Now it is otherwise. But at that time the boys were left to
themselves. Barely snatched away, speaking figuratively, from the
maternal breast; from the care of devoted nurses; from morning and
evening caresses, quiet and sweet; even though they were ashamed
of every manifestation of tenderness as "womanishness," they were
still irresistibly and sweetly drawn to kisses, contacts,
conversations whispered in the ear.
Of course, attentive, solicitous treatment, bathing, exercises in
the open air--precisely not gymnastics, but voluntary exercises,
each to his own taste--could have always put off the coming of
this climacteric period or soften and make it understandable.
I repeat--then there was nothing of this.
The longing for family endearment, the endearment of mother,
sister, nurse, so roughly and unexpectedly cut short, turned into
deformed forms of courting (every whit like the "crushes" in a
female institute) of good-looking boys, of "fairies"; they loved
to whisper in corners and, walking arm in arm, or embracing in
dark corridors, to tell in each other's ears improbable histories
of adventures with women.
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