Selected Stories by Robert Walser Page A

death, misery, hate, and injury, and puts upon all that exists
     an abominable mask of malice and ugliness. I would not have a simple workman a lord,
     nor a simple woman her ladyship. But everything nowadays is out to dazzle and glitter,
     to be new and exquisite and beautiful, be lord and lady, and so becomes horrible.
     But in time perhaps things will change again. I would like to hope so.”
    Now, as will soon be learned, I shall on account of this haughty bearing, this domineering
     attitude, take myself to task. In what manner will also soon be shown. It would not
     be good if I were to criticize others mercilessly, but set about myself only most
     tenderly and treat myself as indulgently as possible. A critic who goes about it in
     this way is no true critic, and writers should not practice any abuse of writing.
     I hope that this sentence pleases all and sundry, inspires satisfaction, and meets
     with warm applause.
    Left of the country road here, a foundry full of workmen and industry causes a noticeable
     disturbance. In recognition of this I am honestly ashamed to be merely out for a walk
     while so many others drudge and labor. I drudge away perhaps of course at times, when
     all these workmen have knocked off and are taking a rest. A fitter on his bicycle,
     a friend of mine from 135/III Battalion of the militia, calls to me in passing: “It
     looks to me you’re out for a walk again, working hours too!” I wave to him and laugh
     and blithely admit that he is right, if he thinks I am out for a walk.
    “They can all see that I am going for a walk,” I thought to myself, and I calmly walked
     on, without the least annoyance at having been found out, for that would have been
     silly.
    In my bright yellow English suit, which I had received as a present, I really seemed
     to myself, I must frankly admit, a great lord and grand seigneur, a marquis strolling
     up and down his park, though it was only a semi-rural, semi-suburban, neat, modest,
     nice little poor-quarter and country road I walked on, and on no account a noble park,
     as I have been so arrogant as to suppose, a presumption I gently withdraw, because
     all that is parklike is pure invention and does not fit here at all. Factories both
     great and small and mechanical workshops lay scattered agreeably in green countryside.
     Fat cozy farms meanwhile kindly offered their arms to knocking and hammering industry,
     which always has something skinny and worn-out about it. Nut trees, cherry trees,
     and plum trees gave the soft rounded road an attractive, entertaining, and delicate
     character. A dog lay across the middle of the road which I found as a matter of fact
     quite beautiful and loved. I loved in fact almost everything I saw as I proceeded,
     and with a fiery love. Another pretty little dog scene and child scene was as follows.
     A large but thoroughly comical, humorous, not at all dangerous fellow of a dog was
     quietly watching a wee scrap of a boy who crouched on some porch steps and bawled
     on account of the attention which the good-natured yet still somewhat terrifying-looking
     animal chose to pay him, bawled miserably with fear, setting up a loud and childish
     wail. I found the scene enchanting; but another childish scene in this country-road
     theater I found almost more delightful and enchanting. Two very small children were
     lying on the rather dusty road, as in a garden. One child said to the other: “Now
     give me a nice little kiss.” The other child gave what was so pressingly demanded.
     Then said the first: “All right, now you may get up.” So without a sweet little kiss
     he would probably never have allowed the other what he now permitted it. “How well
     this naive little scene goes with the lovely blue sky, which laughs down so divinely
     upon the gay, nimble, and bright earth!” I said to myself. “Children are heavenly
     because they are always in a kind of heaven. When they grow older and grow up, their
     heaven