offered me his wares. I bought nothing, and threatened to throw him down stairs, upon which he took himself off of his own accord.
You suspect that only relations of the most peculiar kind, and exerting the greatest influence over my life, can give any import to this occurrence, nay, that the person of that unlucky dealer must have a hostile effect upon me. So it is, indeed. I collect myself with all my might, that patiently and quietly I may tell you so much of my early youth as will bring all plainly and clearly in bright images before your active mind. As I am about to begin, I fancy that I hear you laughing and Clara saying: "Childish stories, indeed!" Laugh at me I beseech you, laugh with all your heart. But, heavens, my hair stands on end, and it seems as if I am asking you to laugh at me, in mad despair, as Franz Moor asked Daniel.[1] But to my story.
Excepting at dinner time, I and my brothers and my sisters saw my father very little during the day. He was, perhaps, busily engaged at his ordinary occupation. After supper, which, according to the old custom, was served up at seven o'clock, we all went with my mother into my father's work-room, and seated ourselves at the round table. My father smoked tobacco and drank a large glass of beer. Often he told us a number of wonderful stories, and grew so warm over them that his pipe continually went out. I had to light it again, with burning paper, which I thought great sport. Often, too, he would give us picture-books, and sit in his arm chair silent and thoughtful, puffing out such thick clouds of smoke, that we all seemed to be swimming in the clouds. On such evenings as these my mother was very melancholy, and immediately after the clock struck nine, she would say: "Now children, to bed—to bed! The Sandman is coming, I can see." And certainly on all these occasions I heard something with a heavy, slow step go bouncing up the stairs.
- ↑ Two characters in Schiller's play of "Die Rauber."
