that framework. I expected the light lank hair
and the heavy unlifting step of the people whose only emotions are in
music.
But it was too early for any one to be about, and my German garden,
_si j'ose m'exprimer ainsi,_ had to suffice me for an impression of
the Central Europeans. I gazed at it a little while as it grew
lighter. Then I went downstairs and slipped the latch (which, being
German, was of a quaint design). I went out into the road and sighed
profoundly.
All that day was destined to be covered, so far as my spirit was
concerned, with a motionless lethargy.
