us appear at the next performance of The Robbers, I of course promised
to be present.

We went through our parts admirably, and no one in the crowded house
suspected the identity of the chorus of robbers who sang with so much
freshness and vivacity.

I was deeply interested in what was passing on the stage, and, concealed
at the wings, I witnessed the greater part of the play.

Rarely has so charming an Amalie adorned the boards as the
eighteen-year-old actress, who, an actor's child, had already been
several years on the stage.

The consequence of this visit to the theatre was that, instead of
studying historical dates, as I had intended, I took out Panthea and
Abradatus, and on that night and every succeeding one, as soon as I had
finished my work for the manager, I added new five-foot iambics to the
tragedy, whose material I drew from Xenophon.

Whenever the company played I went to the theatre, where I saw the
charming Clara in comedy parts, and found that all the praises I
had heard of her fell short of the truth. Yet I did not seek her
acquaintance. The examination was close at hand, and it scarcely entered
my mind to approach the actress. But the Fates had undertaken to act as
mediators and make me the hero of a romance which ended so speedily, and
in a manner which, though disagreeable, was so far from tragical, that
if I desired to weave the story of my own life into a novel I should be
ashamed to use the extensive apparatus employed by Destiny.

Rather more than a week had passed since the last performance of The
Robbers, when one day, late in the afternoon, the streets were filled
with uproar. A fire had broken out, and as soon as Professor Braune's
lesson was over I joined the human flood. The boiler in the Kubisch
cloth factory had burst, a part of the huge building near it was in
flames, and a large portion of the walls had fallen.

When, with several school-mates, I reached the scene of the disaster,
the fire had already been mastered, but many hands were striving to
remove the rubbish and save the workmen buried underneath. I eagerly
lent my aid.

Meanwhile it had grown dark, and we were obliged to work by the light of
lanterns. Several men, fortunately all living, had been brought out, and
we thought that the task of rescue was completed, when the rumour spread
that some girls employed in one of the lower rooms were still missing.

It was necessary to enter, but the smoke and dust which fille