Marlene by Marlene Dietrich Read Free Book Online

father’s death, despite the war-scarred childhood years, my early youth was beautiful. I learned to renounce many “good things” and nevertheless live. Result: At the end of my youth, “I stood firmly with both feet on the ground.” At that time young people knew nothing about the historic upheavals, and that was probably one of the reasons for my happy girlhood. Our defense mechanism, admittedly, did not prevent us from expressing foolish opinions about government policy withutter naiveté. After all, it’s easy to criticize; it’s much more difficult to govern. That was made clear to us at the time. And also: “Be quiet, if you’ve got nothing of interest to say, never just be content with destroying what you don’t like. Life is not a bed of roses. Nor does it have the sweet taste of honey or sugar, but life is good if you struggle to make it so.”
    I saw my mother for the last time when I was with the occupation troops of the U.S. Army in Berlin. When I left Berlin, she brought me to my jeep, slammed the door shut, and said: “Now, for a change, think of yourself for once.”

YOUTH
    T HANKS TO MY MOTHER my life was very pleasant.
    One day I was shocked to hear the words “boarding school.” It was nighttime. My mother was discussing the matter with some aunts who were visiting us.
    For a while my life went on unchanged. As usual, my violin case under my arm, I walked over to my new violin teacher, always accompanied, of course, by my governess.
    She was an Englishwoman, and after some resistance on my part, I learned her language, perhaps to make up for my poor classroom instruction in English. My governess was a good woman, I suppose, but I didn’t especially like her. Her guard dog expression bothered me, but I didn’t really object to her doing her duty. The moment we arrived at my teachers flat, she would sit down in the living room and happily sip the cup of tea that the teacher’s wife offered her.
    I began to practice the violin tirelessly. This cut into my other activities and took up all my free time. When I didn’t go to the violin teacher, there were piano lessons, gymnastic lessons, or the prescribed walks. By seven o’clock I was in bed. The days were short and usually crowded. Fortunately, some nights an exception was made: The visits to concerts and the theater were like sunbeams after a rainy day.
    I saw performances of all the classics: Shakespeare, Greek tragedies, everything that might enrich a young mind. At other times I might be taken to the opera.
    Life apparently had again returned to normal. But I found that a meaningless expression, since I didn’t know what “normal” meant. Everything now seemed to be going smoothly at home. My mother still wore black, but like my aunts she had discarded her veil of mourning. The widows were slowly getting used to their lot. Their lamentations had ceased, but you could still sense a quiet, restrained pain. I already knew sorrow to be a personal thing.
    I had taken part in many Protestant burials, and I learned not to cry in public. I later had occasion to observe rites at Jewish burials. I came to the conclusion that Jewish customs might be better than our own. Jews can express their grief, weep and lament over the corpse being interred. In the Christian world we are taught to hide our feelings. As an inheritor of this traditional practice, I continue to be a woman who never reveals her deepest feelings, a reserved and lonely woman, imprisoned by her most sacred beliefs.
    The boarding school, which until then had been only a whispered threat, became a reality. I was to go to Weimar, the city of my idol, Goethe.
    During my last year at school, I had begun to deify Goethe absolutely. It’s no wonder that throughout my whole life I have devoutly honored his spirit and thought. His philosophy guided all of us, my schoolmates as well as myself, in our formative years.