Moritz Hartmann had not fully recovered from the severe illness which

nearly caused his death while he was a reporter in the Crimean War. His
father-in-law, Herr Rodiger, accompanied him and watched him with the
most touching solicitude. My mother soon became sincerely attached to the
author, who possessed every quality to win a woman's heart. He had been
considered the handsomest member of the Frankfort Parliament, and no one
could have helped gazing with pleasure at the faultless symmetry of his
features. He also possessed an unusually musical voice. Gallait said that
he first thought German a language pleasing to the ear when he heard it
from Hartmann's lips.

These qualities soon won the heart of Frau Puricelli, who had at first
been very averse to making his acquaintance. The devout, conservative
lady had heard enough of his religious and political views to consider
him detestable. But after Hartmann had talked and read aloud to her and
her daughter in his charming way, she said to me, "What vexes me is that
in my old age I can't help liking such a red Democrat."

During that summer was formed the bond of friendship which, to his life's
premature end, united me to Moritz Hartmann, and led to a correspondence
which afforded me the greater pleasure the more certain I became that he
understood me. We met again in Wildbad the second and third summers, and
with what pleasure I remember our conversations in the stillness of the
shady woods! But we also shared a noisy amusement, that of pistol
practice, to which we daily devoted an hour. I was obliged to fire from a
wheel-chair, yet, like Hartmann, I could boast of many a good shot; but
the skill of Herr Rodiger, the author's father-in-law, was really
wonderful. Though his hand trembled constantly from an attack of palsy, I
don't know now how many times he pierced the centre of the ace of hearts.

It was Hartmann, too, who constantly urged me to write. With all due
regard for science, he said he could not admit its right to prison poesy
when the latter showed so strong an impulse towards expression. I
secretly admitted the truth of his remark, but whenever I yielded to the
impulse to write I felt as if I were being disloyal to the mistress to
whom I had devoted all my physical and mental powers.

The conflict which for a long time stirred my whole soul began. I could
say much more of the first years I spent at Wildbad, but up to the fifth
season they bore too much resemblance to one another to be described in
detail.

A more brilliant summer than that of 1860 the quiet valley of the Enz
will hardly witness again, for during that season the invalid widow of
the Czar Nicholas of Russia came to the springs with a numerous suite,
and her presence attracted many other crowned heads--the King of Prussia,
afterwards the Emperor William I, her royal brother; her beautiful
daughter, Queen Olga of Wurtemberg, who, when she walked through the
grounds with her greyhound, called to mind the haughty Artemis; the Queen
of Bavaria--But I will not enumerate all the royal personages who visited
the Czarina, and whose presence gave the little town in the Black Forest
an atmosphere of life and brilliancy. Not a day passed without affording
some special feast for the eyes.

The Czarina admired beauty, and therefore among her attendants were many,
ladies who possessed unusual attractions. When they were seated in a
group on the steps of the hotel the picture was one never to be
forgotten. A still more striking spectacle was afforded by a voyage made
on the Enz by the ladies of the Czarina's court, attired in airy summer
dresses and adorned with a lavish abundance of flowers. From the shore
gentlemen flung them blossoms as they were borne swiftly down the
mountain stream. I, too, had obtained some roses, intended especially for
Princess Marie von Leuchtenberg, of whom the Czarina's physician, Dr.
Karel, whose acquaintance we made at the Burckhardts, had told so many
charming anecdotes that we could not help admiring her.

We also met a very beautiful Countess Keller, one of the Czarina's
attendants, and I can still see distinctly the brilliant scene of her
departure.

Wildbad was not then connected with the rest of the world by the
railroad. The countess sat in an open victoria amid the countless gifts
of flowers which had been lavished upon her as farewell presents. Count
Wilhorsky, in the name of the Czarina, offered an exquisitely beautiful
bouquet. As she received it, she exclaimed, "Think of me at nine
o'clock," and the latter, with his hand on his heart, answered with a low
bow, "Why, Countess, we shall think of you all day long."

At the same instant the postillion raised his long whip, the four bays
started, a group of ladies and gentlemen, headed by the master of
ceremonies, waved their handkerchiefs, and it seemed as if Flora herself
was setting forth to bless the earth with flowers.

For a long time I imagined that during the first summer spent there I
lived only for my health, my scientific studies, and from 1861 my novel
An Egyptian Princess, to which I devoted several hours each day; but how
much I learned from intercourse with so great a variety of persons, among
whom were some whom a modest scholar is rarely permitted to know, I first
realized afterwards. I allude here merely to the leaders of the
aristocracy of the second empire, whose acquaintance I made through the
son of my distinguished Parisian instructor, Vicomte de Rouge.




CHAPTER XXVI.

CONTINUANCE OF CONVALESCENCE AND THE FIRST NOVEL.

The remainder of the summer I spent half with my mother, half with my
aunt, and pursued the same course during the subsequent years, until from
1862 I remained longer in Berlin, engaged in study, and began my
scientific journeys.

There were few important events either in the family circle or in
politics, except the accession to the throne of King William of Prussia
and the Franco-Austrian war of 1859. In Berlin the "new era" awakened
many fair and justifiable hopes; a fresher current stirred the dull,
placid waters of political life.

The battles of Magenta and Solferino (June 4 and 24, 1859) had caused
great excitement in the household of my aunt, who loved me as if I were
her own son, and whose husband was also warmly attached to me. They felt
the utmost displeasure in regard to the course of Prussia, and it was
hard for me to approve of it, since Austria seemed a part of Germany, and
I was very fond of my uncle's three nearest relatives, who were all in
the Austrian service.

The future was to show the disadvantage of listening to the voice of the
heart in political affairs. Should we have a German empire, and would
there be a united Italy, if Austria in alliance with Prussia had fought
in 1859 at Solferino and Magenta and conquered the French?

At Hosterwitz I became more intimately acquainted with the lyric poet,
Julius Hammer. The Kammergerichtrath-Gottheiner, a highly educated man,
lived there with his daughter Marie, whose exquisite singing at the villa
of her hospitable sister-in-law so charmed my heart. Through them I met
many distinguished men-President von Kirchmann, the architect Nikolai,
the author of Psyche, Privy Councillor Carus, the writer Charles Duboc
(Waldmuller) with his beautiful gifted wife, and many others.

Many a Berlin acquaintance, too, I met again at Hosterwitz, among them
the preacher Sydow and Lothar Bucher.

To the friendship of this remarkable man, whom I knew just at the time he
was associated with Bismarck, I owe many hours of enjoyment. Many will
find it hardly compatible with the reserved, quiet manner of the astute,
cool politician, that during a slight illness of my mother he read Fritz
Reuter's novels aloud to her--he spoke Plattdeutsch admirably--as
dutifully as a son.

So there was no lack of entertainment during leisure hours, but the
lion's share of my time was devoted to work.

The same state of affairs existed during my stay with my aunt, who
occupied a summer residence on the estate of Privy-Councillor von
Adelsson, which was divided into building lots long ago, but at that time
was the scene of the gayest social life in both residences.

The owner and his wife were on the most intimate terms with my relatives,
and their daughter Lina seemed to me the fairest of all the flowers in
the Adelsson garden. If ever a girl could be compared to a violet it was
she. I knew her from childhood to maidenhood, and rejoiced when I saw her
wed in young Count Uexkyll-Guldenbrand a life companion worthy of her.

There were many other charming girls, too, and my aunt, besides old
friends, entertained the leaders of literary life in Dresden.

Gutzkow surpassed them all in acuteness and subtlety of intellect, but
the bluntness of his manner repelled me.

On the other hand, I sincerely enjoyed the thoughtful eloquence of
Berthold Auerbach, who understood how to invest with poetic charm not
only great and noble subjects, but trivial ones gathered from the dust.
If I am permitted to record the memories of my later life, I shall have
more to say of him. It was he who induced me to give to my first romance,
which I had intended to call Nitetis, the title An Egyptian Princess.

The stars of the admirable Dresden stage also found their way to my
aunt's.

One day I was permitted to listen to the singing of Emmy La Gruas, and
the next to the peerless Schroder-Devrient. Every conversation with the
cultured physician Geheimerath von Ammon was instructive and fascinating;
while Rudolf von Reibisch, the most intimate friend of the family, whose
great talents would have rendered him capable of really grand
achievements in various departments of art, examined our skulls as a
phrenologist or read aloud his last drama. Here, too, I met Major Serre,
the bold projector of the great lottery whose brilliant success called
into being and insured the prosperity of the Schiller Institute, the
source of so much good.

This simple-hearted yet energetic man taught me how genuine enthusiasm
and the devotion of a whole personality to a cause can win victory under
the most difficult circumstances. True, his clever wife shared her
husband's enthusiasm, and both understood how to attract the right
advisers. I afterwards met at their beautiful estate, Maxen, among many
distinguished people, the Danish author Andersen, a man of insignificant
personal appearance, but one who, if he considered it worth while and was
interested in the subject, could carry his listeners resistlessly with
him. Then his talk sparkled with clever, vivid, striking, peculiar
metaphors, and when one brilliant description of remarkable experiences
and scenes followed another he swiftly won the hearts of the women who
had overlooked him, and it seemed to the men as if some fiend were aiding
him.

During the first years of my convalescence I could enjoy nothing save
what came or was brought to me. But the cheerful patience with which I
appeared to bear my sufferings, perhaps also the gratitude and eagerness
with which I received everything, attracted most of the men and women for
whom I really cared.

If there was an entertaining conversation, arrangements were always made
that I should enjoy it, at least as a listener. The affection of these
kind people never wearied in lightening the burden which had been laid
upon me. So, during this whole sad period I was rarely utterly wretched,
often joyous and happy, though sometimes the victim to the keenest
spiritual anguish.

During the hours of rest which must follow labour, and when tortured at
night by the various painful feelings and conditions connected even with
convalescence from disease, my restrictions rose before me as a specially
heavy misfortune. My whole being rebelled against my sufferings, and--why
should I conceal it?--burning tears drenched my pillows after many a
happy day. At the time I was obliged to part from Nenny this often
happened. Goethe's "He who never mournful nights" I learned to understand
in the years when the beaker of life foams most impetuously for others.
But I had learned from my mother to bear my sorest griefs alone, and my
natural cheerfulness aided me to win the victory in the strife against
the powers of melancholy. I found it most easy to master every painful
emotion by recalling the many things for which I had cause to be
grateful, and sometimes an hour of the fiercest struggle and deepest
grief closed with the conviction that I was more blessed than many
thousands of my fellow-mortals, and still a "favourite of Fortune." The
same feeling steeled my patience and helped to keep hope green and
sustain my pleasure in existence when, long after, a return of the same
disease, accompanied with severe suffering, which I had been spared in
youth, snatched me from earnest, beloved, and, I may assume, successful
labour.

The younger generation may be told once more how effective a consolation
man possesses--no matter what troubles may oppress him--in gratitude. The
search for everything which might be worthy of thankfulness undoubtedly
leads to that connection with God which is religion.

When I went to Berlin in winter, harder work, many friends, and
especially my Polish fellow-student, Mieczyslaw helped me bear my burden
patiently.

He was well, free, highly gifted, keenly interested in science, and made
rapid progress. Though secure from all external cares, a worm was gnawing
at his heart which gave him no rest night or day--the misery of his
native land and his family, and the passionate longing to avenge it on
the oppressor of the nation. His father had sacrificed the larger portion
of his great fortune to the cause of Poland, and, succumbing to the most
cruel persecutions, urged his sons, in their turn, to sacrifice
everything for their native land. They were ready except one brother, who
wielded his sword in the service of the oppressor, and thus became to the
others a dreaded and despised enemy.

Mieczyslaw remained in Berlin raging against himself because, an
intellectual epicurean, he was enjoying Oriental studies instead of
following in the footsteps of his father, his brothers, and most of his
relatives at home.

My ideas of the heroes of Polish liberty had been formed from Heinrich
Heine's Noble Pole, and I met my companion with a certain feeling of
distrust. Far from pressing upon me the thoughts which moved him so
deeply, it was long ere he permitted the first glimpse into his soul. But
when the ice was once broken, the flood of emotion poured forth with
elementary power, and his sincerity was sealed by his blood. He fell
armed on the soil of his home at the time when I was most gratefully
rejoicing in the signs of returning health--the year 1863. I was his only
friend in Berlin, but I was warmly attached to him, and shall remember
him to my life's end.

The last winter of imprisonment also saw me industriously at work. I had
already, with Mieczyslaw, devoted myself eagerly to the history of the
ancient East, and Lepsius especially approved these studies. The list of
the kings which I compiled at that time, from the most remote sources to
the Sassanida, won the commendation of A. von Gutschmid, the most able
investigator in this department. These researches led me also to Persia
and the other Asiatic countries. Egypt, of course, remained the principal
province of my work. The study of the kings from the twenty-sixth
dynasty--that is, the one with which the independence of the Pharaohs
ended and the rule of the Persians under Cambyses began in the valley of
the Nile--occupied me a long time. I used the material thus acquired
afterward for my habilitation essay, but the impulse natural to me of
imparting my intellectual gains to others had induced me to utilize it in
a special way. The material I had collected appeared in my judgment
exactly suited for a history of the time that Egypt fell into the power
of Persia. Jacob Burckhardt's Constantine the Great was to serve for my
model. I intended to lay most stress upon the state of civilization, the
intellectual and religious life, art, and science in Egypt, Greece,
Persia, Phoenicia, etc., and after most carefully planning the
arrangement I began to write with the utmost zeal.

[I still have the unfinished manuscript; but the farther I advanced
the stronger became the conviction, now refuted by Eduard Meyer,
that it would not yet be possible to write a final history of that
period which would stand the test of criticism.]

While thus engaged, the land of the Pharaohs, the Persian court, Greece
in the time of the Pisistratidae and Polycrates grew more and more
distinct before my mental vision. Herodotus's narrative of the false
princess sent by Pharaoh Amasis to Cambyses as a wife, and who became the
innocent cause of the war through which the kingdom of the Pharaohs lost
its independence, would not bear criticism, but it was certainly usable
material for a dramatic or epic poem. And this material gave me no peace.

Yes, something might certainly be done with it. I soon mastered it
completely, but gradually the relation changed and it mastered me, gave
me no rest, and forced me to try upon it the poetic power so long
condemned to rest.

When I set to work I was not permitted to leave the house in the evening.
Was it disloyal to science if I dedicated to poesy the hours which others
called leisure time? The question was put to the inner judge in such a
way that he could not fail to say "No." I also tried successfully to
convince myself that I merely essayed to write this tale to make the
material I had gathered "live," and bring the persons and conditions of
the period whose history I wished to write as near to me as if I were
conversing with them and dwelling in their midst. How often I repeated to
myself this well-founded apology, but in truth every instinct of my
nature impelled me to write, and at this very time Moritz Hartmann was
also urging me in his letters, while Mieczyslaw and others, even my
mother, encouraged me.

I began because I could not help it, and probably scarcely any work ever
stood more clearly arranged, down to the smallest detail, in its
creator's imagination, than the Egyptian Princess in mine when I took up
my pen. Only the first volume originally contained much more Egyptian
material, and the third I lengthened beyond my primary intention. Many
notes of that time I was unwilling to leave unused and, though the
details are not uninteresting, their abundance certainly impairs the
effect of the whole.

As for the characters, most of them were familiar.

How many of my mother's traits the beautiful, dignified Rhodopis
possessed! King Amasis was Frederick William IV, the Greek Phanes
resembled President Seiffart. Nitetis, too, I knew. I had often jested
with Atossa, and Sappho was a combination of my charming Frankfort cousin
Betsy, with whom I spent such delightful days in Rippoldsau, and lovely
Lina von Adelsson. Like the characters in the works of the greatest of
writers--I mean Goethe--not one of mine was wholly invented, but neither
was any an accurate portrait of the model.

I by no means concealed from myself the difficulties with which I had to
contend or the doubts the critics would express, but this troubled me
very little. I was writing the book only for myself and my mother, who
liked to hear every chapter read as it was finished. I often thought that
this novel might perhaps share the fate of my Poem of the World, and find
its way into the fire.

No matter. The greatest success could afford me no higher pleasure than
the creative labour. Those were happy evenings when, wholly lifted out of
myself, I lived in a totally different world, and, like a god, directed
the destinies of the persons who were my creatures. The love scenes
between Bartja and Sappho I did not invent; they came to me. When, with
brow damp with perspiration, I committed the first one to paper in a
single evening, I found the next morning, to my surprise, that only a few
touches were needed to convert it into a poem in iambics.

This was scarcely permissible in a novel. But the scene pleased my
mother, and when I again brought the lovers together in the warm
stillness of the Egyptian night, and perceived that the flood of iambics
was once more sweeping me along, I gave free course to the creative
spirit and the pen, and the next morning the result was the same.

I then took Julius Hammer into my confidence, and he thought that I had
given expression to the overflowing emotion of two loving young hearts in
a very felicitous and charming way.

While my friends were enjoying themselves in ball-rooms or exciting
society, Fate still condemned me to careful seclusion in my mother's
house. But when I was devoting myself to the creation of my Nitetis, I
envied no man, scarcely even a god.

So this novel approached completion. It had not deprived me of an hour of
actual working time, yet the doubt whether I had done right to venture on
this side flight into fairer and better lands during my journey through
the department of serious study was rarely silent.

At the beginning of the third volume I ventured to move more freely.

Yet when I went to Lepsius, the most earnest of my teachers, to show him
the finished manuscript, I felt very anxious. I had not said even a word
in allusion to what I was doing in the evening hours, and the three
volumes of my large manuscript were received by him in a way that
warranted the worst fears. He even asked how I, whom he had believed to
be a serious worker, had been tempted into such "side issues."

This was easy to explain, and when he had heard me to the end he said: "I
might have thought of that. You sometimes need a cup of Lethe water. But
now let such things alone, and don't compromise your reputation as a
scientist by such extravagances."

Yet he kept the manuscript and promised to look at the curiosity.

He did more. He read it through to the last letter, and when, a fortnight
later; he asked me at his house to remain after the others had left, he
looked pleased, and confessed that he had found something entirely
different from what he expected. The book was a scholarly work, and also
a fascinating romance.

Then he expressed some doubts concerning the space I had devoted to the
Egyptians in my first arrangement. Their nature was too reserved and
typical to hold the interest of the unscientific reader. According to his
view, I should do well to limit to Egyptian soil what I had gained by
investigation, and to make Grecian life, which was familiar to us moderns
as the foundation of our aesthetic perceptions, more prominent. The
advice was good, and, keeping it in view, I began to subject the whole
romance to a thorough revision.

Before going to Wildbad in the summer of 1863 I had a serious
conversation with my teacher and friend. Hitherto, he said, he had
avoided any discussion of my future; but now that I was so decidedly
convalescing, he must tell me that even the most industrious work as a
"private scholar," as people termed it, would not satisfy me. I was
fitted for an academic career, and he advised me to keep it in view. As I
had already thought of this myself, I eagerly assented, and my mother was
delighted with my resolution.

How we met in Wildbad my never-to-be-forgotten friend the Stuttgart
publisher, Eduard von Hallberger; how he laid hands upon my Egyptian
Princess; and how the fate of this book and its author led through joy
and sorrow, pleasure and pain, I hope, ere my last hour strikes, to
communicate to my family and the friends my life and writings have
gained.

When I left Berlin, so far recovered that I could again move freely, I
was a mature man. The period of development lay behind me. Though the
education of an aspiring man ends only with his last breath, the
commencement of my labours as a teacher outwardly closed mine, and an
important goal in life lay before me. A cruel period of probation, rich
in suffering and deprivations, had made the once careless youth familiar
with the serious side of existence, and taught him to control himself.

After once recognizing that progress in the department of investigation
in which I intended to guide others demanded the devotion of all my
powers, I succeeded in silencing the ceaseless longing for fresh
creations of romance. The completion of a second long novel would have
imperilled the unity with myself which I was striving to attain, and
which had been represented to me by the noblest of my instructors as my
highest goal in life. So I remained steadfast, although the great success
of my first work rendered it very difficult. Temptations of every kind,
even in the form of brilliant offers from the most prominent German
publishers, assailed me, but I resisted, until at the end of half a
lifetime I could venture to say that I was approaching my goal, and that
it was now time to grant the muse what I had so long denied. Thus, that
portion of my nature which was probably originally the stronger was
permitted to have its life. During long days of suffering romance was
again a kind and powerful comforter.

Severe suffering had not succeeded in stifling the cheerful spirit of the
boy and the youth; it did not desert me in manhood. When the sky of my
life was darkened by the blackest clouds it appeared amid the gloom like
a radiant star announcing brighter days; and if I were to name the powers
by whose aid I have again and again dispelled even the heaviest clouds
which threatened to overshadow my happiness in existence, they must be
called gratitude, earnest work, and the motto of blind old Langethal,
"Love united with the strife for truth."


THE END.



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Appreciation of trifles
Carpe diem
How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude
Men studying for their own benefit, not the teacher's
Phrase and idea "philosophy of religion" as an absurdity

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF EBERS:

A word at the right time and place
Appreciation of trifles
Carpe diem
Child is naturally egotistical
Child cannot distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad
Coach moved by electricity
Confucius's command not to love our fellow-men but to respect
Deserve the gratitude of my people, though it should be denied
Do thoroughly whatever they do at all
Full as an egg
Half-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner
Hanging the last king with the guts of the last priest
Hollow of the hand, Diogenes's drinking-cup
How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude
I approve of such foolhardiness
I plead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales
Life is valued so much less by the young
Life is the fairest fairy tale (Anderson)
Loved himself too much to give his whole affection to any one
Men studying for their own benefit, not the teacher's
Nobody was allowed to be perfectly idle
Phrase and idea "philosophy of religion" as an absurdity
Readers often like best what is most incredible
Required courage to be cowardly
Scorned the censure of the people, he never lost sight of it
Smell most powerful of all the senses in awakening memory
The carp served on Christmas eve in every Berlin family
To be happy, one must forget what cannot be altered
Unjust to injure and rob the child for the benefit of the man
What father does not find something to admire in his child
When you want to strike me again, mother, please take off



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE COMPLETE NOVELS OF EBERS:

A noble mind can never swim with the stream
A first impression is often a final one
A small joy makes us to forget our heavy griefs
A live dog is better than a dead king
A well-to-do man always gets a higher price than a poor one
A subdued tone generally provokes an equally subdued answer
A dirty road serves when it makes for the goal
A knot can often be untied by daylight
A school where people learned modesty
A word at the right time and place
A mere nothing in one man's life, to another may be great
A debtor, says the proverb, is half a prisoner
A kind word hath far more power than an angry one
A blustering word often does good service
Abandon to the young the things we ourselves used most to enjoy
Abandoned women (required by law to help put out the fires)
Absence of suffering is not happiness
Abuse not those who have outwitted thee
Action trod on the heels of resolve
Age is inquisitive
Age when usually even bad liquor tastes of honey
Aimless life of pleasure
Air of a professional guide
All I did was right in her eyes
All things were alike to me
Always more good things in a poor family which was once rich
Among fools one must be a fool
An admirer of the lovely color of his blue bruises
Ancient custom, to have her ears cut off
And what is great--and what is small
Apis the progeny of a virgin cow and a moonbeam
Appreciation of trifles
Ardently they desire that which transcends sense
Arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone
Art ceases when ugliness begins
As every word came straight from her heart
Asenath, the wife of Joseph, had been an Egyptian
Ask for what is feasible
Aspect obnoxious to the gaze will pour water on the fire
Assigned sixty years as the limit of a happy life
At my age we count it gain not to be disappointed
At my age every year must be accepted as an undeserved gift
Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others
Avoid excessive joy as well as complaining grief
Avoid all useless anxiety
Be not merciful unto him who is a liar or a rebel
Be happy while it is yet time
Be cautious how they are compassionate
Bearers of ill ride faster than the messengers of weal
Before you serve me up so bitter a meal (the truth)
Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command
Begun to enjoy the sound of his own voice
Behold, the puny Child of Man
Between two stools a man falls to the ground
Beware lest Satan find thee idle!
Blessings go as quickly as they come
Blind tenderness which knows no reason
Blossom of the thorny wreath of sorrow
Brief "eternity" of national covenants
Brought imagination to bear on my pastimes
But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others
Buy indugence for sins to be committed in the future
By nature she is not and by circumstances is compelled to be
Call everything that is beyond your comprehension a miracle
Called his daughter to wash his feet
Cambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy
Camels, which were rarely seen in Egypt
Can such love be wrong?
Canal to connect the Nile with the Red Sea
Cannot understand how trifles can make me so happy
Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time
Carpe diem
Cast my warning to the winds, pity will also fly away with it
Cast off their disease as a serpent casts its skin
Cast off all care; be mindful only of pleasure
Catholic, but his stomach desired to be Protestant (Erasmus)
Caught the infection and had to laugh whether she would or no
Cautious inquiry saves recantation
Child is naturally egotistical
Child cannot distinguish between what is amusing and what is sad
Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow
Choose between too great or too small a recompense
Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death
Christianity had ceased to be the creed of the poor
Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment
Coach moved by electricity
Colored cakes in the shape of beasts
Comparing their own fair lot with the evil lot of others
Confess I would rather provoke a lioness than a woman
Confucius's command not to love our fellow-men but to respect
Contempt had become too deep for hate
Corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures
Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them
Creed which views life as a short pilgrimage to the grave
Curiosity is a woman's vice
Death is so long and life so short
Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'
Debts, but all anxiety concerning them is left to the creditors
Deceit is deceit
Deem every hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift
Deficient are as guilty in their eyes as the idle
Desert is a wonderful physician for a sick soul
Deserve the gratitude of my people, though it should be denied
Desire to seek and find a power outside us
Despair and extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns
Devoid of occupation, envy easily becomes hatred
Did the ancients know anything of love
Do not spoil the future for the sake of the present
Do thoroughly whatever they do at all
Does happiness consist then in possession
Dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods
Dried merry-thought bone of a fowl
Drink of the joys of life thankfully, and in moderation
Drinking is also an art, and the Germans are masters of it
Easy to understand what we like to hear
Enjoy the present day
Epicurus, who believed that with death all things ended
Eros mocks all human efforts to resist or confine him
Especial gift to listen keenly and question discreetly
Ever creep in where true love hath found a nest--(jealousy)
Every misfortune brings its fellow with it
Everything that exists moves onward to destruction and decay
Evolution and annihilation
Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world
Exhibit one's happiness in the streets, and conceal one's misery
Eyes kind and frank, without tricks of glance
Eyes are much more eloquent than all the tongues in the world
Facts are differently reflected in different minds
Fairest dreams of childhood were surpassed
Faith and knowledge are things apart
False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace
Flattery is a key to the heart
Flee from hate as the soul's worst foe
Folly to fret over what cannot be undone
For fear of the toothache, had his sound teeth drawn
For the sake of those eyes you forgot all else
For the errors of the wise the remedy is reparation, not regret
For what will not custom excuse and sanctify?
Forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse
Force which had compelled every one to do as his neighbors
Forty or fifty, when most women only begin to be wicked
From Epicurus to Aristippus, is but a short step
Fruits and pies and sweetmeats for the little ones at home
Full as an egg
Galenus--What I like is bad for me, what I loathe is wholesome
Gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows
Germans are ever proud of a man who is able to drink deep
Go down into the grave before us (Our children)
Golden chariot drawn by tamed lions
Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed
Great happiness, and mingled therefor with bitter sorrow
Greeks have not the same reverence for truth
Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one
Had laid aside what we call nerves
Half-comprehended catchwords serve as a banner
Hanging the last king with the guts of the last priest
Happiness has nothing to do with our outward circumstances
Happiness is only the threshold to misery
Happiness should be found in making others happy
Harder it is to win a thing the higher its value becomes
Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it seldom
Hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on
Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified
Hatred and love are the opposite ends of the same rod
Hatred for all that hinders the growth of light
Hatred between man and man
Have not yet learned not to be astonished
Have never been fain to set my heart on one only maid
Have lived to feel such profound contempt for the world
He may talk about the soul--what he is after is the girl
He who kills a cat is punished (for murder)
He who looks for faith must give faith
He is clever and knows everything, but how silly he looks now
He was steadfast in everything, even anger
He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present
He who is to govern well must begin by learning to obey
He was made to be plundered
He is the best host, who allows his guests the most freedom
He has the gift of being easily consoled
He who wholly abjures folly is a fool
He out of the battle can easily boast of being unconquered
He spoke with pompous exaggeration
Held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront
Her white cat was playing at her feet
Her eyes were like open windows
Here the new custom of tobacco-smoking was practised
His sole effort had seemed to be to interfere with no one
Hold pleasure to be the highest good
Hollow of the hand, Diogenes's drinking-cup
Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto
Honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment
Hopeful soul clings to delay as the harbinger of deliverance
How easy it is to give wounds, and how hard it is to heal
How could they find so much pleasure in such folly
How tender is thy severity
How effective a consolation man possesses in gratitude
Human sacrifices, which had been introduced by the Phoenicians
Human beings hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies
I am human, nothing that is human can I regard as alien to me
I approve of such foolhardiness
I plead with voice and pen in behalf of fairy tales
I must either rest or begin upon something new
I cannot . . . Say rather: I will not
I know that I am of use
I have never deviated from the exact truth even in jest
I was not swift to anger, nor a liar, nor a violent ruler
I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave
Idleness had long since grown to be the occupation of his life
If you want to catch mice you must waste bacon
If one only knew who it is all for
If it were right we should not want to hide ourselves
If speech be silver, silence then is gold!
Ill-judgment to pronounce a thing impossible
Impartial looker-on sees clearer than the player
In order to find himself for once in good company--(Solitude)
In whom some good quality or other may not be discovered
In those days men wept, as well as women
In this immense temple man seemed a dwarf in his own eyes