During the winter session of the Parliament I did not reside with my
daughter Bertha.
At a future day it will be difficult to realize what a separation there
then was between the different classes of our people.
There was a feeling of restraint and ill-will between those who wore
the dress of the citizen and that of the soldier. The Prince was, above
all things, a soldier, and when in public always appeared in uniform.
We delegates, who could not approve of all that the Government required
of us, were regarded as the sworn enemies of the state, both by court
circles and by the army, to whom we were nevertheless obliged to grant
supplies.
An officer who would suffer himself to be seen walking in the street
with a citizen who was suspected of harboring liberal opinions, or with
one of the delegates of our party, might rely upon being reported at
head-quarters.
Although he did not say anything about it, my son-in-law was much
grieved by this condition of affairs. Whenever I visited him he treated
me with respect and affection, as if he thus meant to thank me for the
reserve I had maintained when we met in public, and desired to
apologize for the rigid discipline he was obliged to observe.
We had a long session, full of fury and bitterness on the part of the
ministers and officers of the Government, and of the depressing
consciousness of wasted effort on ours. The morning began with public
debate; after that came committee-meetings, and in the evenings our
party caucuses, which sometimes lasted quite late. And all of these
sacrifices of strength were made with the discouraging prospect that
the fate of our Fatherland still hung in doubt, that our labors would
prove fruitless, and that our vain protest against the demands of our
rulers would be all that we could contribute to history.
The air seemed thick as if with a coming storm. We felt that our party
was on the eve of breaking up into opposing fragments. There was no
longer the same confidence among its members, and here and there one
could hear it said: "Yes, indeed, you are honest enough, and have no
ambitious or selfish views to subserve."
Funk was one of the most zealous of all in the attempt to break up the
party.
For a while he had undoubtedly aspired to the leadership. But when it
was confided to a gifted man who had availed himself of the declaration
of amnesty and had returned to his Fatherland some years before, Funk
acted as if he had never thought of the position.
Who can recall all of the changes in the weather that help to ripen the
crop!
A spirit of fellowship is praised both in war and in voyages of
adventure. The life of a delegate, it seems to me, combines the
peculiar features of both of those conditions. It is no trifling matter
to leave a pleasant home and to bid adieu to wife and children, and to
stand shoulder to shoulder, laboring faithfully day and night for the
common weal.
I have had the good fortune to gain the friendship of man. It differs
somewhat from the love of woman, but is none the less blessed.
I was not only a delegate from our district but also a member of the
German Parliament. I was in accord with the best men of my country, and
we were true to one another at our posts. May those who in a happier
period replace us act as faithfully and unselfishly as we did!
During the winter session my wife's letters were a source of great
enjoyment to me. She kept me fully informed of all that happened at
home, and especially in regard to Martella.
On the morning that I left home she came to my wife and said,
"Mother--I may call you so, may I not?--and I shall try to be worthy of
it; and when master returns, I shall call him father."
She pointed to her feet. My wife did not know what she meant by that,
until she at last said, "Rothfuss said that if I were to lay aside my
red stockings, I would be making a good beginning."
And after this she began again: "I shall learn all that you tell me,
but not from the schoolmaster's assistant. When he was alone with me
the other day, he stroked my cheeks and I slapped him for his
impertinence. I shall gladly learn all that you wish me to learn."
She remained with my wife, and appeared quite pliant and docile. My
wife had her sleep in her own bedchamber, and on the first night she
exclaimed, with a voice full of emotion, "I have a mother at last? O
Ernst, you ought to know where I am! How happy you have been to have
had a mother all your life!"
I took these letters to my daughter Bertha, who thoroughly appreciated
and loved Martella. She said that her own experience had been somewhat
similar; for her marriage had introduced her to an aristocratic and
military circle, in which she was at first considered as an interloper,
and where it took some time before she could acquire the position due
her. For even to this day the aristocracy retain the advantage that
those who are well born can enter good society, even though they be
utterly devoid of culture.
Annette, who had also married an officer, had become quite attached to
her, and the result of their combined efforts was that they at last
achieved quite a distinguished position. Annette, who was a Jewess by
birth, and very wealthy, had at first attempted to conquer her way into
society by dress and show. Yielding, however, to the counsels of
Bertha, she took the better course; and by adopting a simple and
dignified manner, free from any craving for admiration, the recognition
she merited was accorded her.
This friend of Bertha was, I confess, not at all to my liking. She had
received a good education, and even had a cultivated judgment; but she
was fain to mistake these gifts for genius, and imagined herself a
thoroughly superior woman--a piece of self-deception in which
flatterers encouraged her.
Her husband regarded her as a woman of superior gifts, and succeeded in
this way in consoling himself for the inconvenient fact of her being of
Jewish descent. His faith in her genius seemed to increase rather than
diminish, and it was his constant delight to sound its praises to
others.
Annette treated me with exceptional admiration, but she always seemed
desirous of making a parade of her appreciation of me, or in other
words, having it minister to her own glory. Mere possession or
undemonstrative emotion afforded her no pleasure. Her talents and her
reflections afforded her great enjoyment, and it was her constant
desire that others should have the benefit of it. She was always
inviting you to dine with her; and if you accepted her invitations, she
was never satisfied until you had praised the dishes which she could so
skilfully prepare. She sang with a powerful voice and drew very
cleverly, but wanted the world to know it, and to pay her homage
accordingly.
She always addressed me as "patriarch," until I at last forbade her
doing so. I was, however, obliged to submit to some of the other
elegant phrases in which she was wont to indulge. She had no children,
and often spent the whole day in the private gallery of the House of
Parliament, where she would not cease nodding to me until I at last
returned her salute.
One evening there was a party at Bertha's. The wife of the
Intendant-in-chief was among the guests. She was a beautiful creature,
slender and undulating in form, of majestic carriage, and yet withal
simple and unaffected. She had a charming voice, and sang many pretty
songs for us. She was so obliging too, that, yielding to the repeated
requests of her delighted auditors, she sang song after song.
I had known her as a young girl. She was the daughter of the chief
forester, and seemed to retain the woodland freshness of her childhood
days. But she had always been ambitious, and had thirsted for the
pleasures of city life, with which she had become acquainted while
going to the school which was patronized by the reigning Princess.
At one of the public examinations she had sung so delightfully that the
Princess had praised her performance; and I believe that her desire for
a brilliant life dated from that incident.
She was fond of dress and show, and had married the Intendant, who was
a dried-up, conceited fellow.
Her marriage had not been a happy one; and now she sang love-songs full
of glowing passion, of sobs and tears.
I was thinking of this, and asking myself how it could be possible,
when Annette sat down by my side and softly whispered to me:
"Do explain, if you can, how this woman, after singing such songs, can
leave the company and ride home with her disagreeable husband? I could
not sing a note if I had such a husband."
Annette cannot conceive of her ever having been in love. All her
singing of the pleasures and the pains of love is nothing more than
poetical or musical affectation. "But how did she thus learn to
simulate emotion. If she really felt all this she would either die or
become crazed on her way home."
From that moment I began to like Annette. She had gone much further
than I had dared even in my thoughts, and proved, at the same time,
that her heart was true, and that she could not separate her feeling
for art from the rest of her life.
Bertha showed my wife's letters to her friend, who conceived the most
enthusiastic affection for Martella. She often inquired whether there
was anything she could do for the charcoal-burner's daughter.
There was danger of offending her by refusing her gifts. Even a virtue
may at times assume a repulsive form. Annette's complaint--I cannot
express it otherwise--was a passion for helping others.
My wife wrote that Martella was like a fresh bubbling spring, which
only needed to be kept within bounds to become a refreshing brook; but
that this must be carefully done, for inconsiderate attempts to deepen
the channel or divert its course might ruin the spring itself.
My wife also informed us that Ernst had been home to pay a short visit.
He seemed quite pensive, and expressed his dissatisfaction with the
fact that Martella was looking so pale. He approved of the education
which she was receiving, but thought that her freshness and strength
should not be sacrificed. He said he had formed a plan to live with
Rautenkron, with whom he intended to practice, and also said that when
once in the quiet forest he would study industriously.
My wife strenuously objected to this course. She maintained that where
there was a will, one could attend to his duty in any position; and
moreover, that at the present time it was not well for Ernst and
Martella to see each other so often.
Martella was of the same opinion; and my wife could hardly find words
to express her delight that Martella was constantly acquiring
gentleness and consideration for others. Although at first she had been
loud and noisy, there was now something graceful and soothing in her
manner. She would arise early in the morning and dress herself in
silence, while my wife would feign sleep in order that Martella might
become confirmed in her gentle manners.
One evening, when Martella had been the subject of protracted
conversation, I returned to my room, and for the first time noticed a
colored lithographic print that had been hanging there. It was the
picture of a danseuse who had been quite famous some years before. It
represented her in a difficult pose, and with long, flowing hair. The
print startled me.
It was wonderfully like Martella; or was it simply self-deception
caused by her having been in our thoughts during the whole evening?
I felt so agitated that I lit the lamp again and took another look at
the picture. The likeness seemed to have vanished.