Marlene by Marlene Dietrich Read Free Book Online Page B

conclusions were illogical, I was excluded from the conversation. To this day I’ve been unable to ignore this strict rule and continue to expect those to whom I am close to share my respect for it.
    This education helped me through my whole, often more than eventful life and continues to serve me today. It was the best “capital” resource for my profession. But in my private life, too, decisions were determined by my capacity for logical thinking. This capacity is exclusively to Kant’s credit, because in my youth there was no man who could have taught me this.
    Logic is the key to an all-inclusive spiritual well-being.
    The girls studying music, as I was, were allowed to attend the opera three evenings a week. We were overcome by the magic, thelights, the trompe l’oeil in the auditorium, fascinated by the violins, by all the music.
    This period of my youth was wonderful. To be young seemed to be the most natural state of the world for all of us. Little did we know that such happiness would be of brief duration. Even so, I felt it was my duty to enjoy every single moment of it.
    My mother came to visit me every three weeks to “straighten up” my room, which needless to say, was always in perfect order, and to wash my hair. Since there was no shower, she would use jugs to rinse the soap out of my hair, until there was no trace of soap left in the water.
    It may seem unusual that a mother should travel so far just to wash her daughter’s hair. But my mother was very proud of my hair, and she wanted it to stay beautiful. She didn’t trust me on this point. That my hair has always remained attractive I surely owe to my mother’s help. She would dry it with a hand towel, then have me sit on a chair in the visiting room. My face would be flushed from all the rubbing that was part of this treatment. My hair was in complete disarray and wet, and when we took leave of each other, tears would stream down my face. I wasn’t the only one who underwent this treatment. We would all wash ourselves thoroughly in expectation of this day. But that was nothing compared to mothers “scrubbing.”
    Thanks to the music I was very happy even when I had spells of homesickness. The other lessons bored or oppressed me. I was poor at mathematics and still am. I was good at history and languages. My memories of those years are, on the whole, happy ones.
    Then came the fateful day when my time at the boarding school was over. A decision had to be made as to whether I should or shouldn’t continue my studies in Weimar. When my mother arrived, my violin and piano teachers praised my “triumphs,” and she entered me in another girls’ school in Weimar. I was to live there so that I could take further music lessons. I led an even more pleasant life than before. I could play as long as I wished or had to. I was freer, and could divide my time as I saw fit.
    Naturally, I still went to concerts, to the opera, and to the theater. I frequently visited my favorite haunts, the libraries, and regularly wrote my mother, who always answered punctually.
    But soon disaster descended upon me. Out of the blue my mother showed up in Weimar, took me out of the boarding school and back to our home in Berlin. Was she concerned about my new freedom? In any case, she seemed troubled. And she answered my anxious questions evasively.
    However, she did leave me time to say good-bye to my friends and teachers. Sadly, I visited Goethe’s Garden House for the last time. Since I was used to obedience, I raised no objections. On the way back I was very quiet. In Berlin I had a new violin teacher, Professor Flesch of the Music Academy, who accepted me only after I had played hours on end for him.
    Everything was different now. Bach, Bach, Bach, always Bach. I had to practice eight hours a day. My mother and I almost lost our minds.
    I was the first to give up. The doctors examined me and explained that the pain I