My Life, vol 1 | Page 3

technique of my teacher, a cousin of mine, who was rather a bore. At
one time during my early boyhood I became so weak after some
childish ailment that my mother told me later she used almost to wish
me dead, for it seemed as though I should never get well. However, my
subsequent good health apparently astonished my parents. I afterwards
learnt the noble part played by my excellent stepfather on this occasion
also; he never gave way to despair, in spite of the cares and troubles of
so large a family, but remained patient throughout, and never lost the
hope of pulling me through safely.
My imagination at this time was deeply impressed by my acquaintance
with the theatre, with which I was brought into contact, not only as a
childish spectator from the mysterious stagebox, with its access to the
stage, and by visits to the wardrobe with its fantastic costumes, wigs
and other disguises, but also by taking a part in the performances
myself. After I had been filled with fear by seeing my father play the
villain's part in such tragedies as Die Waise und der Morder, Die
beiden Galeerensklaven, I occasionally took part in comedy. I
remember that I appeared in Der Weinberg an der Elbe, a piece
specially written to welcome the King of Saxony on his return from
captivity, with music by the conductor, C. M. von Weber. In this I

figured in a tableau vivant as an angel, sewn up in tights with wings on
my back, in a graceful pose which I had laboriously practised. I also
remember on this occasion being given a big iced cake, which I was
assured the King had intended for me personally. Lastly, I can recall
taking a child's part in which I had a few words to speak in Kotzebue's
Menschenhass und Reue [Footnote: 'Misanthropy and Remorse.'],
which furnished me with an excuse at school for not having learnt my
lessons. I said I had too much to do, as I had to learn by heart an
important part in Den Menschen ausser der Reihe. [Footnote: 'The Man
out of the Rank or Row.' In the German this is a simple phonetic
corruption of Kotzebue's title, which might easily occur to a child who
had only heard, and not read, that title.--EDITOR.]
On the other hand, to show how seriously my father regarded my
education, when I was six years old he took me to a clergyman in the
country at Possendorf, near Dresden, where I was to be given a sound
and healthy training with other boys of my own class. In the evening,
the vicar, whose name was Wetzel, used to tell us the story of Robinson
Crusoe, and discuss it with us in a highly instructive manner. I was,
moreover, much impressed by a biography of Mozart which was read
aloud; and the newspaper accounts and monthly reports of the events of
the Greek War of Independence stirred my imagination deeply. My
love for Greece, which afterwards made me turn with enthusiasm to the
mythology and history of ancient Hellas, was thus the natural outcome
of the intense and painful interest I took in the events of this period. In
after years the story of the struggle of the Greeks against the Persians
always revived my impressions of this modern revolt of Greece against
the Turks.
One day, when I had been in this country home scarcely a year, a
messenger came from town to ask the vicar to take me to my parents'
house in Dresden, as my father was dying.
We did the three hours' journey on foot; and as I was very exhausted
when I arrived, I scarcely understood why my mother was crying. The
next day I was taken to my father's bedside; the extreme weakness with
which he spoke to me, combined with all the precautions taken in the
last desperate treatment of his complaint--acute hydrothorax--made the
whole scene appear like a dream to me, and I think I was too frightened
and surprised to cry.

In the next room my mother asked me to show her what I could play on
the piano, wisely hoping to divert my father's thoughts by the sound. I
played Ueb' immer Treu und Redlichkeit, and my father said to her, 'Is
it possible he has musical talent?'
In the early hours of the next morning my mother came into the great
night nursery, and, standing by the bedside of each of us in turn, told us,
with sobs, that our father was dead, and gave us each a message with
his blessing. To me she said, 'He hoped to make something of you.'
In the afternoon my schoolmaster, Wetzel, came to take me back to the
country. We walked the