The information that the German _Diet_ had prohibited the publication of his books had so upset him that he could not think clearly. It seemed to him that some sinister fate was always interfering with his work. At first it was the parrot, who chattered volubly, and when he had trained him to keep still in the morning, a whole brood of children moved in on the floor below and insisted on doing all their crying during the hours he had set aside for writing; and when by chance everyone was quiet it usually happened that just then he was not in the mood for writing. He thought it strange that all noises came when he was in the best of moods. Yes, it must be the fates who were always pursuing him. This morning everything had moved so smoothly. He had felt as if he had been on wings, his thoughts came flying, and the expressions he wanted were coming so spontaneously that he could scarcely write fast enough when that idiot of a postman began his clamorous ringing! Well, the bad news could have waited until his morning’s work was done! Ah! fate, cruel fate, had been tormenting him from his very cradle! He was walking down the street rather rapidly, his inner agitation gaining momentum. It was early in December and the air was cold and refreshing. He could not understand why the _Diet_ should have decreed against his writings, especially now when he was preaching moderation. Goethe’s and Lessing’s works had never been forbidden! Goethe had always been anti-Christian, quite pagan, and Lessing was a veritable iconoclast, and yet the government had never taken measures against them! An unpleasant thought was intruding upon him. He tried to force this unpleasant thought away. In the past six years he had banished this unpleasant thought by sheer force whenever it sought admission into his brain. His life in Paris would not permit him to dwell upon this unpleasant thought. But now it took hold of him in spite of himself. The Prussians would not forgive his Jewish blood! The mark of Cain was on his brow! Genius or no genius, it did not matter. Ah, those narrow minded tyrants! They shall see—the whole pack of them—he would smite those Philistines hip and thigh! As he proceeded on his walk he was mentally wording a reply to the Prussian _Diet_. He felt himself a Luther standing before the King. Indeed, like the man of Worms, he would not recant. He was smiting the Philistines. He was not sparing them. His words were molten lead. He would pour it red hot upon their stupid heads. He would avenge himself on all of them—on the Aristocrats and the Democrats. They had both combined to annihilate him but he would pull the temple down upon them. Under the heat of composition his face brightened, his eyes were aglow, his step became more elastic and rapid He was almost glad that this had happened. His fire was kindled with greater fury.