Before I proceed further, I must tell you of Martella.
It were of course better if I could let her speak for herself; for her
voice, though firm, has an indescribably mellow and touching tone, and
seems to hold the listener as if spell-bound. She had thick,
unmanageable brown hair, and brown eyes in which there was hardly any
white to be seen. She was not slender, but rather short, although there
were moments when she would suddenly seem as if quite tall. Her manner
was not gentle, but rather domineering, as if she would say, "Get out
of the way there! I am coming!" In disposition she was wayward and
passionate, vain and conceited. It was only in our house that she
became pliant and yielding, and acquired mild and modest ways. I do not
mean _modest_ in the current acceptation of the word; she had genuine
respect for those who were higher and better than she. My wife effected
a miraculous change in her without ever attempting to instruct, but
simply by commanding her. She was the betrothed of my son Ernst, who,
as I have already mentioned, was with us at Frankfort in the year 1848.
It is difficult, and to us of an older generation perhaps impossible,
to discover what impression the events of 1848 must have made on a
child's mind.
For my part, I have learned through this son, that failure on the part
of the parents induces in their offspring a feeling which can best be
described as pity mingled with a want of respect. Like William Tell, we
had long carried the arrow of revolution in our bosoms, but when _we_
sent it forth it missed the mark.
In the autumn of 1848 my wife came to visit me at Frankfort and brought
Ernst with her.
Old Arndt was particularly fond of the lad, and often took him on his
knee and called him his "little pine-tree." When the Regent, on the day
after his triumphal entry, appeared in public, he met Ernst and kissed
him.
During the summer Ernst attended a preparatory school in the
neighboring town. But he seemed to have no real love for study, while
the teachers were over-indulgent with the handsome lad, who was always
ready with his bold glances and saucy remarks.
When I asked him what he intended to become, he would always answer me,
"Chief forester of the state."
To my great horror, I learned that he often repeated the party cries
with which members of the different factions taunted each other. I sent
him home after September, for I saw that his intercourse with those who
were high in station was making him haughty and disrespectful.
I am unable to judge as to the proper period at which a youthful mind
should be induced to interest itself in political questions. I am sure,
however, that if such participation in the affairs of the country be
chiefly in the way of opposition, it must prove injurious, for its
immediate effect is to destroy every feeling of veneration.
Years passed on, Ernst was educated at the house of my wife's nephew,
who was a professor at the Gymnasium at the capital. He also spent much
of his time with his sister Bertha, who had married Captain Von
Carsten.
I must here remark that my son-in-law, in spite of the obstinate
opposition of his haughty family, and the strongly marked disapproval
of all of his superiors, up to the Prince himself, had married
the daughter of a member of the opposition, and had become the
brother-in-law of a refugee who was under sentence of death. He is a
man of sterling character.
When it was time for Ernst to leave for the university, or, as he had
always desired, to attend the forester's school, he declared quite
positively that it was his wish to enter the army. He remained there
but one year. "The army of the lesser states," he said, "is either mere
child's play, or else all the horrors of civil war lurk behind it." He
visited the university only to remain there two terms, after which he
entered himself with Hartriegel, the district forester.
Ernst's unsteadiness gave us much concern, and I was especially shocked
by the sarcastic, mocking manner, in which he spoke of those objects
which we of the older generation held in reverence.
He was disputatious, and maintained that it was one's duty to doubt
everything. Indeed he did not even spare his parents in that regard,
and was bold enough to tell me and my wife which of our qualities he
most admired.
He once uttered these wicked words: "The present generation does not
look upon the fifth commandment as really a command: but I have a
reason for honoring my parents; and I am especially grateful to you,
father, for the good constitution I have inherited from you."
My hand itched when I heard Ernst's words; but a glance from my wife
pacified me, and I shall forever be grateful to her that I succeeded in
controlling myself. Had I given way to my just anger, I would have had
myself to blame for Ernst's desperate course and his lost life. That
would have been adding guilt to misfortune, and would have been
insupportable.
I had yet much to learn. As a father I was sadly deficient in many
respects. But, with every desire to improve herself, my wife was
already a perfect being, and could therefore be more to the children
than I was. I was disposed to neglect my family on account of what was
due my office. She was vigilant and severe, and supplied what was
lacking on my part. But although she was sterner than I was, the
children were more attached to her than to me.
Although Ernst's views of life gave me deep concern, he was often kind
and affectionate; for his good-nature was, at times, stronger than his
so-called principles.
I sought consolation in the thought that children will always see the
world in a different light from that in which it appears to their
parents. Even that which is ideal is subject to constant change, and we
should therefore be careful not to imagine that the form which is
pleasing to us, and to which we have accustomed ourselves, will endure
forever. And, moreover, was it not our wish to educate our children as
free moral agents, and was it not our duty to accord full liberty even
to those who differed with us?
I have often seen it verified that a perfect development cannot take
place with those who, either through birth or adverse circumstances,
are deficient in any important moral faculty. With all of Ernst's love
of freedom, he was entirely wanting in respect or regard for the
feelings of others. Piety, in its widest sense, he was utterly devoid
of. From his stand-point, his actions were perfectly just; as to their
effects upon others, he was indifferent.
On the Wiesenplatz in Frankfort, during the autumn of 1848, I had gone
through a heart-rending experience. And now, after many years, I
returned to the same spot only to be reminded of my former grief by
painful and conflicting emotions. I had gone to Frankfort to attend the
Schuetzenfest. The city was alive with joy; a spirit of unity had for
the first time become manifest. I was standing close by the temple for
the distribution of the prizes. Although surrounded by a gay and
laughing crowd, I was quite absorbed in my own reflections, when
suddenly a voice thus addressed me:
"Ah, father! Are you here, too?" I looked around to see who it was, and
beheld my son Ernst. He carried his rifle on his shoulder, and the
rewards for his well-aimed shots were fastened under the green ribbon
of his hat. Before I could get a chance to congratulate him, he had
said to me, "Father, you should not have come; I am sorry that I meet
you here."
"Why so?"
"Why! Because this is for us young lads. We are here for the purpose of
gaining prize-goblets by our lucky shots; and the great speeches that
are being held in yonder hall are nothing more than a mere flash in the
pan. They are trying to persuade each other that they are all heroes
and willing to bear arms for their Fatherland, and their talk is, after
all, a mere sham. The good marksmen have not come here for the sake of
their Fatherland and such stuff: all they desire is simply to gain the
prize--that, and nothing more."
"Do you not know that I, too, made a speech in there yesterday?"
"No. I was informed that some one named Waldfried had been speaking;
but I could not imagine it was you. One should have nothing to do with
such inflammable thoughts when fire-arms are at hand. If we were to
govern ourselves by your speeches, our brotherly-feeling would very
soon be at an end, and there would be naught but violence and murder
among us riflemen."
I tried to explain to him that our hope lay in our able-bodied youth,
and that we would not rest content until we had a real, united
Fatherland. To which he answered:
"Ah, yes. The students, those of brother Richard's sort, live on
yesterday: the politicians live on to-morrow: we live in the present."
His features trembled, and it was with an effort that he added,
"Forgive me, father; perhaps I, too, will have as much confidence in
mankind as you have, when I am as old as you are."
What could I answer to this? While all about me was loud with joy, my
soul was filled with sorrow. My youngest son denied the gods to whom I
offered up my prayers.
And yet, when I saw him among a group of riflemen, my fatherly pride
was aroused. His proud, lithe form towered above the rest. New-comers
saluted him, and the eyes of all seemed to rest upon Ernst with serene
satisfaction.