his soul; I was therefore entirely of the opinion of my mother and the
neighbours, when my father, one morning, found three scratches on his
arm, probably occasioned by a nail, that the devil had been to visit
him in the night, in order to prove to him that he really existed. My
father's rambles in the wood became more frequent; he had no rest. The
events of the war in Germany, which he read in the newspapers with
eager curiosity, occupied him completely. Napoleon was his hero: his
rise from obscurity was the most beautiful example to him. At that time
Denmark was in league with France; nothing was talked of but war; my
father entered the service as a soldier, in hope of returning home a
lieutenant. My mother wept. The neighbours shrugged their shoulders,
and said that it was folly to go out to be shot when there was no
occasion for it.

The morning on which the corps were to march I heard my father singing
and talking merrily, but his heart was deeply agitated; I observed that
by the passionate manner in which he kissed me when he took his leave.
I lay sick of the measles and alone in the room, when the drums beat
and my mother accompanied my father, weeping, to the city gate. As soon
as they were gone my old grandmother came in; she looked at me with her
mild eyes and said, it would be a good thing if I died; but that God's
will was always the best.

That was the first day of real sorrow which I remember.

The regiment advanced no farther than Holstein, peace was concluded,
and the voluntary soldier returned to his work-stool. Everything fell
into its old course. I played again with my dolls, acted comedies, and
always in German, because I had only seen them in this language; but my
German was a sort of gibberish which I made up, and in which there