With Hartriegel and my brother-in-law, who had again in a measure regained his composure, I roamed through the great forest district; and this refreshed my soul, though the terrible thoughts about Ernst accompanied me by day and by night like a restless ghost.
It was the night of the twenty-sixth of October. Hartriegel remained in the town. I had stayed with my sister; a storm was raging that seemed to portend the destruction of the world. Dogs howled, the cattle in the stalls bellowed unceasingly; there seemed a fearful wailing in the rattling of the thunder, and the turmoil and uproar of the elements. We heard sounds like the splitting of trees, continually nearer and nearer. We all sat together in the room, keeping watch, and my brother-in-law exclaimed, "It is just so! The trees even will clear out forthwith. They will not be German."
As he said this, a tree behind the house cracked and fell over on the roof: the slates rattled, the timbers bent, and the storm now raged through the house, which we could not forsake; for out of doors the tempest raged so wildly, that it seemed as if everything that stood upright would be stricken to the ground. We waited until daylight, and at early morning a messenger arrived who came to tell me that Julius must depart, and to ask whether I would not bring Martha home with me. The messenger also showed us an "extra," that announced the capture of Metz, and the capitulation of 173,000 men.
When my brother-in-law heard this, he exclaimed, "We are betrayed!" tore down the epaulettes, and the portrait of Bazaine, under whom he had served, from the wall, threw them on the floor, and trampled them under his feet.
The messenger told us the roads were impassable; every where there lay trunks of trees, and near the house a slain stag. He, a very credulous man, had spent the night at the Oak of Saint Arbogast, and with pious fervor praised the saint who had protected him.
After he had partaken of refreshments, he escorted my brother-in-law, who soon came back with the dead stag.
We were separated from the world, and my sister rejoiced that she still had something for us to eat.
At noon there came a neighboring forester with his men, and everybody was called upon, and worked through the entire night to make the roads again passable. Soldiers were also ordered from Hagenau to assist, and soon I heard the singing of German songs in the woods.
The next morning Joseph arrived with his companion. He had been ordered by the chief forester to buy wood here, and had now decided, since it was so conveniently arranged, to purchase the greater portion of the windfall. What terrified us, awakened in him a speculation.
"In the forest of Hagenau," said he, "there's also oak wood for Ludwig's mill."
It was, and remained so; everything served as a stepping-stone to Joseph.
He gave us further particulars of the capture of Metz, and of the march towards Paris. At the name of Paris, my brother-in-law's face became flushed and excited. "That you will never get, never!" he said; "the world will go to pieces, first! But Metz, indeed! And 173,000 men! believe in nothing after this!"
I told Joseph of Ernst; I must impart it to some one. But Joseph urgently implored me to eradicate every thought of the lost one from my breast.
I went to Strasburg, but the governor there had nothing to tell me. I was so weak that I longed for home again; there I hoped to regain my strength. I journeyed homewards with Martha.
At the last railway station I met a large force of Tyrolese woodsmen that, upon Joseph's order, had been sent to work for him in Alsace, and as I neared home, I saw, here and there, clearings in the woods. The tempest had also raged here, and the newspapers brought the intelligence that over the whole continent great devastation had been occasioned by it.
We had much to do to set up trees that had been prostrated by the wind; for dead trees, because of their harboring all sorts of noxious insects, imperil the existence of a whole forest.
There came good letters from Julius, Richard, and the vicar, and we saw war life from three quite different aspects. Bertha sent us letters from the Colonel. He wrote but briefly. He must have been suffering great hardships, especially in the protracted rains; but he wrote, "when one feels inspired, he can endure much."
They tell me of the noble courage of the olden time. When man fights with man, he receives invigorating impulse from the personal struggle. But to stand under a shower of fire, then advance on the enemy and be struck by far-carrying bullets, without firing a shot until one is at the right distance--all that is much more.
Away off, the cannon thundered; we at home heard nothing but the measured beat of the thrasher, and that lasted a long while, for we lacked men at home.
When it rained and snowed, and we sat sheltered in the room, we naturally fell to thinking of those who, for nights and weeks, fought on the now thoroughly drenched soil, and for their brief rest had no couch but the wet or icy earth.
Ludwig wrote from Hamburg that he was about going to America. He was to make the journey with the secret approval and authority of an officer of high rank, in order to prevent the transmission of arms and ammunition to our foes.
How much war demands of human nature!
Snow had fallen; it snowed again and again, and we knew that what here was snow, up there was cold rain.
I sat in the large arm-chair, and read the gazette. Here stands in few words, in peaceful paragraphs, what up there is blood and mangling of human bodies. It is indeed grand and sublime how the French, after the annihilation of their forces, again quickly gather together, and venture everything. A nation cannot surrender, and a nation that is so consciously proud and all-powerful cannot easily acknowledge, "I am conquered, and am wrong."
They would not give us security for our boundary, and so the fighting and the devastation must still go on.
While I thus sat quietly thinking, a telegram from the cabinet of the Prince was brought to me; I must forthwith hasten to the capital, and upon my arrival at the palace should cause myself to be immediately announced, be it night or day.
What could be the matter? why was I so urgently summoned? Was it on Ernst's account? or Richard's, or the Colonel's? It seemed to me a great injustice that not a word of explanation accompanied the message, yet I equipped myself immediately for my departure. The stonecutter conducted me to the railway station. Joseph was not there; he had gone on to Lorraine. I was not familiar with his business enterprises.
That--it was indeed, strange--kept my thoughts busy during the journey, and yet was I much oppressed by suspense as to the reason of my being called away. But happily the human mind can engage itself with new problems, and thus, for a while at least, forget the care and vexation that lie near at hand.
I reached the capital, and found it as I had expected. What was snow with us in the mountains, was here a penetrating rain.
On my way to the palace, I passed a brilliantly lighted theatre, and heard from within the sounds of music. Ah, that men should sing and juggle at such a time! But is not life a mighty aggregation of many incongruous individual activities?
I reached the castle; the great entrance hall was lighted up and thoroughly warmed; I was obliged to wait a long time. When, at last, I saw the Prince, I found him unusually distressed or disturbed. He began by observing how different times were when we last had met; he said how deeply it pained him that so much blood must be shed--so much noble blood. He said this with deep emotion, and finally added, he had faith in me as a man of stout heart; I had so nobly borne so much suffering, that he had courage to tell me that the Colonel had been wounded by a shot through the breast. He was still living, but quite unconscious, when the bearer of the news left, and perhaps we had already a dead one to mourn.
I could not utter a word; what was there to say?
The Prince continued to speak of his grief at the shedding of so much blood, and expressed his dissatisfaction that his countrymen should have placed themselves in alliance with foreigners.
I had no time nor mind for such discussions. I asked if the news had been sent to my daughter. He appeared disturbed by my question, and somewhat unwillingly answered, "I considered that a father's right and duty."
He added, that this evening a sanitary commission would depart, with whom I and the Colonel's wife could go to the front.
I know not what suggested the thought, but suddenly it occurred to me: The Prince would never make a minister of you; you were only a clever story-teller, who drove away the recollections of his own sufferings by the recital of your life-history. And of that was I thinking all the while I was talking to the Prince of other things.
The demeanor of the Prince towards me seemed cold and distant. He called after me without extending his hand, "Adieu, Herr Waldfried!"
Formerly, I had been called "dear Waldfried;" yes, at times, "dear friend."
I mention this here, although it first struck me like a waking dream, during the journey. I was glad to be independent, and to be relieved from rendering homage to princes, and troubling myself as to whether I was addressed in one way or another. Although in my inmost heart I believe in a constitutional monarchy, I tell you, keep yourself free, and be dependent on no stranger's favor, or else you will be the most degraded of slaves.
But now I must tell of my sad journey; and I think of the saying of the Colonel's: Human nature in its elevated moods can endure much.
I came to Bertha's house. My heart beat wildly at the thought of the news I should bring to her. But as I ascended the steps, Professor Rolunt, the Colonel's friend, approached me, and said, "After the first dreadful shock, you were your daughter's first thought. She has asked for you."
"And so she knows of it?"
"Yes! I have told her, and we are off in an hour."
"We!"
"Yes! I go with her; and keep up Bertha's spirits. Should the worst have happened, we must bear it all."
I went to Bertha. Speechless, she threw herself upon my neck, clasped me to her bosom, and wept and sobbed; nor could I utter one word.
"Father!" she said, at last, "you will remain here with the children--or will you take them home with you?"
"No, I will go with you. Don't refuse me. Don't let us waste useless words. I will go with you."
We departed in the evening. We rested in beds, upon which soon should lie the sorely wounded. But, indeed, we, too, bore painful wounds in our hearts.
It was well that Rolunt accompanied us; for I had not the strength to support Bertha in this wearisome journey, and to distract and lead her away from her quiet, noiseless brooding, and her counting the minutes as they slowly passed.
The Professor had continually something to tell us, either of the points that we hurriedly passed, or of the sanitary aids who were with us. He told us of this and that one who had been a spoiled child--the pet of some fond mother--and now was suffering great hardships. This was the second supply train that he had accompanied; he had been the chief of the first one, and had much that was moving to tell us of the self-sacrificing conduct of the non-combatants. The employés of the post-office and the railroads were specially endeared to him, and he related wonderful instances of their activity and endurance.
Bertha scarcely uttered a word; for the most part she only quietly held my hand. At times, she said, "Ah! the locomotive might be urged to move faster; it seems to me that it goes much too slowly."
The Professor assured her that we should esteem ourselves lucky to reach our destination. Who knows how soon we should hear, "Halt, we go no further."
Once Bertha arose; her face had in it something mysterious and strange, and she cried out, "Father, hold me!"
"What is the matter? What is it?"
"I think I must escape from myself. I will not live if he is dead. Oh! pardon me," she again exclaimed, sinking back into her seat, "I cannot endure the torment of my thoughts. How is it possible--how can it agree with any order in human affairs, that a piece of lead can destroy a full, rich, noble, human life!"
She gazed at me with a peculiarly alarming expression; it was as if pale, pulsating strands were tightly drawn under the surface of her skin. Then she seized my hand and said, "Pardon me for inflicting all this upon you. I dare not now waste my strength in suffering; it is sinful, it is selfish, and it is terrible to wish for death. All my strength belongs to him. I will no longer complain, and will no longer give up to despair. Oh! if I could only sleep! One can give to another the sleep of death, but--I will be very quiet; indeed, I will not think any more."
She leaned back and closed her eyes.
While Bertha appeared to sleep, I told Rolunt of the last interview with the Prince. He explained matters to me. He said the Prince had believed that I knew all, and merely feigned ignorance for his sake. It was no secret that the Prince was beside himself with rage, because the general commanding had telegraphed the news not only to him, but also to the Prussian embassy. The latter made no secret of it, and the Prince saw in this an attempt to obtain popularity and favor at his expense. He hated the ambassador, as a legalized superintendent over him, who left him daily conscious that he no longer possessed his former sovereignty.
It was fortunate that the Professor had prepared us; for--I cannot give the name of our halting place--we suddenly came to a stop. We had to wait an entire day, and it was only a day's journey to where the Colonel lay.
Rolunt tried negotiations here and there; he had become hoarse from much talking. At last he came to us with a cheerful countenance. A shrewd, energetic man, he had succeeded in obtaining a wagon, and we travelled through the country. During the entire night we drove over torn-up roads. In the distance we saw burning villages. How many hundreds of peaceful homes were there destroyed. We turned our eyes from the sight. We went through villages riddled with shot and shell, and through others, in which here and there a light shone, and where we halted to feed the horses, we were observed with ugly, threatening glances. But the country was safe; for it was everywhere occupied by detachments of our troops.
We reached the village where the Colonel was reported to be lying. We inquired here and there, but found him not: he must be in the next village. Thither we now journeyed.
We met an artillery corps, and had to move into a field and await its passing. This took a terribly long while. They mocked us and cried at us in sport as they passed, and we were almost beside ourselves with impatience. And still we sat there protected from the drizzling rain, while our soldiers were steaming like horses.
Rolunt got out. He asked the officers of the column after the Colonel. They knew nothing of him; they had only just arrived from a long march.
At last we were permitted to proceed.
At the entrance of the next village, Bertha recognized a soldier of her husband's regiment.
"Is your Colonel living?" she asked.
"Yes, yesterday he was still alive."
"And to-day?"
"Don't know. Haven't heard anything about him."
I felt confident that he was yet living. I could not think that the strong, powerful man could be dead, and my hopefulness helped to support Bertha. We reached the house from which the white flag with the red cross was floating. I commanded my daughter to remain seated in the wagon, and to inquire of no one until I returned. She gave me her promise, but she could not keep her word, and it was indeed requiring too much of her. She saw her husband's servant, and called to him, and the lad said, "The Colonel is living, but--"
"But what?"
"He is very low."
We entered the house, and the first one we met was Annette.
"Be composed, Bertha! he lives. I came here immediately on receiving the intelligence of his being wounded, that I might do all that was possible for him," she said. She embraced her friend, and added, that we could not see him: he could not bear the shock.
The Professor begged that he, at least, might be admitted. Annette called the doctor, and he gave permission to the Professor to see the wounded man.
Annette remained with us, and said, "The bullet has not yet been found." The shot had entered the breast just above the heart, only escaping it by a hair's-breadth.
The Colonel led his regiment independently and separated from the Prussians, and it was a piece of jealousy, and the ambition to distinguish himself, that caused him to press forward so recklessly and thrust himself in danger's way. He had to march over a plain, to take a battery planted on a height, and it was there that he was struck.
When he had fallen, and saw death before him, he exclaimed, "The Romans were right; it is glorious to die for one's country. I want no other grave; let me be buried with my soldiers." Then for a long while he was unconscious.
After a little while Rolunt came to us, and said that the Colonel was unable to speak, but by his glances had shown that he recognized him.
Bertha begged for the dress of a nurse, so that she could at least venture into the sick-room. She promised not to go near her sick husband. But the doctor emphatically forbade it. There was no certainty that the wounded man would not recognize her, if only by her step or carriage. He almost feared that the sick man might suspect something from the presence of the Professor; for he opened and shut his eyes so quickly. And so we had to wait and listen, and were condemned to inactivity.
We met still another friend: Baron Arven. He had forgotten his own griefs, was restlessly active and appeared wondrously rejuvenated. In an hour he had to go to another hospital, and transferred to us his quarters, in which we could rest.
Bertha said she could not sleep; but consented to lie down and rest herself, in order to gather strength for what might be in store for her. She lay down and was soon fast asleep. She often moved convulsively, as if troubled with fearful dreams, but still continued to slumber. I at last also fell asleep. Towards morning, I was awakened by a loud voice:
"I must see him; I have found him."
Is not that the voice of Rothfuss? Yes, it was.
Bertha also awoke, and asked, "Where are we? Has the train stopped?" I explained to her where we were. With difficulty, she collected herself. She went directly with us to the house where the Colonel lay, and remained with Annette. She heard that the Colonel had also slept, and Annette, who had sat with him, remarked, he had lightly whispered, "Bertha;" he must suspect that she is here.
Rothfuss took me aside and said, "We have him and her also."
"Yes, the Colonel and Bertha."
"No, no! Ernst and Martella. 'The Lord God is the best child's nurse for wild lads,' my mother has often said."
I felt as if reason had forsaken me.
Only gradually did I clearly comprehend all that had happened to me.
I can no longer count the shots, nor specify whence or by whom they were discharged against me, and how it was that I remained unharmed. But I have passed through it all, and must also permit you to experience it.
Rothfuss related to me, very composedly, that he had done Carl injustice; one might be imprisoned, although innocent, and it happened to him with horse and wagon. He and the bays had been captured by the wild Turcos, and he had almost fancied himself in hell while with those savages, who did not even know how to talk intelligibly.
"Sir! they would have shot me for a spy. They placed me against the wall. And there I stand and they aim at me. I take a last look at the sky and the trees, something dims my sight, and I think to myself, if it were only over! Then some one calls out, 'Halt!' And I think I recognize the voice. He talks gibberish, of which I do not comprehend a word, but they don't shoot. He orders me to be tied tighter. And there I lie in a miserable stall and can't stir. And then comes some one sneaking along, and whispers, 'Keep yourself quiet, Rothfuss.' And who do you think it is? Our Ernst. And then we cried together, like little children, and Ernst said, 'Keep yourself quiet! What I have been through, couldn't be told in a thousand years. Now come with me!' And for a long while there we were, creeping along the ground like frogs, until we reached the horses, which were fastened outside. To unloose them, spring upon them, and gallop away, took but a moment. The French fired at us, but they didn't hit us, and away we went until we reached our lines, and there Ernst said to me, 'You once passed for my brother Ludwig; now do as much for me! Give me your clothes!'"
Rothfuss had to give him his blue blouse. Then Ernst transferred his horse to him, and said, "Leave me now! we will soon meet again."
Rothfuss was about relating how he had found Martella, when she entered. She had become very thin, but otherwise unchanged; was gayly attired, and cried out as she perceived me: "Oh! father, happily met again! To-day is Ernst's wedding-day, and my Sunday, my greatest holiday, my ascension-day."
She offered no excuse for having run away; she made no mention of her recent experiences, and as I could not avoid telling her what pain and anxiety she had occasioned me, she exclaimed, "I know it better than you can tell me; but indulge me for to-day: to-morrow, when I have Ernst by the hand, we will set everything straight. He rescued Carl, who would have bled to death, if he had not found him.
"Ernst carried him; yes, he is strong; he brought him all the way here. His face, his hands, his clothes, were all full of blood. But that doesn't hurt; it can all be washed off. Everything can be washed away if one is sound within; and now everything, everything will be washed away.
"Now I heard that Ernst had come to the regiment in which Carl was. He introduced himself as a German with the name of Frohn." Martella added, "That is the name of a comrade, who on the voyage threw himself in despair into the sea."
Ernst had declared that he would not fight against his countrymen, but with them against the French. What proofs of loyalty he was submitted to have never been made known to me. He was uniformed and placed at a post of danger, where a strict watch could be kept upon him. He conducted himself bravely, and when Carl was struck, he rescued him at the risk of his own life. But he was never recognized, and none but Carl, Martella, and Rothfuss knew who he was.
They had, during the night, heard of my arrival, and Ernst had stood guard before the house for hours. Martella had shown him the letter of pardon; but he exclaimed that he wished no pardon, and would not examine the letter.
Martella begged him to show himself to me. But he said, "I know of how many nights of rest I have robbed my father; I will not now disturb his slumbers, and will for the first time appear before him, and clasp his knees, when by I have done something to show him what I am at heart. When I come out of the battle, I will go to my father: then I can look him in the face."
"Right, right," said Martella; "if you go into the fight with such thoughts, you will surely come out of it safe and sound, and your mother in heaven will stretch her hands in blessings over you."
"My mother in heaven? Is she dead?"
"Didn't you know it? Alas! already over three years; she died upon your birth-day."
"On my birth-day!" He said this, and was then for a long time silent. Then again he said, "I think I dare not kiss you again to-day."
"Your mother loved you to her latest breath, and she kissed me just before she died."
"He sighed heavily and then kissed me," said Martella, "Only once again; for the last time. No, not for the last time! he must live!"
Just as Ernst had again gone away, there came the order to march immediately without baggage. The people never knew beforehand when there was to be a battle; but such a command naturally gave rise to anticipations of a fight.
As Martella turned away, while Ernst prepared for his departure, she heard the voice of Rothfuss, who told the baker Lerz that his bays were ruined, but that he had received two fine Burgundians in exchange.
It was now highly important to find Ernst. We left the house before day-break; Bertha was still sleeping.
I permitted Martella and Rothfuss to conduct me to the hospital in which the Colonel was lying. I was scarcely conscious where I was, or whither I was going; I felt as if there was a heavy burden upon my shoulders, and could not help looking to the right and left, as if something was threatening me. But I could endure it and could proceed without assistance.
Rolunt seemed to have expected me. He said the Colonel was in about the same condition, neither better nor worse. I bade him send one of the female attendants to Bertha; I could not tell him who it was I sought.
When we left the house, my grandson, the vicar, approached me. "Grandfather, I know all," said he, "but at such a time one can bear manifold troubles. I also endure them; I have just come from my sad duties at a deathbed."
I told him that we were seeking Ernst, and we thought he might be with those with whom, just before the march, he had held a brief divine service. We went with him. The day began to dawn.
The graceful figure of Martella seemed to hover in the gray twilight, and as she turned and looked upon me, it seemed to me that the extraordinary depth of the sockets of her eyes was greater than ever. There was something sadly brilliant in her glance, and it seemed directed to a distance.
Before the village, on a plain in front of a small hill, the regiments were formed in deep squares, presenting masses that looked like church walls.
We searched around. Martella went to the left, Rothfuss to the right. They came back; they had not found Ernst, and yet he must be there. Martella stood quietly near me; only once did she look up at me, and her eye was piercingly brilliant. She folded her hands together convulsively, apparently, also, to conceal her trepidation.
A chorale was performed by the band, in which all the troops present joined, while the heavens reddened as the vicar, with steady steps, descended the hill, and wended his way towards us. Every one held his breath; perhaps Ernst is down there among them.
The vicar spoke with a clear voice. He had pleased by his written words, but when he spoke, it was still better and more inspiring.
"See here!" he exclaimed. "I have come here without any Bible. Holy is the Book of Revelation, thrice holy. With it the world has learned to comprehend itself and God, and will gather instruction from it to all eternity.
"I carry it in my heart, and from my heart I call out to you in the words of the Apostle Paul (Romans xiv. 7): 'For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.' That should be in your soul, in your memory, should your soul be in a struggle, and, if it must be so, in death. Thou art not for thyself in this world, and goest not for thyself from this world. Thou art called, thou art mustered for the great universal battle for the holy kingdom of the spirit, of honor, of freedom, of unity.
"Just imagine, ye who have achieved the victory and must again win it, how it would be if all these things were reversed.
"The spirit of darkness hovers in the air like millions of black ravens, hiding the sun and blighting everything that hath life. Through the streets of thy native villages rage the wild hordes of Asia, and murder, robbery, outrage, and fire prevail everywhere.
"Thou who mournest thy brother, or thy fallen comrade, thou that liest wounded, forget thy pain. Open thine eyes! Through thee, through thy comrades, the light of the world is rescued: knowledge, justice, decency, honor, integrity. I say it to you and you may say it to each other; for thus has God willed it.
"And thou who still holdest the weapon in thy firm grasp, be of cheerful heart! The saints hover over the banners that you shall victoriously bring home; and when the bloody, cruel, terrible work is done, then you will permit no other pride to possess you, than that you were summoned to labor for the kingdom of freedom and unity, for the kingdom of the spirit, in which there is no enemy to be conquered, but in which each shall be a moving temple of the Holy Spirit. Keep yourselves firm: for none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. Amen!"
A quiet prayer was offered up; then the regiments moved into column, and the whole army set itself in motion.
The vicar came to me, and for a long while held me by the hand. We uttered no word. Then he followed the army, and I went with Rothfuss and Martella back to the hospital.
We met Annette, whose presence had greatly improved Bertha's spirits.
Annette took us into an out-of-the-way room, and there said, "I have for a long time called you father from mere sentiment. You allowed me, but now I dare to do so because it is my right."
She gave me a letter from Richard, from head quarters, and the letter was addressed, "My beloved bride."
Annette kissed my trembling hands, and she kissed me again and again, when I told her that my wife in her dying hour had called out, "Richard will marry her after all."
Annette added that they did not intend to get married until peace was concluded.
"Of course," said Bertha, as if addressing me, "you will understand that we can give no expression to our joy just now."
Annette, indeed, did not permit us to linger long over this joyful message. She said that her patients now claimed all her time, and only while we were descending the steps, she once stopped and quietly related to us how her old custom of pouring out her feelings with every new experience had suddenly opened the hearts that had so long been as if sealed towards each other. She had said to Richard, who recently passed through here, "So long as men are well, they are all alike. When they are wounded or sick, each one displays the traits that are peculiar to him." Then Richard replied, "You speak from my mother's soul;" and on that day they were betrothed.
"Now I no more need," said Annette, as we went on, "to chloroform my soul with religion. I have learned to apply the real chloroform, and in helping others we help ourselves also."
Annette invited us to go with her to the patients; she might thereby make the tedious hours of watching more easy for Bertha. She first conducted us to a handsome young man with a full, blond beard, whose thigh had been fractured. Her mere appearance seemed to revive the sick man.
It was a pathetic look with which he gazed upon her, and stretched his thin hand towards her.
Annette introduced him to us as an artist of great repute, and, assuming a merry tone of voice, she said, "He has painted me in other colors. He does not like the dull and sombre black; indeed, the silver-gray dress with the white apron is much more cheerful. And why should we not be cheerful?"
The face of the young man brightened, and Annette bade Bertha to read something to him. In going the rounds, she made us acquainted with a wounded German officer, who never ceased heaping extravagant praises upon his nurse. Annette bade me to come quickly to a man from my village, for whom I could perhaps do something, and, with a trembling voice, mentioned Carl's name to me.
We approached his bed. He gazed upon me with staring eyes, and cried, in heart-rending tones, "Mother, mother!" I spoke to him; I asked him if he knew me. But he continually exclaimed, "Mother, mother, mother!"
The surgeon came and bade us leave the patient. Then he said to Annette, "Have a screen placed here. This young man may die at any moment, and the others should neither see nor know of it."
Just as the screen was put in its place, the door opened, and a voice was heard, "My child! my child! Carl! my child! Carl!"
"Mother, mother!" cried the wounded man, and he raised himself up, and mother and son were folded in each other's arms. Then Carl cried out, "Marie! you too! you too, there! Come!"
He then fell back.
The surgeon then approached and said, "He is extremely weak, and in a critical condition!" Restoratives were applied and he opened his eyes.
After a while he said, "How did you know that I--"
"Be quiet! don't speak so much! Don't exert yourself too much. Your eyes have already told me everything. And now, yes, it was the vicar, Waldfried's grandson, who wrote me where you were."
"I am hungry. Give me something to eat!"
"I have brought you one of our hens; I brought it all the way from home," said the old woman.
"I must eat, I must eat!" exclaimed Carl. His strength, wasted and exhausted through loss of blood, appeared to return, and he seemed rescued by the magic of love.
His mother ought to have left him, but she would not obey the surgeon. She obeyed me, however. When she saw Bertha, she cried out, "My son, my Carl, my child lives! Bertha! I tell you, your husband who lies there--Bertha, your husband is saved too: he will be saved."
"Bertha!" We heard a call from the adjoining room; it was the voice of the colonel.
Bertha almost swooned; I caught her in my arms. She collected herself and hurried towards the door; it was closed. Annette called to us from within, that we should wait quietly, for it was a critical moment.
What anxious moments were those, while we stood at the door listening to the movements and groans within.
After a while, the surgeon hastily opened the door, and said, "Now go away softly! There has been a hemorrhage, and the ball has come with it. There is now a chance of his recovery, but I must insist on perfect quiet!"
Bertha sank to the floor, while she placed her finger on her lips, and motioned me to be silent. They say that we were only waiting a quarter of an hour. But oh! how long it seemed! Then the surgeon opened the door again, and, seeing Bertha on the floor, said, "You may go in now and shake hands with the Colonel, but do not say anything to him, as he is not allowed to speak for the present."
Bertha went in. She reached her hand to her husband. He moved his eyes in recognition; then the surgeon motioned us to depart.
We went away. From afar, we could hear the rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery, and the reports constantly became louder and more frequent.
Evening was approaching, when the surgeon sent us word that his patient had been sleeping. He had awakened and asked for Bertha and me.
We went to him. He could only recognize us by glances, and a wonderful smile overspread his features. He turned his eyes to the surgeon, who understood him, and said, "Yes, your wife may sit here for a quarter of an hour. But you must both be perfectly quiet."
And so we sat there speechless, and heard the din of battle gradually cease; only occasional shots were now fired.
I was called to the front of the house. Martella and Rothfuss stood before me. Martella, breathless, told me that Ernst's company had again been in the fight, many were missing, and, among them, Ernst; he ought to be hunted up.
Rothfuss desired that I should stay behind; but Martella exclaimed, seizing my arm, "What do you mean? Father goes with us!"
She had made a wreath to take to Ernst, and she held it in her trembling hands. She carried Ernst's prize-cup and a bottle of wine in a basket on her arm.
We went through the village towards the hill. Four men approached with a litter.
"Ernst! Ernst!" cried Martella.
The two men stopped, and one asked, "Who's there? Who calls?" It was Ikwarte's voice.
"Set it down!" commanded the other. "Isn't that Martella?" It was Wolfgang who spoke.
We stepped nearer. They carried a man who had been shot in the leg. The man raised his head, and said, "That is his father." It was the son of the owner of the saw-mill down in the valley. "He commissioned me to carry his love to you. He made himself known to me."
"Where is he? Is he dead?"
"He must be lying up there. Oh! he has done great things."
"What has he done? Where is he?" anxiously inquired Martella. "Speak! be quick! listen, father!"
The wounded man raised himself with difficulty and spoke:
"We stood within range of the enemy's batteries. Shot after shot tore through our ranks. Many were falling. Everybody sheltered himself. Ernst stood upright, and said in a clear voice, 'Stand firm! Face the bullets! That's the way to be brave.' Finally, we advanced, when a lieutenant was shot in the forehead; our sergeant stepped into his place, and he also fell. Then Ernst took command, and marched along by the drummer. Bang! then the drummer was shot. Ernst unloosened the drum from his body, and drummed for us. He beat a powerful flourish, and cried out, 'Give it to them!' Then there came a shell, and I lay on the ground and saw nothing more. When I came to myself, I still heard drumming. But all at once there was a report, a cry--and the drumming ceased."
Martella tore up the wreath; but she quickly seized the grasses and flowers and held them with a convulsive grasp.
"Away! away! we must find him!" she exclaimed. "We must find him! He is living!"
Ikwarte and Wolfgang hastened with the wounded man into a neighboring house. Not far off, a wagon stopped. They returned with it, and Wolfgang and Martella sat in it with me. So we drove on through the entire night. Ikwarte knew where the miller's son was sheltered. We were silent; only Martella murmured to herself, "Keep up, Ernst; keep up! We are coming! Oh! mother in heaven, look down upon him!"
We were obliged to get out--the road crossed the fields. I went a little distance, but could go no farther. Both of the faithful servants begged that Wolfgang would stay with me. We sat down by the roadside, and noticed a moving object quite near us. It was a wounded horse, that raised its head, and then, with a rattle in its throat, fell back dead.
We heard Martella, across the field, calling, "Ernst! Ernst! my Ernst! where are you! Ernst! we are here, your father and I!" Then we heard nothing more.
A chill seized me. The ground was damp, and Wolfgang insisted that I should sit upon the dead horse, whose body was still warm. We quietly waited. In the heavens the clouds were scudding by, and here and there the stars sparkled. In the village a clock commenced striking. Wolfgang counted aloud: it struck eleven.
Now some one approached; my name was called. It was Ikwarte.
"We have found him," he joyfully exclaimed. "Come quickly!"
"Is he living?"
"Yes."
Accompanied by Ikwarte and Wolfgang, I went along. Oh! I cannot tell the horrors I then saw and heard.
"There, by the torch, there he is!"
My knees shook under me. Then a man came again towards us, and cried out, "Grandfather, come! There is yet time!"
It was my grandson, the vicar. We reached the place. There lay Martella on the ground bending over a figure. Rothfuss stood by her with the torch, and Martella cried, "Ernst, wake up! Your father is here!"
I kneeled down by him. I saw his face. His eyes were closed, but his breast rose and fell quickly.
"Ernst! my beloved child! my long-lost child! Ernst! your father calls you! Your mother calls you from eternity! Ernst, you shall live! you have repented; you have atoned! Ernst, Ernst! my son, my son!"
He opened his eyes and moved his hand towards me. I seized it; it was stiff.
"Father, forgive!" he moaned. "Martella, pardon! Oh! mother--father!"
He breathed his last breath. I just saw Martella throw herself upon him, with an agonizing cry; then I saw and heard nothing more.