Therefore my mother, besides a heart full of love, always brought to my father’s grave children and flowers.  When she had satisfied the needs of her own soul, she turned to us, and with cheerful composure directed the decoration of the mound.  Then she spoke of our father, and if any of us had recently incurred punishment—­one instance of this kind is indelibly impressed on my memory—­she passed her arms around the child, and in whispered words, which no one else could hear, entreated the son or daughter not to grieve her so again, but to remember the dead.  Such an admonition on this spot could not fail to produce its effect, and brought forgiveness with it.

On our return our hands and hearts were free again, and we were at liberty to use our tongues.  During these visits my interest in Schleiermacher was awakened, for his grave—­he died in 1834, three years before I was born—­lay near our lot, and we often stopped before the stone erected by his friends, grateful pupils, and admirers.  It was adorned with his likeness in marble; and my mother, who had frequently met him, pausing in front of it, told us about the keen-sighted theologian, philosopher, and pulpit orator, whose teachings, as I was to learn later, had exerted the most powerful influence upon my principal instructors at Keilhau.  She also knew his best enigmas; and the following one, whose terse brevity is unsurpassed: 

                   “Parted I am sacred,
                    United abominable”—­

she had heard him propound himself.  The answer, “Mein eid” (my oath), and “Meineid” (perjury), every one knows.

Nothing was further from my mother’s intention than to make these visits to the cemetery special memorial days; on the contrary, they were inter-woven into our lives, not set at regular intervals or on certain dates, but when her heart prompted and the weather was favourable for out-of-door excursions.  Therefore they became associated in our minds with happy and sacred memories.

CHAPTER III.

ON FESTAL DAYS

The celebration of a memorial day by outward forms was one of my mother’s customs; for, spite of her sincerity of feeling, she favoured external ceremonies, and tried when we were very young to awaken a sense of their meaning in our minds.

On all festal occasions we children were freshly dressed from top to toe, and all of us, including the servants, had cakes at breakfast, and the older ones wine at dinner.

On the birthdays these cakes were surrounded by as many candles as we numbered years, and provision was always made for a dainty arrangement of gifts.  While we were young, my mother distinguished the “birthday child” —­probably in accordance with some custom of her native country—­by a silk scarf.  She liked to celebrate her own birthday, too, and ever since I can remember—­it was on the 25th of July—­we had a picnic at that time.