"Stand firm! Face the bullets!" With these words, Ernst had encouraged his men to the last. My own experience illustrated them.
For a considerable time, I did not know what had happened, either to me or to those about me. I only knew that I lay behind a white curtain with blue flowers, and could not keep my eyes open for any length of time. The flowers assumed all sorts of odd shapes, and the fantastic figures seemed to be ever changing and rushing towards me.
I think I was not really sick, only inexpressibly weak; and the fatigue and exhaustion prevented me from directing my thoughts at will. I was childishly grateful for everything. I looked at the wood in the door and rejoiced that it was firm; I heard the fire in the stove and was delighted that it warmed me; I was grateful to the bed that supported me, so that I did not need to do it myself.
I remember that Bertha and Annette would occasionally visit me; but my grandson Wolfgang stayed with me nearly all the time. Through the hardships of war and constant exposure, Wolfgang had almost ripened into manhood. He had become stronger and stouter than of old, and his voice was now more manly.
"I am so glad, grandfather, to hear you call me by my own name again; you always used to call me Ernst," said Wolfgang one day, and from that hour I felt that the heavy clouds were slowly clearing away; and when they had disappeared, I saw everything around me distinctly, and by degrees I remembered what had happened.
"Is Ernst--buried?"
"Yes, grandfather."
I now asked Wolfgang to inform me what had occurred while I was unconscious, and what had become of Martella.
"Grandfather," said Wolfgang, "I must tell you the truth. Martella is no longer separated from Ernst. She has reached the goal."
I felt as if the clouds were again gathering before my eyes, but, through the mists, I met Gustava's lustrous eyes, saying, "She was true till death."
Wolfgang took my hand in his, and the youth's firm grasp gave me renewed strength. I begged him to tell me all, and he began:
"We brought you down to Aunt Annette, who, foreboding evil, had met us half-way. It then suddenly occurred to us that in our dreadful excitement and anxiety about you, no one had taken care of Martella, and that she had not followed us. Rothfuss said he was completely worn out, and must stay with his master. Ikwarte has nerves and muscles of steel. I felt as if my eyes burnt in their sockets; never before had I been so tired; but I returned with him, nevertheless, to the battle-field, half dead with sleep and fatigue." Wolfgang shivered, stopped awhile, and then continued: "We knew the place where Ernst lay, and soon found him. The moon lit up his face wonderfully. Beside him lay Martella, motionless; she clung to him in a close embrace, cheek to cheek, hand in hand. Is she dead, too? It were best! I bent down to her; she breathed heavily. I called her name. How she stared at me wildly and vacantly! Then she motioned us to be quiet, and whispered, 'He will soon be warm again; soon, very soon.' I tried to persuade her to follow us; she answered, 'O Wolfgang! you are so good; bring some wild honey. Oh, wait, Ernst! your nephew is coming with wild honey, and here I have your cup, your hunting cup.' I tried to persuade her, and she answered, 'Oh, you have mother's voice. Mother, tell him, oh, tell him to rise again.' She threw herself beside the corpse, and when I cried, 'Martella, get up; come with us,' she answered, 'You see he cannot move now, but I will follow you; you have my mother's voice.' She did not then seem to remember the dead. She went with me and let me lead her by the hand; but suddenly she tore away and returned, crying, 'They leave him lying alone on the cold ground, in the dark night.'
"She broke down. We tried to administer some restorative, but her mouth was firmly closed, and her breast was heaving violently. At last Ikwarte succeeded in administering the draught. We brought her to a ruined house in the vicinity. The doors had all been taken off--I had helped at the work myself; they had done service as litters.
"We placed Martella on a seat by the hearth, and I succeeded in gathering some wood and starting a fire. 'Oh, how good! Oh, how warm!' said she to the flickering flames. Her teeth chattered. We hoped that, after she was well warmed, she would be able to go farther with us. She sat there quietly, her elbows resting on her knees, her face covered with both her hands.
"'Wolfgang, keep me with you,' she said suddenly. 'Be good to me; you are his brother's child; keep me with you--do not leave me. Tell me how many years it is since he died? O Ernst, you are so happy that I cannot weep. Why are you glad? Oh, if I could but weep! You have been away so long, and why do you not return? What shall I do in this world without you! Mother, Ernst is with you; you do not need him; send him to me--he is mine. I have nothing more in this world. My dog is dead, too. My little red stockings--oh, I was so happy. Martella is lost. Hunt for her in the woods where the wild honey grows. Do you hear the cuckoo? Cuckoo!'
"She stared vacantly into the flames; then she cried: 'My eyes burn like fire! I cannot weep. O Ernst! Ernst!'
"She tore the satchel from her girdle, tore the letter of pardon into fragments, and cried: 'Everything shall burn just as my eyes do. Come here, your Highness, and see how your handwriting burns.'
"Dawn was breaking. Through the open door, we saw some men approaching with a litter.
"'Here is Herr Rautenkron,' said Ikwarte. Martella rushed out and saw the men carrying Ernst's body. She rushed towards them, sank beside the litter and cried: 'My Ernst! You are not dead!'
"A fearful shriek, which rang out far over the barren fields, was forced from her tortured breast. She clasped her hand to her heart while a flood of tears streamed over her cheeks. Suddenly she broke down and sank on the body of Ernst. A physician, who had come with the men, laid his hand on her heart. It was still: he listened for her breathing; it had ceased.
"'My child! my child!' cried Rautenkron; she heard nothing more."
So ended Wolfgang's story. His firm hand clasped mine, and I felt as if that alone held me there among the living.
"And what became of Rautenkron?" I was able to ask after a long interval.
"He had suddenly become an old man, with hollow cheeks and lustreless eyes. He sat on the ground, stared at the corpse, and did not speak a word. It rained in torrents. Every one endeavored to induce Rautenkron to seek the shelter of the hut, but he did not answer. At last he arose, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, lit a cigar, and said to me, 'Stay here; I shall come back presently.' After a while, he returned with axe and spade. Alone, he dug the grave in which Ernst and Martella were laid."
Wolfgang paused, and I remembered the sacred verses from the lament of David for Jonathan:
"In death they were not divided."
"Where is Rautenkron?" I asked at last.
"When the grave was filled up, he disappeared. Later, we learned his fate. You remember that our men had taken the city near by and occupied it; but the French had so strengthened the castle which commanded it, that it seemed impossible to drive them out. Rautenkron volunteered to discover the mines which doubtless were under it. No one knows how he gained an entrance, but on the following day the powder-magazines in the cellars of the castle exploded and destroyed part of the castle, which was then stormed. Great numbers of the enemy were killed. Careful search was made for Rautenkron, but no trace of him was discovered, and as, up to this time, nothing has been heard of him, it seems sure that he was buried beneath the ruins."
Bertha informed me that the Colonel was out of danger, and was staying in the city during his convalescence. The physician thought he would be able to lead his regiment within a few weeks. The old spinner had returned homewards with Carl. He had been taken to the hospital of our capital.
"And Anton, of the saw-mill--is he dead?"
"Father, I am telling you the whole truth; but I beg of you, do not seek to learn all these things to-day. Take care of yourself, for our sakes."
I was soon again able to be up, and Bertha could not say enough in praise of the kindness and sympathy of the French people, in whose house I lay.
The housewife now wanted to speak to me, too.
She came, and was quite delighted to receive my heartfelt thanks.
A few days later, I was permitted to visit the Colonel, and the first words he uttered were, "Bertha, now I firmly believe in my recovery. You wear your hair in curls again."
He informed me that he had considered it an ill omen, when Bertha had worn her hair plain. Now that he was out of danger, the curls and happiness were back again.
Then he recounted everything, from the first moment of his being wounded, when he seemed to realize what death is. It seemed like a stroke of lightning; then all was night and utter darkness. His adjutant stepped to his couch, grasped his hand, kissed it, and wept over it. He felt the kisses and the tears, but was unable to give a sign of consciousness, either by a pressure of the hand or by a word; within him, all was life, like a subterranean stream.
I did not long have the pleasure of listening to the reminiscences of the convalescent Colonel. I longed to return home. When the next train started for Germany, it was in charge of Professor Rolunt, who had nursed the Colonel like a brother; they yielded to my entreaties, and, in a well-heated car, I journeyed homewards.
Wolfgang accompanied me to the State capital, and then, in company with Christiane, returned with a load of medicines and delicacies to the theatre of war.
I felt as if I could not get thoroughly well again except at home, and so it proved. When I inhaled the air of our forest-covered mountains, it gave me new life.
The Privy Councillor's wife insisted on my resting at her house for a few days, and by the careful nursing of our physician as well as his confident manner, which of itself was a remedy, I soon gained fresh vigor. It did me good to hear Lady Von Rontheim entwine the memories of our fallen sons. She informed me, briefly and clearly, of what had happened during my illness; for now, when I could again read and understand the papers, I noticed many lapses in my knowledge of events.
While I was living in the little town, Ludwig came. I did not comprehend how I could have omitted to inquire about him; and now he brought with him a refreshing breeze from another hemisphere. As he had previously informed me by letter, he had journeyed to England and then to America, to prevent shipments of arms for the French. He had not had much success, although he offered, through the newspapers, a large reward for any information regarding such shipments.
I felt pained when he said, "We Germans have no friends abroad, because we have not hitherto presented to the world an imposing front. During the last half-century, the German nation was like a man who has the consciousness of honest intentions, and who counts on the recognition of them by others. But neither an individual nor a people obtains recognition gratuitously. They must wrest it from the world; and the best and the easiest way is not to wait for it, but to put your shoulder to the wheel. Now the nations speak in another key; but they would all have rejoiced if the brilliant Frenchman had overpowered us."
This pained me, and I did not wish to believe it. Ludwig proved to me that, in England and America, some of the more far-sighted favored our cause, and that the governments could have easily prevented the shipment of arms and much useless carnage, had they seriously desired it. He considered it infinitely better that we did not need to ask, as we had hitherto done, "What do other nations think of us? How are they inclined towards us?" but that in future others would have to ask, "What do the Germans think of us? How are they inclined?" Ludwig, while abroad, had, with delight, perceived the general curiosity and amazement, in regard to the newly discovered wonder-land--Germany. He declared that we had no idea of the effect our wonderful achievements had had upon the people of all lands. He had everywhere announced the German Emperor, before he even was proclaimed at home.
We at home scarcely know how much we have gained in the esteem of others, and how gigantically our future looms up before the eyes of astonished mankind. They see a thousand different effects flow from this new birth; and I believe they are in the right.
Conny came to town, and, with her and Ludwig, I returned home.
When I rode along the forest road, I saw Gaudens at his work. He wore a soldier-cap, and whistled "Die Wacht am Rhein," while clearing up the ditch beside the footpath.
The valley stream was frozen tight, the trees were heavily laden with snow. Ludwig reported that he had purchased machines in America and England for our mill. With the aid of these, the winter would, in future, not prevent operations. Finished work could be set up, except when the orders were to ship the articles in separate parts. It seemed as if he contemplated remaining with us, as he had settled up much of his business in America. Besides, on his way home, he had taken some large contracts from building associations. When I expressed surprise at the varied fields of his activity, he said, "Father, I have remembered this from what I have learned of music; you may play a different air with each hand, and still both must be in harmony. My right hand plays the melody 'personal advantage,' my left, the melody 'public weal;' sometimes they change about, too. I have built water-works, that were for the good of many; but they were good for me, too, and I do not think that without this I would have built them so cheerfully. Just now a great mania for building prevails among the people, and we shall be able to give employment to many good laborers who have been driven out of France."
We came to the saw-mill near the bridge. Here, on the same day that the news arrived of Anton's death, a workman had lost three of his ringers by the circular saw. Ludwig went to the man and engaged him as sorter of the different kinds of timber.
The saw-mill was stopped, and all the shutters were closed. Here we met Joseph, who informed us that since the death of his son, the owner of the mill had lost all energy and pleasure in his business. He had removed to a daughter of his in the opposite valley, and wanted to sell the property. "You must buy this, and work for us," cried Ludwig.
Joseph answered sadly that he could not; he said he was in danger of losing everything. He had invested almost his entire property in wood in the Hagenau forest, and if Bourbaki and his army should force their way through, all would be lost over there as well as here.
These were certainly very gloomy prospects, and we could not get any comfort at home; we daily expected the advance of Bourbaki's army, and it was said that preparations were being made to lay the whole country waste.
My sister wrote that in Alsace it was the general belief that there would now be a change. Bourbaki would strike down Germany. Her husband had hung up the pictures and epaulettes again; but with this proviso, that if the French would not deliver them this time, he would have nothing further to do with them, and would become a forester in Germany.
Bertha had returned to the capital, and wrote that the Colonel, with whom Rothfuss had remained, was again at the head of his regiment in the division that opposed Bourbaki's advance towards the Rhine.
At home, I found another cause for deep emotion; it was a letter for me from Ernst. It had been forwarded from the field by the army post. The paper showed the traces of many tears. I was so much overcome, every time I read the letter, that my children took it away from me; but I asked them to return it, and here it is:
"Dear Father and Mother:--See me prostrate at your feet; what I desired to do a thousand times, and again and again postponed, I must now finish.
"I know that, both for you and for me, my deeds have filled many days and nights--nay, whole years--with sadness. I cannot express in words what I have thought and felt while on the march in the hot sun, or at night when I looked up to the stars that shone also on my paternal home. And, oh! how, when on the march and parched with thirst, I longed for a drop of water from our fountain. I write with burning tears, but they cannot blot out the past, nor recall a single wasted hour. Lost! lost! I repent, I suffer deeply. You often told me, mother, 'You must curb your spirit.' I could not succeed in my peaceful home, although I had so many to help me you, father, Martella, my brothers and sisters. From afar, the sound of ardent prayer swells into an eager wail for redemption. I have wasted all. Am I a sacrifice to my country's misery? And now comes the most dreadful consequence of my misdeeds. We have received orders to take ship to fight against Germany. No, not against Germany. The old misery is here again with redoubled force. An officer has confided to me, that several of the lesser German states had called upon France to release them from the tyranny of Prussia.
"I had loaded my gun and pointed it at my head, but, thinking of you, I fired into the air.
"Is it my guilt, or am I but a drop in the stream that overflows its bed?
"O my parents! He who leaves his country is suspended in mid-air, and has no ground to stand upon. It is well that the end is near; but I wish you to know that my soul is with you at home. At this moment, I feel your hands on my head, blessing me.
"May Martella remain forever true! I can say nothing to her. Oh, Richard was in the right. How dared I, who was nothing for myself, bind another life to mine?
"I thank you a thousand times for all the kindness, all the love you bestowed upon me who am unworthy of it, and upon Martella who deserves it.
"I beg forgiveness of my brothers and sisters for the wrongs I have done them.
"Do not mourn for me; I shall find the way to atonement. Console and comfort yourselves with the thought of one who will remember you till death.
"ERNST."
"Father, I did not hitherto wish to speak of it, but now I must tell you," said Ludwig, one day.
"For God's sake, what can have happened?"
"Nothing bad, quite the contrary; I am resolved to remain here. I did not wish to tell you until peace was restored, but I think that this is the time when the news will do you most good."
I deemed it my duty to advise him to delay before making up his mind, but he replied, "I have considered everything. Whatever a man may achieve in this world, be it ever so great or important, if he has not done his whole duty to his parents, all else is vain. I remain with you, and to public duties I will devote as much of my life as can be spared from you."
Thus spoke my son, whose roving life in America we thought had made him harsh and cold.
I inquired whether he had already consulted his wife. He replied that there was no doubt of her consent, because she would simply and gladly consent as soon as he should tell her that it was for the best.
Conny at once consented. She mentioned that her father had always prophesied that she would some time return to Europe. She now felt particularly happy, because, if it should turn out that a German confederation with an emperor at its head would be established, the ideal of her father's life, and for the sake of which he went into exile, would be realized.
While our eyes were wandering from the warlike past to a peaceful future, we were thrilled over and over again by the thought that our army stood like a gigantic wall in the path of the advancing Bourbaki.
Ludwig told me that, in connection with some friends, he intended to start a new building association for the public benefit. He had found the starting point with some former friends from the gymnasium. Their object was to locate some grand industrial establishments in the country, in order to avert the threatened overcrowding of the large cities, by giving profitable employment to the dwellers in the rural districts. He intended to transfer his mill to the company, and also to enlarge it.
Martha, who had remained with her mother in the city, sent us a letter from Julius. He wrote about the great sortie from Paris, and what heavy sacrifices it had cost us. He was very happy to have been able to give proofs of his valor, and he had received the Iron Cross of the first class on the field of battle.
Madam Von Rontheim begged me to hold myself in readiness to return to the city within a few days.
It was towards evening when the sounds of great rejoicing were heard in the village. All flocked together, and we heard loud cries, "Rothfuss is here again!" Rothfuss came with two horses harnessed to his vehicle, and two following in the rear.
"I bring four captured Frenchmen," he cried: "I have bought them honestly. Of course I paid only for their hides. They are not much more than skin and bone anyway, but in a week I shall feed four new horses into their skins. When they taste the fodder from our mountain forests, they will think, 'What a fine country Germany is; there they feed horses on sweet herbs.'"
Rothfuss also brought the great news that our German troops had pushed Bourbaki and his men to the wall; just as might have been done in a tavern fight.
We did not quite understand what he really meant. Then Joseph brought the newspaper. Alsace was free; and his joy over the victory was enhanced by the certainty that his timber in the Hagenau forest was now all safe.
We read about the three days' battle before Belfort; and as long as valor and endurance are remembered, history will have a glorious page to unfold there.
My daughter Johanna came down to enjoy a few days' rest with us. In spite of the great hardships she had undergone, she had become stronger, and looked more cheerful. She wanted to deliver her good news in person. Her daughter had become engaged to a man who had lost his right arm. Christiane had nursed him faithfully, and fallen in love with him, and Johanna is right in saying, "She will always love him the more because of her having to take care of him; she is just the wife for an invalid."
On the very next day, we had a triumphal entry in our village. Carl was well again, but carried his left arm in a sling. Rothfuss harnessed his four "Bourbakis" (they were lean as yet, but lively) and drove Carl and his mother, four-in-hand. Down at the saw-mill, Marie mounted beside Carl and rode along into the village.
Rothfuss stopped before the house of the meadow-farmer. Nobody was to be seen there, but all cried, "Hurrah for the meadow-farmer!"
"You must say the old farmer," commanded Rothfuss, "because Carl is now the young meadow farmer. Come out, old fellow; Napoleon had to abdicate, too. Give up your flail to Carl, the conqueror."
At last the door opened. The old meadow farmer came out and welcomed Carl. It seemed as if the cheering would never end. Carl becomes the meadow farmer! After this everything is possible.
"Have you any news of my faithful nurse, the Captain's wife?" asked Carl, when he entered our room; and the old woman, who had not heard a word, also asked, "How is the worthy lady?"
Just then, as it happened, a letter arrived from her.
Annette wrote:
"What happiness it is to write to you! This is the first time that I address you as your real and true daughter. Do you remember how ill you took it when I once called you Patriarch? You were right, because bandying sharp speeches was a great fault of mine. Too much of the intellectual was my misfortune and that of all of us. Now I am nothing but a quiet ant, crawling up a tree and bearing my tiny mite; to be one ant amongst a thousand is now my only ambition. I do not wish to be anything for myself. I must give you an extract from Richard's letter. What is dearest and most beautiful in it, I cannot, of course, repeat to you. He writes:
"'Hitherto, our happiness consisted in the general belief that every one was a nobody, unless he was something quite apart, because the people as a whole were held in but little esteem. Germany was like the educated Jew, who is always intent on hearing from others, "How do they regard me?" "What do they think of me?" You yourself,'--but here he begins praising me--enough of that.
"'It gave me great pleasure to have Johanna with us in the hospital for a few days, which enabled us, by working together, to gain a better appreciation of each other. She has gathered experience and insight from other sources than myself, and she insists that nature is better than what we call principle. We can afford to let the latter pass, here and there. She acknowledges that unbelievers, as she calls us, are capable of virtuous actions. This war has taught all of us not to ask for dogmas, but for deeds.
"'I am scarcely able to-day, to write a letter in my own name. It was general mail-day, and I sat for hours at the bedside of the sick, writing word for word as they dictated. I am glad to have learnt enough French to be able to write for the officer whom you may remember. How manifold are the relations of life with which I have become familiarized! There is much wonderful beauty hidden in the world, and every people and every station in life has its share.
"'I had to add postscripts to two letters announcing the death of those in whose name they were written. One was the son of honored parents, and the other was himself the head of a family, and leaves four children.
"'Midnight.--I could not write further. Now all is hushed; and I do not wish to sleep before fulfilling my duty towards you. I find it hateful, when in full health, to say, "I cannot," and, therefore, continue writing. I feel as if mother were sitting beside me and saying, "Tell my husband everything. The best remedy against fear is to know the whole truth." But I must inform you about Martella.
"'The next day.--Last night, while I was writing the last sentence, Wolfgang came. He informed me that he had told you all. I may then speak of ourselves again.'
"Richard has written me: 'Remember that you once told me you would go through the wide world with me. That may now come to pass. Through varied labors which have given entire satisfaction, I have received an offer of employment in the foreign service, and it may happen that we shall have to begin our married life in the new world. I leave my quiet study, or rather I shall not return to it. I may be able to influence the living present, and you, my good and lovely wife, shall win admiration and respect in the highest circles. I am proud to place you in life's highest stations, and for this reason I joyfully surrender my solitary, peaceful studies and long-cherished plans of scientific investigation.'
"How I replied to Richard you will see by these lines, which I copy for you without conventional modesty; they are from a second letter, in answer to mine:
"'A thousand times, I kiss your hands and press you to my heart. You are my good genius. Pardon every unpleasant thought which, in the erring past, I may have harbored against you. Even then, despite myself, my mother knew you better than I did; her blessing rests upon your head. You have liberated me and brought me back to myself; I receive all willingly from your hands.
"'How clever and how pointed are your accounts of the nothings of diplomatic life which you noticed in Paris at the house of your sister-in-law, the wife of our ambassador.
"'Pardon me that I was just a little jealous of the title of nobility, and that I thought you might regret having to change it for a plain civilian name. I thank you for scolding me so merrily about it; but I reproach myself very seriously that I could entertain such a thought for a single instant.
"'How much you are in the right! I dare not abandon my innermost convictions. Your Christian admonition has gone right to my heart: yes, I would have been doing violence to my soul.
"'Now all is bright and free within and around me. It is settled. I shall keep on the straight line marked out for me; I am born and bred a man of letters.Yousee clearly what I could not confess to you or myself. For your sake the glitter of life allured, and attracted me. I fondly imagined your queenly form moving among those the world call noblest; but you, my lovely wife, are greater, purer, and freer than I am. You do not wish to shine; you will live for me, and I am to live for my ideal. It is decided; I am fortified against all temptation. I shall remain true to my calling, to you, and to myself.'
"I have told you all. I hope the time is not far off when this horrible war, this killing and dying, will be but as a shadowy dream in our memories. There must be peace at last, and peace will bring home to you
"Your happy daughter,
"Annette."
The very same day, a messenger arrived from the Counciller's wife, to call me, and I drove to the city with Joseph and Ludwig. From afar, we heard the booming of cannon, and at the new saw-mill the lumber merchant Schwarzenberg, an ever-faithful patriot, told me: "We have an Emperor; he has been proclaimed at Versailles." This was as it should be. Our great achievements in war were consecrated by the establishment of the German Empire.
Ludwig was dissatisfied because the celebration was held on a Prussian anniversary. He had to acknowledge, however, that the history of Prussia now glided into that of Germany, and that it was not improper thus to exalt a family festival.
O fortunate posterity! you can never know or appreciate our feelings during those days. We had long cherished these aspirations for our country, for a United Germany; the less we could hope for their realization, the deeper they lay in our hearts. Patriotism was like religious martrydom. Our country did not return our love. On the contrary, it was requited by hate and persecution from those high in station, and by neglect and ridicule from the lowly. And, in spite of all, for more than fifty years we stood firm and true, without hope of reward.
In the city, the bells were ringing and all the houses were decorated with flags. The Councillor's wife received us on the stairs and said, "Welcome, great-grandfather! Martha has given birth to a son."
How can I express the emotions that filled my heart! My country united under a powerful, victorious chief, and on the same day a great-grandchild born to me. How can I deserve such unspeakable bliss!
I was allowed to speak to Martha for a minute, and to take my great-grandson in my arms. He opened his eyes, and Martha cried, "He has his grandmother's eyes. When at Strasburg, Julius asked that his name should be Erwin."
The Councillor's wife ordered her to be quiet, adding: "You can now be perfectly happy; the conflict is over, and your husband returns full of honors. You are blessed indeed, and we are blessed through you. Sleep now; when you really want to sleep, you can do so."
I had to leave the room; and, after a while, the new grandmother came to tell me that Martha was sleeping quietly.
I remained in the city. The grandfather came for a day, and told me that he agreed with Julius, who, as he had so greatly distinguished himself, wished to remain in the military service.
My eyes have looked upon the third generation; I was also to see the dream of my youth realized in the establishment of the German Empire, and my family had fairly done their share towards it. But our joys are never unalloyed. No tree in the forest has an uninterrupted growth. A raven comes, rests on its top, and bends and blights the tender sapling.
Yes, a raven of misfortune came. A letter from Annette reported, in a few hasty words, that Richard had disappeared, and that he had probably fallen into the hands of thefranc tireurs. There was still some hope of his life. She had started out with Wolfgang to hunt him up. Wolfgang, being an American citizen, could get through the lines. She asked us to move heaven and earth to save Richard. In a postscript, she reminded me of the wounded French officer whom she was nursing when I searched for the Colonel. How wonderful! every good deed meets its reward. The officer had given her a pass, from which she promised herself the best results.
Ludwig was not for a moment alarmed by the danger into which his only son had ventured. He had full confidence in Wolfgang's discretion, and his words were full of assurance that he would not be found wanting.
I believe that this confidence was genuine, but I also believe that he tried, for my sake, to mitigate the shock which the news about Richard had given me.
It puzzled me how Richard, who did not belong to the combatants, could be captured by the enemy; but Ludwig stopped all brooding over it by saying: "Father, will you accompany me to the capital? I wish to see our ambassador; he must give me all possible assistance."
In the capital, all the bells were ringing, and at the railroad station "extras" were announced with the Emperor's proclamation. In the midst of a group of people in the street stood a man reading the words of the Emperor. I knew him; it was Loedinger. His voice trembled; and when he had finished, and the joyful crowd marched through the streets, he saw me and embraced me heartily.
"What have we lived to see?" he cried. "Now we can die in peace. But what is the matter with you? Why do you not cheer with us?"
I told him, in a few words, of the capture of my son, and the worst fears which it justified.
Ludwig went at once to his ambassador, and I to the palace to see the Prince, who would doubtless use his influence for the rescue of my son. In the palace, there was great commotion. They said that no message could be taken to the Prince now, as he was presiding at a session of the Privy Council. I had to wait a long while. In the streets, the rejoicing went on; it could be faintly heard from afar. The whole city was illuminated.
At last I was told that the Prince could not see me today; I must leave my petition with the chief of the Cabinet. He was a relative of my son-in-law, and was favorably inclined towards me. He said that from there no effective steps could be taken; that it was the business of the Imperial government, and that I should address myself to the Prussian ambassador, to whom he gave me a few lines. I felt like a beggar who is sent from house to house.
At the Prussian Embassy, I was informed that the American Minister was attending a conference, and that there was a stranger with him.
I was called in, and found Ludwig with the two ambassadors. All necessary steps had already been agreed upon, and dispatches were at once forwarded to Versailles.
We drove to the station in the American Minister's coach, and Ludwig started for France, at once.
I went to Bertha, and, in spite of the new trouble that poured in upon me, I felt somewhat relieved when with my daughter and her children. Victor looked splendidly in his cadet uniform. Bertha met me with outstretched arms, saying, "Father, we shall soon have peace, and he is now almost a general."
It was not the least part of my sorrow that I had to inform Bertha of our deep anxiety for Richard. In the gladness of her heart, she ascribed it all to the exaggerated fears of Annette. The human heart is selfish; in moments of great happiness it wants to hear nothing of the sorrows of others, and refuses to believe them.
I was compelled to mar the joy of the proud, loving wife; and when Bertha too was filled with alarm, she pitied Annette even more than her brother. She thought it particularly hard that Annette, who was so good and self-sacrificing, should again and again be overwhelmed with sorrow. She believed that Richard had loved Annette before the death of her husband, and that his repentance and severity towards himself caused him to be so bitter to her. He struggled with his love for the woman on whom his eyes had rested with admiration at a time when such admiration was sinful.
On the other hand her natural good humor and buoyancy of spirits made her confident that Richard would surely soon be saved. Richard always was a lucky fellow. She remembered, from childhood, that once while I was coming down the river on a raft with my raftsmen, Richard stood on shore, and, crying "Father!" rushed out into the stream till the water came up to his chin. Balbina ran to the rescue, and, when he was safely ashore he laughed heartily. He had not been conscious of danger or fear.
While Bertha recalled all this, I became more tranquil, and when she expressed her confident hope that we would not live to see another war, I heartily agreed with her.
It was well that I had come up to the capital, for Parliament had been convoked, in order to consider the new constitution, or rather, the question of giving in our adhesion to the North German Confederation.
I scarcely heard the speeches, and did not have the strength to take the floor myself.
When a vote was at last reached, it went hard with me to vote "aye." In spite of my joy that there was now a United Germany, I had labored too long for the establishment of German landed rights, to content myself without their being embodied in laws.
I was deeply moved by a remark of my old and faithful colleague, Loedinger: "I fear that in the new German constitution, it will only be too evident that the movement which brought it about, was not initiated by the people."
We heard from Annette and Wolfgang, who wrote that they had at last obtained a clue to aid them in the search for Richard. He had, for a long time, been dragged about the country, and had then been sent to the Isles d'Hyéres.
Now, for the first time, I learned the details of his capture. Richard had crossed our lines into the enemy's country, being tempted to do so by a desire to investigate certain points of local history. He was arrested by thefranc tireurs, who took him for a spy and wanted to shoot him. It was only through the interference of a man who was able to read Richard's journal that he was saved from instant death.
This was all they had been able to discover, up to the arrival of Ludwig, who sent Wolfgang home, and continued the search with Annette.
They were often led astray, and shown prisoners whom they did not know. They would have liked to console and encourage them by the news of the progress of our victorious armies and the certainty of a speedy peace, but they dared not risk it.
Ludwig added to his letter minute directions concerning the mill.
We were now perfectly safe in pushing the enterprise forward, as Bourbaki's forces had been driven into Switzerland and disarmed.
I could not content myself at the capital, and journeyed homewards. On the way, I met Baron Arven, who had returned from the field seriously ill, and who hoped to regain his health at home. I accompanied him, and found some pleasure in bearing him company in his deserted mansion--his wife was in Rome, both his sons still in the field. "I shall die at home after all," was his invariable answer whenever we attempted to console him. Our excellent physician prepared me for the worst. I was with Arven in his last hour, and was present when his remains were deposited in the family vault.
Joseph came to take me home.
In war times, one's feelings at last become familiarized with death scenes.
I soon again was called upon to take a part in public life.
The election campaign opened. Remminger, who had returned from the field to get cured of severe rheumatism, brought me the paper which represented our party. In it, he was recommended as delegate to the Reichstag from our district, as a man of merit, and of experience in military matters. I did not begrudge him the honor, nor the office. It gave his life a greater value, though I did not know that he ever took any part in political matters, or even showed any desire in that direction.
I thought it remarkable that in the article, particular stress was laid on the fact, that he was a friend and former comrade of my son-in-law, who had so greatly distinguished himself in the three days' battle against Bourbaki.
What motive could there have been for referring to that fact? However, if it could be of any use to the man, I was content.
He asked me whether I had had any hand in the publication of the article. He had never thought of taking part in politics, but if the place were offered him, he would not shirk the duty. I heard that the article was supposed to have emanated either from Joseph or myself.
We inquired at the office, and were informed that the nomination had been sent in with the stamp of our nearest post-office, and with a rather indistinct signature, which might well be Joseph's.
Joseph asserted that Funk was the author. I did not believe it, because the entire article did not contain a single superlative. He never could, even while writing, restrain his peculiar talent for screaming.
Great thoughts stirred the hearts of men, but littleness, cunning, and mischief-making had not ceased either. But what matters it? A tree grows all the same, whether ants and beetles crawl upon it or not.
A second article shortly afterward appeared in the country papers, in which it was said that military despotism had unmasked its batteries. But the people were awake; the people, who did not pray to the god whose name is Success; but were true to their own eternal aims and ideas. The clamor of victory must not drown the cries for liberty. We still had approved champions in our midst; our district still owned an independent man of large landed property; he should be deputy; they should be made to see at Berlin what plain, strong men tilled our land.
Joseph asserted that the papers of the popular party wanted to draw me to their side. There were inquiries in the journals from different quarters as to who was meant by "the firm man of solid worth," until he was named at last. It was Schweitzer-Schmalz. As usual, it was claimed that South Germany was the only real Germany, just as peasants were said to be the only genuine people. To-day, the peasants; to-morrow, perhaps the so-called laborer. The red waistcoat of Schweitzer-Schmalz was to do service as the popular flag.
Joseph was filled with anger and disgust, and I urged him to accept the nomination himself. He had much influence, and there were few other men in the district so well thought of as he.
I can say much in Joseph's favor; he wishes to see the state honestly served; but he also likes to attend to his business. Just then, Joseph had indeed a heavy load to carry. He had brought a large squad of foresters from the Tyrol, and had to provide several new teams.
We heard that Schweitzer-Schmalz had, at first, declined the proffered offer; but when he found the election was not to cost him any money, only some little condescension towards the poorer people, a few casks of beer, and, more than all else, strong language against military dictation, he declared his readiness. He was plain spoken, and yet cunning enough to declare, at the valley tavern, that, if he should be defeated it would be more of an honor than a disgrace to him. People would then always say, "Here is the man who ought to have been our deputy at the Reichstag. He is a man of the right sort."
The movement continued. It was a sorrowful spectacle for me, to see how the domestic enemies of the Empire inscribed our Frankfort Constitution on their flag, and cried that it must be accepted without debate. What should be done in case it was not accepted, they would not say; they knew as well as we did, that the adoption of the constitution of 1848 was an impossibility. But they wanted to start an opposition, and to surround it with a halo of glory.
On the last day of February, we received the news that the preliminaries of peace were agreed upon, and our German Emperor announced, "We have arrived at the end of the glorious but bloody war which was so wantonly and wickedly forced upon us."
We who lived on the borders were delighted beyond measure to know that Alsace-Lorraine had been brought home to us again; and when I was speaking with my folks about it, Rothfuss remarked:
"Now I know how it worked. Those who live along the Rhine, from Basle downward, felt the way you do, when you lie abed in winter time and have too narrow a blanket. Whenever you move, you are uncovered and get cold. Now we have a good double bed; now we can stretch ourselves, and, over there, stand the Vosges mountains; that is a good solid wall; no draft gets through that."