No plant draws what is to be contained in its cells and in its
fruits from itself, but rather from the soil it sprang from and
from the atmosphere it breaths. A human being is also a plant in
this respect. Though not being physically attached to one spot,
we are nevertheless mentally and spiritually rooted, deeply
rooted, very deeply, more deeply than many a giant tree in the the
Californian soil. Therefore, nobody can be held fully responsible
for whatever he does while he is still in the process of
development. To hold him fully accountable for all of his
mistakes, would be just as wrong as pretending that he had
obtained all of his good qualities entirely on his own. Only he
who precisely knows and correctly assesses the native soil and the
adolescent atmosphere of a "developed" one, is capable to prove
with some amount of certainty, which parts of his lot in life are
the product of the given circumstances and which of the purely
individual intentions of the person concerned. It has been one of
the worst cruelties of the past, to burden every poor devil who
was led to a violation of the law by his circumstances, in
addition to his own, possibly minor, guilt, with the entire, heavy
load of the circumstances as well. Unfortunately, there are still
more than enough people today who, even now, still commit this
cruelty, without even suspecting that they are the ones who would
have to share in bearing the responsibility, if there were laws to
that effect. And usually, it are not at all the remote people,
but even more so the dear "neighbours", who cast stone upon stone
on one of them, though the influences he succumbed to where most
of all coming from them as well. Thus, they also bear part of the
guilt themselves, which they cast upon him.
When I am now taking on the task of putting the circumstances
which shaped me through an unbiased examination, this is not done
with the intension to cast any part of my own guilt from me and
upon others, but only to demonstrate for once by an expressive
example how careful someone has to be who would want to endeavour
on a precise investigation of the origin and development of a
single human being.
At this time, Hohenstein and Ernstthal were two small towns, which
were situated so close together that in some parts their narrow
alleys intertwined like the fingers of two folded hands. In
Hohenstein, the natural philosopher Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert
was born, whose earlier work was under the influence of Schelling,
but who then turned to pietistic-ascetic mysticism. His native
town has built a monument in his honour. From Ernstthal was the
accomplished philosopher and author Pölitz, whose library
consisted of more than 30.000 volumes, which he had left to the
city of Leipzig. Here, I am less concerned with Hohenstein than
with Ernstthal, where I, as Hobble-Frank [a] would put it, "for
the first time saw the light of day". The first and oldest
impressions of my childhood are those of a lamentable poverty, and
not just in a material, but also in another respect. Never again
in my life, I have seen so much mental frugality in one spot as
then. The mayor had no university training. There was a
night-watchman, but the inhabitants had to take turns in
participating in the nightly watch. The main occupation was
weaving. The wages could only be described as meagre, often even
more than meagre. At certain times, there was little or no work
at all for weeks, sometimes even for months. Then, one could see
women going to the forest and bringing back baskets full of
brushwood, to have something for the fire in winter. At night, on
lonely paths, one could come across men, carrying large logs home,
which had to be sawn and chopped into firewood the very night, so
that nothing could be found, when the premises were searched. The
poor weavers had to work hard, in order to fend off hunger.
Saturday was payday. Then, everyone brought his "piece to the
market". For every flaw, which could be found, a certain amount
was subtracted from the wages. So many a man brought home less
than he had expected. Then, it was time to relax. Saturday night
was devoted to gaiety and - - - booze. One neighbour met with
another. The "Bulle" was handed around. "Bulle" is short for
bouteille [b]. In some families they sang to this, but what songs
were these ever so often! In others the cards ruled the scene.
Then, they played "lumpen", "schafkopf", or even "tippen". The
latter is an illegal game of chance, on which some men spent the
earnings of an entire week. To this, they drank from a single
glass. This went from one hand to another, from one mouth to
another. Even on the Sunday promenade, just as anytime someone
left his house, a supply of brandy was brought along. So they sat
at the picnic and drank. Hard liquor was a part of everything;
one would not want to do without it. It was regarded as the only
relief from worry, and its worst effects were accepted, as if this
was the most natural thing in the world.
[a] Hobble-Frank: a character from several of Karl May's novels.
[b] bouteille: bottle (French). Let me offer an alternative
etymology for the word "Bulle". It is common for people from
Saxony to pronounce a "P" like a "B". Thus, I would guess
that "Bulle" is actually just the Saxonian pronunciation of
that colloquialism for a bottle which is more correctly
pronounced and spelled as "Pulle", which in turn is a
degeneration of the Latin "ampulla" according to my
etymological dictionary.
Of course, there were also so-called better families, who were not
governed by alcohol, but there were only very few of them. There
were no patrician dynasties in either town. In Hohenstein lived
some families who had a higher reputation than others, but not in
Ernstthal. The minister and the physicians were the only persons
with an academic education, and then there also was a lawyer,
whose liquidations simply would not want to turn into a
comfortable income. Thus, the entire way of life was on an
extremely low level, and the general tone of conversation was
tuned in a way which would seem almost impossible now. In
personal relations, nick-names were often more in use than the
genuine, real names. Let the name Wolf serve as the only example,
I am going to list here. There was a Weißkopfwolf <white head
wolf>, a Rotkopfwolf <red head wolf>, a Daniellobwolf, a
Schlagwolf, and also lots of wolves by other names. The houses
were little, the alleys were narrow. Everyone could look into his
neighbour's windows and observe everything what happened. Thus it
became almost an impossibility to keep secrets from one another.
And since there is no one without fault, everyone has his
neighbour in the bag. Everything was known, but nothing was said.
Just occasionally, when it was deemed necessary, a small hint was
dropped, and this was enough. What this led to was an
everlasting, but silent hypocrisy, a low form of irony, a
seemingly benevolent sarcasm, which had no real basis. This was
unhealthy and spread more and more, without anybody noticing it.
This corroded; this was like poison. Thus, the card games of the
Saturday nights had turned into a shady undertaking, serving the
purpose of carrying out an illegal, yes even cheating, fraudulent
game of cards. The persons concerned met, to practise the
fabrication and the usage of marked cards. They established
themselves in an inn, located out of town. They sent out scouts
to bring in their victims. There they sat for entire nights,
playing for high stakes. Ever so often, someone came with full
pockets and left with empty ones. These goings on were well known
in town. The news of every new trick they pulled off spread
quickly. The sums they bagged were discussed with pleasure,
instead of holding their fraud against them. The card sharpers
were treated like honest people. They were supported. Yes, their
wits were admired and praised, and not the slightest thing that
was known about then was betrayed. It would not have occurred to
a single person that, by this, the entire town became an accessory
to the fraud, committed against the victims they brought in, and
that everyone who knew about these rackets ought to have
considered himself as guilty as a receiver of stolen goods. If,
at this time, anybody had said that this was a deplorable, general
state of immorality, he would probably have been laughed at or
perhaps even worse. The general sense for what is right had been
misguided. The card sharpers were admired, just as the Rinaldo
Rinaldinis and Himlo Himlinis from the old rental library were
admired, the volumes of which were eagerly read, because it was
the only library for both towns. I have never heard that the
mayor, the minister, or any other official, whose duty this might
have been, had ever summoned one of these card sharpers to
admonish him and to make him cease setting such an evil example
for the entire community. It was tolerated. Everyone shut his
eyes to it and kept quiet. But the younger generation, seeing and
hearing all of this, had to get the impression that these acts of
fraud were an admirable and very worth while occupation, and such
an impression will never be blurred again. At one time, I have
been told by a law-professional, that I had grown up in a filthy
swamp. Would you think, that this gentleman was right or not?
Two peculiar outgrowths of this swamp were the two names
"Batzendorf" <Batzen Village> and the "Lügenschmiede" <forge of
lies>. The first name is derived from the well known, old, South
German and Swiss divisional coin, batzen by name. Batzendorf was
the community of a non-existent village, which every inhabitant of
Ernstthal could join. It was a joke, but a joke which was
frequently overdone. Batzendorf had its own council, its own
minister, its own administration, but all of this was regarded in
a manner which was meant to be humorous. The very smallest house
of Ernstthal, the one where the vegetable vendor Dore Wendelbrück
lived, had been declared to be the town hall of Batzendorf. One
morning, there was a tower on top of it, which had been pieced
together from wooden boards and cigar-boxes, und had been placed
on old Dore's roof, without even asking her. But she was very
proud of it. The innkeeper's wife from the Meisterhaus-inn was
the village's night-watchwoman. She had to announce the hours and
blow her horn. Every public authority and people from every lower
walk of life were represented, down to the potato-watchman and the
guardian of the pods, all of this was also a joke. Every
Saturday, they held a meeting. Here, the entire community came
together and the craziest plans were hatched, to be actually
carried out, later on: baptisms of infants at the age of fifty,
the wedding of two widows, an exercise of the fire-brigade without
water, the election of a new community-goose, a public test of a
new remedy against tape-worms, and similar crazy, often even very
crazy things. The town's judge Layritz had grown old and did
nothing about this. The minister was even older and never thought
bad of anything. He always said: "Just don't overdo it, just
don't overdo it!" With this, he thought his duty was done. The
cantor shook his head. He was too modest, to step forward with a
public reproof. But when being alone with my father, he had the
courage to warn him: "Don't go along with this, neighbour, don't
you go along with this! This isn't good for you, and it's also
not good for Karl. What's done there, is nothing but parody,
irony, mocking, and jeering of things, the sanctity of which no
one should ever question! And especially children should never
get to see or to hear something like this!"
He was very, very right. This "Batzendorf", where batzen-money
was the only accepted currency, has existed for quite a number of
years and had many a quiet, secret, but just the more evil effect.
There, "the ties of decent restraint" were loosened. There was
something new every week. We children observed the silliness of
the adults with huge interest and joined in the mockery and the
parody, but of course, without becoming aware of it. This went on
like that, until the town's administration and the church came
under a new, strict rule, and Batzendorf was ruined by its own
doings. But it had benefited no one. This was a swamp of moral
degradation to which not only the older ones had turned, but we
younger ones were also led right into it and very much of our
nature as children got stuck in it and had to be left behind. The
untalented ones were less hurt by this; but on the talented ones
it continues to have its effect and grows inside of him up to a
size which later, once it becomes apparent, cannot be contained
any longer.
The "Lügenschmiede" was of a slightly newer date. In talking
about it, I intensionally do not give any names. What I have to
say, I only want to direct against the matter itself, not against
any persons. In Ernstthal, there were several younger people who
had much talent for satire. Basically, they were very
respectable, kind people, and therefore could have used their
talents for their benefit, if they had lived under different, more
generous circumstances, but as things were, they got stuck below,
in the limited circumstances, and were therefore unable to achieve
anything but the petty and the ordinary, often even just the very
trivial. This has been a real waste of talent!
One of them, perhaps the most enterprising and most humorous one,
got to own his own house and had the audacity to open a
delicatessen in this town of Ernstthal, where there was so little
appreciation and money for delicacies, but of course, this
included a restaurant, because without it, he surely would not
have been able to find any customers. At first, this restaurant
bore no particular name; but it did not take long, until it got
one, and a very fitting one, as well. It had been called the
"Lügenschmiede" <forge of lies> and its proprietor was referred to
as the "Lügenschmied" <smith of lies>. Why? The proprietor as
well as his regulars all liked a good laugh. A stranger might
have frequented this place several times, without noticing
anything of it. But suddenly, it came over him, suddenly,
entirely unexpectedly, and with an irresistible certainty. He was
"done", as they called it. They had discovered his weakest spot
and his strongest hook, which was used to hang some cleverly
devised lie on it, which he had to believe, whether he liked it or
not. This lie had to put him into an embarrassing situation, no
matter how he might try to avert it, and even if he had been ten
or hundred times smarter than those who had decided to trip him.
This forge of lies became famous all around. Thousands of
strangers came as guests, and everyone who got the idea of getting
into an argument with the owner and his regulars, got his
thrashing and embarrassedly went on his way.
Ordinary guests got the simple treatment. When someone demanded a
beer, he got a cognac. Did he ask for a brandy, he received
lemonade. If he wanted to eat a pickled herring, he was presented
with unpealed potatoes and apple-sauce. And nobody refused to
take it and to pay for it, because they all knew that otherwise
embarrassment would follow. Better guests were not in for such
ordinary jokes. They were kept waiting. "He isn't quite ripe
yet", the Lügenschmied used to say. And everyone got ripe,
everyone, whoever or whatever he might be, whether he had studied
or not, whether his rank was high or low. The pranks were often
quite ingenious, but had always a tendency towards the ordinary.
A guest, who wanted to get a shave, had been told, the barber was
not at home, but rather here, sitting right next to him. But
actually, this man was no barber, but rather a baker. He lathered
the man with aniline and shaved him, while all the others kept a
straight face. The saved man payed and happily went away, blue
all over his face. For weeks, he could not show his face in
public; this was his punishment for insisting at the
Lügenschmiede that he was smarter than all others and that no one
could fool him. Another guest had been told that his brother has
had an accident on the fairground the same day before noon. He
had come to close too a huge barrel organ, and so his right leg
got entangled in the gears; as a consequence, the leg had to be
amputated below the knee. The man jumped up in fright and ran
off, but very soon, he returned laughing with his entirely healthy
brother. The gentlemen of the public authorities also very much
enjoyed frequenting the Lügenschmiede, but only at times when they
knew they could be alone and unobserved. They also put up with an
odd prank, and often it was just due to their influence when the
proprietor's pranks, which often went too far, bore no unpleasant
consequences. This was because the whole matter was increasingly
overdone, like everything which comes from the low-minded way of
thinking. The pranks became more ordinary; they lost their
attraction. It had all been done to death. And everyone entering
the Lügenschmiede, thought he could tell lies and misrepresent the
truth. The spirit was gone. What had been real humour, real fun,
real kidding and joking, now became obscenity, ambiguity,
untruthfulness, forgery, imprudent gossip, and lie. The
Lügenschmiede has disappeared by now. The house has been
demolished. But unfortunately, the consequences of this
inappropriate tomfoolery have not disappeared with it. They still
exist today. They continue having their effects. This also was a
swamp, a swamp hidden under the brightest green and the most
alluring flowers. Not just the town's soul had suffered from it,
but its miasmas have also spread around over a larger area of the
land, and I deeply, deeply regret that I am also one of those who
suffered from it extensively and severely, and still have to
suffer up the the present day. What enabled my opponents to turn
the Karl May I really and truly am into this most untruthful of
all caricatures and to parade me through all of the newspapers as
a bandit who robs market-women and a robber-captain was to a
large extent the Lügenschmiede; its regulars never even
considered what they were doing to me by exposing each other to
ever new, made up stories of my supposed adventures and misdeeds.
I will return to this elsewhere, but here, I still have to say one
very short thing: What I had to report of the card sharpers, of
"Batzendorf", and of the "Lügenschmiede", are just a few short
insights into the conditions of my native town at that time. I
could increase and deepen these insight extensively, to prove that
it has really and truly been a very contaminated soil, where my
soul had been forced to be rooted in, but I would like to refrain
from this with great pleasure, because I have been delighted to
see recently, how much has changed there. I had shunned my native
town for quite some time and wanted to avoid it furthermore as
well, when a legal action forced me to return there one again. I
was pleasantly disappointed. I am not referring to external, but
to internal matters. I have seen enough towns and places;
nothing can surprise me and nothing can disappoint me in that
respect. As I, primarily and above anything else, seek to get to
know the soul of any stranger I happen to meet, so I also seek to
know the soul of every place I enter anew. And though the soul of
Hohenstein-Ernstthal was still the same, I saw this right away, it
was nevertheless uplifted, it had cleansed itself, it had obtained
a different, better, and more dignified appearance. I had the
opportunity to observe it for a few days, and might very well say
that I enjoyed these observations. I found intelligence, where
there had not been any before. I met with a lively respect for
the law, which was not as easily misguided as in the past. There
was more responsibility for the community, more of a feeling of
togetherness. Yes, the material conditions were looking up
everywhere, up towards the ideal. The ground on which the people
lived was uplifted and presented the ability to better itself
furthermore and increasingly. I met old acquaintances, who had
really made something of their lives. To me, this was a
satisfaction, I had not expected. There were no longer those old,
indolent faces with an expression of the disagreeable cunning of
uneducated people, but the features showed insight and ability,
healthy intelligence and considered judgement. Might this have
been just a consequence of new people moving into town? Surely
not exclusively, though it cannot be denied that new blood from
outside has a invigorating, strengthening, and improving effect on
the life of a community. I honestly confess that after this visit
and after these observations, I have again a certain fondness for
my native town and wish with all of my heart that the presently so
clearly visible progress, also in the direction towards spiritual
goals, may be a lasting one. The proof had been made that the old
times are gone. The people have made the effort, to rise up with
youthful energy; this yields success, and along with success,
will also come the blessings.
After these general remarks, I can now turn back to myself and to
this early morning, when I left Ernstthal, to get help from a
noble, Spanish robber-captain. Do not think that had been a
"crazy" idea. I was perfectly sane. Though my logic was still
that of a child, it was already well trained. My mistake was just
that, due to the trashy literature I eagerly consumed, I took the
novels for the real life, and therefore I now simply treated life
as a novel. The exceedingly rich imagination, nature had gifted
me with, turned the possibility of such a delusion into reality.
My trip to Spain lasted only one day. Near Zwickau, lived some
relatives of ours. I spent the night with them. They received me
kindly and persuaded me to stay. In the meantime, at home, my
note had been found and read. Father knew what the direction to
Spain was. He instantly thought of those relatives and got going
right away, being convinced to surely find me there. When he
came, we sat around the table and I told in all of my naive
honesty where I wanted to go and also to whom and why. These
relatives were poor, simple, honest weavers. There was not a
trace of imagination in them. They were simply stunned at my
undertaking. Seeking help with a robber-captain! At first, they
would not know what to do, what to make of me, and so it was a
relief for them to see my father entering the house. He, the
hot-tempered man, who at the slightest occasion blew his top,
behaved completely differently than usual. His eyes were in
tears. He said not a single angry word to me. He hugged me and
said: "Never do something like this again, never again!" Then,
after a short rest, he left with me - - back home.
The walk took five hours. All of this time, we walked silently
side by side; he led me by the hand. I never felt more clearly
than at this time, how much he actually loved me. Everything he
wished and hoped to get out of life, he projected upon me. I
solemnly promised myself, never to let him experience such a pain
as today through me again. And what about him? What kind of
thoughts might that have been which now echoed through his mind?
He said nothing. When we reached our home, I had to go to bed,
because I, the little fellow I was, had walked for ten hours and
was extremely tired. We never said another word about my
excursion to Spain; but the work at the bowling alley and the
reading of those morally destructive novels did stop. In due
time, the necessary help came about, without having to be brought
in from the land of the chestnuts. The minister recommended me to
the patron of our church, the count of Hinterglauchau, and he
agreed to support me with fifteen taler per year, an amount which
was regarded as sufficient for me to attend the seminary. At
Easter 1856 was my confirmation. On Michaelmas [a] I passed the
entry exam to the proseminary of Waldenburg and started living at
this boarding school.
[a] September the 29th.
So it was not a secondary school where one did obtain the
qualifications to proceed to a university, but just the seminary!
There were no academic studies for me, I was to become only a
teacher! Only? How wrong! There was no higher position than
that of a teacher, and with all of my thoughts, feelings, and
actions I was thus concentrated on my present task that I enjoyed
everything which was connected with it. Of course, this task was
just the foreground. In the background, towering high above it,
rose above anything else what had become my ideal since that night
when I had seen the Faust: to write plays for the theatre! On
the subject of God, man, and devil! Could I not do this as a
teacher just as well as if I had been to an academy? Yes,
certainly, provided of course that I did not lack talent. How
proud was I the first time I wore the green hat! How proud were
my parents and sisters as well! Grandmother hugged me and urged:
"Always think of our fable! Now, you are still in Ardistan; but
you are supposed to rise to Jinnistan. This journey will start
today. You have to ascent. Never turn to those who want to hold
you back!"
"And what about the spirits' furnace?" I asked. "Do I have to
enter it?"
"If you are worth it, you can't avoid it", she answered. "But if
you aren't worth it, your life will proceed without struggle and
without pain."
"But I want to enter it; I want to!" I exclaimed courageously.
Then she placed her hand on my head and said with a smile:
"This is up to God. Don't forget Him! Never forget Him as long
as you live!"
I did heed this advice, but have to confess, to be honest, that it
was never hard on me. I cannot remember any occasion where I had
to wrestle with doubt or even disbelief. In a manner of speaking,
the conviction that there was a God who also watched out over me
and would never leave me has, at all times, been a firm,
inalienable ingredient of my personality, and therefore I cannot
at all regard it as a special achievement of mine that I have
never been unfaithful to this uplifted, beautiful faith of my
childhood. Granted, I also was not entirely free of perturbations
of my inner self; but the perturbation came from outside and did
not become a part of me in such a manner that it could have
persisted. It was caused by the very special manner in which
theology and religious education were taught at the seminary.
Every morning and every evening, there were prayers every student
was compelled to participate in. This was quite right so. On
Sundays and holidays, the entire student body was brought to
church. This was just as right so. Furthermore, there were
certain ceremonies for the mission and similar purposes. This was
also good and fitting. And there was for all classes of the
seminary a well thought out, very extensive curriculum on
religion, biblical teachings, and hymns. This entirely goes
without saying. But in all this, there was one thing missing, the
very thing which is the most important part of all religious
matters; this is that there was no love, no kindness, no
humility, no forgivingness. The lessons were cold, strict, tough.
It did not have the slightest trace of poetry. Instead of causing
delight and enthusiasm, it was repelling. The religious lessons
were the ones which were the least inspiring. It was always a
pleasure when the hand on the clock reached the number twelve.
All of these lessons were held year by year with precisely the
same contents and precisely the same words and expressions. What
was taught on this date, was inevitably to be taught next year on
the same day again. This worked like an old cuckoo-clock; this
all sounded so wooden, and this all looked so faked, so
fabricated. Every single thought had been designated to its place
among a dozen ideas and was by no means allowed to turn up in any
other spot. This did not allow any trace of a warm feeling to
form; this killed the inner self. I have never known a single
one among my fellow students who would have ever said one
favourable word about this form of religious education. And I
have also known no one who would have been religious enough to
voluntarily fold his hands to pray. I myself have prayed always
and at every occasion; I still do this today, without being
ashamed; but at that time, at the seminary, I kept it a secret,
because I was afraid of my fellow students' smirks.
I would have liked to keep silent about these religious
conditions, but was not allowed to, because it is my task, to say
everything honestly, what influenced me in my internal and
external development. This Christianity of the seminary seemed to
me to be without soul to the same extent as it was seeking
conflict. It did not satisfy and nevertheless pretended to be the
only pure, true teaching. How poor and how godforsaken did this
make a person feel! The others did not even accept this as a
disaster; they were indifferent; but I, who required religious
love, felt sick from the cold and withdrew into my self. Here
also, I grew increasingly lonelier, and even more, much more than
at home. And here, I became even more of a stranger to my grade
than I had been there. This was partially due to the conditions,
but also partially due to myself.
I knew much more than my fellow students. I may say so without
being suspected of bragging. Because what I knew was nothing but
a mess, an unregulated, unsystematic accumulation of knowledge,
which did not benefit me in the least, but only burdened me.
Whenever I might have let anyone notice something of my unfruitful
masses of information, I was stared at in amazement and laughed
at. They felt instinctively that I was less enviable than
lamentable. The others, most of them the sons of teachers, might
not have learnt as much as I, but what they had learnt was firmly
stored and well arranged in the chambers of their memory, always
ready to be used. I felt that I was very disadvantaged compared
to them and yet resisted to admit that much to myself and them.
The quiet and busy main part of my work most of all consisted of
putting my poor head in order, and this, unfortunately, took more
time than I wished. Whatever I built up, kept on falling down.
It was like exhaustingly digging through a pile of snow, which
kept on caving in. And in all this, there was one contradiction
which simply could not be removed. This was the contradiction
between my extraordinarily fruitful imagination and the dryness
and absolute lack of poetry in the form of teaching practised
here. At that time, I was still much too young, to realize, where
this dryness came from. They did not teach that much of what had
to be learnt, but rather the manner in which we had to learn. We
were taught to learn. Once we understood this, the rest was easy.
We were given lots of bones; therefore our lessons were so almost
painfully dry. But out of these bones, the skeletons of the
individual sciences were combined, the flesh of which was to be
added later. But with me, the very opposite had occurred up to
now: I had gathered a huge amount of flesh, but not a single
sustaining, supporting bone to go with it. My knowledge lacked a
firm bone-structure. In respect to my mental possessions, I was a
squid, which had neither internally nor externally something to
hold on to, and therefore also no place to feel at home. And the
worst part of it was: The boneless flesh of this squid was not
healthy, but sick, severely sick; it had been poisoned by the
trashy novels of proprietor of the bowling alley. Just now, I
started to realize this properly and felt just the more unhappy
with this, as I could not talk to a single human being about it,
without embarrassing myself. Most of all it was the dryness and
what I guess I would have to call soullessness of the lessons at
the seminary, which made me realize that I had been poisoned. I
found for the skeletons we had been offered, so that we would
breathe life into them, no healthy flesh within myself.
Everything I pieced together and tried to build up inside of me,
turned out shapeless, ugly, untrue, and unlawful. I started to
grow afraid of myself and kept on tinkering with the form of my
soul, to have my insides cleansed, purified, rearranged, and
uplifted, without having to turn to outside help, which did not
exist anyhow. I would very well have liked to confide in one of
our teachers, but they were all so elevated, so cold, so
unapproachable, and most of all, I sensed this, no one of them
would have understood me; they were no psychologists. They would
have given me a puzzled look and left without otherwise
acknowledging my presence.
In addition, I had an inborn, irresistible urge to keep my mind
busy. I learnt very easily and consequentially had much time to
spare. So I secretly wrote poetry; I even composed. The few
pfennigs I could spare were turned into writing paper. But what I
wrote was not supposed to be just a student's essay, but something
useful, something really good. And what did I write there? Most
naturally story about American Indians! What for? Most naturally
to have it printed! By whom? Most naturally by the the
"Gartenlaube" <Garden-Arbour>, a magazine which had been founded a
few years back, but was already read by everyone. I was sixteen,
then. I sent in the manuscript. After a whole week had passed
without any reaction, I asked for an answer. I received none.
Therefore, after another fortnight, I wrote in a stricter tone,
and after another two weeks, I asked for my manuscript back, to
send it to another publisher. It arrived. Along with it came a
letter, personally written by Ernst Keil, extending over four
large quarto pages [a]. I was far from appreciating this as I
should have. First, he quite thoroughly put me down, making me
really honestly feel ashamed, because he most conscientiously
listed all the misdeeds I had committed in the narration, of
course without me being aware of it. Near the end, the reproach
got milder, and in the end, he cheerfully extended to me, the
ignorant boy, his hand and told me that he would not be too
excessively appalled, if, after four or five years had passed,
another one of my Indian stories should end up on his desk. He
did not get any, though not due to my fault, but rather the
circumstances would not let me. This was my first success in
literature. But then, I certainly regarded it as an absolute
failure and felt very unhappy about it. Time passed. I rose from
the proseminary into the fourth, third, and second [b] grade of
the seminary, and it was in this second grade, when that fate came
upon me, which my opponents have so loudly exploited.
[a] quarto: an old paper size. 22.5 x 28.5 cm, 8.86 x 11.22 in.
[b] The grades in German secondary schools used to be numbered
backwards.
It was the custom of the seminary that the students had to take
turns in performing certain duties for the grade, each one for a
week. Therefore, the student concerned was referred to as the
"weekner". Furthermore, in the first grade, there was an
"enforcing weekner", and in the second grade a "light-weekner",
the latter one being in charge of the lighting of the classrooms.
In those days, the classrooms were lit by means of tallow-candles,
which had to be replaced as soon as they were burnt down. The
light-weekner had to clean the old, worthless candlesticks every
day, and in particular, he had to clear away the remnants of wicks
and tallow from the grooves. These remnants were either just
thrown away or molten down to be used boot-polish or some other
kind of grease by the janitor. They were generally to be regarded
as worthless.
It was in the beginning of the the week of Christmas when it was
my turn to be the light-weekner. I performed this work like
everybody else. The day before Christmas Eve, our vacation
started. The day before, one of my sisters came by, to get my
laundry as well as the little luggage I had to take with me on
vacation. She always did this whenever the vacation started. The
way she had to take from Ernstthal to Waldenburg took two hours.
That day was no exception. As she came in this time, I was just
busy cleaning the candlesticks. She was sad. Things were not
good at home. There was no work and therefore also no income.
Mother used to bake at least some cakes for Christmas, as even the
poorest people would do. This year, she could hardly afford it.
But there would not be any gifts, none at all, because the money
just was not there. There were no candles for the Christmas
chandelier. Even my smaller sisters' wooden angles were to be
without candles. Three little candles were meant to go with these
angles, at five or six pfennig per piece; but when those eighteen
pfennig were needed for other, more necessary things, they just
had to live with that. This hurt me. My sister was almost crying.
She saw the remnants of tallow, which I had just scratched out of
the grooves and down from the candlesticks. "Couldn't some
pfennig-candles be made out of these?" she asked. "Quite easily",
I answered. "All it takes is some rolled up paper and a wick,
nothing else; but it wouldn't burn so well, because all this
stuff is still useful for is as grease." "So what, so what! At
least we would have some kind of candles for the three angles.
Who owns this garbage?" "Nobody really. I have to get it to the
janitor. Whether he throws it out or not, is his business." "So
it wouldn't be stealing, if we'd take a bit of it home with us?"
"Stealing. Ridiculous! Nobody would think of it! All of this
dirt isn't worth three pfennig. I'll wrap some of it in a piece
of paper for you. This we'll use to make three little Christmas
candles."
Said, done! We were not alone. Another seminarist was with us;
someone from the first grade, one grade above mine. I am
reluctant to give his name. His father was a gendarme. This
upstanding fellow student observed everything. He did not warn me
at all, but was quite friendly, left, and - - - reported on me.
The principal came in person, to investigate the "theft". I
admitted very calmly what I had done and returned the "loot" I had
taken. I truly thought nothing bad of it. But he called me an
"infernal character" and assembled the faculty, to decide about me
and my punishment. Just half an hour later, I was informed of it.
I was dismissed from the seminary, I was free to go to wherever I
wished. I left right away with my sister - - - for the holy
Christmas season - - - without tallow for the Christmas angles - -
- these were very gloomy, dark Christmas holidays. I guess, I did
already say that especially Christmas had often been for me a time
of sadness, not joy. In those days of Christmas, holy flames of
my soul were quenched out, lights which I held dear. I learnt to
differentiate between Christianity and those who call themselves
Christians. I had come to know Christians who had acted less
Christianly against me than Jews, Turks, and heathens would have
done.
Luckily, the department of culture and public education, I had
turned to, proved to be more reasonable and more humane than the
seminary's management. Without any objections, I obtained the
permission to continue my interrupted studies at the seminary of
Plauen. There, I got into the same grade, that is into the second
one, and after having finished the first grade, I passed the
examination to become a teacher, after which I obtained my first
job in Glauchau, but soon got to Altchemnitz into a school,
belonging to a factory, where the all of the students were rather
grown up factory workers. Here, my confessions have to start. I
give them without hesitation, according to the truth, as if I was
not dealing with myself, but another person, a stranger.
I am going to turn back to my parents' poverty. The examination
had required a tailcoat, an expensive matter for our
circumstances. Furthermore, as a teacher, I could not continue
being dressed like a student, and needed at least some modest
supply of laundry and other necessary items. My parents did not
have this kind of money; I had to take care of this myself; this
means, I borrowed it, to pay it back from my salary in
installments. So I had to be economical, thinking twice before I
would spend a single pfennig! I limited myself to the bare
necessities, and had to do without all expenses, unless they were
absolutely unavoidable. I did not even own a watch, though this
is quite indispensable for a teacher, who has to be punctual by
the minute.
The owner of the factory, the school of which had been entrusted
to me, was obliged by contract to supply my accommodations. He
chose what was most convenient for him. One of his accountants
had also been granted free accommodations, a living room and a
bedroom. Until now, he had both for himself; now, my quarters
were to be at his place; he had to share with me. By this, he
lost his independence and his convenience; he was constantly
annoyed by my presence, and thus one can easily comprehend that I
was not particularly welcome by him, and that the idea had crossed
his mind, to get rid of this intrusion in some way. Otherwise, I
got along with him rather well. I did him every favour I could
and treated him, since I saw that he wanted it this way, as the
actual master of the lodgings. This obliged him to return my
kindness. An opportunity for this came very soon. He had
received a new pocket watch from his parents. His old watch,
which he now did not need any more, hang unused on a nail at the
wall. Its value was at most twenty marks. He offered to sell it
to me, because I did not possess any; but I rejected, because if
I would eventually buy a watch, it was supposed to be new, a
better one. Of course, this was still a long way to go, because I
had to pay back my debts first. Then, he himself suggested to me
that I should take his old watch with me to school, since I was
required to be punctual. I went for it and was grateful to him
for this. At first, I placed the watch back on the nail as soon
as I returned from school. Later, I occasionally failed to do
this; I kept it in my pockets for several hours more, because to
me, it would have seemed not that much conscientious, but rather
ridiculous, to put so much emphasis on the fact that it did not
belong to me. Finally, I even took it with me when I went out and
only hang it back up in its place after I had returned at night.
There was no real friendship or even cordial relationship between
us. He accepted me, because he had to, and occasionally, he made
it a point to let me know that he was not pleased to share his
lodgings.
Then, Christmas came. I informed him that I would spend the
holidays with my parents and bid him farewell, because I wanted to
depart immediately after school, without returning to our
lodgings. After the last lesson was over, I went to Ernstthal,
which took just one hour by rail, so it was not far to go at all.
Being filled with the joy of the holidays, I completely forgot, to
leave the watch behind. When I noticed that it was still in my
pocket, I did not care about this at all. After all, there was
not even the slightest dishonest intension in my mind. This night
with my parents was such a happy occasion. My time as a student
was behind me; I had a job; I received a salary. The beginning
of my career was there. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. We already
started preparing for the exchange of the Christmas presents.
While doing so, I spoke about my future, my ideals, which all
appeared shining most brightly before me in the lustre of
Christmas. Father joined my enthusiasm. Mother was quietly
happy. Grandmother's old, faithful eyes were shining. After we
had finally turned in for the night, I still lay awake for a long
time in my bed and contemplated what I had done right and wrong in
my life. For the first time, I grew fully aware of my internal
uncertainty. I saw the treacherous abyss gaping behind me, but
none in front of me, because my path seemed to be, though hard and
strenuous, still entirely free from obstacles: to become an
author; to achieve great things, but first to learn a great
things! To cast off, one after another, all those faults of my
inner self, which were the consequence of my wrong upbringing, so
that there shall be room for something new, better, righter,
noble! With those thoughts, I fell asleep, and when I woke, it
was already almost noon, and I had to go to the Hohensteiner
Christmas market to buy a few more small gifts for my sisters.
There, I came across a gendarme, who asked me, if I was the
teacher May. After I had confirmed this, he told me to come to
the town hall, to the police, where I they wanted to question me.
I went along, not suspecting anything at all. First, I was shown
into the living room, not the office. A woman was sitting there
and sewing. Please, allow me to keep to myself whose wife she
was. She was a close acquaintance of my mother, who had gone to
school with her, and now she looked at me with anxious eyes. The
gendarme ordered me to sit down and left the room for a short
time, to give his report. The woman used this opportunity to ask
me hastily:
"You've been arrested! Do you know that?"
"No", I answered, mortally startled. "Why?"
"You're said to have stolen a watch from your roommate! If
they'll find it on you, you'll be sent to prison and will be
dismissed as a teacher!"
Everything flickered before my eyes. I felt like being hit over
the head with a club. I thought of last night, my thoughts before
falling asleep, and now all of a sudden there was dismissal and
imprisonment!
"But it's not stolen at all, just borrowed!" I stuttered, pulling
it out of my pocket.
"They won't believe that! Put it away! Return it to him
secretly, but don't let anybody see it now! Quickly, quickly!"
My devastation was indescribable. A single clear, calm thought
would have saved me, but it did not occur to me. I just had to
show the watch and tell the truth, then everything would have been
well; but I was so scared that I was like in a fever and acted
like in a fever. I did not put the watch back into my pocket, but
into my suit, where it did not belong to, and as soon as this had
happened, the gendarme returned to get me. Let be as brief as
possible on what had happened now! I committed the insane act of
denying the possession of the watch; but it was found, when I was
searched for it. Thus, the lie destroyed me instead of saving me;
but it always does; I was a - - - thief! I was brought to
Chemnitz to appear before the investigating judge, spent the
Christmas holidays not with my parents, but locked up, and was
sentenced to six weeks in prison. Whether and by what means I
defended myself; whether I sought refuge in an appeal, an
appellation, any kind of legal remedy, a petition for clemency, a
lawyer, I cannot say. My recollection of those days has
disappeared, entirely disappeared. For important psychological
reasons, I would like to tell everything as openly and
comprehensively as possible, but unfortunately, I cannot do this,
because all of this has been wiped off my memory, due to rather
peculiar psychological conditions, on which I will have to report
in the next chapter. I only know that I was entirely lost, and
that I found myself again once I was back in the care of my
parents and especially of my grandmother. After the strain of
recovering, when I had regained enough of my strength, I went to
Altchemnitz, to refresh my damaged memory. In respect to the
locations, it was in vain; I recognised nothing, neither the
factory, nor my former lodgings, nor any other place where I
undoubtedly must have been. But suddenly, he stood before me, my
roommate, the accountant. He happened to come my way on the
street and stopped, once he had reached me. Him, I recognised
immediately, he me too, though he assured me that I looked
completely different than before, so very ailing. He gave me his
hand and asked me, to forgive him. He had not intended for it to
come out the way it did at all. He said, he was so infinitely
sorry for having spoiled my career! I gave him an astonished
look. Having spoiled my career? Would anybody have been able to
do this? Even if the government would not want to hire me any
more, there are still enough private jobs available, which are
even better payed. And it had also never been my intension to
remain a teacher of a public or even factory school; I had
entirely different plans and still had them on this day. I just
left the man standing in the middle of the street and went away,
without a word of reproach.
Yes, I left, but where to?! I could not have guessed it, then. I
have said just before in this account that a treacherous abyss was
behind me, but none in front of me, and that I intended to achieve
great things, but first to learn great things. The first thing
was wrong. On the very contrary, the abyss was not behind me, but
in front of me. And the great thing I had to learn and to achieve
was, to tumble into this abyss, without being shattered and to
freely ascend it on the other side, without ever relapsing into it
again. This is the hardest task there is for a mortal, and I
think I have solved it. - - -