the pretty, stories of Nieritz and others, descriptions of Nature and
travel, and Grimm's fairy tales.

On other winter evenings my mother--this will surprise many in the case
of so sensible a woman--took us to the theatre. Two of our relatives,
Frau Amalie Beer and our beloved Moritz von Oppenfeld, subscribed for
boxes in the opera-house, and when they did not use them, which often
happened, sent us the key.

So as a boy I heard most of the operas produced at that time, and I saw
the ballets, of which Frederick William IV was especially fond, and which
Taglioni understood how to arrange so admirably.

Of course, to us children the comic "Robert and Bertram," by Ludwig
Schneider, and similar plays, were far more delightful than the grand
operas; yet even now I wonder that Don Giovanni's scene with the statue
and the conspiracy in the Huguenots stirred me, when a boy of nine or
ten, so deeply, and that, though possessing barely the average amount of
musical talent, Orpheus's yearning cry, "Eurydice!" rang in my ears so
long.

That these frequently repeated pleasures were harmful to us children I
willingly admit. And yet--when in after years I was told that I
succeeded admirably in describing large bodies of men seized by some
strong excitement, and that my novels did not lack dramatic movement or
their scenes vividness, and, where it was requisite, splendour--I perhaps
owe this to the superb pictures, interwoven with thrilling bursts of
melody, which impressed themselves upon my soul when a child.

Fortunately, the outdoor life at Keilhau counteracted the perils which