I have not met so strong and original a character for many a long year, and I was very glad to read in the autobiography of Wackernagel that when it went ill with him in Berlin, Hoffman von Fallersleben and this same Runge invited him to Breslau to share their poverty, which was so great that they often did not know at night where they should get the next day’s bread.

How many other names with and without the title of privy-councillor occur to me, but I must not allow myself to think of them.

Fraulein Lamperi, however, must have a place here.  She used to dine with us at least once a week, and was among the most faithful adherents of our family.  She had been governess to my father and his only sister, and later was in the service of the Princess of Prussia, afterward the Empress Augusta, as waiting-woman.

She, too, was one of those original characters whom we never find now.

She was so clever that, incredible as it sounds, she made herself a wig and some false teeth, and yet she came of a race whose women were not accustomed to serve themselves with their own hands; for the blood of the venerable and aristocratic Altoviti family of Florence flowed in her veins.  Her father came into the world as a marquis of that name, but was disinherited when, against the will of his family, he married the dancer Lamperi.  With her he went first to Warsaw, and then to Berlin, where he supported himself and his children by giving lessons in the languages.  One daughter was a prominent member of the Berlin ballet, the other was prepared by a most careful education to be a governess.  She gave various lessons to my sisters, and criticised our proceedings sharply, as she did those of her fellow-creatures in general.  “I can’t help it—­I Must say what I think,” was the palliating remark which followed every severe censure; and I owe to her the conviction that it is much easier to express disapproval, when it can be done with impunity, than to keep it to one’s self, as I am also indebted to her for the subject of my fairy tale, The Elixir.

I shall return to Fraulein Lamperi, for her connection with our family did not cease until her death, and she lived to be ninety.  Her aristocratic connections in Florence—­be it said to their honour—­ never repudiated her, but visited her when they came to Berlin, and the equipage of the Italian ambassador followed at her funeral, for he, too, belonged to her father’s kindred.  The extreme kindness extended to her by Emperor William I and his sovereign spouse solaced her old age in various ways.

One of the dearest friends of my sister Paula and of our family knew more of me, unfortunately, at this time than I of her.  Her name was Babette Meyer, now Countess Palckreuth.  She lived in our neighbourhood, and was a charming, graceful child, but not one of our acquaintances.

When she was grown up—­we were good friends then—­she told me she was coming from school one winter day, and some boys threw snowballs at her.  Then Ludo and I appeared—­“the Ebers boys” and she thought that would be the end of her; but instead of attacking her we fell upon the boys, who turned upon us, and drove them away, she escaping betwixt Scylla and Charybdis.