incidents related by our teachers of their own lives, especially the
historical instruction which was connected with the history of
civilization and so arranged as to seek to make us familiar not only with
the deeds of nations and bloody battles, but with the life of the human
race.

In spite of, or on account of, the court of justice I have just
mentioned, there could be no informers among us, for Barop only half
listened to the accuser, and often sent him harshly from the room without
summoning the school-mate whom he accused. Besides, we ourselves knew how
to punish the sycophant so that he took good care not to act as
tale-bearer a second time.

MANNERS, AND FROEBEL'S KINDERGARTEN

The wives of the teachers had even more to do with our deportment than
the dancing-master, especially Frau Barop and her husband's sister Frau
von Born, who had settled in Keilhau on account of having her sons
educated there.

The fact that the head-master's daughters and several girls, who were
friends or relatives of his family, shared many of our lessons, also
contributed essentially to soften the manners of the young German
savages.

I mention our "manners" especially because, as I afterwards learned, they
had been the subject of sharp differences of opinion between Friedrich
Froebel and Langethal, and because the arguments of the former are so
characteristic that I deem them worthy of record.

There could be no lack of delicacy of feeling on the part of the founder
of the kindergarten system, who had said, "If you are talking with any
one, and your child comes to ask you about anything which interests him,
break off your conversation, no matter what may be the rank of the person
who is speaking to you," and who also directed that the child should
receive not only love but respect. The first postulate shows that he
valued the demands of the soul far above social forms. Thus it happened
that during the first years of the institute, which he then governed
himself, he was reproached with paying too little attention to the
outward forms, the "behaviour," the manners of the boys entrusted to his
care. His characteristic answer was: "I place no value on these forms
unless they depend upon and express the inner self. Where that is
thoroughly trained for life and work, externals may be left to
themselves, and will supplement the other." The opponent admits this, but
declares that the Keilhau method, which made no account of outward form,
may defer this "supplement" in a way disastrous to certain pupils.
Froebel's answer is: "Certainly, a wax pear can be made much more quickly
and is just as beautiful as those on the tree, which require a much
longer time to ripen. But the wax pear is only to look at, can barely be
touched, far less could it afford refreshment to the thirsty and the
sick. It is empty--a mere nothing! The child's nature, it is said,
resembles wax. Very well, we don't grudge wax fruits to any one who likes
them. But nothing must be expected from them if we are ill and thirsty;
and what is to become of them when temptations and trials come, and to
whom do they not come? Our educational products must mature slowly, but
thoroughly, to genuine human beings whose inner selves will be deficient
in no respect. Let the tailor provide for the clothes."

Froebel himself was certainly very careless in the choice of his. The
long cloth coat in which I always saw him was fashioned by the village
tailor, and the old gentleman probably liked the garment because half a
dozen children hung by the tails when he crossed the court-yard. It
needed to be durable; but the well-fitting coats worn by Barop and
Langethal were equally so, and both men believed that the good gardener
should also care for the form of the fruit he cultivates, because, when
ripe, it is more valuable if it looks well. They, too, cared nothing for
wax fruits; nay, did not even consider them because they did not
recognize them as fruit at all.

Froebel's conversion was delayed, but after his marriage it was all the
more thorough. The choice of this intellectual and kindly natured man,
who set no value on the external forms of life, was, I might say,
"naturally" a very elegant woman, a native of Berlin, the widow of the
Kriegsrath Hofmeister. She speedily opened Froebel's eyes to the
aesthetic and artistic element in the lives of the boys entrusted to his
care--the element to which Langethal, from the time of his entrance into
the institution, had directed his attention.

So in Keilhau, too, woman was to pave the way to greater refinement.

This had occurred long before our entrance into the institution. Froebel
did not allude to wax pears now when he saw the pupils well dressed and
courteous in manner; nay, afterwards, in establishing the kindergarten,
he praised and sought to utilize the comprehensive influence upon
humanity of "woman," the guardian of lofty morality. Wives and mothers
owe him as great a debt of gratitude as children, and should never forget
the saying, "The mother's heart alone is the true source of the welfare
of the child, and the salvation of humanity." The fundamental necessity
of the hour is to prepare this soil for the noble human blossom, and
render it fit for its mission.

To meet the need mentioned in this sentence the whole labour of the
evening of his life was devoted. Amid many cares and in defiance of
strong opposition he exerted his best powers for the realization of his
ideal, finding courage to do so in the conviction uttered in the saying,
"Only through the pure hands and full hearts of wives and mothers can the
kingdom of God become a reality."

Unfortunately, I cannot enter more comprehensively here into the details
of the kindergarten system--it is connected with Keilhau only in so far
that both were founded by the same man. Old Froebel was often visited
there by female kindergarten teachers and pedagogues who wished to learn
something of this new institute. We called the former "Schakelinen"; the
latter, according to a popular etymology, "Schakale." The odd name
bestowed upon the female kindergarten teachers was derived, as I learned
afterwards, from no beast of prey, but from a figure in Jean Paul's
"Levana," endowed with beautiful gifts. Her name is Madame Jacqueline,
and she was used by the author to give expression to his own opinions of
female education. Froebel has adopted many suggestions of Jean Paul, but
the idea of the kindergarten arose from his own unhappy childhood. He
wished to make the first five years of life, which to him had been a
chain of sorrows, happy and fruitful to children--especially to those
who, like him, were motherless.

Sullen tempers, the rod, and the strictest, almost cruel, constraint had
overshadowed his childhood, and now his effort was directed towards
having the whole world of little people join joyously in his favourite
cry, "Friede, Freude, Freiheit!" (Peace, Pleasure, Liberty), which
corresponds with the motto of the Jahn gymnasium, "Frisch, fromm,
frohlich, frei."

He also desired to utilize for public instruction the educational talents
which woman undoubtedly possesses.

As in his youth, shoulder to shoulder with Pestalozzi, he had striven to
rear growing boys in a motherly fashion to be worthy men, he now wished
to turn to account, for the benefit of the whole wide circle of younger
children, the trait of maternal solicitude which exists in every woman.
Women were to be trained for teachers, and the places where children
received their first instruction were to resemble nurseries as closely as
possible. He also desired to see the maternal tone prevail in this
instruction.

He, through whose whole life had run the echo of the Saviour's words,
"Suffer little children to come unto me," understood the child's nature,
and knew that its impulse to play must be used, in order to afford it
suitable future nourishment for the mind and soul.

The instruction, the activity, and the movements of the child should be
associated with the things which most interest him, and meanwhile it
should be constantly employed in some creative occupation adapted to its
intelligence.

If, for instance, butter was spoken of, by the help of suitable motions
the cow was milked, the milk was poured into a pan and skimmed, the cream
was churned, the butter was made into pats and finally sent to market.
Then came the payment, which required little accounts. When the game was
over, a different one followed, perhaps something which rendered the
little hands skilful by preparing fine weaving from strips of paper; for
Froebel had perceived that change brought rest.

Every kindergarten should have a small garden, to afford an opportunity
to watch the development of the plants, though only one at a time--for
instance, the bean. By watching the clouds in the sky he directed the
childish intelligence to the rivers, seas, and circulation of moisture.
In the autumn the observation of the chrysalis state of insects was
connected with that of the various stages of their existence.

In this way the child can be guided in its play to a certain creative
activity, rendered familiar with the life of Nature, the claims of the
household, the toil of the peasants, mechanics, etc., and at the same
time increase its dexterity in using its fingers and the suppleness of
its body. It learns to play, to obey, and to submit to the rules of the
school, and is protected from the contradictory orders of unreasonable
mothers and nurses.

Women and girls, too, were benefitted by the kindergarten.

Mothers, whose time, inclination, or talents, forbade them to devote
sufficient time to the child, were relieved by the kindergarten. Girls
learned, as if in a preparatory school of future wife and motherhood, how
to give the little one what it needed, and, as Froebel expresses it, to
become the mediators between Nature and mind.

Yet even this enterprise, the outcome of pure love for the most innocent
and harmless creatures, was prohibited and persecuted as perilous to the
state under Frederick William IV, during the period of the reaction which
followed the insurrection of 1848.



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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS

THE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD

Volume 4.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE FOUNDERS OF THE KEILHAU INSTITUTE, AND A GLIMPSE AT THE HISTORY OF
THE SCHOOL.

I was well acquainted with the three founders of our institute--Fredrich
Froebel, Middendorf, and Langethal--and the two latter were my teachers.
Froebel was decidedly "the master who planned it."

When we came to Keilhau he was already sixty-six years old, a man of
lofty stature, with a face which seemed to be carved with a dull knife
out of brown wood.

His long nose, strong chin, and large ears, behind which the long locks,
parted in the middle, were smoothly brushed, would have rendered him
positively ugly, had not his "Come, let us live for our children," beamed
so invitingly in his clear eyes. People did not think whether he was
handsome or not; his features bore the impress of his intellectual power
so distinctly that the first glance revealed the presence of a remarkable
man.

Yet I must confess--and his portrait agrees with my memory--that his face
by no means suggested the idealist and man of feeling; it seemed rather
expressive of shrewdness, and to have been lined and worn by severe
conflicts concerning the most diverse interests. But his voice and his
glance were unusually winning, and his power over the heart of the child
was limitless. A few words were sufficient to win completely the shyest
boy whom he desired to attract; and thus it happened that, even when he
had been with us only a few weeks, he was never seen crossing the
court-yard without a group of the younger pupils hanging to his coattails
and clasping his hands and arms.

Usually they were persuading him to tell stories, and when he
condescended to do so, older ones flocked around him too, and they were
never disappointed. What fire, what animation the old man had retained!
We never called him anything but "Oheim." The word "Onkel" he detested as
foreign, because it was derived from "avunculus" and "oncle." With the
high appreciation he had of "Tante"--whom he termed, next to the mother,
the most important factor of education in the family--our "Oheim" was
probably specially agreeable to him.

He was thoroughly a self-made man. The son of a pastor in Oberweissbach,
in Thuringia, he had had a dreary childhood; for his mother died young,
and he soon had a step-mother, who treated him with the utmost tenderness
until her own children were born. Then an indescribably sad time began
for the neglected boy, whose dreamy temperament vexed even his own
father. Yet in this solitude his love for Nature awoke. He studied
plants, animals, minerals; and while his young heart vainly longed for
love, he would have gladly displayed affection himself, if his timidity
would have permitted him to do so. His family, seeing him prefer to
dissect the bones of some animal rather than to talk with his parents,
probably considered him a very unlovable child when they sent him, in his
tenth year, to school in the city of Ilm.

He was received into the home of the pastor, his uncle Hoffman, whose
mother-in-law, who kept the house, treated him in the most cordial
manner, and helped him to conquer the diffidence acquired during the
solitude of the first years of his childhood. This excellent woman first
made him familiar with the maternal feminine solicitude, closer
observation of which afterwards led him, as well as Pestalozzi, to a
reform of the system of educating youth.

In his sixteenth year he went to a forester for instruction, but did not
remain long. Meantime he had gained some mathematical knowledge, and
devoted himself to surveying. By this and similar work he
earned a living, until, at the end of seven years, he went to
Frankfort-on-the-Main to learn the rudiments of building. There Fate
brought him into contact with the pedagogue Gruner, a follower of
Pestalozzi's method, and this experienced man, after their first
conversation, exclaimed: "You must become a schoolmaster!"

I have often noticed in life that a word at the right time and place has
sufficed to give the destiny of a human being a different turn, and the
remark of the Frankfort educator fell into Froebel's soul like a spark.
He now saw his real profession clearly and distinctly before him.

The restless years of wandering, during which, unloved and scarcely
heeded, he had been thrust from one place to another, had awakened in his
warm heart a longing to keep others from the same fate. He, who had been
guided by no kind hand and felt miserable and at variance with himself,
had long been ceaselessly troubled by the problem of how the young human
plant could be trained to harmony with itself and to sturdy industry.
Gruner showed him that others were already devoting their best powers to
solve it, and offered him an opportunity to try his ability in his model
school.

Froebel joyfully accepted this offer, cast aside every other thought,
and, with the enthusiasm peculiar to him, threw himself into the new
calling in a manner which led Gruner to praise the "fire and life" he
understood how to awaken in his pupils. He also left it to Froebel to
arrange the plan of instruction which the Frankfort Senate wanted for the
"model school," and succeeded in keeping him two years in his
institution.

When a certain Frau von Holzhausen was looking for a man who would have
the ability to lead her spoiled sons into the right path, and Froebel had
been recommended, he separated from Gruner and performed his task with
rare fidelity and a skill bordering upon genius. The children, who were
physically puny, recovered under his care, and the grateful mother made
him their private tutor from 1807 till 1810. He chose Verdun, where
Pestalozzi was then living, as his place of residence, and made himself
thoroughly familiar with his method of education. As a whole, he could
agree with him; but, as has already been mentioned, in some respects he
went further than the Swiss reformer. He himself called these years his
"university course as a pedagogue," but they also furnished him with the
means to continue the studies in natural history which he had commenced
in Jena. He had laid aside for this purpose part of his salary as tutor,
and was permitted, from 1810 to 1812, to complete in Gottingen his
astronomical and mineralogical studies. Yet the wish to try his powers as
a pedagogue never deserted him; and when, in 1812, the position of
teacher in the Plamann Institute in Berlin was offered him, he accepted
it. During his leisure hours he devoted himself to gymnastic exercises,
and even late in life his eyes sparkled when he spoke of his friend, old
Jahn, and the political elevation of Prussia.

When the summons "To my People" called the German youth to war, Froebel
had already entered his thirty-first year, but this did not prevent his
resigning his office and being one of the first to take up arms. He went
to the field with the Lutzow Jagers, and soon after made the acquaintance
among his comrades of the theological students Langethal and Middendorf.
When, after the Peace of Paris, the young friends parted, they vowed
eternal fidelity, and each solemnly promised to obey the other's summons,
should it ever come. As soon as Froebel took off the dark uniform of the
black Jagers he received a position as curator of the museum of
mineralogy in the Berlin University, which he filled so admirably that
the position of Professor of Mineralogy was offered to him from Sweden.
But he declined, for another vocation summoned him which duty and
inclination forbade him to refuse.

His brother, a pastor in the Thuringian village of Griesheim on the Ilm,
died, leaving three sons who needed an instructor. The widow wished her
brother-in-law Friedrich to fill this office, and another brother, a
farmer in Osterode, wanted his two boys to join the trio. When Froebel,
in the spring of 1817, resigned his position, his friend Langethal begged
him to take his brother Eduard as another pupil, and thus Pestalozzi's
enthusiastic disciple and comrade found his dearest wish fulfilled. He
was now the head of his own school for boys, and these first six
pupils--as he hoped with the confidence in the star of success peculiar
to so many men of genius--must soon increase to twenty. Some of these
boys were specially gifted: one became the scholar and politician Julius
Froebel, who belonged to the Frankfort Parliament of 1848, and another
the Jena Professor of Botany, Eduard Langethal.

The new principal of the school could not teach alone, but he only needed
to remind his old army comrade, Middendorf, of his promise, to induce him
to interrupt his studies in Berlin, which were nearly completed, and join
him. He also had his eye on Langethal, if his hope should be fulfilled.
He knew what a treasure he would possess for his object in this rare man.

There was great joy in the little Griesheim circle, and the Thuringian
(Froebel) did not regret for a moment that he had resigned his secure
position; but the Westphalian (Middendorf) saw here the realization of
the ideal which Froebel's kindling words had impressed upon his soul
beside many a watch-fire.

The character of the two men is admirably described in the following
passage from a letter of "the oldest pupil":

"Both had seen much of the serious side of life, and returned from the
war with the higher inspiration which is hallowed by deep religious
feeling. The idea of devoting their powers with self-denial and sacrifice
to the service of their native land had become a fixed resolution; the
devious paths which so many men entered were far from their thoughts. The
youth, the young generation of their native land, were alone worthy of
their efforts. They meant to train them to a harmonious development of
mind and body; and upon these young people their pure spirit of
patriotism exerted a vast influence. When we recall the mighty power
which Froebel could exercise at pleasure over his fellowmen, and
especially over children, we shall deem it natural that a child suddenly
transported into this circle could forget its past."

When I entered it, though at that time it was much modified and
established on firm foundations, I met with a similar experience. It was
not only the open air, the forest, the life in Nature which so captivated
new arrivals at Keilhau, but the moral earnestness and the ideal
aspiration which consecrated and ennobled life. Then, too, there was that
"nerve-strengthening" patriotism which pervaded everything, filling the
place of the superficial philanthropy of the Basedow system of education.

But Froebel's influence was soon to draw, as if by magnetic power, the
man who had formed an alliance with him amid blood and steel, and who was
destined to lend the right solidity to the newly erected structure of the
institute--I mean Heinrich Langethal, the most beloved and influential of
my teachers, who stood beside Froebel's inspiring genius and Middendorf's
lovable warmth of feeling as the character, and at the same time the
fully developed and trained intellect, whose guidance was so necessary to
the institute.

The life of this rare teacher can be followed step by step from the first
years of his childhood in his autobiography and many other documents, but
I can only attempt here to sketch in broad outlines the character of the
man whose influence upon my whole inner life has been, up to the present
hour, a decisive one.

The recollection of him makes me inclined to agree with the opinion to
which a noble lady sought to convert me--namely, that our lives are far
more frequently directed into a certain channel by the influence of an
unusual personality than by events, experiences, or individual
reflections.

Langethal was my teacher for several years. When I knew him he was
totally blind, and his eyes, which are said to have flashed so brightly
and boldly on the foe in war, and gazed so winningly into the faces of
friends in time of peace, had lost their lustre. But his noble features
seemed transfigured by the cheerful earnestness which is peculiar to the
old man, who, even though only with the eye of the mind, looks back upon
a well-spent, worthy life, and who does not fear death, because he knows
that God who leads all to the goal allotted by Nature destined him also
for no other. His tall figure could vie with Barop's, and his musical
voice was unusually deep. It possessed a resistless power when, excited
himself, he desired to fill our young souls with his own enthusiasm. The
blind old man, who had nothing more to command and direct, moved through
our merry, noisy life like a silent admonition to good and noble things.
Outside of the lessons he never raised his voice for orders or censure,
yet we obediently followed his signs. To be allowed to lead him was an
honor and pleasure. He made us acquainted with Homer, and taught us
ancient and modern history. To this day I rejoice that not one of us ever
thought of using 'pons asinorum,' or copied passage, though he was
perfectly sightless, and we were obliged to translate to him and learn by
heart whole sections of the Iliad. To have done so would have seemed as
shameful as the pillage of an unguarded sanctuary or the abuse of a
wounded hero.

And he certainly was one!

We knew this from his comrades in the war and his stories of 1813, which
were at once so vivid and so modest.

When he explained Homer or taught ancient history a special fervor
animated him; for he was one of the chosen few whose eyes were opened by
destiny to the full beauty and sublimity of ancient Greece.

I have listened at the university to many a famous interpreter of the
Hellenic and Roman poets, and many a great historian, but not one of them
ever gave me so distinct an impression of living with the ancients as
Heinrich Langethal. There was something akin to them in his pure, lofty
soul, ever thirsting for truth and beauty, and, besides, he had graduated
from the school of a most renowned teacher.

The outward aspect of the tall old man was eminently aristocratic, yet
his birthplace was the house of a plain though prosperous mechanic. He
was born at Erfurt, in 1792. When very young his father, a man unusually
sensible and well-informed for his station in life, entrusted him with
the education of a younger brother, the one who, as I have mentioned,
afterwards became a professor at Jena, and the boy's progress was so
rapid that other parents had requested to have their sons share the hours
of instruction.

After completing his studies at the grammar-school he wanted to go to
Berlin, for, though the once famous university still existed in Erfurt,
it had greatly deteriorated. His description of it is half lamentable,
half amusing, for at that time it was attended by thirty students, for
whom seventy professors were employed. Nevertheless, there were many
obstacles to be surmounted ere he could obtain permission to attend the
Berlin University; for the law required every native of Erfurt, who
intended afterwards to aspire to any office, to study at least two years
in his native city--at that time French. But, in defiance of all
hindrances, he found his way to Berlin, and in 1811 was entered in the
university just established there as the first student from Erfurt. He
wished to devote himself to theology, and Neander, De Wette, Marheineke,
Schleiermacher, etc., must have exerted a great power of attraction over
a young man who desired to pursue that study.

At the latter's lectures he became acquainted with Middendorf. At first
he obtained little from either. Schleiermacher seemed to him too
temporizing and obscure. "He makes veils." He thought the young
Westphalian, at their first meeting, merely "a nice fellow." But in time
he learned to understand the great theologian, and the "favourite
teacher" noticed him and took him into his house.

But first Fichte, and then Friedrich August Wolf, attracted him far more
powerfully than Schleiermacher. Whenever he spoke of Wolf his calm
features glowed and his blind eyes seemed to sparkle. He owed all that
was best in him to the great investigator, who sharpened his pupil's
appreciation of the exhaustless store of lofty ideas and the magic of
beauty contained in classic antiquity, and had he been allowed to follow
his own inclination, he would have turned his back on theology, to devote
all his energies to the pursuit of philology and archaeology.

The Homeric question which Wolf had propounded in connection with Goethe,
and which at that time stirred the whole learned world, had also moved
Langethal so deeply that, even when an old man, he enjoyed nothing more
than to speak of it to us and make us familiar with the pros and cons
which rendered him an upholder of his revered teacher. He had been
allowed to attend the lectures on the first four books of the Iliad,
and--I have living witnesses of the fact--he knew them all verse by
verse, and corrected us when we read or recited them as if he had the
copy in his hand.

True, he refreshed his naturally excellent memory by having them all read
aloud. I shall never forget his joyous mirth as he listened to my
delivery of Wolf's translation of Aristophanes's Acharnians; but I was
pleased that he selected me to supply the dear blind eyes. Whenever he
called me for this purpose he already had the book in the side pocket of
his long coat, and when, beckoning significantly, he cried, "Come, Bear,"
I knew what was before me, and would have gladly resigned the most
enjoyable game, though he sometimes had books read which were by no means
easy for me to understand. I was then fourteen or fifteen years old.

Need I say that it was my intercourse with this man which implanted in my
heart the love of ancient days that has accompanied me throughout my
life?

The elevation of the Prussian nation led Langethal also from the
university to the war. Rumor first brought to Berlin the tidings of the
destruction of the great army on the icy plains of Russia; then its
remnants, starving, worn, ragged, appeared in the capital; and the
street-boys, who not long before had been forced by the French soldiers
to clean their boots, now with little generosity--they were only
"street-boys"--shouted sneeringly, "Say, mounseer, want your boots
blacked?"

Then came the news of the convention of York, and at last the irresolute
king put an end to the doubts and delays which probably stirred the blood
of every one who is familiar with Droysen's classic "Life of
Field-Marshal York." From Breslau came the summons "To my People," which,
like a warm spring wind, melted the ice and woke in the hearts of the
German youth a matchless budding and blossoming.

The snow-drops which bloomed during those March days of 1813 ushered in
the long-desired day of freedom, and the call "To arms!" found the
loudest echo in the hearts of the students. It stirred the young, yet
even in those days circumspect Langethal, too, and showed him his duty
But difficulties confronted him; for Pastor Ritschel, a native of Erfurt,
to whom he confided his intention, warned him not to write to his father.
Erfurt, his own birthplace, was still under French rule, and were he to
communicate his plan in writing and the letter should be opened in the
"black room," with other suspicious mail matter, it might cost the life
of the man whose son was preparing to commit high-treason by fighting
against the ruler of his country--Napoleon, the Emperor of France.

"Where will you get the uniform, if your father won't help you, and you
want to join the black Jagers?" asked the pastor, and received the
answer:

"The cape of my cloak will supply the trousers. I can have a red collar
put on my cloak, my coat can be dyed black and turned into a uniform, and
I have a hanger."

"That's right!" cried the worthy minister, and gave his young friend ten
thalers.

Middendorf, too, reported to the Lutzow Jagers at once, and so did the
son of Professor Bellermann, and their mutual friend Bauer, spite of his
delicate health which seemed to unfit him for any exertion.

They set off on the 11th of April, and while the spring was budding alike
in the outside world and in young breasts, a new flower of friendship
expanded in the hearts of these three champions of the same sacred cause;
for Langethal and Middendorf found their Froebel. This was in Dresden,
and the league formed there was never to be dissolved. They kept their
eyes fixed steadfastly on the ideals of youth, until in old age the sight
of all three failed. Part of the blessings which were promised to the
nation when they set forth to battle they were permitted to see seven
lustra later, in 1848, but they did not live to experience the
realization of their fairest youthful dream, the union of Germany.

I must deny myself the pleasure of describing the battles and the marches
of the Lutzow corps, which extended to Aachen and Oudenarde; but will
mention here that Langethal rose to the rank of sergeant, and had to
perform the duties of a first lieutenant; and that, towards the end of
the campaign, Middendorf was sent with Lieutenant Reil to induce Blucher
to receive the corps in his vanguard. The old commander gratified their
wish; they had proved their fitness for the post when they won the
victory at the Gohrde, where two thousand Frenchmen were killed and as
many more taken prisoners. The sight of the battlefield had seemed
unendurable to the gentle nature of Middendorf he had formed a poetical
idea of the campaign as an expedition against the hereditary foe. Now
that he had confronted the bloodstained face of war with all its horrors,
he fell into a state of melancholy from which he could scarcely rouse
himself.

After this battle the three friends were quartered in Castle Gohrde, and
there enjoyed a delightful season of rest after months of severe
hardships. Their corps had been used as the extreme vanguard against
Davoust's force, which was thrice their superior in numbers, and in
consequence they were subjected to great fatigues. They had almost
forgotten how it seemed to sleep in a bed and eat at a table. One night
march had followed another. They had often seized their food from the
kettles and eaten it at the next stopping-place, but all was cheerfully
done; the light-heartedness of youth did not vanish from their
enthusiastic hearts. There was even no lack of intellectual aliment, for
a little field-library had been established by the exchange of books.
Langethal told us of his night's rest in a ditch, which was to entail
disastrous consequences. Utterly exhausted, sleep overpowered him in the
midst of a pouring rain, and when he awoke he discovered that he was up
to his neck in water. His damp bed--the ditch--had gradually filled, but
the sleep was so profound that even the rising moisture had not roused
him. The very next morning he was attacked with a disease of the eyes, to
which he attributed his subsequent blindness.

On the 26th of August there was a prospect of improvement in the
condition of the corps. Davoust had sent forty wagons of provisions to
Hamburg, and the men were ordered to capture them. The attack was
successful, but at what a price! Theodor Korner, the noble young poet
whose songs will commemorate the deeds of the Lutzow corps so long as
German men and boys sing his "Thou Sword at my Side," or raise their
voices in the refrain of the Lutzow Jagers' song:

"Do you ask the name of yon reckless band? 'Tis Lutzow's black troopers
dashing swift through the land!"

Langethal first saw the body of the author of "Lyre and Sword" and
"Zriny" under an oak at Wobbelin; but he was to see it once more under
quite different circumstances. He has mentioned it in his autobiography,
and I have heard him describe several times his visit to the corpse of
Theodor Korner.

He had been quartered in Wobbelin, and shared his room with an Oberjager
von Behrenhorst, son of the postmaster-general in Dessau, who had taken
part in the battle of Jena as a young lieutenant and returned home with a
darkened spirit.

At the summons "To my People," he had enlisted at once as a private
soldier in the Lutzow corps, where he rose rapidly to the rank of
Oberjager. During the war he had often met Langethal and Middendorf; but
the quiet, reserved man, prematurely grave for his years, attached
himself so closely to Korner that he needed no other friend.

After the death of the poet on the 26th of August, 1813, he moved
silently about as though completely crushed. On the night which followed
the 27th he invited his room-mate Langethal to go with him to the body of
his friend. Both went first to the village church, where the dead Jagers
lay in two long black rows. A solemn stillness pervaded the little house
of God, which had become during this night the abode of death, and the
nocturnal visitors gazed silently at the pallid, rigid features of one
lifeless young form after another, but without finding him whom they
sought.

During this mute review of corpses it seemed to Langethal as if Death
were singing a deep, heartrending choral, and he longed to pray for these
young, crushed human blossoms; but his companion led the way into the
guard's little room. There lay the poet, "the radiance of an angel on his
face," though his body bore many traces of the fury of the battle. Deeply
moved, Langethal stood gazing down upon the form of the man who had died
for his native land, while Behrenhorst knelt on the floor beside him,
silently giving himself up to the anguish of his soul. He remained in
this attitude a long time, then suddenly started up, threw his arms
upward, and exclaimed, "Korner, I'll follow you!"

With these words Behrenhorst darted out of the little room into the
darkness; and a few weeks after he, too, had fallen for the sacred cause
of his native land.

They had seen another beloved comrade perish in the battle of Gohrde, a
handsome young man of delicate figure and an unusually reserved manner.

Middendorf, with whom he--his name was Prohaska--had been on more
intimate terms than the others, once asked him, when he timidly avoided
the girls and women who cast kindly glances at him, if his heart never
beat faster, and received the answer, "I have but one love to give, and
that belongs to our native land."

While the battle was raging, Middendorf was fighting close beside his
comrade. When the enemy fired a volley the others stooped, but Prohaska
stood erect, exclaiming, when he was warned, "No bowing! I'll make no
obeisance to the French!"

A few minutes after, the brave soldier, stricken by a bullet, fell on the
greensward. His friends bore him off the field, and Prohaska--Eleonore
Prohaska--proved to be a girl!

While in Castle Gohrde, Froebel talked with his friends about his
favourite plan, which he had already had a view in Gottingen, of
establishing a school for boys, and while developing his educational
ideal to them and at the same time mentioning that he had passed his
thirtieth birthday, and alluding to the postponement of his plan by the
war, he exclaimed, to explain why he had taken up arms:

"How can I train boys whose devotion I claim, unless I have proved by my
own deeds how a man should show devotion to the general welfare?"

These words made a deep impression upon the two friends, and increased
Middendorf's enthusiastic reverence for the older comrade, whose
experiences and ideas had opened a new world to him.

The Peace of Paris, and the enrolment of the Lutzow corps in the line,
brought the trio back to Berlin to civil life.

There also each frequently sought the others, until, in the spring of
1817, Froebel resigned the permanent position in the Bureau of Mineralogy
in order to establish his institute.

Middendorf had been bribed by the saying of his admired friend that he
"had found the unity of life." It gave the young philosopher food for
thought, and, because he felt that he had vainly sought this unity and
was dissatisfied, he hoped to secure it through the society of the man
who had become everything to him His wish was fulfilled, for as an
educator he grew as it were into his own motto, "Lucid, genuine, and true
to life."

Middendorf gave up little when he followed Froebel.

The case was different with Langethal. He had entered as a tutor the
Bendemann household at Charlottenburg, where he found a second home. He
taught with brilliant success children richly gifted in mind and heart,
whose love he won. It was "a glorious family" which permitted him to
share its rich social life, and in whose highly gifted circle he could be
sure of finding warm sympathy in his intellectual interests. Protected