ilence, which always struck us children at first with astonishment,
was interrupted very gaily by our aunt, whose liveliness broke in upon it
like the sound of a horn amid the stillness of a forest. Her cheerful
voice was audible even in the hall, and when she crossed the threshold we
flew to her, and the spell was broken. For she, the only daughter, put no
restraint on herself in the reserved presence of her mother. She kissed
her boisterously, asked how she was, as if she were the mother, the other
the child. Indeed, she took the liberty sometimes of calling the old lady
"Henrietta"--that was her name--or even "Hetty." Then, when grandmother
pointed to us and exclaimed reproachfully, "Why, Sophie!" our aunt could
always disarm her with gay jests.

Though the two were generally at a distance, their existence made itself
felt again and again either through letters or presents or by their
coming to Berlin, which always brought holidays for us.

These journeys were accomplished under difficulties. Our aunt had always
used an open carriage, and was really convinced that she would stifle in
a closed railway compartment. But as she would not forego the benefit of
rapid transit, our grandmother was obliged, even after her daughter's
marriage, to hire an open truck for her, on which, with her faithful maid
Minna, and one of her dogs, or sometimes with her husband or a friend as
a companion, she established herself comfortably in an armchair of her
own, with various other conveniences about her. The railway officials
knew her, and no doubt shrugged their shoulders, but the warmheartedness
shining in her eyes and her unvarying cheerfulness carried everything
before them, so that her eccentricity was readily overlooked. And she had
plenty of similar caprices. I was visiting her once in the Christmas
holidays, when I was a schoolboy in the upper class, and we had retired
for the night. At one o'clock my aunt suddenly appeared at my bedside,
waked me, and told me to get up. The first snow had fallen, and she had
had the horses harnessed for us to go sleighing, which she particularly
enjoyed.

Resistance was useless, and the swift flight over the snow by moonlight
proved to be very enjoyable. Between four and five o'clock in the morning
we were at home again.

Winter brought many other amusements. I remember with particular pleasure
the Christmas fair, which now, as I learn to my regret, is no longer
held. And yet, what a source