Even if many of its former denizens are still alive, the old refined, high-spirited levity is gone, as is the contempt for money and the natural, unmeditated high-handedness with which middle-class people were treated, even when they were millionaires. Thinking back now on those childhood days, I am often reminded of that eerie night when my friend the cuckoo prophesied the death of a world. A horrible feeling of despair surged over me: everyone in the house, in the little town, in the whole world was dead, and I had been left all alone in a world of the dead. I was very frightened and began to scream and call for help, but no one heard me. Screech owls, I thought, and screech owl cries mean death. I was awakened from a deep sleep by a dull sound and started with fright as I heard in the stillness of the night eleven terrifying cries. One night, however, the beloved clock played me a nasty trick. I was very fond of it and never tired of hearing it. When I was a small child there was a cuckoo clock in the hallway across from my bedroom. Translation ©�Lionel Gossman,�CC�BY�4.0 In the well tempered glass-house
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