"The same thing happens to us that formerly happened to me in my boyhood and to my companions with whom I used to gather contributions for our support during our student days. For when at the time of the celebration of Christs birthday in the church we were singing in four voices from door to door in the villages the usual songs about the boy Jesus who was born in Bethlehem, it happened by chance that we came to a country house situated in a lonely spot on the outermost borders of a village. When the farmer had heard us singing, he came out of the house and asked in a boorish voice where we were. “Where are you, you rascals?” he asked. At the same time he brought out sausages which he intended to give us. But at the sound of these words we became so terrified that we all scattered, although we knew no reason at all for our terror, and the farmer was offering the sausages with the greatest goodwill. It is possible, of course, that our hearts, beaten down as they were by the constant threats and the cruelty with which teachers were accustomed to rage against their pupils, were more likely to be upset by sudden fright. Finally, however, he called us back from our flight; and we laid our fear aside, ran up, and took the contribution he was handing us.
We are accustomed to tremble and flee in the same manner when our conscience is guilty and perturbed. We are afraid of a sausage, and we even fear those who wish us the best."
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