CHAPTER XIX
Nothing so nerves a man for the battle with the outer world as the consciousness of his having a pleasant home, not merely a large and finely arranged household, but a home in which there reigns an atmosphere of hope and affection, and where, in days of sorrow, that which is best in us is met by the sympathy of those who surround us. Through Gustava, all this fell to my lot. Although the battle with the world would, at times, almost render me distracted, she would again restore my wonted spirits; and it is to her faithful and affectionate care that I ascribe the fact that the long struggle did not exhaust me. She judged of men and actions with never-failing equanimity, and her very glances seemed to beautify what they rested upon. Where I could see naught but spite or malice, she only beheld the natural selfishness of beings in whom education and morals had not yet gained complete ascendancy.
She judged everything by her own lofty standard, but strange to say, instead of belittling men, this seemed to make them appear better. When she found that she could not avoid assenting to evil report in regard to any one, she did so with an humble air that plainly signified how grieved she was that men could be thus.
Speaking of Funk, she would say, "I have no desire to hurt any one's feelings. In nature there is nothing that can properly be called aristocratic. In botany the nettle is related to hemp and to hops; and if Funk seems to have somewhat of the nettle in his composition, one should be careful to handle him tenderly, and thus avoid pricking one's fingers."
It was during that very winter, in 1866, that the purity and dignity that were inborn with her seemed more than ever infused with new and added grace. She always lived as if in a higher presence.
It soon proved that my anticipations of evil were overwrought. My compatriots were, for the greater part, in accord with me. On every hand I received assurances of that fact; and, above all, Joseph omitted no opportunity of repeating to me the respectful terms in which he had heard my name mentioned among the people. I really think that he was instrumental in causing others to bring these good reports to my notice. Martella had become the blessing, the life and the light, I may say, of our house. Her readiness to oblige, her adaptability and her desire for self-improvement, had so increased that we felt called upon to restrain rather than to urge their exercise.
My wife had learned of Funk's attempt to injure us by dragging the child's name into publicity. Perhaps the news had been carried even further; for a letter reached us from my daughter, the pastor's wife, in which she informed us that the illness of her husband made such demands upon her time that she required an assistant about the house, and desired us to send Martella to her. She added that her husband joined her in this wish, because it seemed improper that Martella should remain in our house any longer. My wife was not unwilling to send Martella to her for a while; but I insisted that she should stay with us in spite of all idle talk.
About that time we received letters from the major and from Richard, both of whom wrote without the other's knowledge, and to the effect that Prussia's proposal to the German Diet might lead to a conflict, the consequences of which it was impossible to foretell. Thus public and private affairs kept us in unusual excitement, when an unexpected event claimed our attention.
A rumor had long been current in our family that we had relatives of high rank living in Vienna. Up to the year 1805, our village and the whole district had belonged to Austria. All of the more ambitious and talented among our people had been drawn to Vienna, either by their own desire to advance themselves, or by the inducements the government held out to them; for it was the constant aim of Austria to gain the attachment of the landed interests.
At the beginning of the last century, an uncle of my father had moved to the Imperial city, where he attained a high position. He had embraced the Catholic religion, and had been ennobled. Ernst, who always called that branch of the family "the root brood," had long cherished the plan of hunting up our relatives, in the hope of thus finding a better opening for himself.
Towards spring we received a visit from our neighbor, Baron Arven. He was accompanied by a young bridal couple. He introduced the husband, who was an officer at the garrison of Mayence, as a relative of mine. The wife belonged to the family of the Baroness Arven, and was from Bohemia. They seemed sociable and charming people, and both sides were inclined to make friends with each other, but without success. Our thoughts and feelings were pitched in different keys.
The young couple left us in order to repair to the capital. On their departure, I gave them a letter to Bertha, and the Major. They wrote to me in the kindest manner, and remarked that they would be pleased if Ernst could assume the charge of the forests on their estate in Moravia.
CHAPTER XX
Spring had come, and the air was filled with the resinous odor of the pines. I was sitting by the open window, and reading in a newspaper that Bismarck had asked the Diet for a constituent national assembly, to be voted for directly by the people. Could it be possible? I took up the country journals: they reviled this proposal, and could not conceal their fear that the most powerful weapon of the revolutionary party had been destroyed.
While I was sitting there, buried in thought, I heard a rider rapidly approaching. It was Ernst. He hurriedly greeted us, and showed us an order recalling him to his regiment.
Martella cried out aloud. Ernst pacified her. He told us that he was no longer a subject of this country. He had given notice of his intention to emigrate, and that would protect him. It was spring-time, and the best season of the year to go forth into the wide world. I could only tell him that I doubted whether he would be allowed to leave the confederation.
"Confederation!" he exclaimed; "what a glorious name!"
He gave me a look that I shall, alas! never forget. He seemed to be collecting his senses, and as if struggling with his thoughts, and then said: "As far as I am concerned, my life is of no consequence to me. But, father, there will be war, in which what the books call Germans will be fighting against Germans. Have you raised me for this? Is this all that you are in the world for-that your son should perish, or even conquer, in a war between brethren? Either issue is equally disgraceful. I do not know what I would not rather do than take part in that."
I endeavored to pacify Ernst, and told him that these were diplomatic quarrels, that would not lead so far after all. I could not conceive of the possibility of war. However, I consented to Ernst's request to accompany him to the borough town, in order to confer with the kreis-director in regard to the steps that were necessary. I sincerely hoped to obtain further particulars there, and felt that all would again be peacefully arranged.
My wife had sent for Joseph and had asked him to accompany us, for she saw how fearfully excited Ernst was, and desired us to have a mediator with us. She judged wisely.
"I shall return to-morrow," said Ernst to Martella, when all was ready for our departure.
"And if you do not return to-morrow," she answered, "and even if you must go to war at once, nothing will happen to you. You are the cleverest of all; and if you care to become a major, do so; and I shall learn how to be a major's wife-for I can learn anything."
She was wondrously cheerful; she seemed to have vanquished her fears, and thus, both for herself and Ernst, lightened the pain of parting.
Joseph informed me that Funk was everywhere joyously proclaiming that now at last the crash must come, and that proud Prussia with its Junkers would be cut to pieces, or, to use his own words, demolished. Ernst beat the bays so unmercifully and drove so furiously, that I ordered him to halt, and insisted on Joseph's taking the reins. Ernst, in a sullen mood, seated himself beside me.
In the valley we a saw lumber wagon halting on the road, and from afar recognized the horses as Joseph's.
Carl, a servant of Joseph's, and son to the spinner who lived up on the rock, was surrounded by a group of raftsmen, woodsmen, and teamsters, who were all gesticulating in the wildest manner.
We halted as soon as we reached the team. Carl, a handsome, light-haired fellow, with a cheerful face and good-natured eyes, came up to us and told us that this would be his last load; he had been summoned as a conscript, and would have to leave that very evening and walk all night, in order to reach the barracks in time.
The old meadow farmer, who had joined the crowd exclaimed, "Yes, Napoleon is master. When he fiddles, Prussia and Austria must dance as he chooses, and the small folk will soon follow suit. Yes, there is a Napoleon in the world again. I knew the old one."
We did not think it necessary to answer the man. While Joseph was giving his servant money to use by the way, others approached and declared that they, too, had been conscripted, and requested us to tell them why there was war.
"You simple rogues," cried out Ernst, "that is none of your business! If you didn't wish it, there could be no war. You are fools, fearful fools, if you obey the conscription!"
I snatched the whip from Joseph's hand, and beat the horses furiously while I called out to the crowd:
"He was only joking!"
Joseph assumed the task of bringing Ernst to reason. He declared that if I had not been present, he would have written the answer that Ernst deserved in his face.
"Do so, you trusty Teuton!" replied Ernst.
Speedily controlling himself, Joseph added, "Forgive me; but you are most exasperating. How can you bear to drag yourself and your father to the very brink of ruin with such idle speeches? You are unworthy of such a father."
"Or of such a Fatherland," answered Ernst.
I felt so oppressed that I could hardly breathe.
We rode on for a little while, and at last Ernst inquired, in a submissive tone, "Will you permit me to smoke a cigar?" I nodded approval, and from that time until we reached the town, not a word was uttered.
On the road that led up to the kreis-director's house, we saw the young iron merchant, Edward Levi, an honorable and well-educated young man. He was standing at the door of his warehouse, and saluted us in military fashion.
Ernst beckoned to him to approach.
"Have you not already received your discharge?"
"I have; and you, I suppose, will now soon be an officer?"
"So I have heard."
We reached the director's house. The director could of course only confirm the fact that Ernst's notice of his intention to emigrate was as yet without legal effect. He furnished us with a certified copy of it, and added that he might be able to procure Ernst's discharge; but that, at all events, Ernst would be obliged for the present to join the troops.
Rontheim believed that war was imminent, and I could not help noticing an expression of deep emotion in the features of the man whose face was always veiled in diplomatic serenity. In those days I heard the sad question which so often afterward would seem to rend our hearts:
"What will become of Germany-what will become of the world-if Austria be successful?"
I could easily see that it was as painful to him as it was to me to have a son go forth to war.
On our way down the steps we met the director's daughter.
She extended her hand to Ernst, while she said, "I congratulate you."
"For what, may I inquire?"
"Your betrothal."
"Ah, yes; I thank you."
"I presume your intended is full of sad thoughts now."
"She does not do much thinking on the subject."
"Is your nephew obliged to join the army?"
"My nephew! Who can you mean?"
"Julius Linker," blushingly answered the young girl.
"No; he is not yet liable to military duty."
"Will you be good enough to give my kindest greetings to my brother?"
"With pleasure."
On our way Ernst seemed quite amused, and indulged in jokes at the thought of Julius' being such a child of fortune. His life was evidently moving in a smooth current, for the half-fledged youth had already been lucky enough to win the love of so charming a girl.
I felt quite reassured to find that Ernst's thoughts had taken another direction. He emphatically declared himself ready to join his regiment, and asked me to let him have some money. He thought there was no need of my accompanying him to the capital, but I felt loth to leave him, and, although I should not have done so, I promised to endeavor to procure his discharge.
We again met Joseph, who expressed his regret that the conscription of his valuable servant Carl would oblige him to return to his home, for he had intended to accompany us to the capital.
It was necessary for him, however, to go to the fortress, for he had accepted a contract to furnish fence rails.
Joseph is a very active patriot, but he is quite as active as a business man. He has the art of combining both functions, and Richard once said of him with justice: "With Joseph, everything is a stepping stone, and all events contribute to the success of his business plans."
We were seated in the garden of the Wild Man Tavern, when we heard a great uproar in front of the house of Krummkopf, the lumber merchant.
A company of conscripts had marched up before the house, in which there resided a young man who had purchased his discharge from military service, and they cursed and swore that they who were poor were obliged to go to war, while the rich ones could remain at home.
Joseph, who recognized many of his workmen among the young folks, succeeded in pacifying them.
We accompanied Ernst to the railway. At the depot I found Captain Rimminger, the lumber merchant, who was just superintending the loading of some planks. When I told him that he ought to feel glad that he was no longer a soldier, he silently nodded assent. He did not utter a word, for he was always exceedingly careful to avoid committing himself.
At the depot we saw conscripts who were shouting and cheering, mothers who were weeping, and fathers who bit their lips to control their emotion.
At every station where Ernst left the train, I feared that he would not come back; but he did return and sat by my side quietly, speaking only in reply to my questions. For a while he would sit absorbed in thought, and then he would stand up and lean against the side of the railway coach, in which position he would remain immovable. I felt much grieved that the heart of this child had become a mystery to me.
We arrived at the capital. I had lost sight of Ernst in the crowd, but afterwards found him talking with the ensign, the director's son. Ernst desired to go to the barracks at once. I accompanied him to the gate, which he entered without once turning to look back.
CHAPTER XXI
I remained standing near the gate and saw constant arrivals of more young men. Men and women desired to accompany them inside the barracks, but were always ordered back by the guard.
Carl, the son of the spinner who lived on the rock, was also among the arrivals. Without any solicitation on my part, he promised to keep an eye on Ernst.
It had become night; the gas-lamps were lit, and yet I stood there so buried in thought, that the lamp-lighter was obliged to tell me to move on.
There I was, in the capital in which there lived so many of my friends, and my own child; indeed, two of my children.
Where should I go first? Our club-house was in the vicinity, and I went there. They praised me for having come so soon, for while I had been at the borough town they had telegraphed for me.
They were in hourly expectation of a government order, convoking the Parliament. What we were expected to discuss no one knew; but every one felt that it was necessary for us to assemble. I could not bring myself to believe that war was really possible, and there were many who shared my opinion.
Funk was there also. He offered me his hand in a careless manner, and, feeling that in such times enmity should be at an end, I shook hands with him.
Funk rejoiced that the grand crash was at last to come. Prussia would have to be beaten to pieces, and a federation founded; for the present, with a monarchical head.
The minister, who was well known as an arch-enemy of Prussia, had sent word to the committee of our party that he would come to us that same evening, and bring the order convoking us with him. He did not come in person, but contented himself with sending the written order. Of what use could we be when the harm had already been done. What were we? Nothing but a flock without any will of our own.
I went to Bertha's house. I found her alone; her husband was at his post, busy day and night. It had suddenly been discovered that the troops were not fully prepared.
I had not been there long, before her friend Annette entered, from whom as usual I was obliged to endure much praise. Annette found it quite-she was about to say "patriarchal," but checked herself in time-that I had come to assist Bertha.
"Only think of it," she continued, putting all her remarks in the form of questions, as was her wont: "Would you have thought that Bertha would be much less resigned than I? I have always wished that I might be so gentle and self-controlled as Bertha; and now I am the quieter of the two. Have I not as much love for my husband as any woman can have for hers? Have I not given up everything for his sake? Now I say to myself, 'Did you not know what you were doing when you married a soldier? Is the uniform merely for the parade and the court ball? Therefore, rest content. In this world everything must be paid for. It is necessary to accept the consequences of one's actions.' Am I right or wrong?"
Annette always closed with a note of interrogation, and of course I was obliged to respond affirmatively.
Bertha smiled sadly, and said in a weary voice: "Yes, father, I must admit it; I have always thought that war was one of those things of which one only learned in the hour devoted at school to history. I only knew of the Punic wars and the Peloponnesian war-for we never got as far as modern history-and thought of these things as of what had once been. But I honestly admit that I did not think they would come to pass again in our time."
"Just think of it, Bertha," said Annette, while she drew a thick volume from her satchel, "this is the Bible. You know that I never take quotations at second-hand, but prefer looking them up myself. This morning while the hairdresser was with me, it occurred to me that the Bible says the wife should leave her father and her mother for his sake. So I sent for the Bible, the very one that the dowager princess presented me with when I was christened. I hunted up the passage, but what did I find? Why, that for this the 'man would leave his father and mother,'-the man. Now just look, it says the man; and why should it say the man? He is not a domestic plant, like us girls!"
The vivacity of the pretty and graceful woman cheered me, and I must admit that from that time my opinion of Annette changed. She seems imbued with much of that power of self-reliance which is a peculiar characteristic of the Jews; they are nothing by inheritence, and are obliged to make themselves what they are.
But Annette seemed to guess at my silent thoughts, and continued, "Do not praise me, I beg of you! I do not deserve it. I am quite different when I am alone; then I am tormented with horrible fancies. And let me tell you, Bertha, when our husbands leave, you must keep me with you. I cannot be alone. I am beginning to hate my piano already. I do not go into the room in which it stands. Ah, here come our husbands!"
We heard advancing steps. The Major entered, and greeted me politely, but seemed quite gloomy.
I told him that I had brought Ernst.
"I hope he will do himself credit," said the Major in a hard voice.
I told him that the Parliament was about to reassemble, whereupon the Major with great emphasis said, "Dear father, I beg of you do not let us talk politics now. I have the greatest respect for your patriotism, your liberalism, and for all your opinions. But now it is my uniform alone that speaks; what is inside of it has not a word to say."
He pressed both hands to his heart, and continued:
"Pshaw! I, too, once believed in 'German unity,' as they are fond of calling it… and even had hopes of Prussia. But now we will show these impudent, mustachioed Prussian gentlemen what we are made of."
I was careful not to reply to his remarks, in which I could easily notice the struggle that was going on within him. He was on duty; and it is wrong to talk to a man who is at his post.
What sort of a war is it in which they know no other cry but "Let us show them what we are made of!"
And if the victory is achieved, what then? An invisible demon sat crouching on the knapsack of every soldier, making his load heavier by a hundred-fold.
We seated ourselves at the table. The Major seemed to feel that he had been harsh towards me, and was now particularly polite. He asked about mother, Martella, and Rothfuss. He told us that he had that day heard from our newly discovered cousin, in a letter from Mayence, in which he had expressed the hope that they might stand side by side on the battle-field, and thus again become bound to each other.
The Major had nothing more to say. He poured out a glass of wine for me, and drank my health in silence. Annette used every exertion to dispel the dark cloud under which we were laboring.
She asserted that her saddle horse seemed to know that it would soon be led forth to battle, and told us a number of marvellous stories about that clever animal. She was very fond of telling anecdotes, and had considerable dramatic talent.
"Dear father," said the Major, "I believe I have not yet acquainted you with my darling wish."
"I do not remember your having done so."
"My request is, that when we leave, Bertha and the children should remain with you until the end of the campaign, which from present indications will not extend to your neighborhood.
"They are now, at last, constructing a telegraph line through your valley-it has been deemed a military necessity, and that will enable us to hear from each other with dispatch."
"And will you accept an unbidden guest?" interposed Annette. "I know that you will say 'yes,' and I promise you that I will be quite good and docile."
I extended my hand to her, while she continued:
"You know that it has for a long while been my wish to be permitted to spend some time with your wife. Iphigenia in the forest, in the German pine forest! Oh, how charming it was of your father-in-law to name his daughter so! Are pretty names only intended for books? Of course, Grecian Iphigenia should not knit stockings. Did not your father-in-law begin to translate Goethe's 'Iphigenia' into Greek, but fail to complete it? Is not Iphigenia too long a name for daily use? How do you address your wife?"
"By her middle name, Gustava."
"Ah, how lovely! 'Madame Gustava.' And the forest child? I presume she is still with you? And now I shall at last become acquainted with your noble and faithful servant, Rothfuss, who said that 'one who is drenched to the skin need not dread the rain.'"
As far as our all-engrossing anxiety would permit it, Annette's volubility and liveliness contributed greatly to our relief.
We had just left the table when Rolunt, the Major's most intimate friend, entered. He had at one time been an officer in the service of the Duke of Augustenberg, and had thence returned to his home, where he was now professor at the military school.
Now political conversation could not be restrained, although the Major refrained from taking part in it.
Rolunt was furious that, no matter how the war might end, Germany would be obliged to give an indemnity, in the shape of Nice, to France.
We had the galling consciousness that one nation presumed to decide the affairs of another, with as much freedom as it would regulate the taxes or the actions of its own citizens.
We remained together until it was quite late, and when we separated, it was with crushed hearts.
The Major insisted on my staying at his house; the war, he said, had done away with all minor considerations.
On the following day there was another session of the Parliament. The government demanded an extraordinary credit, which was accorded, although it was hoped that we might escape being drawn into war; for both the government and the legislature fondly expected that our troubles might be arranged by diplomacy.
Who, after all, was the enemy that we were fighting against?
I went to the barracks. I was refused admission. Fortunately, I saw the ensign approaching, and, under his protection, I was allowed to enter. Ernst, who had already donned the uniform, was lying on a bench. He seemed surprised to see me.
"Pray do not say a word until we get outside."
He received permission to go out for half an hour, and soon stood before me in his smart attire. There was something graceful and yet determined in his bearing.
When we gained the street, he asked me whether there was any chance of his discharge.
I was in a sad dilemma. I had taken no steps, because it was only too evident that my efforts would have been of no avail.
It was this that made me hesitate in answering him, and Ernst exclaimed, "All right. I know all about it."
My very heart bled, pierced as it was by the same sword that rent my Fatherland in twain.
I endeavored to persuade my son that there are times when our own wills and thoughts are of no avail against the great current of Fate.
"Thanks, father, thanks," answered Ernst, in a strangely significant tone.
I could only add, "I feel assured that you will do your duty. Do not forget that you have parents and a bride."
He seemed to pay but little attention to my words.
He took off his helmet, and said, "This presses me so: I am unused to it. It seems to crush my brain."
He looked very handsome, but very sad. We were standing before the office of the State Gazette, when suddenly the street seemed filled with groups of excited people, listening to a man who had climbed to the top of a wagon and was reading off a dispatch just received from Berlin, to the effect that there had been an attempt to shoot Bismarck, but that the ball had missed aim.
"Curse him!" cried Ernst; "I would not have missed aim."
I reproved him with great severity, but he insisted that one had a right to commit murder. I replied that no one would ever have that right, and that this deed had been as culpable as the assassination of Abraham Lincoln; for if any one man has the right to be both the judge and the executioner of his enemies, you will have to accord the privilege to the democrat as well as to the aristocrat.
"Let us cease this quarrelling," he answered; "I have no desire to dispute with you. I am firm in my belief that one is justified in doing wrong for the sake of bringing about a good result. But, I beg of you, father, let us now and forever cease this quarrelling."
His face showed his conflicting emotions, and he kissed my hand when I gently stroked his face.
The crowd had dispersed in the meanwhile, and we proceeded on our way.
Ernst suddenly stopped and said to me: "Farewell, father. Give my love to mother and Martella."
He held on to my hand quite firmly for a moment or two longer, and then said, "I must go to the barracks."
His eyes plainly told me that he would like to say more that he could not express; but he merely nodded, and then turning on his heel, departed.
"Write to us often!" I called out to him. He did not look back.
I followed after him for a while, keeping near enough to hear his firm step and the rattling of his spurs. I fondly hoped that he would yet return to me, and tell me of the thoughts that oppressed his heart.
I met many acquaintances on the way, who saluted me and extended their hands. They wanted me to stop and talk with them, but I merely nodded and passed on.
In my eager haste I ran against many people, for I did not want to lose sight of my son. There he goes! Now he stands still-now he turns. Surely- At that moment a company of soldiers marched down the street to the sound of lively music; we were now separated. I could not see my son again. I returned to Bertha and the Major, and the latter promised me to keep a watchful eye on Ernst, and to send us frequent tidings in regard to him, in case he should neglect to write.
I rode to the depot. I was fearfully tired, and felt as if I could not walk another step.
As the trains were quite irregular, I was obliged to wait there for a long while.
I felt-no, I cannot-I dare not-revive the painful emotions that rent my bosom. Of what avail would it be? My son was going forth to war, and I had brought him here, myself.
"Brother fighting against brother." I fancied that I had been talking to myself and had uttered these words; but I found that they were frequently repeated by the excited groups that were scattered about the depot. All about me there was ceaseless turmoil. People were rushing to and fro, yelling, shouting, cursing, and laughing. I sat there absorbed in thought, not caring to see or hear anything more of the world, when a familiar voice said to me, "How charming, father, that I should meet you here!"
My son Richard stood before me; he had finished his lectures and was about to return home.
Accompanied by him, I started for home.
Richard informed me of the political divisions among the professors, and thus afforded me a glimpse of a sphere of life entirely different from my own. Even the immovable altars of science were now trembling, and personal feeling had become so violent that the friends of Prussia, of whom Richard was one, could not appear in public without being subjected to insults. On our way home, we stopped for dinner at the garrison town, where we heard the most contemptuous allusions to the "Prussian braggarts," as they were termed.