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Updated: May 13, 2025
Through the door burst that most sorrowful of all human sounds, the sound of a child audibly wrestling with some unintelligible verse, twenty, fifty, a thousand times repeated anew, and anew, without becoming intelligible, while the verse had not yet taken its place in the child's head. Through the boards sounded afar a spiral Latin phrase. "His atacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque."
The poor boy began over five or six times, but could not place those pagan words in the correct order, and as the mischievous girl shook her head each time he made a mistake, he finally became so confused that he could not even begin; then he reddened with anger, and, gnashing his teeth, tore the graceless book out of Fanny's hand, threw it down upon the table and commenced an assault upon the heathen words, and with glaring eyes read the million-times repeated incantation: "His abacem, panacem, phylacem, coracem facemque," striking the back of his head with clinched fist at every word.
Then again: "His acatem, panacem, phylacem, coracem que facemque." And again the same. Fanny placed her ear against the door and seized my hand as a hint to be quiet. Then she laughed aloud.
He handed the book to Fanny, casting a farewell glance at the disgusting, insufferable words; and with a great gulp by which he hoped to remove all obstacles from the way of the lines he had to utter, cleared his throat and began: "His abacem, phylacem ..." Fanny shook her head. It was not good. Henrik was frightened. He began again: "His abacem, coracem...." Again it was wrong.
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