Therefore I went about dressed as a regular artist.  My schoolmates imitated the University students,—­wore gay-colored caps, dark golden-red bands, and carried canes adorned with tassels; but I wore over my wild hair a pointed Calabrian hat, around my neck a loose silk handkerchief fastened together in an artistic knot, and in unpleasant weather a cloak, the red-lined corner of which I threw picturesquely over my left shoulder.

In this attire I went about in my native town, where I was accustomed to spend my summer vacations.  The boys on the street made sport of me by their words and actions, but I thought, “What does the moon care when the dog bays at her!” and holding my head high, I walked past the scoffers.

Every year, in the month of August, a fair was held in the little town.  On the common, tents and arbors were put up, where beer and sausages were furnished.  Further entertainment was provided in the way of rope-dancers, jugglers, a Punch-and-Judy show, fortune-tellers, monstrosities, wax figures, and tragedies.

As a spoiled city youth, I considered it decidedly beneath my dignity to take part in the people’s merry-making; but I couldn’t get out of it, and so I went with my parents and brothers and sisters to the opening of the festival out in the park, and walked more proudly than ever under my Calabrian hat.

The sights were inspected one after another, and in the evening we all sat together in the front row of a booth, the proprietor of which promised to exhibit the most extraordinary thing that had ever been seen.  The spectacle was divided into three parts.  In the first a little horse with a large head was brought out, which answered any questions asked him by nodding, shaking, and beating his hoofs.  In the second part two trained hares performed their tricks.  With their forelegs they beat the drum, fired off pistols, and in the “Battle with the Hounds” they put to flight a whining terrier.

The proprietor had kept the best of all—­that is, the Egyptian fire-eater, called “Phosphorus”—­for the last part.  The curtain went up for the third time, and on the stage, in fantastic scarlet dress, with a burning torch in his left hand, there stood a tall—­ah! a form only too well known to me.  It was Lipp, who had been looked upon as dead.

I saw how the unfortunate fellow with a smile put a lump of burning pitch in his mouth, and then everything began to swim around me.  I pulled my hat down over my eyes, made my way through the crowd howling their applause, and staggered home exhausted.

During the rest of the festival I kept myself in strict seclusion.  I announced that I was not well, and this was really no untruth, for I was very miserable.  “That is because he is growing,” said my anxious mother; and I assented, and swallowed submissively the family remedies which she brought to me.