Whenever I returned from Parliament, it seemed as if I had left a
strange world. Although my labors there were in behalf of those dearest
to me, I was too far removed from them to have them constantly in my
mind. And for many a morning after my return the force of habit made me
wonder why the usual amount of printed matter that had been handed me
while at the capital was not forthcoming.
I found the affairs of the village in good order.
That was the only time that I can write about--the time when my wife
was still ...
I have been gazing out over the mountain and into the dark wood, that
I, or rather she, planted, and then I lifted my eyes up to heaven. The
stars are shining, and it is said that light from stars that have
already perished is still travelling towards us. May the light that was
once mine thus flow unto you when I am no longer here. But to proceed.
For three-and-twenty years I filled the office of burgomaster, and was
of great use to our parish. Above all things, I built up its credit. To
accomplish this I was obliged to be severe and persistent in
prosecuting the suit. But now things have so far improved that the
people at Basle regret that no one in our village desires to borrow
money from them.
The two chief benefits that I have procured for our village are good
credit and pure water.
Just as credit is the true measure of economical condition, so is water
the measure of physical well-being.
I converted the heath into a woodland. It was twenty-three years ago,
and I was the youngest member of the town council; but, aided by my
cousin Linker, I induced the people of our parish to plant trees in the
old meadow, and to this day every one of our people derives a moderate
profit from the little piece of woodland that we now have there. Its
value increases from year to year.
My cousin Linker had been a book-keeper in the glass-house down in the
valley. He married a daughter of the richest farmer in the village, and
became quite a farmer himself.
I learnt a great deal from him. In business matters he was greatly my
superior, for he was shrewder, or in other words, more distrustful,
than I.
Until about five years ago, we were partners in an extensive lumber
business. We built the first large saw-mill in the valley. It had three
saws, and all the new appliances, and a part of our business was to saw
up logs and beams. I also built a saw-mill, which is conducted on the
co-operative system, for the benefit of the villagers.
When the Parliament had determined upon having a fortress erected
in our neighborhood, our business friends offered us their
congratulations. They well knew that this would require so much lumber
as to give rise to a profitable business. And this, I must confess, is
a point which I would like to forget. But who, after all, leads a life
which is entirely pure, and without being in the slightest spoiled with
intercourse with the world.
Cousin Linker conducted a large business in his name and mine. I did
not take any active part in the negotiations, although I was
responsible for what was done. He would often say, "You are absurdly
virtuous. One like you will never get on in the world."
Joseph, my cousin's only son, and of the same age as our Ludwig, had
married my daughter Martina, who died shortly after the birth of their
first child. Her son Julius was a forester's apprentice. Joseph married
again, but he is still faithful to me and mine, while we are quite
attached to his second wife and her three daughters.
Joseph is now burgomaster, and I hope he will one day occupy my
position as a member of the Parliament. He works zealously for the
public good, and has one great advantage that did not exist in my time.
For nowadays there are numerous good burgomasters in the neighborhood,
and it is therefore easier to carry out desirable measures.
Last winter, Joseph induced the people of Brauneck, the next village,
to combine with ours in laying out a road through the common woods, and
the wood taken out was worth more than twice the cost of the labor.
Joseph inherited my cousin's shrewd business notions. He caused
hundreds of little branches to be gathered up and prepared for
Christmas-trees, and at the proper time would send them to the railway,
and have them sent down the country. I did my share in building the
road, for it passes right by my land, and is of great use to me. I do
not think of cutting down any of the lumber. The red pine may stand for
another twenty years. I could almost wish that this wood might remain
forever, for it is _hers_!
In the following spring, a gust of wind tore away some of the finest
branches, and the first planks made of them were used to construct a
coffin.
But I will not anticipate. It was in the third year after our marriage
that I returned home one evening with a large load of red-pine
saplings. I was sitting on the balcony with my wife, later in the
evening, and was telling her that I intended to set the five-year-old
shoots down by the stone wall, and that I had therefore chosen hardy
plants, in which the root was in proper proportion to the crown, but
that it was always difficult to find conscientious workmen, who would
look out for one's interest while attending to the matter.
My wife listened patiently while I explained the manner in which the
shoots should be planted.
"Let me attend to this work," said she. "It is well that forest-trees
do not require the same care as animals, or fruit-trees. Rude nature
protects itself. But it will afford me pleasure to tend the shoots with
great care."
"But it is fatiguing."
"I know that, but I can do something for the forest that brings us so
many blessings."
I gladly consented. And thus we have a fine grove down by the stone
wall.
While the children were growing up, my wife knew how to invest the
planting of trees with a festive character. Richard and Johanna soon
grew tired of it. But Bertha, Ludwig, Martella, and at a later day
Ernst, were full of zeal, and had an especial affection for the trees
which they had planted with their own hands.
My wife was perfectly familiar with every nook in the woods, and when
the new road was laid out she pointed out to Joseph a clear and fresh
spring which had remained undisturbed, while we in the village were
often poorly supplied with good drinking water. She persuaded him to
alter its course so that it would flow towards the village; and now,
thanks to her, we have a splendid spring which even in the heat of
summer furnishes us with an abundance of cool and pure water.
To this day we call it the Gustava spring.
Every year, at my wife's birthday, it is decorated by the youth of the
village.
She seemed to live with the woods that she had planted. Without a trace
of sentimentality, I mean exaggerated susceptibility, she rejoiced in
the sunshine and the rain, the mists and the snow, because they helped
the plants, and this state of mind contributed to the quiet grace and
dignity which so well became her.
On Christmas afternoon we could, in our sleighs, ride as far as the
wood and the village beyond it.
Martella told us that she, too, had planted thousands of white and red
pines, but that there was not a tree that she could call her own.
She called out unto the snow-covered plantation: "Say: Mother."
"Mother," answered the distant echo.
"And now say: Waldfried."
"Waldfried" was the answer. We returned home, happy and light-hearted.
Ernst remained with us until New Year's Day, and seemed to have
regained his wonted cheerfulness.
It was with pleasure not unmixed with jealousy, that Ernst saw how
Martella hung on Richard's lips while listening to his calm and clear
remarks on the topics that arose from day to day. His explanations were
such that the simplest intellect could comprehend them. I cannot help
thinking that Ernst's glances at Martella often were intended to convey
some such words as these: "Oh, I know all that, too, but I am not
always talking about it!"
"I did not know that you could talk so well," said Martella on one
occasion. At times we had quite heated discussions.
With my sons it cost me quite an effort to defend my faith in the
people.
Ernst and Richard, who rarely agreed on any question, united in their
low opinion of the people.
Ernst despised the farmers, and said he would not confide the charge of
the woods to them, as they would inconsiderately destroy the whole
forest if they had the chance.
Richard adduced this as a proof that it would always be necessary to
teach the people what, for their own good, should be done as well as
left undone.
He dwelt particularly on that severe sentence, _terrent nisi metuant_.
The mass of the people is terrible unless held in subjection by fear.
History, which was his special science, furnished him with potent
proofs, that the people should always be ruled with a firm hand.
Joseph listened silently to the discussions carried on by the brothers.
He was always glad to hear what those who were educated had to say. He
never took part when generalities were discussed. It was not until they
began to conjecture as to what Napoleon, the ruler of the world, might
say in his next New Year's address, that his anger found vent in sharp
words.
Later generations will hardly be able to understand this. These men
were seated together in a well-ordered house in the depths of the
forest; and even there the spirit of doubt and questioning, that could
not be banished, was constantly at their side, and pouring wormwood
into their wine.
There was no unalloyed happiness left us--no freedom from care. Will
not the Emperor of the French hurl his bottles at us in the morning!
What will he not attempt for the sake of securing his dynasty and
gratifying the theatrical cravings of his people! The whole world was
in terror. Everything was in a state of morbid excitement, and, as
Ernst said, "watching like a dog for the morsel that the great Parisian
theatrical manager might throw to it;" and here Richard interrupted
him.
Richard had a great love for established forms. He always expressed
himself with moderation. Ernst, however, would allow his feelings to
run away with him, and would often find that he had gone too far.
Richard, who had had his younger brother at his side during the years
spent at the Gymnasium, still regarded himself as a sort of teacher and
guide to Ernst, and could hardly realize how that youth could have been
so self-reliant as to get himself a bride under such peculiar
circumstances.
Richard confessed that he desired to achieve a career. "My time will
come. Perhaps I may have to wait until I have gray hairs, or none at
all; but I shall, at all events, not allow love to interfere with my
plans. I shall not marry, unless under circumstances that will help to
secure the end I have in view."
I had accustomed myself to leave both sons undisturbed in their views
of life. They both agreed in regarding me as an idealist, although
their reasons for reaching this conclusion were dissimilar.
I love to recall the passage in Plutarch's Lycurgus. The old men are
singing, "We were once powerful youths;" the men sing, "But we are now
strong;" and the youths sing, "But we will be still stronger than you
are!"
The world progresses, and every new generation must develop the old
ideas and introduce new ones. It will go hard with us old folks to
admit that these are better than ours; but they are so, nevertheless.
When Richard was alone with me, he expressed his great delight in
regard to his youngest brother; and as the journals of that day
contained a call for participants in the German Expedition to the North
Pole, Richard would gladly have seen Ernst take a part in the
enterprise. He maintained that Ernst was endowed with qualities that
would gain him distinction as a student of nature, and that a voyage of
discovery would make a hero of him. For he had invincible courage,
fertility of invention, fine perception, and much general knowledge,
combined with the ability to see things as they are.
Ernst was full of youthful buoyancy, just as he had been in the
earliest years of his student life. He was the life of the house,
constantly singing and yodling; and his special enthusiastic friend,
Rothfuss, one day said to me while in the stable, "I knew it. I knew
all about it. Our Ernst cannot come to harm. Why, just listen to his
singing. A tree where a bird builds its nest is in no danger from
vermin."