CHAPTER IX
THE old Burschenschafter7! Yes, treasured in secret and worn like an amulet of magic power, for the sake of which we suffered, are the colors of the new confederation. At first, the thought pained me; but perhaps it is all for the best. The Empire which is now being established, is not quite the one of which we sang and dreamed, or for the love of which we were thrown into dungeons. But it is full of a new and vigorous life, and instead of the golden glitter of poesy, we have the simple white of prose.
I am not of a combative disposition, and have always longed for a condition of affairs to which I could heartily assent. And now my greatest happiness is to know that I am no longer condemned to what I had feared would prove a life-long opposition to the powers that be.
The newly elected members had their rendezvous at the railroad junction. A majority were faithful to the Empire. The few who belonged to the progressives, or to the ultramontanes, were loud in their protestation of love for our newly-cemented union.
My friend Loedinger, that true old soul, was also elected. He studied with me at Jena, was with me in prison, and, for many years, sat near me in the Parliament. "We two have by this time become quite used to each other," were his words, as he took the seat next to me. And, as if by previous agreement, we were always together during the whole journey.
The days were fresh and spring-like, and, although our hearts were filled with solemn thoughts, nothing but jokes were heard. Next to Baribal, the gayest was Professor Rolunt, who, before he entered the military service, had studied in Berlin, and had here received the so-called finishing touch. On the way, there was much cheerful discussion of the peculiarities that distinguish various sections of our country and the fanaticism with which every district believes that its customs and modes of expression alone represent the real German mind.
Offenheimer, the lawyer, who had also been elected a member of the Reichstag, spoke quite forcibly on this subject, by demonstrating that we South Germans believed ours to be the veritable language of the soul. When there is a prejudice to combat, Offenheimer always is particularly eloquent. He knows Berlin, and lives here with relatives of his.
Cato Debold, the inveterate South German, thought it hard that the rough North German manner should now gain the supremacy. When he saw the first windmills, he scoffed at North German windbags; and when the Professor added that in North Germany there were no running springs, but only pumps, he was quite happy, and vaunted the number of springs we possessed at home.
Rolunt allowed him to finish his harangue, and then replied that the North Germans, finding themselves without fast flowing streams, had made an invisible power, the winds, work for them; and that pump water was as refreshing as that from fountains.
But, against that, Debold showed that the portion of Germany, that lay on the other side of the Thuringian Mountains had, through being divided into small farms, become quite different, and far advanced in comparison with the North. And in municipal liberty, we also stand far ahead of North Germany; and shall we now submit to have that encroached upon?
"That will regulate itself. The others will become more agreeable, and we will get sharper," said the Professor.
At many stations we heard the people say: "Here are the South German Representatives."
Our reception was not so stormy and excited as the one accorded us twenty-three years before when we went to Frankfort. The public mood was now calm and earnest.
On the road, one of the members said, "If your Richard had returned, he would doubtless have been elected." Ah! when one has a sorrow, he expects others to have some consideration, and not touch upon it, even though it be in the way of kindness.
At Gotha, where many new delegates joined us, we all received bouquets, and the principal of the gymnasium cleverly said that we should adorn ourselves with wedding favors, as we were going to the wedding of North and South Germany.
At Eisenach, my granddaughter Christiane and her affianced awaited me. He was still walking on crutches, but hoped to lay them aside in a few months, and to depend upon his wife's arm for support. Christiane had become quite youthful in appearance. She fairly beamed with happiness, as she looked now at me, and now at her betrothed.
The others continued on their journey, but Loedinger and I remained behind to visit a hallowed shrine. I spent the evening with Christiane and her betrothed. I promised to attend the wedding on my return from the Reichstag.
At early dawn, Loedinger and I ascended the Wartburg. We knew that each other's thoughts wandered back to the companions who, more than half a century ago, had come here, filled with the enthusiasm of youth. An invisible band of warriors marched at our side.
Silently, we walked through the halls of the castle. When we looked out over the country, far and wide, Loedinger grasped my hand and said: "It is hard, after all, that our flag, with its sacred colors, does not float here in the morning breeze. They should have left us that. There is great danger in the fact that it is now the banner of the opposition, and is raised by the hands of those who are against us and the unity we have labored so hard to win."
While trying to console him, I consoled myself, and the ardor of youth seemed to return to us.
Descending the mountain, we sang our old student songs, and felt young again.
Yes, this mountain is the altar of all that is great and pure and beautiful in our united Fatherland.
When we passed Weimar, where the creators of the unity of German thought had dwelt and labored, Loedinger said, "We might well cry out: 'Hearken, ye heroes of the mind, your words have become deeds.'"
Doctor Wilhelmi and his wife received me at the railroad depot.
Friend Wilhelmi, once a handsome, slender man, has grown stout, but the sound of his hearty, musical voice, the warm and kindly glance, the grasp of his hand, are all unchanged.
Loedinger was lodged with a friend of his, who lived in the neighborhood, and I soon felt at home with my old friends. The best people of the city, yes of the whole country, made their house a rendezvous. I have here made the acquaintance of a great number of men of distinguished merit. We are well supplied in that respect.
I also made the nearer acquaintance of some of those sharp Prussians. I felt at first as if they were setting my teeth on edge. But, after awhile, I recognized their good traits.
Doctor Wilhelmi still has an album of the members of the Frankfort Reichstag. We renewed our memories of olden days while looking at the pictures, and supplemented each other's information with what we knew of this or that old friend.
In every word that Wilhelmi speaks, I recognize his lofty ideality; but life in America has made him more practical than he once was.
The hospitality of the Greeks is vaunted. We possess it in a new shape; for a whole city considers itself our host.
I had to tell my friend Wilhelmi of my troubles; of my grief for Ernst, of my deep anxiety about Richard, and the thought struck me: "Must the old friend, whom we meet after long absence, have his heart saddened by the recital of our woes."
CHAPTER X
I make no mention of the proceedings of the Reichstag; you can read all about them in the newspapers.
I did not once take the floor.
In committee, I protested energetically, when we understood that some of the states were to be rewarded for their share in our triumph, by having certain portions of Alsace assigned to them. This plan was barely alluded to in the public meetings, and I am inclined to think that the rumor was merely a piece of diplomatic finesse.
I cannot avoid repeating the words addressed to me by the Emperor, when I was presented at the palace. "I have a son and you have a grandson in the field, and they have, both of them, proved their courage."
His voice betokened sincerity; his countenance was kind and gentle.
I was surprised; even if the Emperor had informed himself beforehand, it was so kind of him to speak thus of Julius.
In replying I told him that, during the absence of my grandson in the field, a son had been born to him.
The Emperor congratulated me. He took me by the hand! For a second, I held the palm of my beloved Emperor in warm, living embrace. He must have felt my glance following him when he walked away. For the great and glorious monarch turned again and nodded to me.
(THE NIGHT BEFORE THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY.)
The festivities have been gloriously ushered in. The bells were ringing, and the streets were alive with a gay and bustling throng.
I roamed about alone, admiring all that was beautiful and enjoyable in the streets that had been transformed by the beautiful festal decorations. A bit of Olympian life had descended upon our homes.
We sometimes persuade ourselves that we have often thought of, or wished for, something that suddenly comes to pass: the rapidity with which our ideas succeed each other is apt to deceive us. But I am sure that while looking at the Academy of Arts, decorated as it was with the portraits of heroes, I involuntarily thought, "If I only had one of my own family with me now; I am so lonely in this surging crowd."
All at once, I heard a clear, ringing voice exclaim, "Good evening, grandfather."
My grandson Julius stands before me, sunburnt, and with several orders glistening on his breast. He belongs to the combined South German Corps that is detailed here to take part in the triumphal entry. His quarters are in a neighboring village, and he must return early.
Julius asked me whom his son resembled, and when I told him that little Erwin had the eyes of his grandmother, his face was radiant with joy.
Taking his arm in mine, I went as far as the city gate with him. I had to tell him all about Richard, but my pride in this noble, happy grandson, in a great measure thrust aside my grief for my son.
CHAPTER XI
(June 18th.)
And now I write of the great day, the greatest known to me and to all men living.
It was the morning of the triumphal entry. I went out early and wandered through the joyous streets. I saw, beneath the chain of gay triumphal arches, the long row of conquered cannon, and, behind them, the seats for the wounded, the convalescents and their nurses. Music resounded from all the side streets. It was the great jubilant heart-throb of a whole people.
For a long time, I sat on a chair, which had been placed there for some invalid. My heart was so full when I thought that I had lived to see this day; and, amidst this high swelling tide of joy, I could not help looking into my own heart, and asking myself how I had met the duties that life imposed upon me.
Were I to die now-this very day-I have served the truth to the best of my ability; I have intentionally offended no one, and have loved mankind and my country with all my soul. I was often weak, but my weakness has harmed no one but myself.
As this was passing through my mind, I had to stop suddenly. My friend Wilhelmi said to me in the heartiest manner, and without sarcasm, "You have within you an overflowing fountain of sentimentality." It is true; it has brought me much sorrow, but it has afforded my soul many pure and tranquil experiences, and I said to myself, "This is not the time for tender sensibility. To be strong is now the word. Look at the Emperor! What must this man who, to-day, bears the impress and the majesty of great historical memories, feel in his innermost soul; and yet he stands erect and firm." And as I thought this, I, too, walked along more firmly than before.
I went to the stand which had been erected for the deputies. It was, as yet, almost empty; gradually, it filled up. My early walk, my deep emotions, and, more than all, the heat and strained expectation had thoroughly fatigued me.
Then came my friend Wilhelmi. He motioned to me from afar and waved his hat. "Waldfried, I bring you glorious news!" he cried. "Just read this; you had gone out so early; we hunted everywhere, but could not find you. A telegram for you has arrived; your children are coming."
"My children!"
"Yes. Richard and Ludwig and their wives, and your grandson Wolfgang."
I read the telegram; there it was-they were all coming. Richard was saved. At Bertha's house, he was married to Annette.
Wilhelmi saw me turning pale, and called to a stately Rhenish deputy behind us, one who had brought some good wine of his own raising: "Westerwalder, give us a glass of your best Rüdesheimer."
O how the drink refreshed me! Then Wilhelmi continued: "I have more to tell you, for now you are strong enough to bear the joyful news. Your children are already here. The telegram had been delayed, and they arrived half an hour in advance of it. They could not push through to this place, and so they went to the house of one of Annette's relations, with whom Offenheimer lives. That is what I am to tell you. After the procession we will meet them there."
Wilhelmi had to tell me, first of all, how my children looked. He said that Richard still bore traces of his recent sufferings, but that his eyes would brighten and his whole face light up, whenever he looked at his wife. Wilhelmi regretted that he did not have a son to bring him such a daughter-in-law.
He evidently wanted to cheer me up, for he bade me review in memory the triumphal march of my joys, – my children, my grandchildren, my sons and daughters-in-law, and my great-grandson.
During the last words of Wilhelmi, we heard from afar, a noise as of the roaring sea-a wave of history came rolling onward.
Cannon thundered, bells rang, and on came the great procession; and when the French flags were carried by and fluttered in the gentle breeze, I felt that I had seen the world wing itself for a new flight.
From among the South German troops, a young officer nodded to me. It was Julius. My grandson was among the marching conquerors.
The Emperor comes, and with him, all the heroes. The Emperor steps to the statue of his father, and the old man so greatly exalted by fortune, now becomes an humble son, and lays the captured flags at the feet of his father.
CHAPTER XII
Led by Wilhelmi, I went to the house of our friends. Ikwarte stood in the door; he saluted me silently. I asked him whether my family were above.
"Yes, sir."
As we go up the stairs, we hear, behind us, hasty footsteps and a clattering sabre. It is Julius, his helmet adorned with a wreath of oak leaves.
"Grandfather, have you seen them?"
"Whom?"
"Martha and Erwin."
"Are they here, too?"
"Julius" is called from above, and, the next moment, he is in Martha's arms. Then he embraces his father.
"Come in; he sleeps," said Martha. "Come in all, fathers three."
We walked through a glass-covered entry, then across a wide floor to the quietly-situated back-building, where the noise of the street could not penetrate.
In the silent room, Julius knelt beside the cradle. Gently he raised the curtain; the boy awoke, and, for the first time, the eyes of father and son met.
"Erwin, my son!" cried Julius, and kissed the child, who stared at him, and tried to clutch his eyes with his hands.
Martha, too, knelt beside the cradle. She laid her hand on the husband's forehead, and said, "And at this head hostile bullets were aimed!"
"Oh don't let us give way to our feelings," said Julius, rising.
Martha took the wreath from her husband's helmet, and wanted to place it on my head. I seized it and laid it on the cradle of my great-grandson. After that, we left the young couple, and hunted up the other returned wanderers.
Our hosts resigned their house to us, and saved us from all restraint by kindly keeping themselves in the background.
Richard and Annette, Ludwig, Conny, and Wolfgang, by turns clasped me in their arms. O how many good, true hearts beat against mine to-day! How many lives I could call my own!
Richard was still somewhat pale. Annette was radiant with glorious beauty, and her modest, gentle demeanor was the more attractive because she had the appearance of one born to command.
When the first emotions awakened by the overwhelming fulness of my joy had subsided, I had a wonderful vision. I saw great tables loaded with meat and drink and fragrant flowers, and from the streets resounded cheering and song. One of those wonderful visions, or phantasms, as you may call it, that supplement our life and withdraw us from the actual world, seized me. The beaming faces, the brilliant lights reflected again and again in the mirrors and the wine-glasses, the sumptuous table, and the lovely flowers, – methought I had seen them all before. – I felt as if in the midst of one of those wonderful, color-steeped groups of Paul Veronese, and, like soft music, or an apparition gently gliding through the air, memories of Gustava filled my soul.
"You seem so happy," said Annette; and I could only tell her this: "The dreams of former days, and the loftiest impressions that our souls have taken up from art, are now our actual life; our highest ideal has been attained."
Joseph informed me that the army corps consisting of the troops from our State, would make its entry into our capital under the Crown Prince, who had commanded it during the war, and that the Colonel, who was now a General, would take part in the ceremony. Bertha expected that we would all be with her on that day of honor.
Richard told us of his experiences while with the French, and we could not help asking ourselves: "Shall we ever be at peace with these neighbors of ours?"
"I have learned to know the French," said Richard, "and suffered much at their hands. The people amused themselves by insulting me while I was being led through the streets; I had to march in chains for a whole day; and still, through all the ravings of this sanguine people, I could see its mighty soul."
At these words, Offenheimer rushed up to Richard, and, embracing him, said, "A wounded enemy is an enemy no longer, and thus we have ceased to be enemies of suffering France."
He begged Richard to tell him more, and so he continued: "In spite of their impassioned feelings, and of the fact, utterly incomprehensible to them, that we were impolite enough not to let them whip us, there is a real elevation of soul in them, although it is obscured by their theatrical phrases. But their belief in themselves is something grand. They cling to it, even now, when they are sorely beaten. I am confident that the French will, in time, become honestly tolerant, and not in the sham sense that makes its professors say: 'You, poor fellow, have a false belief, but I do not attack it.' The French have a beautiful faith in themselves, but they must acquire faith in others, and not consider themselves the whole of humanity."
Nations have much the same ideas as individuals. After a silent combat, they can scarcely believe that it arose from a trifling cause, and now the French will not remember what a trivial pretext they had for this war.
The Chinese self-sufficiency of the French, who believed themselves to be the sole representatives of civilization, is now broken down. Their morbid desire for revenge can only be temporary. The people, deeply wounded in its vanity, and swindled out of its love of truth by sycophantic word-mongers, will come to reason.
Wilhelmi based great hopes on the projected university of Strasburg. It was to form an intellectual bond of union. With great warmth of feeling, he demonstrated that it was typical of the real character of our people, that, first of all, an institution of learning was established in the newly recovered province.
Then Ludwig rose, and with an enthusiasm in which all the fervor of his youth broke forth, again said: "And something more is in store for us, and, for that reason, I wish to remain an American citizen. You, Wilhelmi, and I have learned to know America. We love our old home, but we also love the New World, which is the land to initiate great thoughts, the land in which humanity, through untrammelled liberty, cannot but reach great results. It is pitiful and, at the same time, sad, that the American who has made money, and wishes to do something for the public good, knows of nothing better than to build a church.
"My idea-and I have distinguished friends who agree with me-is to establish, as our celebration of the centennial of American independence, a German University in America; an International High-School. I need not point out to you, how great a significance such an institution would possess for the New World, as well as for the Old. After our German students have studied for a year at the American Athens, how much wider their range of vision will be, and how much greater their knowledge of the world! In this way, a cable of quite a different kind would be laid; an intellectual electric current, binding the Old World to the New."
Richard took Ludwig's hand, and congratulated him on having conceived this grand idea.
"Thus should it be," he cried; "let Germany be fully and entirely its own, and then send the messengers of its intellectual life to all the world. The ancients carried their gods of marble and bronze, wherever they went; we carry divine thoughts over the whole inhabited globe."
Offenheimer whispered something to Richard, who pressed his hand gratefully.
I sat there quietly and felt unutterably happy, because my children possessed new ideals so different from our own. Their clear, organizing minds stretched into the far distance, and their schemes embraced the welfare of all mankind.
When in Strasburg, I felt deeply pained that such men as Ludwig and Wilhelmi should be driven into exile. Not always does our life give an answer to such questions. I received one now.
We were interrupted by Ikwarte, who begged to be excused. He had noticed his brother among the marching soldiers. He was sergeant and had received the Iron Cross; he had recognized him, and called out to him from the procession. Ikwarte now asked permission to go and seek his brother.
Ludwig granted it of course. We were all pleased with Ikwarte's firm sense of duty, to which even his brotherly love had to yield.
As Ikwarte was leaving the room, Julius entered with his wife. She carried my great-grandson on her arm.
For a while, every one turned to them. Then Ludwig began:
"It is well that you have come, Julius! We are here among friends; are you ready to answer a question regarding your future?"
In a quiet tone, Julius answered, he would first have to know what it was all about.
Smiling, Ludwig said: "Allow me to tell you that I am a Colonel."
Julius bowed, and Ludwig continued: "How grand it was that the American officers, at the end of their war, returned to civil life, while here in Germany a standing army draws our best energies away from productive labor."
Quietly but not without confidence, Julius replied: "It seems to me that Uncle Ludwig is still thinking of the revolutionary times, of the long forgotten stone age of German history. There is no separation now between soldier and citizen, and it is very questionable whether any one has the right to call us soldiers unproductive laborers. Our work creates a race of men who give firmness and character to our political life. What the schools are unable to finish, we perfect. To cultivate the great forest of men, is a higher aim than to reclaim a forest of trees."
"Oh," interrupted Wolfgang, and Julius turned to him and said: "Dear Wolfgang, I do not think meanly of that either; it is also a part of the work that society has before it. But each one must choose his post and guard it faithfully."
Ludwig insisted to the contrary, and squarely put it to Julius that he should leave the army, and take charge of his grandfather's estate. He could, if his country called him, always return to his duty. He hinted, and not very delicately, that one should not allow one's self to be seduced by the outward glitter of the soldier's life.
Without any irritation, but in determined language, Julius declared that he fully recognized how great a spectacle it was to see a victorious army return home in triumph, and lay down its arms; that it would have been desirable that the conclusion of peace should produce the disarmament of Europe. Such a disarmament, however, is only possible in America, where there is but one powerful nation. In conclusion, he eulogized the high mission of the soldier's life as a school for men.
Ludwig rose and said: "Here is my hand; I am converted. Father, I have now decided. I shall accept the estate."
I do not know how it came to pass, but Martha had laid my great-grandson in my arms, and when the boy raised his eyes to mine, I felt as if I was looking forward into the future.
You, my child, rested beside a mother's heart during the battles; you slept during the triumphant march, and now, around you, great words and thoughts wander forth into the world. When, at some future time, you shall learn how your father fought and suffered for home and country, may it sound to you like a fable from the old, dark days, that, long ago, we had to fight the monsters who despised the people. Stand firm and pure in the new life of nations, amongst whom the battle will only be for the possession of the noblest treasures of the intellectual world.
AT HOME, July 22.
I did not find my comrade Rothfuss. He died full of happiness and peace. On the last morning, he said to Johanna: "The German Empire is not the right thing after all. One must die in it, just as before. Our Emperor should order a different state of things, but never mind. 'He who is wet to the skin, need not dread the rain.' If I could only lie down in my grave for my master, as I once had myself locked up for Ludwig."
My grandson the vicar, who is chaplain at the neighboring fortress, was with him in his last hours.
Ludwig has taken the family estate for his son Wolfgang; not, as is customary, at the family valuation, but at its full market value.
I shall resign my post.
So far, the memoirs up to the evening before the anniversary of Gustava's death. They were written in the afternoon, with a firm hand. After that, he walked out into the forest. Carl, who was in the fields, saw him drinking from the Gustava fountain, and rejoiced to see the master walking so sturdily.
He was found in the woods he had planted, beneath a white pine tree, stretched out in death. His face was toward the earth, and rested on the wild thyme.
The second tablet of the grave-stone bears the following inscription: