[a] Vapeurs: gas or hysteric mood-swings (French)
As my father was impatient in all things, he was so too in regard to what he called my "education". Mind you, he "educated" me; he cared less for my sisters. He had placed all of his hopes in me achieving in life, what he could not achieve, which was to obtain not just a happier, but also a mentally higher position in life. In this respect, I have to praise him for at least that much that, in spite of regarding the wish for a so-called good income as the most immediate priority, he saw the greater value in a sound development of the personality in a mental respect. He felt this in his innermost soul to a larger extent and more clearly, than he was able to express in words. I was to become an educated, possibly even a highly educated, man, able to achieve something for the general well-being of humanity; this was his most heartfelt wish, though he might not have expressed it in these words, but differently. It is plain to see that he was asking a lot, but this was no impudence on his part, but rather he always believed in his wishes, and was fully convinced he could realize them. But unfortunately, he was uncertain of the ways and means for achieving this goal, and he underestimated the huge obstacles, opposing his plan. He was willing to make every, even the greatest, sacrifice, but he did not consider that even the very greatest sacrifice of a poor devil does not carry the weight of one gramme, one quentchen [a] against the opposition of the general circumstances. And most of all, he never even suspected that it took quite a different man than him for directing someone towards such goals. He was of the opinion that, most of all, I had to learn as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and all of his actions were aiming at this with the greatest energy.
[a] Quentchen: An outdated German unit of measurement, 3.6515 g, sometimes also a bit less.
I entered school at the age of five, which ended at the age of fourteen. Learning was easy for me. I quickly caught up with my two years older sister. Then, used school books were bought from older boys. At home, I had to solve the problems, they had been given in school. Thus, I soon became a stranger to my grade, a severe psychological calamity for such a small, soft human child, which was of course mostly beyond father's comprehension. I believe that even the teachers did not suspect what a severe mistake had been committed here. They just assumed without much thought that a boy who cannot be taught anything new in his grade simply had to be promoted to the next one in spite of his youth. These gentlemen were all more or less close friends of my father's, and so even the the local school inspector chose to ignore the fact that I, at the age of eight or nine, sat among boys who were eleven and twelve years old. In respect to my mental progress, which, of course, does not mean much in an elementary school, this might very well have been correct; but in respect to my soul, it meant a severe, painful deprivation, I was subjected to. Let me remark here that I make a very sharp distinction between the mind and the soul, between what is mental and what is spiritual (i.e. relating to the soul). What was given to my little mind in those grades, I did not belong to according to my age, was taken away from my soul. I did not sit among children of my own age. I was regarded as an intruder, and all of my little, warm needs of a child's soul were offered nothing to satisfy them. I short, I was a stranger to my grade from the start and became more of a stranger with every year. I had lost the class-mates who had fallen behind, without winning those over who were with me. Please, do not smile at this seemingly tiny, most insignificant fate of a boy. An educator, knowing his way around in the realm of a person's and a child's soul, will not hesitate for a moment in taking this seriously, very seriously. Every grown-up and even more every child wants to stand on firm ground, which he must not lose, no matter what. But I had been deprived of this ground. I have never had what is commonly referred to as "boyhood". I was never granted a genuine, real school-mate and boyhood-friend. The most simple consequence of this is that I am still today, in my old age, a stranger to my home-town, yes even more than any other stranger. They do not know me there; I was never understood there, and so it happened that a web of myths has been spun about me there, which I have to reject most decidedly.
What I had to learn, according to my father, was not at all limited to the lessons at school and the homework. He gathered all kinds of material, without having the ability required to make a selection or to determine any meaningful order. He brought together everything he found. I had to read or even copy it, since he believed that I could remember it better this way. What did I have to endure, then! Old prayer-books, mathematical books, books on natural history, learned treatises, I did not understand a word of. I had to copy the entire 500 pages of a book on the geography of Germany from 1802, in order to remember the numbers better. There were, of course, already outdated for a very long time! I spent entire days and half nights, cramming this unnecessary stuff into my head. I was literally force-fed and over-fed with this. I would probably have perished from it, if my body had not developed such a strength that, in spite of the extremely scarce food, it had been able to withstand even such a strain quite well. And there were also times and hours of relaxation. This was because father did not take a single walk and did not make a single errant to the countryside without taking me along. He used to pose only this one condition, that I would not miss a single moment in school on account of this. The walks through forests and groves were always most interesting, because of his rich knowledge of the flora. But we did not spent all of this time outdoors. There were were certain days for certain inns. There met the teacher Schulze, the principal, the rich man Wetzel, the grocer Thiele, the merchant Vogel, the captain of the rifle-men Lippold, and others for bowling or for playing skat. Father was always one of them, and me too, because I had to. He thought, I belonged to him. He did not like to see me with other boys, since I would have been unsupervised then. He did not have the slightest concept for the fact that being with him, in the company of grown men, was certainly not the best place for me either. There, I could hear things and make observations, which had better been kept from such a youthful boy. By the way, father always practised moderation, even in the most happily drinking company. I have never seen him drunk. Whenever he went to an inn, his regular limit was one glass of simple beer at seven pfennig and one glass caraway-liquor or a double juniper-liquor at six pfennig; I was allowed to sip of this, too. On special occasions he shared a piece of cake for six pfennig with me. No one has ever warned him against bringing me into such a company of adults, not even the principal or the minister, who also joined in occasionally. At least those gentlemen should have known that, even when the conversation centred on permissable and perfectly clean topics, I was, as a silent, but very attentive listener, nonetheless introduced to things and affairs which should have been several decades in the future for me. I did not mature early, since this term is only used in respect to one's sexuality, and I did not get to hear anything about that, but rather something much worse: I was lifted out of my childhood and dragged onto that hard and filthy path on which my feet had to feel like walking on broken glass. How well did I feel afterwards, when I came to grandmother and could escape with her to my dear land of make-believe! Naturally, I was much too young to realize that this land was founded on the truest and firmest part of reality. To me it had no feet; it floated in the air; only later, after I had worked my way up to fully understand it, it could offer me the support, I so desperately needed.
Then came the day, when a world revealed itself to me, which has grabbed hold of me ever since. The theatre came to town. Just an quite ordinary, miserable puppet-show, but a theatre nonetheless. This was at the master weaver's house. First rows three groschen, second rows two groschen, third rows one groschen, children half price. I was permitted to go with grandmother. This cost fifteen pfennig for both of us. The piece was called: "The miller's rose or the battle of Jena." My eyes were burning; I was all ablaze inside. Puppets, puppets, puppets! But for me, they were alive. They talked; they loved and hated; they suffered; they made great, daring decisions; they sacrificed themselves for king and for fatherland. There it was again, what the cantor had said and admired, then! My heart was cheering. After we had returned home, grandmother had to describe to me how the puppets were moved.
"On a wooden cross", she explained to me. "From this wooden cross the strings extend downwards, which are attached to the limbs of the puppets. They move, as soon as the cross above is moved."