m illadapted for friendship. Of two friends,
one is always the slave of the other, although frequently neither
acknowledges the fact to himself. Now, the slave I could not be; and to
be the master would be a wearisome trouble, because, at the same time,
deception would be required. Besides, I have servants and money!

Our friendship originated in the following circumstances. I met Werner
at S----, in the midst of a numerous and noisy circle of young
people. Towards the end of the evening the conversation took a
philosophico-metaphysical turn. We discussed the subject of convictions,
and each of us had some different conviction to declare.

"So far as I am concerned," said the doctor, "I am convinced of one
thing only"...

"And that is--?" I asked, desirous of learning the opinion of a man who
had been silent till then.

"Of the fact," he answered, "that sooner or later, one fine morning, I
shall die."

"I am better off than you," I said. "In addition to that, I have a
further conviction, namely, that, one very nasty evening, I had the
misfortune to be born."

All the others considered that we were talking nonsense, but indeed not
one of them said anything more sensible. From that moment we singled
each other out amongst the crowd. We used frequently to meet and discuss
abstract subjects in a very serious manner, until each observed that the
other was throwing dust in his eyes. Then, looking significantly at each
other--as, according to Cicero, the Roman augurs used to do--we
would burst out laughing heartily and, having had our laugh, we would
separate, well content with our evening.

I was lying on a couch, my eyes fixed upon the ceiling and my hands
clasped behind my head, when Werner entered my room. He sat down in an
easy chair, placed his cane in a corner, yawned, and announced that it
was getting hot out of doors. I replied that the flies were bothering
me--and we both fell silent.

"Observe, my dear doctor," I said, "that, but for fools, the world would
be a very dull place. Look! Here are you and I, both sensible men!
We know beforehand that it is possible to dispute ad infinitum about
everything--and so we do not dispute. Each of us knows almost all the
other's secret thoughts: to us a single word is a whole history; we see
the grain of every one of our feelings through a threefold husk. What
is sad, we laugh at; what is laughable, we grieve at; but, to tell the
truth, we are fairly indifferent, gener