From "Summer Legends," translated by Helen B. Dole.
Published by T. Y. Crowell & Co.

Copyright, 1888, by T.Y. Crowell & Co

Next Easter he must go to N--to school.--Fact.--It is high time; he
is eleven years old, and here he is running wild with the street-
boys.--That's what I say."

He, that is, I, hung my head, and I felt more like crying than
laughing. I had passed eleven sunny boyhood years in the little
country town, I stood in high esteem among my playmates, and would
rather be the first in the ranks of my birthplace than second in the
metropolis.

Through the gray mist, which surrounded my near future like a thick
fog, gleamed only one light, but a bright, attractive light; that
was the theatre, the splendor of which I had already learned to
know. The white priests in the "Magic Flute," Sarastro's lions, the
fire-spitting serpents, and the gay, merry Papageno,--such things
could not be seen at home; and when my parents promised me
occasional visits to the theatre, as a reward for diligence in study
and exemplary conduct, I left the Eden of my childhood, half
consoled.

Young trees, transplanted at the proper time, soon take root. After
a tearful farewell to my friends and a slight attack of home-
sickness, I was quite content. I was received into the second class
at the gymnasium, and drank eagerly of the fountain of knowledge; a
certain Frau Eberlein, with whom I found board and lodging, cared
for my bodily welfare.

She was a widow, and kept a little store, in which, with the
assistance of a shop-girl, she served customers, who called from
morning to night. She dealt principally in groceries and vegetables,
but besides these, every conceivable thing was found piled up in her
shop: knitting-yarn, sheets of pictures, slate-pencils, cheese, pen-
knives, balls of twine, herring, soap, buttons, writing-paper, glue,
hairpins, cigar-holders, oranges, fly-poison, brushes, varnish,
gingerbread, tin soldiers, corks, tallow candles, tobacco-pouches,
thimbles, gum-balls, and torpedoes. Besides, she prepared, by means
of essences, peach brandy, maraschino, ros solis, and other
liqueurs, as well as an excellent ink, in the manufacture of which I
used to help her. She rejoiced in considerable prosperity, lived
well, and did not let me want for anything.

My passion for the theatre was a source of great anxiety to good
Frau Eberlein. She did not have a very good opinion of the art in
general, but the comedy she despised from the bottom of her heart.
Therefore she made my visiting the theatre as difficult as possible,
and it was only after long discussions, and after the shop-girl had
added her voice, that she would hand over the necessary amount for
purchasing a ticket. The shop-girl was an oldish person, as thin as
a giraffe which had fasted for a long time, and was very well read.
She subscribed regularly to a popular periodical with the motto,
" Culture is freedom," and Frau Eberlein was influenced somewhat by
her judgment. This kind-hearted woman was friendly towards me, and
as often as her employer asked, "Is the play a proper one for young
people?" she would answer, "Yes," and Frau Eberlein would have to
let me go.

Those were glorious evenings. Long before it was time for the play
to begin, I was in my seat in the gallery, looking down from my
dizzy height, into the house, still unlighted. Now a servant comes
and lights the lamps in the orchestra. The parquet and the upper
seats fill, but the reserved seats and the boxes are still empty.
Now it suddenly grows light; the chandelier comes down from an
opening in the ceiling. The musicians appear and tune their
instruments. It makes a horrible discord, but still it is beautiful.
The doors slam; handsomely dressed ladies, in white cloaks, gay
officers, and civilians in stiff black and white evening dress take
their seats in the boxes. The conductor mounts his elevated seat and
now it begins. The overture is terribly long, but it comes to an
end. Ting-aling-aling,--the curtain rises. Ah!--

I soon decided in my own mind that it should be my destiny, some
time, to delight the audience from the stage, but I was still
undecided whether I would devote myself to the drama or the opera,
for it seemed to me an equally desirable lot to shoot charmed
bullets in "Der Freischutz," or, hidden behind elderberry bushes, to
shoot at tyrannical Geslers in "William Tell." In the meantime I
learned Tell's monologue, "Along this narrow path the man must
come," by heart, and practised the aria, "Through the forest,
through the meadows."

Providence seemed to favor my plan, for it led me into an
acquaintance with a certain Lipp, who, on account of his
connections, was in a position to pave my way to the stage.

Lipp was a tall, slender youth, about sixteen years old, with
terribly large feet and hands. He usually wore a very faded, light-
blue coat, the sleeves of which hardly came below his elbows, and a
red vest. He had a rather stooping gait, and a beaming smile
continually played about his mouth. Besides, the poor fellow was
always hungry, and it was this peculiarity which brought about our
acquaintance.

On afternoons when there was no school, and I went out on the green
to play ball with my companions or fly my kite, Frau Eberlein used
to put something to eat in my pocket. Lipp soon spied it out, and he
knew how to get a part, or even the whole of my luncheon for
himself. He would pick up a pebble off the ground, slip it from one
hand to the other several times, then place one fist above the
other, saying:

"This hand, or that?
Burned is the tail of the cat.
Which do you choose?
Upper or under will lose!"

If I said "upper," the stone was always in the lower hand, and vice
versa. And Lipp would take my apple from me with a smile, and devour
it as if he were half-famished.

Why did I allow it? In the first place because Lipp was beyond me in
years and in strength, and in the second place, because he was the
son of a very important personage. His father was nothing less than
the doorkeeper of the theatre; a splendid man with a shining red
nose and coal-black beard reaching to his waist. The wise reader now
knows how young Lipp came by a light-blue coat and red vest.

My new friend from his earliest years had been constantly on the
stage. He played the gamin in folk-scenes and the monster in
burlesques. Besides, he was an adept at thunder and lightning; by
means of cracking a whip and the close imitation of the neighing of
horses, he announced the approaching stage-coach; he lighted the
moon in "Der Freischutz;" and with a kettle and pair of tongs gave
forewarning of the witches' hour. When I opened my heart to Lipp and
confided to him that I wanted to go on the stage, he reached out his
broad hand to me with emotion and said, "And so do I." Hereupon we
swore eternal friendship, and Lipp promised as soon as possible to
procure me an opportunity for putting my dramatic qualifications to
the test. From that hour his manner changed towards me. Before, he
had treated me with some condescension, but now his behavior towards
me was more like that of a colleague. Moreover, the game of chance
for my lunch came to an end, for from that time forth I shared it
with him like a brother.

The fine fellow kept his promise to make a way for me to go on the
stage. A few evenings later ("Der Freischutz" was being played), I
stood with a beating heart behind the scenes, and friend Lipp stood
by my side. In my hand I held a string, with which I set the wings
of the owl in the wolf's glen in rhythmic motion. My companion
performed the wild chase. By turns he whistled through his fingers,
cracked a whip, and imitated the yelping of the hounds. It was
awfully fine.

"You did your part splendidly," said Lipp to me at the end of the
scene; "next time you must go out on the stage."

I swam in a sea of delight. A short time after, "Preciosa" was
given, and Lipp told me that I could play the gypsy boy. They put a
white frock on me and wound red bands crosswise about my legs. Then
a chorister took me by the hand and led me up and down the back of
the stage two or three times. That was my first appearance.

It was also my last. The affair became known. In school I received a
severe reprimand, and in addition, as a consequence of the airy
gypsy costume, a cold with a cough, which kept me in bed for a day
or two.

"It serves you right," said Frau Eberlein. "He who will not hear
must feel. This comes from playing in the theatre. If your blessed
grandmother knew that you had been with play-actors she would turn
in her grave."

Crushed and humiliated, I swallowed the various teas which my nurse
steeped for me one after another. But with each cup I had to listen
to an instructive story about the depravity of actors. In order to
lead me back from the way of the transgressors to the path of
virtue, Frau Eberlein painted with glowing colors; one story in
particular, in which occurred three bottles of punch-essence never
paid for, made a deep impression on me. But Frau Eberlein's
anecdotes failed to make me change my resolves.

Soon after, something very serious happened. Lipp's father, the
doorkeeper of the theatre, after drinking heavily, fell down
lifeless by the card-table in the White Horse; and my friend, in
consequence of this misfortune, came under the control of a cold-
hearted guardian, who had as little comprehension of the dramatic
art as Frau Eberlein. Lipp was given over to a house-painter, who,
invested with extended authority, took the unfortunate fellow as an
apprentice.

Lipp was inconsolable at the change in his lot. The smile
disappeared from his face, and I too felt melancholy when I saw him
going along the street in his paint-bespattered clothes, the picture
of despair.

One day I met the poor fellow outside the city gate, where the last
houses stand, painting a garden fence with an arsenic-green color.
" My good friend," he said, with a melancholy smile, "I cannot give
you my hand, for there is paint on it; but we are just the same as
ever." Then he spoke of his disappointed hopes. "But," he continued,
" because they are deferred, they are not put off for ever, and these
clouds" (by this he referred to his present apprenticeship as
painter) "will pass away. The time will come--I say no more about
it; but the time will come." Here Lipp stopped speaking and dipped
his brush in the paint-pot, for his master was coming around the
corner of the house.

One day Lipp disappeared. The authorities did everything in their
power to find him, but in vain; and since, at that time, the river,
on which the city stood, had overflowed its banks, it was decided
that Lipp had perished. The only person who did not share in this
opinion was myself. I had a firm conviction that he had gone out
into the wide world to seek his fortune, and that some day he would
turn up again as a celebrated artist and a successful man. But year
after year passed by and nothing was heard of Lipp.

I had entered upon my fifteenth year, was reading Virgil and
Xenophon, and could enumerate the causes which brought the Roman
empire to ruin. But in the midst of my classical studies I did not
lose sight of the real aim of my life, the dramatic art; and as the
stage had been closed to me since my first appearance, I studied in
my own room the roles in which I hoped to shine later. Then I had
already tried my skill as a dramatic author, and in my writing-desk
lay concealed a finished tragedy. It was entitled "Pharaoh." In it
occurred the seven plagues of Egypt and the miracles of Moses; but
Pharaoh's destruction in the Red Sea formed the finale from which I
promised myself the most brilliant success.

Therefore I went about dressed as a regular artist. My schoolmates
imitated the University students,--wore gay-colored caps, dark
golden-red bands, and carried canes adorned with tassels; but I wore
over my wild hair a pointed Calabrian hat, around my neck a loose
silk handkerchief fastened together in an artistic knot, and in
unpleasant weather a cloak, the red-lined corner of which I threw
picturesquely over my left shoulder.

In this attire I went about in my native town, where I was
accustomed to spend my summer vacations. The boys on the street made
sport of me by their words and actions, but I thought, "What does
the moon care when the dog bays at her!" and holding my head high, I
walked past the scoffers.

Every year, in the month of August, a fair was held in the little
town. On the common, tents and arbors were put up, where beer and
sausages were furnished. Further entertainment was provided in the
way of rope-dancers, jugglers, a Punch-and-Judy show, fortune-
tellers, monstrosities, wax figures, and tragedies.

As a spoiled city youth, I considered it decidedly beneath my
dignity to take part in the people's merry-making; but I couldn't
get out of it, and so I went with my parents and brothers and
sisters to the opening of the festival out in the park, and walked
more proudly than ever under my Calabrian hat.

The sights were inspected one after another, and in the evening we
all sat together in the front row of a booth, the proprietor of
which promised to exhibit the most extraordinary thing that had ever
been seen. The spectacle was divided into three parts. In the first
a little horse with a large head was brought out, which answered any
questions asked him by nodding, shaking, and beating his hoofs. In
the second part two trained hares performed their tricks. With their
forelegs they beat the drum, fired off pistols, and in the "Battle
with the Hounds" they put to flight a whining terrier.

The proprietor had kept the best of all--that is, the Egyptian fire-
eater, called "Phosphorus"--for the last part. The curtain went up
for the third time, and on the stage, in fantastic scarlet dress,
with a burning torch in his left hand, there stood a tall--ah! a
form only too well known to me. It was Lipp, who had been looked
upon as dead.

I saw how the unfortunate fellow with a smile put a lump of burning
pitch in his mouth, and then everything began to swim around me. I
pulled my hat down over my eyes, made my way through the crowd
howling their applause, and staggered home exhausted.

During the rest of the festival I kept myself in strict seclusion. I
announced that I was not well, and this was really no untruth, for I
was very miserable. "That is because he is growing," said my anxious
mother; and I assented, and swallowed submissively the family
remedies which she brought to me.

At last the fair was over, and the Egyptian fire-eater had left the
town. But the poor fellow did not go far. In the city where he
exhibited his skill he was recognized and arrested, because he had
avoided service in the army. To be sure, he was set free again after
a few weeks as unqualified; but in the meantime his employer with
the performing hares had gone nobody knew where, and Lipp was left
solely dependent on his art, which he practised for some time in the
neighboring towns and villages.

The end of his artistic career is sad and melancholy. He fell a
victim to his calling. As an ambitious man he enlarged his artistic
capabilities; he ate not only pitch but also pieces of broken glass,
and an indigestible lamp-chimney was the cause of his destruction.

When I returned to the city I burned my tragedy of "Pharaoh," and
sold my cloak and Calabrian hat to an old-clothes dealer. I was
thoroughly disgusted with the career of an artist, and whenever
afterwards I was inclined to relapse, Frau Eberlein would call out
to me, "Do you, too, want to die from a lamp-chimney?" Then I would
bend my head and bury my nose in my Greek grammar.