On the whole, we had time enough for such things, though we lost many a free hour in music lessons.  Ludo was learning to play on the piano, but I had chosen another instrument.  Among our best friends, the three fine sons of Privy-Councillor Oesterreich and others, there was a pleasant boy named Victor Rubens, whose parents were likewise friends of my mother.  In the hospitable house of this agreeable family I had heard the composer Vieuxtemps play the violin when I was nine years old.  I went home fairly enraptured, and begged my mother to let me take lessons.  My wish was fulfilled, and for many years I exerted myself zealously, without any result, to accomplish something on the violin.  I did, indeed, attain to a certain degree of skill, but I was so little satisfied with my own performances that I one day renounced the hope of becoming a practical musician, and presented my handsome violin—­a gift from my grandmother—­ to a talented young virtuoso, the son of my sisters’ French teacher.

The actress Crelinger, when she came to see my mother, made a great impression on me, at this time, by her majestic appearance and her deep, musical voice.  She, and her daughter, Clara Stich, afterward Frau Liedtcke, the splendid singer, Frau Jachmann-Wagner, and the charming Frau Schlegel-Koster, were the only members of the theatrical profession who were included among the Gepperts’ friends, and whose acquaintance we made in consequence.

Frau Crelinger’s husband was a highly respected jurist and councillor of justice, but among all the councillors’ wives by whom she was surrounded I never heard her make use of her husband’s title.  She was simply “Frau” in society, and for the public Crelinger.  She knew her name had an importance of its own.  Even though posterity twines no wreaths for actors, it is done in the grateful memory of survivors.  I shall never forget the ennobling and elevating hours I afterward owed to that great and noble interpreter of character.

I am also indebted to Frau Jachmann-Wagner for much enjoyment both in opera and the drama.  She now renders meritorious service by fitting on the soundest artistic principles—­younger singers for the stage.

Among my mother’s papers was a humorous note announcing the arrival of a friend from Oranienburg, and signed: 

                   “Your faithful old dog, Runge,
                    Who was born in a quiet way
                    At Neustadt, I’ve heard say.”

He came not once, but several times.  He bore the title of professor, was a chemist, and I learned from friends versed in that science that it was indebted to him for interesting discoveries.

He had been an acquaintance of my father, and no one who met him, bubbling over with animation and lively wit, could easily forget him.  He had a full face and long, straight, dark hair hanging on his short neck, while intellect and kindness beamed from his twinkling eyes.  When he tossed me up and laughed, I laughed too, and it seemed as if all Nature must laugh with us.