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, n.o.body 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 a.s.sesses 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 circ.u.mstances 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 circ.u.mstances, in addition to his own, possibly minor, guilt, with the entire, heavy load of the circ.u.mstances 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 succ.u.mbed 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 circ.u.mstances 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 Sch.e.l.ling, 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 Politz, 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 partic.i.p.ating 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.

Sat.u.r.day 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. Sat.u.r.day 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 gla.s.s. 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 p.r.o.nounce a "P" like a "B". Thus, I would guess that "Bulle" is actually just the Saxonian p.r.o.nunciation of that colloquialism for a bottle which is more correctly p.r.o.nounced 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 Weikopfwolf , a Rotkopfwolf , 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 Sat.u.r.day 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" and the "Lugenschmiede" . 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 Wendelbruck 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 Sat.u.r.day, 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 sanct.i.ty 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 "Lugenschmiede" 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 circ.u.mstances, but as things were, they got stuck below, in the limited circ.u.mstances, 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 "Lugenschmiede" and its proprietor was referred to as the "Lugenschmied" . 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 embarra.s.sing 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 embarra.s.sedly 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 n.o.body refused to take it and to pay for it, because they all knew that otherwise embarra.s.sment would follow. Better guests were not in for such ordinary jokes. They were kept waiting. "He isn't quite ripe yet", the Lugenschmied 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 Lugenschmiede 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 Lugenschmiede, but only at times when they knew they could be alone and un.o.bserved. 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 Lugenschmiede, 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 Lugenschmiede 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 Lugenschmiede; 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 "Lugenschmiede", 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 n.o.ble, 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d 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 partic.i.p.ate 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 cla.s.ses 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 G.o.dforsaken 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 acc.u.mulation 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 ma.s.ses 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 embarra.s.sing 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" , a magazine which had been founded a few years back, but was already read by everyone. I was sixteen, then. I sent in the ma.n.u.script. After a whole week had pa.s.sed 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 ma.n.u.script 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 pa.s.sed, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sed. 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 cla.s.srooms.In those days, the cla.s.srooms 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?" "n.o.body 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! n.o.body 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 princ.i.p.al 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 a.s.sembled 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 pa.s.sed 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 circ.u.mstances. 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.