The Story of My Life, Volume 1.

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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS

THE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD

Volume 1.

Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford

TO MY SONS.

When I began the incidents of yore,
Still in my soul's depths treasured, to record,
A voice within said: Soon, life's journey o'er,
Thy portrait sole remembrance will afford.

And, ere the last hour also strikes for thee,
Search thou the harvest of the vanished years.
Not futile was thy toil, if thou canst see
That for thy sons fruit from one seed appears.

Upon the course of thine own life look back,
Follow thy struggles upwards to the light;
Methinks thy errors will not seem so black,
If they thy loved ones serve to guide aright.

And should they see the star which 'mid the dark
Illumed thy pathway to thy distant goal,
Thither they'll turn the prow of their life bark;
Its radiance their course also will control.

Ay, when the ivy on my grave doth grow,
When my dead hand the helm no more obeys,
This book to them the twofold light will show,
To which I ne'er forget to turn my gaze.

One heavenward draws, with rays so mild and clear,
Eyes dim with tears, when the world darkness veils,
Showing 'mid desert wastes the spring anear,
If, spent with wandering, your courage fails.

Since first your lips could syllable a prayer,
Its mercy you have proved a thousandfold;
I too received it, though unto my share
Fell what I pray life ne'er for you may hold.

The other light, whose power full well you know,
E'en though in words I nor describe nor name,
Alike for me and you its rays aye glow--
Maternal love, by day and night the same.

This light within your youthful hearts has beamed,
Ripening the germs of all things good and fair;
I also fostered them, and joyous dreamed
Of future progress to repay our care.

Thus guarded, unto manhood you have grown;
Still upward, step by step, you steadfast rise
The oldest, healing's noble art has won;
The second, to his country's call replies;

The third, his mind to form is toiling still;
And as this book to you I dedicate,
I see the highest wish life could fulfil
In you, my trinity, now incarnate.

To pay it homage meet, my sons I'll guide
As I revere it, 'mid the world's turmoil,
Love for mankind, which putteth self aside,
In love for native land and blessed toil.

GEORG EBERS.

TOTZING ON THE STARNBERGER SEE,
October 1, 1892.

INTRODUCTION.

In this volume, which has all the literary charm and deftness of
character drawing that distinguish his novels, Dr. Ebers has told the
story of his growth from childhood to maturity, when the loss of his
health forced the turbulent student to lead a quieter life, and
inclination led him to begin his Egyptian studies, which resulted, first
of all, in the writing of An Egyptian Princess, then in his travels in
the land of the Pharaohs and the discovery of the Ebers Papyrus (the
treatise on medicine dating from the second century B.C.), and finally in
the series of brilliant historical novels that has borne his name to the
corners of the earth and promises to keep it green forever.

This autobiography carries the reader from 1837, the year of Dr. Ebers's
birth in Berlin, to 1863, when An Egyptian Princess was finished.
The subsequent events of his life were outwardly calm, as befits the
existence of a great scientist and busy romancer, whose fecund fancy
was based upon a groundwork of minute historical research.

Dr. Ebers attracted the attention of the learned world by his treatise
on Egypt and the Book of Moses, which brought him a professorship at his
university, Gottingen, in 1864, the year following the close of this
autobiography. His marriage to the daughter of a burgomaster of Riga
took place soon afterward. During the long years of their union Mrs.
Ebers was his active helpmate, many of the business details relating to
his works and their American and English editions being transacted by
her.

After his first visit to Egypt, Ebers was called to the University of
Leipsic to fill the chair of Egyptology. He went again to Egypt in 1872,
and in the course of his excavations at Thebes unearthed the Ebers
Papyrus already referred to, which established his name among the leaders
of what was then still a new science, whose foundations had been laid by
Champollion in 1821.

Ebers continued to occupy his chair at the Leipsic University, but, while
fulfilling admirably the many duties of a German professorship, he found
time to write several of his novels. Uarda was published in 1876, twelve
years after the appearance of An Egyptian Princess, to be followed in
quick succession by Homo Sum, The Sisters, The Emperor, and all that long
line of brilliant pictures of antiquity. He began his series of tales of
the middle ages and the dawn of the modern era in 1881 with The
Burgomaster's Wife. In 1889 the precarious state of his health forced
him to resign his chair at the university.

Notwithstanding his sufferings and the obstacles they placed in his path,
he continued his wonderful intellectual activity until the end. His last
novel, Arachne, was issued but a short time before his death, which took
place on August 7, 1898, at the Villa Ebers, in Tutzing, on the
Starenberg Lake, near Munich, where most of his later life was spent.
The monument erected to his memory by his own indefatigable activity
consists of sixteen novels, all of them of perennial value to historical
students, as well as of ever-fresh charm to lovers of fiction, many
treatises on his chosen branch of learning, two great works of reference
on Egypt and Palestine, and short stories, fairy tales, and biographies.

The Story of my Life is characterized by a captivating freshness. Ebers
was born under a lucky star, and the pictures of his early home life, his
restless student days at that romantic old seat of learning, Gottingen,
are bright, vivacious, and full of colour. The biographer, historian,
and educator shows himself in places, especially in the sketches of the
brothers Grimm, and of Froebel, at whose institute, Keilhau, Ebers
received the foundation of his education. His discussion of Froebel's
method and of that of his predecessor, Pestalozzi, is full of interest,
because written with enthusiasm and understanding. He was a good German,
in the largest sense of the word, and this trait, too, is brought forward
in his reminiscences of the turbulent days of 1848 in Berlin.

The story of Dr. Ebers's early life was worth the telling, and he has
told it himself, as no one else could tell it, with all the consummate
skill of his perfected craftsmanship, with all the reverent love of an
admiring son, and with all the happy exuberance of a careless youth
remembered in all its brightness in the years of his maturity. Finally,
the book teaches a beautiful lesson of fortitude in adversity, of
suffering patiently borne and valiantly overcome by a spirit that,
greatly gifted by Nature, exercised its strength until the thin silver
lining illuminated the apparently impenetrable blackness of the cloud
that overhung Georg Moritz Ebers's useful and successful life.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE.

By Georg Ebers

CONTENTS.

BOOK 1.
I. -GLANCING BACKWARD.
II. -MY EARLIEST CHILDHOOD
III. -ON FESTAL DAYS
IV. -THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND TO ATTEND THE GOLDEN WEDDING
V. -LENNESTRASSE.--LENNE--EARLY IMPRESSIONS

BOOK 2.
VI. -MY INTRODUCTION TO ART, AND ACQUAINTANCES
VII. -WHAT A BERLIN CHILD ENJOYED ON THE SPREE AND GRANDMOTHER'S
VIII. -THE REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD
IX. -THE EIGHTEENTH OF MARCH

BOOK3.
X. -AFTER THE NIGHT OF REVOLUTION
XI. -IN KEILHAU
XII -FRIEDRICH FROEBEL'S IDEAL OF EDUCATION

BOOK 4.
XIII. -THE FOUNDERS OF THE KEILHAU INSTITUTE
XIV. -IN THE FOREST AND ON THE MOOR.
XV. -SUMMER PLEASURES AND RAMBLES
XVI. -AUTUMN, WINTER, EASTER, AND DEPARTURE

BOOK 5.
XVII. -THE GYMNASIUM AND THE FIRST PERIOD OF UNIVERSITY LIFE
XVIII. -THE TIME OF EFFERVESCENCE AND MY SCHOOLMATES
XIX. -A ROMANCE WHICH REALLY HAPPENED
XX. -AT THE QUEDLINBURG GYMNASIUM

BOOK 6.
XXI. -AT THE UNIVERSITY
XXII. -THE SHIPWRECK
XXIII. -THE HARDEST TIME IN THE SCHOOL OF LIFE
XXIV. -THE APPRENTICESHIP
XXV. -THE SUMMERS OF MY CONVALESCENCE
XXVI. -CONTINUANCE OF CONVALESCENCE AND THE FIRST NOVEL

THE STORY OF MY LIFE.

BOOK 1.

CHAPTER I.

GLANCING BACKWARD.

Though I was born in Berlin, it was also in the country. True, it was
fifty-five years ago; for my birthday was March 1, 1837, and at that time
the house--[No. 4 Thiergartenstrasse]--where I slept and played during
the first years of my childhood possessed, besides a field and a meadow,
an orchard and dense shrubbery, even a hill and a pond. Three big
horses, the property of the owner of our residence, stood in the stable,
and the lowing of a cow, usually an unfamiliar sound to Berlin children,
blended with my earliest recollections.

The Thiergartenstrasse--along which in those days on sunny mornings, a
throng of people on foot, on horseback, and in carriages constantly moved
to and fro--ran past the front of these spacious grounds, whose rear was
bounded by a piece of water then called the "Schafgraben," and which,
spite of the duckweed that covered it with a dark-green network of
leafage, was used for boating in light skiffs.

Now a strongly built wall of masonry lines the banks of this ditch, which
has been transformed into a deep canal bordered by the handsome houses of
the Konigin Augustastrasse, and along which pass countless heavily laden
barges called by the Berliners "Zillen."

The land where I played in my childhood has long been occupied by the
Matthaikirche, the pretty street which bears the same name, and a portion
of Konigin Augustastrasse, but the house which we occupied and its larger
neighbour are still surrounded by a fine garden.

This was an Eden for city children, and my mother had chosen it because
she beheld it in imagination flowing with the true Garden of Paradise
rivers of health and freedom for her little ones.

My father died on the 14th of February, 1837, and on the 1st of March of
the same year I was born, a fortnight after the death of the man in whom
my mother was bereft of both husband and lover. So I am what is termed a
"posthumous" child. This is certainly a sorrowful fate; but though there
were many hours, especially in the later years of my life, in which I
longed for a father, it often seemed to me a noble destiny and one worthy
of the deepest gratitude to have been appointed, from the first moment of
my existence, to one of the happiest tasks, that of consolation and
cheer.

It was to soothe a mother's heartbreak that I came in the saddest hours
of her life, and, though my locks are now grey, I have not forgotten the
joyful moments in which that dear mother hugged her fatherless little
one, and among other pet names called him her "comfort child."

She told me also that posthumous children were always Fortune's
favorites, and in her wise, loving way strove to make me early familiar
with the thought that God always held in his special keeping those
children whose fathers he had taken before their birth. This confidence
accompanied me through all my after life.

As I have said, it was long before I became aware that I lacked anything,
especially any blessing so great as a father's faithful love and care;
and when life showed to me also a stern face and imposed heavy burdens,
my courage was strengthened by my happy confidence that I was one of
Fortune's favorites, as others are buoyed up by their firm faith in their
"star."

When the time at last came that I longed to express the emotions of my
soul in verse, I embodied my mother's prediction in the lines:

The child who first beholds the light of day
After his father's eyes are closed for aye,
Fortune will guard from every threatening ill,
For God himself a father's place will fill.

People often told me that as the youngest, the nestling, I was my
mother's "spoiled child"; but if anything spoiled me it certainly was not
that. No child ever yet received too many tokens of love from a sensible
mother; and, thank Heaven, the word applied to mine. Fate had summoned
her to be both father and mother to me and my four brothers and sisters-
one little brother, her second child, had died in infancy--and she proved
equal to the task. Everything good which was and is ours we owe to her,
and her influence over us all, and especially over me, who was afterward
permitted to live longest in close relations with her, was so great and
so decisive, that strangers would only half understand these stories of
my childhood unless I gave a fuller description of her.

These details are intended particularly for my children, my brothers and
sisters, and the dear ones connected with our family by ties of blood and
friendship, but I see no reason for not making them also accessible to
wider circles. There has been no lack of requests from friends that I
should write them, and many of those who listen willingly when I tell
romances will doubtless also be glad to learn something concerning the
life of the fabulist, who, however, in these records intends to silence
imagination and adhere rigidly to the motto of his later life, "To be
truthful in love."

My mother's likeness as a young woman accompanies these pages, and must
spare me the task of describing her appearance. It was copied from the
life-size portrait completed for the young husband by Schadow just prior
to his appointment as head of the Dusseldorf Academy of Art, and now in
the possession of my brother, Dr. Martin Ebers of Berlin. Unfortunately,
our copy lacks the colouring; and the dress of the original, which shows
the whole figure, confirms the experience of the error committed in
faithfully reproducing the fashion of the day in portraits intended for
future generations. It never fully satisfied me; for it very
inadequately reproduces what was especially precious to us in our mother
and lent her so great a charm--her feminine grace, and the tenderness of
heart so winningly expressed in her soft blue eyes.

No one could help pronouncing her beautiful; but to me she was at once
the fairest and the best of women, and if I make the suffering Stephanus
in Homo Sum say, "For every child his own mother is the best mother,"
mine certainly was to me. My heart rejoiced when I perceived that every
one shared this appreciation. At the time of my birth she was thirty-
five, and, as I have heard from many old acquaintances, in the full glow
of her beauty.

My father had been one of the Berlin gentlemen to whose spirit of self-
sacrifice and taste for art the Konigstadt Theater owed its prosperity,
and was thus brought into intimate relations with Carl von Holtei, who
worked for its stage both as dramatist and actor. When, as a young
professor, I told the grey-haired author in my mother's name something
which could not fail to afford him pleasure, I received the most eager
assent to my query whether he still remembered her. "How I thank your
admirable mother for inducing you to write!" ran the letter. "Only I
must enter a protest against your first lines, suggesting that I might
have forgotten her. I forget the beautiful, gentle, clever, steadfast
woman who (to quote Shakespeare's words) 'came adorned hither like sweet
May,' and, stricken by the hardest blows so soon after her entrance into
her new life, gloriously endured every trial of fate to become the
fairest bride, the noblest wife, most admirable widow, and most faithful
mother! No, my young unknown friend, I have far too much with which to
reproach myself, have brought from the conflicts of a changeful life a
lacerated heart, but I have never reached the point where that heart
ceased to cherish Fanny Ebers among the most sacred memories of my
chequered career. How often her loved image appears before me when, in
lonely twilight hours, I recall the past!"

Yes, Fate early afforded my mother an opportunity to test her character.
The city where shortly before my birth she became a widow was not her
native place. My father had met her in Holland, when he was scarcely
more than a beardless youth. The letter informing his relatives that
he had determined not to give up the girl his heart had chosen was not
regarded seriously in Berlin; but when the lover, with rare pertinacity,
clung to his resolve, they began to feel anxious. The eldest son of one
of the richest families in the city, a youth of nineteen, wished to bind
himself for life--and to a foreigner--a total stranger.

My mother often told us that her father, too, refused to listen to the
young suitor, and how, during that time of conflict, while she was with
her family at Scheveningen, a travelling carriage drawn by four horses
stopped one day before her parents' unpretending house. From this coach
descended the future mother-in-law. She had come to see the paragon of
whom her son had written so enthusiastically, and to learn whether it
would be possible to yield to the youth's urgent desire to establish a
household of his own. And she did find it possible; for the girl's rare
beauty and grace speedily won the heart of the anxious woman who had
really come to separate the lovers. True, they were required to wait a
few years to test the sincerity of their affection. But it withstood the
proof, and the young man, who had been sent to Bordeaux to acquire in a
commercial house the ability to manage his father's banking business, did
not hesitate an instant when his beautiful fiancee caught the smallpox
and wrote that her smooth face would probably be disfigured by the
malignant disease, but answered that what he loved was not only her
beauty but the purity and goodness of her tender heart.

This had been a severe test, and it was to be rewarded: not the smallest
scar remained to recall the illness. When my father at last made my
mother his wife, the burgomaster of her native city told him that he gave
to his keeping the pearl of Rotterdam. Post-horses took the young couple
in the most magnificent weather to the distant Prussian capital. It must
have been a delightful journey, but when the horses were changed in
Potsdam the bride and groom received news that the latter's father was
dead.

So my parents entered a house of mourning. My mother at that time had
only the slight mastery of German acquired during hours of industrious
study for her future husband's sake. She did not possess in all Berlin a
single friend or relative of her own family, yet she soon felt at home in
the capital. She loved my father. Heaven gave her children, and her
rare beauty, her winning charm, and the receptivity of her mind quickly
opened all hearts to her in circles even wider than her husband's large
family connection. The latter included many households whose guests
numbered every one whose achievements in science or art, or possession of
large wealth, had rendered them prominent in Berlin, and the "beautiful
Hollander," as my mother was then called, became one of the most courted
women in society.

Holtei had made her acquaintance at this time, and it was a delight to
hear her speak of those gay, brilliant days. How often Baron von
Humboldt, Rauch, or Schleiermacher had escorted her to dinner! Hegel
had kept a blackened coin won from her at whist. Whenever he sat down
to play cards with her he liked to draw it out, and, showing it to his
partner, say, "My thaler, fair lady."

My mother, admired and petted, had thoroughly enjoyed the happy period of
my father's lifetime, entertaining as a hospitable hostess or visiting
friends, and she gladly recalled it. But this brilliant life, filled to
overflowing with all sorts of amusements, had been interrupted just
before my birth.

The beloved husband had died, and the great wealth of our family, though
enough remained for comfortable maintenance, had been much diminished.

Such changes of outward circumstances are termed reverses of fortune,
and the phrase is fitting, for by them life gains a new form. Yet real
happiness is more frequently increased than lessened, if only they do not
entail anxiety concerning daily bread. My mother's position was far
removed from this point; but she possessed qualities which would have
undoubtedly enabled her, even in far more modest circumstances, to retain
her cheerfulness and fight her way bravely with her children through
life.

The widow resolved that her sons should make their way by their own
industry, like her brothers, who had almost all become able officials in
the Dutch colonial service. Besides, the change in her circumstances
brought her into closer relations with persons with whom by inclination
and choice she became even more intimately associated than with the
members of my father's family--I mean the clique of scholars and
government officials amid whose circle her children grew up, and whom
I shall mention later.

Our relatives, however, even after my father's death, showed the same
regard for my mother--who on her side was sincerely attached to many of
them--and urged her to accept the hospitality of their homes. I, too,
when a child, still more in later years, owe to the Beer family many a
happy hour. My father's cousin, Moritz von Oppenfeld, whose wife was an
Ebers, was also warmly attached to us. He lived in a house which he
owned on the Pariser Platz, now occupied by the French embassy, and in
whose spacious apartments and elsewhere his kind heart and tender love
prepared countless pleasures for our young lives.

CHAPTER II.

MY EARLIEST CHILDHOOD

My father died in Leipzigerstrasse, where, two weeks after, I was born.
It is reported that I was an unusually sturdy, merry little fellow. One
of my father's relatives, Frau Mosson, said that I actually laughed on
the third day of my life, and several other proofs of my precocious
cheerfulness were related by this lady.

So I must believe that--less wise than Lessing's son, who looked at life
and thought it would be more prudent to turn his back upon it--I greeted
with a laugh the existence which, amid beautiful days of sunshine, was to
bring me so many hours of suffering.

Spring was close at hand; the house in noisy Leipzigerstrasse was
distasteful to my mother, her soul longed for rest, and at that time she
formed the resolutions according to which she afterward strove to train
her boys to be able men. Her first object was to obtain pure air for the
little children, and room for the larger ones to exercise. So she looked
for a residence outside the gate, and succeeded in renting for a term of
years No. 4 Thiergartenstrasse, which I have already mentioned.

The owner, Frau Kommissionsrath Reichert, had also lost her husband a
short time before, and had determined to let the house, which stood near
her own, stand empty rather than rent it to a large family of children.

Alone herself, she shrank from the noise of growing boys and girls. But
she had a warm, kind heart, and--she told me this herself--the sight of
the beautiful young mother in her deep mourning made her quickly forget
her prejudice. "If she had brought ten bawlers instead of five," she
remarked, "I would not have refused the house to that angel face."

We all cherish a kindly memory of the vigorous, alert woman, with her
round, bright countenance and laughing eyes. She soon became very
intimate with my mother, and my second sister, Paula, was her special
favorite, on whom she lavished every indulgence. Her horses were the
first ones on which I was lifted, and she often took us with her in the
carriage or sent us to ride in it.

I still remember distinctly some parts of our garden, especially the
shady avenue leading from our balcony on the ground floor to the
Schafgraben, the pond, the beautiful flower-beds in front of Frau
Reichert's stately house, and the field of potatoes where I--the gardener
was the huntsman--saw my first partridge shot. This was probably on the
very spot where for many years the notes of the organ have pealed
through the Matthaikirche, and the Word of God has been expounded to a
congregation whose residences stand on the playground of my childhood.

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