Than it dawned on me that, at that late hour, one of Professor Arendt’s elective lessons must still be taking place, which he conducted into the night in his classroom late, and where we would gather in wintertime, burning with the noble enthusiasm for drawing exercises that our outstanding teacher inspired in us. Our little group of students would be all but lost in that great, dark room, the shadows of our heads growing enormous and fragmented on the walls, cast by two small candles that burned in the necks of bottles. In truth, not many of us used those hours for drawing, and the professor did not stipulate too exacting demands. One or two of us would have brought pillows from home, and now settled down on the benches for a light nap. Only the most studious would sit under a solitary candle, and draw some object in the golden circle of its radiance.
il. for The Cinnamon Shops by B. Schulz