e me in the costume of the youthful
Richelieu, so bewitchingly charming, so gay and bright, that I could not
restrain my delight.

She had come from old Prince Puckler, who, as he never visited the
theatre in the city, wished to see her in the costume whose beauty had
been so much praised. The vigorous, gay old gentleman had charmed her,
and she declared that she liked him far better than any of the young men.
But as she knew little of his former life and works, I told her of his
foolish pranks and chivalrous deeds.

It seemed as if her presence increased my powers of description, and when
I at last took leave she exclaimed: "You'll come again, won't you? After
one has finished one's part, it's the best time to talk."

Did I wait to be asked a second time? Oh, no! Even had I not been the
"foolhardy Ebers," I should have accepted her invitation. The very next
evening I was in the pleasant sitting-room, and whenever I could slip
away after supper I went to the girl, whom I loved more and more
ardently. Sometimes I repeated poems of my own, sometimes she recited and
acted passages from her best parts, amid continual jesting and laughter.
My visits seemed like so many delightful festivals, and Clara's mother
took care that they were not so long as to weary her treasure. She often
fell asleep while we were reading and talking, but usually she sent me
away before midnight with "There's another day coming to-morrow." Long
before my first visit to the young actress I had arranged a way of
getting into the house at any time, and Dr. Boltze had no suspicion of my
expeditions, since on my return I strove the more zealously to fulfil all
my school duties.

This sounds scarcely credible, yet it is strictly true, for from a child
up to the present time I have always succeeded, spite of interruptions of
every kind, in devoting myself to the occupation in which I was engaged.
Loud noises in an adjoining room, or even tolerably severe physical pain,
will not prevent my working on as soon as the subject so masters me as to
throw the external world and my own body into the background. Only when
the suffering becomes very intense, the whole being must of necessity
yield to it.

During the hours of the night which followed these evening visits I often
succeeded in working earnestly for two or three hours in preparation for
the examination. During my recitations, however, weariness asserted
itself, and even more strongly the new feeling