The young scholar saw the beautiful woman. The dazzling white of her breasts shone from the framing of lace and fur. Her sweet body smelled of pulsating life, her body radiated warmth. He was overtaken by his longing for her. As if from far, far away, his desire emerged like a forgotten idea; it grew like an avalanche, always dragging new things along, into something large, violent, indomitable.

He shuddered with the yearning to evade the sublime delusions of his science and to submerge himself in the delights of real life; he saw all these delights embodied in this woman.

But how could he come into possession of her? He did not even know what to say to her, how to approach her. An inexpressible shyness seized him. All the problems, axioms, formulas that he knew came to his mind—only not the one formula with which one can subdue a woman. Does it exist?

He thought about all of this while talking to her. His words, everyday trivialities set into motion by a senseless impulse, sputtered out of his mouth without him even knowing what he said. Alongside this purely mechanical activity his wishes and desires and the great “how” rushed through his mind at lightning speed.

But then she came to his aid. Her longing eyes fixated on him, and with a smile that left deep dimples in her cheeks she said: “I would like to be your disciple.” She wanted to be his pupil!

As if through a tremendous jolt, all those earlier thoughts of man’s majesty over woman, about man and science, woman and stupidity, were pushed back, compressed, forgotten. Suddenly the greatness of this loving woman came to him—(because what man can imagine in his immoderate sublimity and superhumanity that the woman before whom he stands is not the loving one, the woman who loves him?)—to enlighten this loving woman, to use her.

And since he had just heard—something that had not interested him before—that she was enthusiastic about science (for which, of course, she was laughed at, only forgiven because of her curvy hips), he decided to take her on.