Autumn had come, and this season of the year, which afterwards was to
be the most fraught with suffering, at that time seemed perhaps the
pleasantest; for none afforded a better opportunity for wrestling and
playing. It brought delicious fruit, and never was the fire lighted
more frequently on the hearth in the plots of ground assigned to the
pupils--baking and boiling were pleasant during the cool afternoons.
No month seemed to us so cheery as October. During its course the apples
and pears were gathered, and an old privilege allowed the pupils “to
glean”--that is, to claim the fruit left on the trees. This tested the
keenness of our young eyes, but it sometimes happened that we confounded
trees still untouched with those which had been harvested. “Nitimur
in vetitum semper cupimusque negata,”--[The forbidden charms, and the
unexpected lures us.]--is an excellent saying of Ovid, whose truth, when
he tested it in person, was the cause of his exile. It sometimes brought
us into conflict with the owners of the trees, and it was only natural
that “Froebel’s youngsters” often excited the peasants’ ire.
Gellert, it is true, has sung:
“Enjoy what the Lord has granted,
Grieve not for aught withheld.”
but the popular saying is, “Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest,” and the
proverb was right in regard to us Keilhau boys.
Whatever fruit is meant in the story related in Genesis of the fall of
man, none could make it clearer to German children than the apple. The
Keilhau ones were kept in a cellar, and through the opening we thrust a
pole to which the blade of a rapier was fastened. This sometimes brought
us up four or five apples at once, which hung on the blade like the
flock of ducks that Baron Munchausen’s musket pierced with the ramrod.
We were all honest boys, yet not one, not even the sons of the heads
of the institute, ever thought of blaming or checking the zest for this
appropriation of other people’s property.
The apple and morality must stand in a very peculiar relation to each
other.
Scarcely was the last fruit gathered, when other pleasures greeted us.
The 18th of October, the anniversary of the battle of Leipsic, was
celebrated in Thuringia by kindling bonfires on the highest mountains,
but ours was always the largest and brightest far and wide. While the
flames soared heavenward, we enthusiastically sang patriotic songs. The
old Lutzow Jagers, who had fought for the freedom of Germany, led the
chorus and gazed with tearful eyes at the boys whom they were rearing
for the future supporters and champions of their native land.
Then winter came.
Snow and ice usually appeared in our mountain valley in the latter half
of November. We welcomed them, for winter brought coasting parties down
the mountains, skating, snow-balling, the clumsy snow-man, and that most
active of mortals, the dancing-master, who not only instructed us in
the art of Terpsichore, but also gave us rules of decorum which were an
abomination to Uncle Froebel.
An opportunity to put them into practice was close at hand, for the 29th
of November was Barop’s birthday, which was celebrated by a little dance
after the play.
Those who took part in the performance were excused from study for
several days before, for with the sapper’s help we built the stage, and
even painted the scenes. The piece was rehearsed till it was absolutely
faultless.
I took an active part in all these matters during my entire residence at
the institute, and we three Ebers brothers had the reputation of being
among the best actors, though Martin far surpassed us. We had invented
another variety of theatrical performances which we often enjoyed on
winter evenings after supper, unless one of the teachers read aloud
to us, or we boys performed the classic dramas. While I was one of
the younger pupils, we used the large and complete puppet-show which
belonged to the institute; but afterwards we preferred to act ourselves,
and arranged the performance according to a plan of our own.
One of us who had seen a play during the vacation at home told the
others the plot. The whole was divided into scenes, and each character
was assigned to some representative who was left to personate it
according to his own conception, choosing the words and gestures which
he deemed most appropriate.
I enjoyed nothing more than these performances; and my mother, who
witnessed several of them during one of her visits, afterwards said
that it was surprising how well we had managed the affair and acted our
parts.
For a long time I was the moving spirit in this play, and we had no
lack of talented mimes, personators of sentimental heroes, and droll
comedians. The women’s parts, of course, were also taken by boys. Ludo
made a wonderfully pretty girl. I was sometimes one thing, sometimes
another, but almost always stage manager.
These merry improvisations were certainly well fitted to strengthen
the creative power and activity of our intellects. There was no lack of
admirable stage properties, for the large wardrobe of the institute was
at our disposal whenever we wanted to act, which was at least once
a week during the whole winter, except in the Advent season, when
everything was obliged to yield to the demand of the approaching
Christmas festival. Then we were all busy in making presents for our
relatives. The younger ones manufactured various cardboard trifles; the
older pupils, as embryo cabinet-makers, all sorts of pretty and useful
things, especially boxes.
Unluckily, I did not excel as a cabinet-maker, though I managed to
finish tolerable boxes; but my mother had two made by the more skilful
hands of Ludo, which were provided with locks and hinges, so neatly
finished, veneered, and polished that many a trained cabinet-maker’s
apprentice could have done no better. It was one of Froebel’s
principles--as I have already mentioned--to follow the “German taste for
manual labor,” and have us work with spades and pickaxes (in our plots
of ground), and with squares, chisels, and saws (in the pasteboard and
carving lessons).
A clever elderly man, the sapper, or Sabuim, already mentioned--I think
I never heard his real name--instructed us in the trades of the book
binder and cabinet-maker. He was said to have served under Napoleon as
a sapper, and afterwards settled in our neighbourhood, and found
occupation in Keilhau. He was skilful in all kinds of manual labour,
and an excellent teacher. The nearer Christmas came the busier were the
workshops; and while usually there was no noise, they now resounded with
Christmas songs, among which:
“Up, up, my lads! why do ye sleep so long?
The night has passed, and day begins to dawn”;
or our Berlin one:
“Something will happen to-morrow, my children,”
were most frequently heard.
Christmas thoughts filled our hearts and minds. Christmas at home had
been so delightful that the first year I felt troubled by the idea that
the festival must be celebrated away from my mother and without her. But
after we had shared the Keilhau holiday, and what preceded and followed
it, we could not decide which was the most enjoyable.
Once our mother was present, though the cause of her coming was not
exactly a joyous one. About a week before the Christmas of my third year
at Keilhau I went to the hayloft at dusk, and while scuffling with a
companion the hay slipped with us and we both fell to the barn-floor.
My school-mate sustained an internal injury, while I escaped with the
fracture of two bones, fortunately only of the left arm. The severe
suffering which has darkened so large a portion of my life has been
attributed to this fracture, but the idea is probably incorrect;
otherwise the consequences would have appeared earlier.
At first the arm was very painful; yet the thought of having lost the
Christmas pleasures was almost worse. But the experience that the days
from which we expect least often afford us most happiness was again
verified. Barop had thought it his duty to inform my mother of this
serious accident, and two or three days later she arrived. Though I
could not play out of doors with the others, there was enough to enjoy
in the house with her and some of my comrades.
Every incident of that Christmas has remained in my memory, and, though
Fate should grant me many more years of life, I would never forget them.
First came the suspense and excitement when the wagon from Rudolstadt
filled with boxes drove into the court-yard, and then the watching for
those which might be meant for us.
On Christmas eve, when at home the bell summoned us to the
Christmas-tree the delight of anticipation reached its climax, and
expressed itself in song, in gayer talk, and now and then some harmless
scuffle.
Then we went to bed, with the firm resolve of waking early; but the
sleep of youth is sounder than any resolution, and suddenly unwonted
sounds roused us, perhaps from the dreams of the manger at Bethlehem and
the radiant Christmas-tree.
Was it the voice of the angels which appeared to the shepherds? The
melody was a Christmas choral played by the Rudolstadt band, which had
been summoned to waken us thus pleasantly.
Never did we leave our beds more quickly than in the darkness of that
early morning, illuminated as usual only by a tallow dip. Rarely was the
process of washing more speedily accomplished--in winter we were often
obliged to break a crust of ice which had formed over the water; but
this time haste was useless, for no one was admitted into the great hall
before the signal was given. At last it sounded, and when we had pressed
through the wide-open doors, what splendours greeted our enraptured eyes
and ears!
The whole room was most elaborately decorated with garlands of
pine. Wherever the light entered the windows we saw transparencies
representing biblical Christmas scenes. Christmas-trees--splendid firs
of stately height and size, which two days before were the ornaments of
the forest-glittered in the light of the candles, which was reflected
from the ruddy cheeks of the apples and the gilded and silvered
nuts. Meanwhile the air, “O night so calm, so holy!” floated from the
instruments of the musicians.
Scarcely had we taken our places when a chorus of many voices singing
the angel’s greeting, “Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth,”
recalled to our happy hearts the sacredness of the morning. Violins and
horns blended with the voices; then, before even the most excited could
feel the least emotion of impatience, the music ceased. Barop stepped
forward, and in the deep, earnest tones peculiar to him exclaimed, “Now
see what pleasures the love of your friends has prepared for you!”
The devout, ennobling feelings which had inspired every heart were
scattered to the four winds; we dispersed like a flock of doves
threatened by a hawk, and the search for the places marked by a label
began.
One had already seen his name; a near-sighted fellow went searching from
table to table; and here and there one boy called to another to point
out what his sharp eyes had detected. On every table stood a Stolle, the
Saxon Christmas bread called in Keilhau Schuttchen, and a large plate of
nuts and cakes, the gift of the institute. Beside these, either on the
tables or the floor, were the boxes from home. They were already opened,
but the unpacking was left to us--a wise thing; for what pleasure it
afforded us to take out the various gifts, unwrap them, admire, examine,
and show them to others!
Those were happy days, for we saw only joyous faces, and our own hearts
had room for no other feelings than the heaven-born sisters Love, Joy,
and Gratitude.
We entered with fresh zeal upon the season of work which followed. It
was the hardest of the twelve months, for it carried us to Easter, the
close of the school year, and was interrupted only by the carnival with
its merry masquerade.
All sorts of examinations closed the term of instruction. On Palm Sunday
the confirmation services took place, which were attended by the parents
of many of the pupils, and in which the whole institute shared.
Then came the vacation. It lasted three weeks, and was the only time we
were allowed to return home. And what varied pleasures awaited us there!
Martha, whom we left a young lady of seventeen, remained unaltered in
her charming, gentle grace, but Paula changed every year. One Easter we
found the plump school-girl transformed into a slender young lady. The
next vacation she had been confirmed, wore long dresses, had lost
every trace of boyishness, even rarely showed any touch of her former
drollery.
She did not care to go to the theatre, of which Martha was very fond,
unless serious dramas were performed. We, on the contrary, liked farces.
I still remember a political quip which was frequently repeated at the
Konigstadt Theatre, and whose point was a jeer at the aspirations of the
revolution: “Property is theft, or a Dream of a Red Republican.”
We were in the midst of the reaction and those who had fought at the
barricades on the 18th of March applauded when the couplet was sung, of
which I remember these lines:
“Ah! what bliss is the aspiration
To dangle from a lamp-post
As a martyr for the nation!”
During these vacations politics was naturally a matter of utter
indifference to us, and toward their close we usually paid a visit to my
grandmother and aunt in Dresden.
So the years passed till Easter (1852) came, and with it our
confirmation and my separation from Ludo, who was to follow a different
career. We had double instruction in confirmation, first with the
village boys from the pastor of Eichfeld, and afterwards from Middendorf
at the institute.
Unfortunately, I have entirely forgotten what the Eichfeld clergyman
taught us, but Middendorf’s lessons made all the deeper impression.
He led us through life to God and the Saviour, and thence back again to
life.
How often, after one of these lessons, silence reigned, and teachers and
pupils rose from their seats with tearful eyes!
Afterwards I learned from a book which had been kept that what he gave
us had been drawn chiefly from the rich experiences of his own life
and the Gospels, supplemented by the writings of his favourite teacher,
Schleiermacher. By contemplation, the consideration of the universe with
the soul rather than with the mind, we should enter into close relations
with God and become conscious of our dependence upon him, and this
consciousness Middendorf with his teacher Schleiermacher called
“religion.”
But the old Lutzow Jager, who in the year 1813 had taken up arms at the
Berlin University, had also sat at the feet of Fichte, and therefore
crowned his system by declaring, like the latter, that religion was
not feeling but perception. Whoever attained this, arrived at a clear
understanding of his own ego (Middendorf’s mental understanding of
life), perfect harmony with himself and the true sanctification of his
soul. This man who, according to our Middendorf, is the really religious
human being, will be in harmony with God and Nature, and find an answer
to the highest of all questions.
Froebel’s declaration that he had found “the unity of life,” which had
brought Middendorf to Keilhau, probably referred to Fichte. The phrase
had doubtless frequently been used by them in conversations about this
philosopher, and neither needed an explanation, since Fichte’s opinions
were familiar to both.
We candidates for confirmation at that time knew the Berlin philosopher
only by name, and sentences like “unity with one’s self,” “to grasp and
fulfil,” “inward purity of life,” etc., which every one who was taught
by Middendorf must remember, at first seemed perplexing; but our
teacher, who considered it of the utmost importance to be understood,
and whose purpose was not to give us mere words, but to enrich our
souls with possessions that would last all our lives, did not cease his
explanations until even the least gifted understood their real meaning.
This natural, childlike old man never lectured; he was only a pedagogue
in the sense of the ancients--that is, a guide of boys. Though precepts
tinctured by philosophy mingled with his teachings, they only served as
points of departure for statements which came to him from the soul and
found their way to it.
He possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the religions of all nations,
and described each with equal love and an endeavour to show us all their
merits. I remember how warmly he praised Confucius’s command not to love
our fellow-men but to respect them, and how sensible and beautiful it
seemed to me, too, in those days. He lingered longest on Buddhism; and
it surprises me now to discover how well, with the aids then at his
command, he understood the touching charity of Buddha and the deep
wisdom and grandeur of his doctrine.
But he showed us the other religions mainly to place Christianity and
its renewing and redeeming power in a brighter light. The former served,
as it were, for a foil to the picture of our Saviour’s religion and
character, which he desired to imprint upon the soul. Whether he
succeeded in bringing us into complete “unity” with the personality of
Christ, to which he stood in such close relations, is doubtful, but he
certainly taught us to understand and love him; and this love, though I
have also listened to the views of those who attribute the creation and
life of the world to mechanical causes, and believe the Deity to be a
product of the human intellect, has never grown cold up to the present
day.
The code of ethics which Middendorf taught was very simple. His motto,
as I have said, was, “True, pure, and upright in life.” He might have
added, “and with a heart full of love”; for this was what distinguished
him from so many, what made him a Christian in the most beautiful sense
of the word, and he neglected nothing to render our young hearts an
abiding-place for this love.
Of course, our mother came to attend our confirmation, which first took
place with the peasant boys--who all wore sprigs of lavender in
their button-holes--in the village church at Eichfeld, and then, with
Middendorf officiating, in the hall of the institute at Keilhau.
Few boys ever approached the communion-table for the first time in a
more devout mood, or with hearts more open to all good things, than did
we two brothers that day on our mother’s right and left hand.
No matter how much I may have erred, Middendorf’s teachings and counsels
have not been wholly lost in any stage of my career.
After the confirmation I went away with my mother and Ludo for the
vacation, and three weeks later I returned to the institute without my
brother.
I missed him everywhere. His greater discretion had kept me from many
a folly, and my need of loving some one found satisfaction in him.
Besides, his mere presence was a perpetual reminder of my mother.
Keilhau was no longer what it had been. New scenes always seem desirable
to young people, and for the first time I longed to go away, though I
knew nothing of my destination except that it would be a gymnasium.
Yet I loved the institute and its teachers, though I did not realize
until later how great was my debt of gratitude. Here, and by them, the
foundation of my whole future life was laid, and if I sometimes felt it
reel under my feet, the Froebel method was not in fault.
The institute could not dismiss us as finished men; the desired “unity
with life” can be attained only upon its stage--the world--in the
motley throng of fellow-men, but minds and bodies were carefully trained
according to their individual peculiarities, and I might consider myself
capable of receiving higher lessons. True, my character was not yet
steeled sufficiently to resist every temptation, but I no longer need
fear the danger of crossing the barrier which Froebel set for men
“worthy” in his sense.
My acquirements were deficient in many respects what the French term
“justesse d’esprit” had to a certain degree become mine, as in the case
of every Keilhau boy, through our system of education.
Though I could not boast of “being one with Nature,” we had formed
a friendly alliance, and I learned by my own experience the truth of
Goethe’s words, that it was the only book which offers valuable contents
on every page.
I was not yet familiar with life, but I had learned to look about with
open eyes.
I had not become a master in any handicraft, but I had learned
with paste-pot and knife, saw, plane, and chisel--nay, even axe and
handspike--what manual labour meant and how to use my hands.
I had by no means attained to union with God, but I had acquired the
ability and desire to recognize his government in Nature as well as in
life; for Middendorf had understood how to lead us into a genuine
filial relation with him and awaken in our young hearts love for him
who kindles in the hearts of men the pure flame of love for their
neighbours.
The Greek words which Langethal wrote in my album, and which mean “Be
truthful in love,” were beginning to be as natural to me as abhorrence
of cowardice and falsehood had long been.
Love for our native land was imprinted indelibly on my soul, and lives
there joyously, ready to sacrifice for the freedom and greatness of
Germany even what I hold dearest.