frequently the lovely woodlands of the Spree, a richly watered region
intersected by numerous arms of the river and countless canals, resting
as quietly under dense masses of foliage as a child asleep at noontide
beneath the shadow of a tree.

The alders and willows, lindens and oaks, which grow along the banks, are
superb; flocks of birds fly twittering and calling from one bush and
branch to another; but all human intercourse is carried on, as in Venice,
by boats which glide noiselessly to and fro.

Whoever desires a faithful and minute picture of this singular region,
which reminded me of many scenes in Holland and many of Hobbema's
paintings, should read The Goddess of Noon. It contains a number of
descriptions whose truth and vividness are matchless.

Every trip into the woodlands of the Spree offered an abundance of
beautiful and pleasurable experiences, but I remember with still greater
enjoyment my leafy nooks on the river-bank.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TIME OF EFFERVESCENCE, AND MY SCHOOL MATES.

Although the events of my school-days at Kottbus long since blended
together in my, memory, my life there is divided into two sharply defined
portions. The latter commences with Professor Tzschirner's appointment
and the reform in the school.

From the first day of the latter's government I can recall what was
taught us in the class and how it influenced me, while I have entirely
forgotten what occurred during the interim. This seems strange; for,
while Langethal's, Middendorf's, and Barop's instruction, which I
received when so much younger, remains vividly impressed on my memory,
and it is the same with Tzschirner's lessons, the knowledge I acquired
between my fifteenth and seventeenth year is effaced as completely as
though I had passed a sponge over the slate of my memory. A chasm yawns
between these periods of instruction, and I cannot ascribe this
circumstance entirely to the amusements which withdrew my thoughts from
study; for they continued under Tzschirner's rule, though with some
restrictions. I wish I could believe that everything which befel me then
had remained entirely without influence on my inner life.

A demon--I can find no other name--urged me to all sorts of follies, many
of which I still remember with pleasure, and, thank Heaven, not a single
one which a strict teacher--supposing that he had not forgotten how to
put himself into the place of a youth--would seriously censure. The
effervescing spirits which did not find vent in such pranks obtained
expression in a different form.

I had begun to write, and every strong emotion was uttered in verses,
which I showed to the companions from whom I could expect sympathy. My
school-mates were very unlike. Among the young gentlemen who paid a high
price to attend the school not a single one had been really industrious
and accomplished anything. But neither did any one of the few lads whose
fathers were peasants, or who belonged to the lower ranks, stand at the
head of his class. They were very diligent, but success rarely
corresponded with the amount of labour employed. The well-educated but by
no means wealthy middle class supplied the school with its best material.

The evolution of the human soul is a strange thing. The period during
which, in my overflowing mirth, I played all sorts of wild pranks, and at
school worked earnestly for one teacher only, often found me toiling late
at night for hours with burning head over a profound creation--I called
it The Poem of the World--in which I tried to represent the origin of
cosmic and human life.

Many other verses, from a sonnet to the beautiful ears of a pretty cousin
to the commencement of the tragedy of Panthea and Abradatus, were written
at that time; but I owe The Poem of the World special gratitude, for it
kept me from many a folly, and often held me for weeks at my desk during
the evening hours which many of my comrades spent in the tavern. Besides,
it attracted the new head-master's attention to my poetical tastes, for a
number of verses had been left by mistake in an exercise-book. He read
them, and asked to see the rest. But I could not fulfil the wish, for
they contained many things which could not fail to offend him; so I gave
him only a few of the tamest passages, and can still see him smile in his
peculiar way as he read them in my presence. He said something about
"decided talent," and when preparations for the celebration of the
birthday of King Frederick William IV were made he gave me the task of
composing an original poem. I gladly accepted it. Writing was a great
pleasure, and though my productions at school were far too irregular for
me to call them good, I was certainly the best declaimer.

THE NEW HEAD OF THE SCHOOL.

Before passing on to other subjects, I must devote a few words to the
remodelling of the school and its new head.

At the end of my first term in the first class we learned that we were to
have a new teacher, and one who would rule with a rod of iron. Terrible
stories of his Draconian severity were in circulation, and his first
address gave us reason to fear the worst, for the tall man of forty in
the professor's chair was very imposing in his appearance. His smoothly
shaven upper lip and brown whiskers, his erect bearing and energetic
manner, reminded one of an English parliamentary leader, but his words
sounded almost menacing. He said that an entirely new house must be
erected. We and the teachers must help him. To the obedient he would be a
good friend; but to the refractory, no matter what might be their
position, he would----What followed made many of us nudge one another,
and the young men who attended the school merely for the sake of the
examination left it in a body. Many a teacher even changed colour.

This reorganizer, Professor Tzschirner, had formerly been principal of
the Magdalen Gymnasium at Breslau. In energy and authoritative manner he
resembled Barop, but he was also an eminent scholar and a thorough man of
the world. The authorities in Berlin made an excellent choice, and we
members of the first class soon perceived that he not only meant kindly
by us, but that we had obtained in him a teacher far superior to any we
had possessed before. He required a great deal, but he was a good friend
to every one who did his duty. His kindly intention and inspiring
influence made themselves felt in our lives; for he invited to his house
the members of the first class whom he desired to influence, and his
charming, highly educated wife helped him entertain us, so that we
preferred an evening there to almost any other amusements. Study began to
charm us, and I can only repeat that he seemed to recall Langethal's
method and awaken many things which the latter had given me, and which,
as it were, had fallen asleep during the interval. He again aroused in my
soul the love for the ancients, and his interpretations of Horace or
Sophocles were of great service to me in after-years.

Nor did he by any means forget grammar, but in explaining the classics he
always laid most stress upon the contents, and every lesson of his was a
clever archaeological, aesthetic, and historical lecture. I listened to
none more instructive at the university. Philological and linguistic
details which were not suited for the senior pupils who were being fitted
for other callings than those of the philologist were omitted. But he
insisted upon grammatical correctness, and never lost sight of his maxim,
"The school should teach its pupils to do thoroughly whatever they do at
all."

He urged us especially to think for ourselves, and to express our ideas
clearly and attractively, not only in writing but verbally.

It seemed as though a spring breeze had melted the snow from the land,
such bourgeoning and blossoming appeared throughout the school.

Creative work was done by fits and starts. If the demon seized upon me, I
raved about for a time as before, but I did my duty for the principal. I
not only honoured but loved him, and censure from his lips would have
been unbearable.

The poem which I was to read on the king's birthday has been preserved,
and as I glanced over it recently I could not help smiling.

It was to describe the life of Henry the Fowler, and refer to the
reigning king, Frederick William IV.

The praise of my hero had come from my heart, so the poem found favour,
and in circles so wide that the most prominent man in the neighbourhood,
Prince Puckler-Muskau, sent for my verses.

I was perfectly aware that they did not represent my best work, but what
father does not find something to admire in his child? So I copied them
neatly, and gave them to Billy, the dwarf, the prince's factotum. A short
time after, while I was walking with some friends in Branitz Park, the
prince summoned me, and greeted me with the exclamation, "You are a
poet!"

These four words haunted me a long while; nay, at times they even echo in
my memory now. I had heard a hundred anecdotes of this prince, which
could not fail to charm a youth of my disposition. When a young officer
of the Garde-du-Corps in Dresden, after having been intentionally omitted
from the invitations to a court-ball, he hired all the public conveyances
in the city, thus compelling most of the gentlemen and ladies who were
invited either to wade through the snow or forego the dance.

When the war of 1813 began he entered the service of "the liberators," as
the Russians were then called, and at the head of his regiment challenged
the colonel of a French one to a duel, and seriously wounded him.

It was apparently natural to Prince Puckler to live according to his own
pleasure, undisturbed by the opinions of his fellow-men, and this
pleasure urged him to pursue a different course in almost every phase of
life. I said "apparently," because, although he scorned the censure of
the people, he never lost sight of it. From a child his intense vanity
was almost a passion, and unfortunately this constant looking about him,
the necessity of being seen, prevented him from properly developing an
intellect capable of far higher things; yet there was nothing petty in
his character.

His highest merit, however, was the energy with which he understood how
to maintain his independence in the most difficult circumstances in which
life placed him. To one department of activity, especially, that of
gardening, he devoted his whole powers. His parks can vie with the finest
pleasure-grounds of all countries.

At the time I first met him he was sixty-nine years old, but looked much
younger, except when he sometimes appeared with his hair powdered until
it was snow-white. His figure was tall and finely proportioned, and
though a sarcastic smile sometimes hovered around his lips, the
expression of his face was very kindly. His eyes, which I remember as
blue, were somewhat peculiar. When he wished to please, they sparkled
with a warm--I might almost say tender-light, which must have made many a
young heart throb faster. Yet I think he loved himself too much to give
his whole affection to any one.

A great man has always seemed to me the greatest of created things, and
though Prince Puckler can scarcely be numbered among the great men of
mankind, he was undoubtedly the greatest among those who surrounded him
at Branitz. In me, the youth of nineteen, he awakened admiration,
interest, and curiosity, and his "You are a poet" sometimes strengthened
my courage, sometimes disheartened me. My boyish ambitions in those days
had but one purpose, and that was the vocation of a poet.

I was still ignorant that the Muse kisses only those who have won her
love by the greatest sufferings. Life as yet seemed a festal hall, and as
the bird flies from bough to bough wherever a red berry tempts him, my
heart was attracted by every pair of bright eyes which glanced kindly at
me. When I entered upon my last term, my Leporello list was long enough,
and contained pictures from many different classes. But my hour, too,
seemed on the point of striking, for when I went home in my last
Christmas vacation I thought myself really in love with the charming
daughter of the pleasant widow of a landed proprietor. Nay, though only
nineteen, I even considered whether I should not unite her destiny with
mine, and formally ask her hand. My father had offered himself to my
mother at the same age.

In Kottbus I was treated with the respect due to a man, but at home I was
still "the boy," and the youngest of us three "little ones." Ludo, as a
lieutenant, had a position in society, while I was yet a schoolboy. Amid
these surroundings I realized how hasty and premature my intention had
been.

Only four of us came to keep Christmas at home, for Martha now lived in
Dresden as the wife of Lieutenant Baron Curt von Brandenstein, the nephew
of our Aunt Sophie's husband. Her wedding ceremony in the cathedral was,
of course, performed by the court-chaplain Strauss.

My grandmother had died, but my Aunt Sophie still lived in Dresden, and
spent her summers in Blasewitz. Her hospitable house always afforded an
atmosphere very stimulating to intellectual life, so I spent more time
there than in my mother's more quiet residence at Pillnitz.

I had usually passed part of the long--or, as it was called, the
"dog-day"--vacation in or near Dresden, but I also took pleasant
pedestrian tours in Bohemia, and after my promotion to the senior class,
through the Black Forest.

It was a delightful excursion! Yet I can never recall it without a tinge
of sadness, for my two companions, a talented young artist named
Rothermund, and a law student called Forster, both died young. We had met
in a railway carriage between Frankfort and Heidelberg and determined to
take the tour together, and never did the Black Forest, with its
mountains and valleys, dark forests and green meadows, clear streams and
pleasant villages, seem to me more beautiful. But still fairer days were
in store after parting from my friends.

I went to Rippoldsau, where a beloved niece of my mother with her
charming daughter Betsy expected me. Here in the excellent Gohring hotel
I found a delightful party, which only lacked young gentlemen. My arrival
added a pair of feet which never tired of dancing, and every evening our
elders were obliged to entreat and command in order to put an end to our
sport. The mornings were occupied in walks through the superb forests
around Rippoldsau, and the afternoons in bowling, playing graces, and
running races. I speedily lost my susceptible heart to a charming young
lady named Leontine, who permitted me to be her Knight, and I fancied
myself very unjustly treated when, soon after our separation, I received
her betrothal cards.

The Easter and Christmas vacations I usually spent in Berlin with my
mother, where I was allowed to attend entertainments given by our
friends, at which I met many distinguished persons, among others
Alexander von Humboldt.

Of political life in the capital at that time there is nothing agreeable
to be said. I was always reminded of the state of affairs immediately
after my arrival; for during the first years of my school life at Kottbus
no one was permitted to enter the city without a paper proving identity,
which was demanded by constables at the exits of railway stations or in
the yards of post-houses. Once, when I had nothing to show except my
report, I was admitted, it is true, but a policeman was sent with me to
my mother's house to ascertain that the boy of seventeen was really the
person he assumed to be, and not a criminal dangerous to the state.

The beautiful aspirations of the Reichstag in Paulskirche were baffled,
the constitution of the empire had become a noble historical monument
which only a chosen few still remembered. The king, who had had the
opportunity to place himself at the head of united Germany, had preferred
to suppress the freedom of his native land rather than to promote its
unity. Yet we need not lament his refusal. Blood shed together in mutual
enthusiasm is a better cement than the decree of any Parliament.

The ruling powers at that time saw in the constitution only a cage whose
bars prevented them from dealing a decisive blow, but whatever they could
reach through the openings they tore and injured as far as lay in their
power. The words "reactionary" and "liberal" had become catch terms which
severed families and divided friends.

At Komptendorf, and almost everywhere in the country, there was scarcely
any one except Conservatives. Herr von Berndt had driven into the city to
the election. Pastor Albin, the clergyman of his village, voted for the
Liberal candidate. When the pastor asked the former, who was just getting
into his carriage, to take him home, the usually courteous, obliging
gentleman, who was driving, exclaimed, "If you don't vote with me you
don't ride with me," and, touching the spirited bays, dashed off, leaving
the pastor behind.

Dr. Boltze was a "Liberal," and had to endure many a rebuff because his
views were known to the ministry. Our religious instruction might serve
as a mirror of the opinions which were pleasing to the minister. It had
made the man who imparted it superintendent when comparatively young. The
term "mob marriage" for "civil marriage" originated with him, and it
ought certainly to be inscribed in the Golden Book above.

He was a fiery zealot, who sought to induce us to share his wrath and
scorn when he condemned Bauer, David Strauss, and Lessing.

When discussing the facts of ecclesiastical history, he understood how to
rouse us to the utmost, for he was a talented man and a clever speaker,
but no word of appeal to the heart, no exhortation to love and peace,
ever crossed his lips.

The vacations were the only time which I spent with my mother. I ceased
to think of her in everything I did, as was the case in Keilhau. But
after I had been with her for a while, the charm of her personality again
mastered my soul, her love rekindled mine, and I longed to open my whole
heart to her and tell her everything which interested me. She was the
only person to whom I read my Poem of the World, as far as it was
completed. She listened with joyful astonishment, and praised several
passages which she thought beautiful. Then she warned me not to devote
too much time to such things at present, but kissed and petted me in a
way too charming to describe. During the next few days her eyes rested on
me with an expression I had always longed to see. I felt that she
regarded me as a man, and she afterwards confessed how great her hopes
were at that time, especially as Professor Tzschirner had encouraged her
to cherish them.




CHAPTER XIX.

A ROMANCE WHICH REALLY HAPPENED.

After returning to Kottbus from the Christmas vacation I plunged headlong
into work, and as I exerted all my powers I made rapid progress.

Thus January passed away, and I was so industrious that I often studied
until long after midnight. I had not even gone to the theatre, though I
had heard that the Von Hoxar Company was unusually good. The leading
lady, especially, was described as a miracle of beauty and remarkably
talented. This excited my curiosity, and when a school-mate who had made
the stage manager's acquaintance told us that he would be glad to have us
appear at the next performance of The Robbers, I of course promised to be
present.

We went through our parts admirably, and no one in the crowded house
suspected the identity of the chorus of robbers who sang with so much
freshness and vivacity.

I was deeply interested in what was passing on the stage, and, concealed
at the wings, I witnessed the greater part of the play.

Rarely has so charming an Amalie adorned the boards as the
eighteen-year-old actress, who, an actor's child, had already been
several years on the stage.

The consequence of this visit to the theatre was that, instead of
studying historical dates, as I had intended, I took out Panthea and
Abradatus, and on that night and every succeeding one, as soon as I had
finished my work for the manager, I added new five-foot iambics to the
tragedy, whose material I drew from Xenophon.

Whenever the company played I went to the theatre, where I saw the
charming Clara in comedy parts, and found that all the praises I had
heard of her fell short of the truth. Yet I did not seek her
acquaintance. The examination was close at hand, and it scarcely entered
my mind to approach the actress. But the Fates had undertaken to act as
mediators and make me the hero of a romance which ended so speedily, and
in a manner which, though disagreeable, was so far from tragical, that if
I desired to weave the story of my own life into a novel I should be
ashamed to use the extensive apparatus employed by Destiny.

Rather more than a week had passed since the last performance of The
Robbers, when one day, late in the afternoon, the streets were filled
with uproar. A fire had broken out, and as soon as Professor Braune's
lesson was over I joined the human flood. The boiler in the Kubisch cloth
factory had burst, a part of the huge building near it was in flames, and
a large portion of the walls had fallen.

When, with several school-mates, I reached the scene of the disaster, the
fire had already been mastered, but many hands were striving to remove
the rubbish and save the workmen buried underneath. I eagerly lent my
aid.

Meanwhile it had grown dark, and we were obliged to work by the light of
lanterns. Several men, fortunately all living, had been brought out, and
we thought that the task of rescue was completed, when the rumour spread
that some girls employed in one of the lower rooms were still missing.

It was necessary to enter, but the smoke and dust which filled the air
seemed to preclude this, and, besides, a high wall above the cleared
space in the building threatened to fall. An architect who had directed
with great skill the removal of the debris was standing close beside me
and gave orders to tear down the wall, whose fall would cost more lives.

Just at that moment I distinctly heard an inexpressibly mournful cry of
pain. A narrow shouldered, sickly-looking man, who spite of his very
plain clothing, seemed to belong to the better classes, heard it too, and
the word "Horrible!" in tones of the warmest sympathy escaped his lips.
Then he bent over the black smoking space, and I did the same.

The cry was repeated still louder than before, my neighbour and I looked
at each other, and I heard him whisper, "Shall we?"

In an instant I had flung off my coat, put my handkerchief over my mouth,
and let myself down into the smoking pit, where I pressed forward through
a stifling mixture of lime and particles of sand.

The groans and cries of the wounded guided me and my companion, who had
instantly followed, and at last two female figures appeared amid the
smoke and dust on which the lanterns, held above, cast flickering rays of
light.

One was lying prostrate, the other, kneeling, leaned against the wall. We
seized the first one, and staggered towards the spot where the lanterns
glimmered, and loud shouts greeted us.

Our example had induced others to leap down too.

As soon as we were released from our burden we returned for the second
victim. My companion now carried a lantern. The woman was no longer
kneeling, but lay face downward several paces nearer to the narrow
passage choked with stones and lime dust which separated her from us. She
had fainted while trying to follow. I seized her feet, and we staggered
on, but ere we could leave the passage which led into the larger room I
heard a loud rattling and thundering above, and the next instant
something struck my head and everything reeled around me. Yet I did not
drop the blue yarn stockings, but tottered on with them into the large
open space, where I fell on my knees.

Still I must have retained my consciousness, for loud shouts and cries
reached my ears. Then came a moment with which few in life can
compare--the one when I again inhaled draughts of the pure air of heaven.

I now felt that my hair was stained with blood, which had flowed from a
wound in my head, but I had no time to think of it, for people crowded
around me saying all sorts of pleasant things. The architect, Winzer, was
most cordial of all. His words, "I approve of such foolhardiness, Herr
Ebers," echoed in my ears long afterwards.

A beam had fallen on my head, but my thick hair had broken the force of
the blow, and the wound in a few days began to heal.

My companion in peril was at my side, and as my blood-stained face looked
as if my injuries were serious he invited me to his house, which was
close by the scene of the accident. On the way we introduced ourselves to
each other. His name was Hering, and he was the prompter at the theatre.
When the doctor who had been sent to me had finished his task of sewing
up the wound and left us, an elderly woman entered, whose rank in life
was somewhat difficult to determine. She wore gay flowers in her bonnet,
and a cloak made of silk and velvet, but her yellow face was scarcely
that of a "lady." She came to get a part for her daughter; it was one of
the prompter's duties to copy the parts for the various actors.

But who was this daughter?

Fraulein Clara, the fair Amalie of The Robbers, the lovely leading lady
of the theatre.

My daughter has an autograph of Andersen containing the words, "Life is
the fairest fairy tale."

Ay, our lives are often like fairy tales.

The Scheherezade "Fate" had found the bridge to lead the student to the
actress, and the means employed were of no less magnitude than a
conflagration, the rescue of a life, and a wound, as well as the somewhat
improbable combined action of a student and a prompter. True, more simple
methods would scarcely have brought the youth with the examination in his
head and a pretty girl in his heart to seek the acquaintanceship of the
fair actress.

Fate urged me swiftly on; for Clara's mother was an enthusiastic woman,
who in her youth had herself been an ornament of the stage, and I can
still hear her exclamation, "My dear young sir, every German girl ought
to kiss that wound!"

I can see her indignantly forbid the prompter to tie his gay handkerchief
over the injury and draw a clean one from her own velvet bag to bind my
forehead. Boltze and my school-mates greeted me very warmly. Director
Tzschirner said something very similar to Herr Winzer's remark.

And so matters would have remained, and in a few weeks, after passing the
examination, I should have returned to my happy mother, had not a
perverse Fate willed otherwise.

This time a bit of linen was the instrument used to lead me into the path
allotted, for when the wound healed and the handkerchief which Clara's
mother had tied round it came back from the wash, I was uncertain whether
to return it in person or send it by a messenger with a few words of
thanks. I determined on the latter course; but when, that same evening, I
saw Clara looking so pretty as the youthful Richelieu, I cast aside my
first resolve, and the next day at dusk went to call on the mother of the
charming actress. I should scarcely have ventured to do so in broad
daylight, for Herr Ebeling, our zealous religious instructor, lived
directly opposite.

The danger, however, merely gave the venture an added zest and, ere I was
aware of it I was standing in the large and pretty sitting-room occupied
by the mother and daughter.

It was a disappointment not to meet the latter, yet I felt a certain
sense of relief. Fate intended to let me escape the storm uninjured, for
my heart had been by no means calm since I mounted the narrow stairs
leading to the apartments of the fair actress. But just as I was taking
leave the pavement echoed with the noise of hoofs and the rattle of
wheels. Prince Puckler's coupe stopped in front of the house and the
young girl descended the steps.

She entered the room laughing merrily, but when she saw me she became
graver, and looked at her mother in surprise.

A brief explanation, the cry, "Oh, you are the man who was hurt!" and
then the proof that the room did not owe its neat appearance to her, for
her cloak flew one way, her hat another, and her gloves a third. After
this disrobing she stood before me in the costume of the youthful
Richelieu, so bewitchingly charming, so gay and bright, that I could not
restrain my delight.

She had come from old Prince Puckler, who, as he never visited the
theatre in the city, wished to see her in the costume whose beauty had
been so much praised. The vigorous, gay old gentleman had charmed her,
and she declared that she liked him far better than any of the young men.
But as she knew little of his former life and works, I told her of his
foolish pranks and chivalrous deeds.

It seemed as if her presence increased my powers of description, and when
I at last took leave she exclaimed: "You'll come again, won't you? After
one has finished one's part, it's the best time to talk."

Did I wait to be asked a second time? Oh, no! Even had I not been the
"foolhardy Ebers," I should have accepted her invitation. The very next
evening I was in the pleasant sitting-room, and whenever I could slip
away after supper I went to the girl, whom I loved more and more
ardently. Sometimes I repeated poems of my own, sometimes she recited and
acted passages from her best parts, amid continual jesting and laughter.
My visits seemed like so many delightful festivals, and Clara's mother
took care that they were not so long as to weary her treasure. She often
fell asleep while we were reading and talking, but usually she sent me
away before midnight with "There's another day coming to-morrow." Long
before my first visit to the young actress I had arranged a way of
getting into the house at any time, and Dr. Boltze had no suspicion of my
expeditions, since on my return I strove the more zealously to fulfil all
my school duties.

This sounds scarcely credible, yet it is strictly true, for from a child
up to the present time I have always succeeded, spite of interruptions of
every kind, in devoting myself to the occupation in which I was engaged.
Loud noises in an adjoining room, or even tolerably severe physical pain,
will not prevent my working on as soon as the subject so masters me as to
throw the external world and my own body into the background. Only when
the suffering becomes very intense, the whole being must of necessity
yield to it.

During the hours of the night which followed these evening visits I often
succeeded in working earnestly for two or three hours in preparation for
the examination. During my recitations, however, weariness asserted
itself, and even more strongly the new feeling which had obtained
complete mastery over me. Here I could not shake off the delightful
memories of these evenings because I did not strive to battle with them.

I am not without talent for drawing, and even at that time it was an easy
matter to reproduce anything which had caught my eye, not only
distinctly, but sometimes attractively and with a certain degree of
fidelity to nature. So my note-book was filled with figures which amazed
me when I saw them afterwards, for my excited imagination had filled page
after page with a perfect Witch's Sabbath of compositions, in which the
oddest scrolls and throngs of genii blended with flowers, buds, and all
sorts of emblems of love twined around initial letters or the picture of
the person who had captured my heart at a time so inopportune.

I owe the suggestion of some verses which were written at that time to
the memory of a dream. I was on the back of a swan, which bore me through
the air, and on another swan flying at my side sat Clara. Our hands were
clasped. It was delightful until I bent to kiss her; then the swan I rode
melted into mist, and I plunged headlong down, falling, falling, until I
woke.

I had this dream on the Friday before the beginning of the week in which
the first examination was to take place; and it is worthy of mention, for
it was fulfilled.

True, I needed no prophetic vision to inform me that this time of
happiness was drawing to a close. I had long known that the company was
to remove from Kottbus to Guben, but I hoped that the separation would be
followed by a speedy meeting.

It was certainly fortunate that she was going, yet the parting was hard
to bear; for the evening hours I had spent with her in innocent mirth and
the interchange of all that was best in our hearts and minds were filled
with exquisite enjoyment. The fact that our intercourse was in a certain
sense forbidden fruit merely doubled its charm.

How cautiously I had glided along in the shadows of the houses, how
anxiously I had watched the light in the minister's study opposite, when
I went home!

True, he would have seen nothing wrong or even unseemly, save perhaps the
kiss which Clara gave me the last time she lighted me down stairs, yet
that would have been enough to shut me out of the examination. Ah! yes,
it was fortunate that she was going.

March had come, the sun shone brightly, the air was as warm as in May,
and I had carried the mother and daughter some violets which I had
gathered myself. Suddenly I thought how delightful it would be to drive
with Clara in an open carriage through the spring beauty of the country.
The next day was Sunday. If I went with them and spent the night in Guben
I could reach home in time the next day. I need only tell Dr. Boltze I
was going to Komptendorf, and order the carriage, to transform the dear
girl's departure into a holiday.

Again Fate interfered with the course of this story; for on my way to
school that sunny Saturday morning I met Clara's mother, and at sight of
her the wish merged into a resolve. I followed her into the shop she
entered and explained my plan. She thought it would be delightful, and
promised to wait for me at a certain place outside of the city.

The plan was carried out. I found them at the appointed spot, my darling
as fresh as a rose. If love and joy had any substantial weight, the
horses would have found it a hard matter to drag the vehicle swiftly on.

But at the first toll-house, while the toll-keeper was changing some
money, I experienced the envy of the gods which hitherto I had known only
in Schiller's ballad. A pedestrian passed--the teacher whom I had
offended by playing all sorts of pranks during his French lesson. Not one
of the others disliked me.

He spoke to me, but I pretended not to understand, hastily took the
change from the toll-keeper, and, raising my hat, shouted, "Drive on!"

This highly virtuous gentleman scorned the young actress, and as, on
account of my companions, he had not returned my greeting, Clara flashed
into comical wrath, which stifled in its germ my thought of leaving the
carriage and going on foot to Komptendorf, where Dr. Boltze believed me
to be.

Clara rewarded my courageous persistence by special gaiety, and when we
had reached Guben, taken supper with some other members of the company,
and spent the evening in merriment, danger and all the ills which the
future might bring were forgotten.

The next morning I breakfasted with Clara and her mother, and in bidding
them good-bye added "Till we meet again," for the way to Berlin was
through Guben, where the railroad began.

The carriage which had brought us there took me back to Kottbus. Several
members of the company entered it and went part of the way, returning on
foot. When they left me twilight was gathering, but the happiness I had
just enjoyed shone radiantly around me, and I lived over for the second
time all the delights I had experienced.

But the nearer I approached Kottbus the more frequently arose the fear
that the French teacher might make our meeting the cause of an
accusation. He had already complained of me for very trivial
delinquencies and would hardly let this pass. And yet he might.

Was it a crime to drive with a young girl of stainless reputation under
her mother's oversight? No. I had done nothing wrong, except to say that
I was going to Komptendorf--and that offence concerned only Dr. Boltze,
to whom I had made the false statement.

At last I fell asleep, until the wheels rattled on the pavement of the
city streets. Was my dream concerning the swan to be fulfilled?

I entered the house early. Dr. Boltze was waiting for me, and his wife's
troubled face betrayed what had happened even more plainly than her
husband's frown.

The French teacher had instantly informed my tutor where and with whom he
had met me, and urged him to ascertain whether I had really gone to
Komptendorf. Then he went to Clara's former residence, questioned the
landlady and her servant, and finally interrogated the livery-stable
keeper.

The mass of evidence thus gathered proved that I had paid the actress
numerous visits, and always at dusk. My dream seemed fulfilled, but after
I had told Dr. Boltze and his wife the whole truth a quiet talk followed.
The former did not give up the cause as lost, though he did not spare
reproaches, while his wife's wrath was directed against the informer
rather than the offence committed by her favourite.