high
garden-walls, where the air lies tepid and soft and still--to sit on the
sunny side, where a bench curves into a niche of the wall, to sit there
end gaze upon the shimmering green acanthus in the roadside ditches,
upon the silver-spotted thistles, and the pale-yellow autumn flowers.

The roses should have been on the long gray wall opposite, a wall full
of lizard holes and chinks with withered grass; and they should have
peeped out at the very spot where the long, monotonous flatness is
broken by a large, swelling basket of beautiful old wrought iron, a
latticed extension, which forms a spacious balcony, reaching higher than
the breast. It must have been refreshing to go up there when one was
weary of the enclosed garden.

And this they often were.

They hated the magnificent old villa, which is said to be within, with
its marble stair-cases and its tapestries of coarse weave; and the
ancient trees with their proud large crowns, pines and laurels, ashes,
cypresses, and oaks. During all the period of their growth they were
hated with the hatred which restless hearts feel for that which is
commonplace, trivial, uneventful, for that which stands still and
therefore seems hostile.

But from the balcony one could at least range outside with one's eyes,
and that is why they stood there, one generation after the other, and
all stared into the distance, each one with pro and each one with his
con. Arms adorned with golden bracelets have lain on the edge of the
iron railing and many a silk-covered knee has pressed against the black
arabesques, the while colored ribbons waved from all its points as
signals of love and rendezvous. Heavy, pregnant housewives have also
stood here and sent impossible messages out into the distance. Large,
opulent, deserted women, pale as hatred... could one but kill with a
thought or open hell with a wish!... Women and men! It is always women
and men, even these emaciated white virgin souls which press against the
black latticework like a flock of lost doves and cry out, "Take us!" to
imagined, noble birds of prey.

One might imagine a _proverbe_ here.

The scenery would be very suitable for a _proverbe_.

The wall there, just as it is; only the road would have to be wider and
expand into a circular space. In its center there would have to be
an old, modest fountain of yellowish tuff and with a bowl of broken
porphyry. As figure for the fountain a dolphin with a broken-off tail,
and on