she did find it possible; for the girl’s rare beauty and grace speedily won the heart of the anxious woman who had really come to separate the lovers.  True, they were required to wait a few years to test the sincerity of their affection.  But it withstood the proof, and the young man, who had been sent to Bordeaux to acquire in a commercial house the ability to manage his father’s banking business, did not hesitate an instant when his beautiful fiancee caught the smallpox and wrote that her smooth face would probably be disfigured by the malignant disease, but answered that what he loved was not only her beauty but the purity and goodness of her tender heart.

This had been a severe test, and it was to be rewarded:  not the smallest scar remained to recall the illness.  When my father at last made my mother his wife, the burgomaster of her native city told him that he gave to his keeping the pearl of Rotterdam.  Post-horses took the young couple in the most magnificent weather to the distant Prussian capital.  It must have been a delightful journey, but when the horses were changed in Potsdam the bride and groom received news that the latter’s father was dead.

So my parents entered a house of mourning.  My mother at that time had only the slight mastery of German acquired during hours of industrious study for her future husband’s sake.  She did not possess in all Berlin a single friend or relative of her own family, yet she soon felt at home in the capital.  She loved my father.  Heaven gave her children, and her rare beauty, her winning charm, and the receptivity of her mind quickly opened all hearts to her in circles even wider than her husband’s large family connection.  The latter included many households whose guests numbered every one whose achievements in science or art, or possession of large wealth, had rendered them prominent in Berlin, and the “beautiful Hollander,” as my mother was then called, became one of the most courted women in society.

Holtei had made her acquaintance at this time, and it was a delight to hear her speak of those gay, brilliant days.  How often Baron von Humboldt, Rauch, or Schleiermacher had escorted her to dinner!  Hegel had kept a blackened coin won from her at whist.  Whenever he sat down to play cards with her he liked to draw it out, and, showing it to his partner, say, “My thaler, fair lady.”

My mother, admired and petted, had thoroughly enjoyed the happy period of my father’s lifetime, entertaining as a hospitable hostess or visiting friends, and she gladly recalled it.  But this brilliant life, filled to overflowing with all sorts of amusements, had been interrupted just before my birth.

The beloved husband had died, and the great wealth of our family, though enough remained for comfortable maintenance, had been much diminished.

Such changes of outward circumstances are termed reverses of fortune, and the phrase is fitting, for by them life gains a new form.  Yet real happiness is more frequently increased than lessened, if only they do not entail anxiety concerning daily bread.  My mother’s position was far removed from this point; but she possessed qualities which would have undoubtedly enabled her, even in far more modest circumstances, to retain her cheerfulness and fight her way bravely with her children through life.