my pulse beats. I half rise and look down at my feet, and I experience at
this moment a fantastic and singular feeling that I have never felt
before--a delicate, wonderful shock through my nerves, as if sparks of
cold light quivered through them--it was as if catching sight of my shoes
I had met with a kind old acquaintance, or got back a part of myself that
had been riven loose. A feeling of recognition trembles through my senses;
the tears well up in my eyes, and I have a feeling as if my shoes are a
soft, murmuring strain rising towards me. "Weakness!" I cried harshly to
myself, and I clenched my fists and I repeated "Weakness!" I laughed at
myself, for this ridiculous feeling, made fun of myself, with a perfect
consciousness of doing so, talked very severely and sensibly, and closed
my eyes very tightly to get rid of the tears.

As if I had never seen my shoes before, I set myself to study their looks,
their characteristics, and, when I stir my foot, their shape and their
worn uppers. I discover that their creases and white seams give them
expression--impart a physiognomy to them. Something of my own nature had
gone over into these shoes; they affected me, like a ghost of my other
I--a breathing portion of my very self.

I sat and toyed with these fancies a long time, perhaps an entire hour. A
little, old man came and took the other end of the seat; as he seated
himself he panted after his walk, and muttered:

"Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay; very true!"

As soon as I heard his voice, I felt as if a wind had swept through my
head. I let shoes be shoes, and it seemed to me that the distracted phase
of mind I had just experienced dated from a long-vanished period, maybe a
year or two back, and was about to be quietly effaced from my memory. I