CHAPTER I
Her reason for writing autobiography, to encourage average woman to determine and decide for herself to do whatever she can—Polish-German ancestry—Childhood in Berlin—Recollection of experience when nineteen months old—Walks nine miles when twenty-six months old. (Birth to five years of age: 1829-1834.)
I am not a great personage, either through inherited qualifications or through the work that I have to show to the world; yet you may find, in reading this little sketch, that with few talents and very moderate means for developing them, I have accomplished more than many women of genius and education would have done in my place, for the reason that confidence and faith in their own powers were wanting.
And for this reason I know that this story may be of use to others, by encouraging those who timidly shrink from the field of action, though endowed with all that is necessary to enable them to come forth and do their part in life.
The fact that a woman of no extraordinary powers can make her way, by the simple determination that whatever she can do she will do, must inspire those who are fitted to do much, yet who do nothing because they are not accustomed to determine and decide for themselves.
I do not intend to weary you with details of my childhood, as I think that children are generally very uninteresting subjects of conversation to any except their parents, who naturally discover what is beautiful and attractive in them and appreciate what is said that corresponds to their own feelings. I shall therefore tell you only a few facts of this period of my life, which I think absolutely necessary to illustrate my character and nature.
I was born in Berlin, Prussia, on the 6th of September, 1829; and am the eldest of a family of five sisters and one brother.[1]
[1] The figures throughout the text refer to corresponding numbers in Notes, pages [483 to 498].
My early childhood passed happily, though heavy clouds of sorrow and care at times overshadowed our family circle. I was of a cheerful disposition, and was always in good humor, even when sick. I was quiet and gentle in all my amusements. My chief delight consisted in telling stories to my sister, one year younger than myself. She was always glad to listen to these products of my imagination, which were wholly original, for no stories were told me, nor had I any children’s books.
My heroes and heroines were generally distinguished for some mental peculiarity—as kind or cruel, active or indolent—which led them into all sorts of adventures till it suited my caprice to terminate their career.
In all our little affairs I took the lead, planning and directing everything; and my playmates seemed to take it for granted that it was their duty to carry out my commands.
My memory is remarkable in respect to events that occurred at this time, but it always fails to recall dates and names.
When twenty years of age, I asked my father what sort of a festival he took me to once, in company with a friend of his who had only one arm. We walked through meadows where daisies were blossoming in millions and rode in carriages that went round continually until they were wound up.
My father answered, with much surprise, that it was a public festival of the cabinet-makers, which was celebrated in a neighboring village, and that I was, at that time, only nineteen months old. He was so much interested in my story that I related another of my memories.
One dark morning, my mother wakened me and hastened my dressing. After this was accomplished, she handed me a cup of something which I had never tasted before and which was as disagreeable as was asafœtida in later years. This was some coffee which I had to take instead of my usual milk.
Then I went with my father to the large park called “The Thiergarten,” where we saw the sun rise. I began to spring about, looking at the big oaks which seemed to reach into the heavens, or stooping down to pluck a flower. Birds of all kinds were singing in chorus, while the flower-beds surrounding the statue of Flora scented the pure morning air with the sweetest of perfumes.
The sun ascended meanwhile, from the edge of a little pond covered with water-lilies. I was intoxicated with joy. The feeling of that morning is as fresh to-day as when I related this to my father. I know I walked till I got fairly tired, and we reached a solitary house beyond the park.
Probably fatigue took entire possession of me, for I remember nothing more till we were on our way home and the sun was setting. Then I begged for some large yellow plums which I saw in the stores. My father bought some, but gave me only a few. I had a desire for all and stole them secretly from his pockets, so that when we reached home, I had eaten them all.
I was sick after I went to bed, and remember taking some horrible stuff the next morning (probably rhubarb), thus ending the day which had opened so poetically in rather a prosaic manner.
When I repeated this, my parents laughed and said that I was only twenty-six months old when my father’s pride in his oldest child induced him to take me on this visit, and that I walked the whole way—a distance of about nine miles.
These anecdotes are worth preserving only because they indicate an impressionable nature and great muscular endurance.
It is peculiar that between these two events and a third which occurred a year after, everything should be a blank.
A little brother was then born to me, and he lay undressed upon a cushion, while my father cried with sobs. I had just completed my third year and could not understand why, the next day, this little thing was carried off in a black box. From that time I remember almost every day’s life.
I very soon began to manifest the course of my natural tendencies. Like most little girls I was well provided with dolls, and on the day after a new one came into my possession I generally discovered that the dear little thing was ill and needed to be nursed and doctored.
Porridges and teas were accordingly cooked on my little toy stove, and administered to the poor doll until the papier mâché was thoroughly saturated and broken, when she was considered dead and preparations were made for her burial—this ceremony being repeated over and over again.
White dresses were put on for the funeral; a cricket was turned upside down to serve as the coffin; my mother’s flower pots furnished the green leaves for decoration; and I delivered the funeral oration in praise of the little sufferer while placing her in the tomb improvised of chairs.
I hardly ever joined the other children in their plays except upon occasions like these, when I appeared in the characters of doctor, priest and undertaker; generally improving the opportunity to moralize, informing my audience that Ann (the doll) had died in consequence of disobeying her mother by going out before she had recovered from the measles, etc.
Once I remember moving my audience to tears by telling them that little Ann had been killed by her brother who, in amusing himself with picking off the dry skin after she had had the scarlatina, had carelessly torn off the real skin over the heart, as they could see; thus leaving it to beat in the air and causing the little one to die. This happened after we had all had the scarlatina.