At the last railway station I met a large force of Tyrolese woodsmen

that, upon Joseph's order, had been sent to work for him in Alsace, and

as I neared home, I saw, here and there, clearings in the woods. The

tempest had also raged here, and the newspapers brought the

intelligence that over the whole continent great devastation had been

occasioned by it.

CHAPTER XI.

We had much to do to set up trees that had been prostrated by the wind;

for dead trees, because of their harboring all sorts of noxious

insects, imperil the existence of a whole forest.

There came good letters from Julius, Richard, and the vicar, and we saw

war life from three quite different aspects. Bertha sent us letters

from the Colonel. He wrote but briefly. He must have been suffering

great hardships, especially in the protracted rains; but he wrote,

"when one feels inspired, he can endure much."

They tell me of the noble courage of the olden time. When man fights

with man, he receives invigorating impulse from the personal struggle.

But to stand under a shower of fire, then advance on the enemy and be

struck by far-carrying bullets, without firing a shot until one is at

the right distance--all that is much more.

Away off, the cannon thundered; we at home heard nothing but the

measured beat of the thrasher, and that lasted a long while, for we

lacked men at home.

When it rained and snowed, and we sat sheltered in the room, we

naturally fell to thinking of those who, for nights and weeks, fought

on the now thoroughly drenched soil, and for their brief rest had no

couch but the wet or icy earth.

Ludwig wrote from Hamburg that he was about going to America. He was to

make the journey with the secret approval and authority of an officer

of high rank, in order to prevent the transmission of arms and

ammunition to our foes.

How much war demands of human nature!

Snow had fallen; it snowed again and again, and we knew that what here

was snow, up there was cold rain.

I sat in the large arm-chair, and read the gazette. Here stands in few

words, in peaceful paragraphs, what up there is blood and mangling of

human bodies. It is indeed grand and sublime how the French, after the

annihilation of their forces, again quickly gather together, and

venture everything. A nation cannot surrender, and a nation that is so

consciously proud and all-powerful cannot easily acknowledge, "I am

conquered, and am wrong."

They would not give us security for our boundary, and so the fighting

and the devastation must still go on.

While I thus sat quietly thinking, a telegram from the cabinet of the

Prince was brought to me; I must forthwith hasten to the capital, and

upon my arrival at the palace should cause myself to be immediately

announced, be it night or day.

What could be the matter? why was I so urgently summoned? Was it on

Ernst's account? or Richard's, or the Colonel's? It seemed to me a

great injustice that not a word of explanation accompanied the message,

yet I equipped myself immediately for my departure. The stonecutter

conducted me to the railway station. Joseph was not there; he had gone

on to Lorraine. I was not familiar with his business enterprises.

That--it was indeed, strange--kept my thoughts busy during the journey,

and yet was I much oppressed by suspense as to the reason of my being

called away. But happily the human mind can engage itself with new

problems, and thus, for a while at least, forget the care and vexation

that lie near at hand.

I reached the capital, and found it as I had expected. What was snow

with us in the mountains, was here a penetrating rain.

On my way to the palace, I passed a brilliantly lighted theatre, and

heard from within the sounds of music. Ah, that men should sing and

juggle at such a time! But is not life a mighty aggregation of many

incongruous individual activities?

I reached the castle; the great entrance hall was lighted up and

thoroughly warmed; I was obliged to wait a long time. When, at last, I

saw the Prince, I found him unusually distressed or disturbed. He began

by observing how different times were when we last had met; he said how

deeply it pained him that so much blood must be shed--so much noble

blood. He said this with deep emotion, and finally added, he had faith

in me as a man of stout heart; I had so nobly borne so much suffering,

that he had courage to tell me that the Colonel had been wounded by a

shot through the breast. He was still living, but quite unconscious,

when the bearer of the news left, and perhaps we had already a dead one

to mourn.

I could not utter a word; what was there to say?

The Prince continued to speak of his grief at the shedding of so much

blood, and expressed his dissatisfaction that his countrymen should

have placed themselves in alliance with foreigners.

I had no time nor mind for such discussions. I asked if the news had

been sent to my daughter. He appeared disturbed by my question, and

somewhat unwillingly answered, "I considered that a father's right and

duty."

He added, that this evening a sanitary commission would depart, with

whom I and the Colonel's wife could go to the front.

I know not what suggested the thought, but suddenly it occurred to me:

The Prince would never make a minister of you; you were only a clever

story-teller, who drove away the recollections of his own sufferings by

the recital of your life-history. And of that was I thinking all the

while I was talking to the Prince of other things.

The demeanor of the Prince towards me seemed cold and distant. He

called after me without extending his hand, "Adieu, Herr Waldfried!"

Formerly, I had been called "dear Waldfried;" yes, at times, "dear

friend."

I mention this here, although it first struck me like a waking dream,

during the journey. I was glad to be independent, and to be relieved

from rendering homage to princes, and troubling myself as to whether I

was addressed in one way or another. Although in my inmost heart I

believe in a constitutional monarchy, I tell you, keep yourself free,

and be dependent on no stranger's favor, or else you will be the most

degraded of slaves.

But now I must tell of my sad journey; and I think of the saying of the

Colonel's: Human nature in its elevated moods can endure much.

I came to Bertha's house. My heart beat wildly at the thought of the

news I should bring to her. But as I ascended the steps, Professor

Rolunt, the Colonel's friend, approached me, and said, "After the first

dreadful shock, you were your daughter's first thought. She has asked

for you."

"And so she knows of it?"

"Yes! I have told her, and we are off in an hour."

"We!"

"Yes! I go with her; and keep up Bertha's spirits. Should the worst

have happened, we must bear it all."

I went to Bertha. Speechless, she threw herself upon my neck, clasped

me to her bosom, and wept and sobbed; nor could I utter one word.

"Father!" she said, at last, "you will remain here with the

children--or will you take them home with you?"

"No, I will go with you. Don't refuse me. Don't let us waste useless

words. I will go with you."

We departed in the evening. We rested in beds, upon which soon should

lie the sorely wounded. But, indeed, we, too, bore painful wounds in

our hearts.

CHAPTER XII.

It was well that Rolunt accompanied us; for I had not the strength to

support Bertha in this wearisome journey, and to distract and lead her

away from her quiet, noiseless brooding, and her counting the minutes

as they slowly passed.

The Professor had continually something to tell us, either of the

points that we hurriedly passed, or of the sanitary aids who were with

us. He told us of this and that one who had been a spoiled child--the

pet of some fond mother--and now was suffering great hardships. This

was the second supply train that he had accompanied; he had been the

chief of the first one, and had much that was moving to tell us of the

self-sacrificing conduct of the non-combatants. The employes of the

post-office and the railroads were specially endeared to him, and he

related wonderful instances of their activity and endurance.

Bertha scarcely uttered a word; for the most part she only quietly held

my hand. At times, she said, "Ah! the locomotive might be urged to move

faster; it seems to me that it goes much too slowly."

The Professor assured her that we should esteem ourselves lucky to

reach our destination. Who knows how soon we should hear, "Halt, we go

no further."

Once Bertha arose; her face had in it something mysterious and strange,

and she cried out, "Father, hold me!"

"What is the matter? What is it?"

"I think I must escape from myself. I will not live if he is dead. Oh!

pardon me," she again exclaimed, sinking back into her seat, "I cannot

endure the torment of my thoughts. How is it possible--how can it agree

with any order in human affairs, that a piece of lead can destroy a

full, rich, noble, human life!"

She gazed at me with a peculiarly alarming expression; it was as if

pale, pulsating strands were tightly drawn under the surface of her

skin. Then she seized my hand and said, "Pardon me for inflicting all

this upon you. I dare not now waste my strength in suffering; it is

sinful, it is selfish, and it is terrible to wish for death. All my

strength belongs to him. I will no longer complain, and will no longer

give up to despair. Oh! if I could only sleep! One can give to another

the sleep of death, but--I will be very quiet; indeed, I will not think

any more."

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

While Bertha appeared to sleep, I told Rolunt of the last interview

with the Prince. He explained matters to me. He said the Prince had

believed that I knew all, and merely feigned ignorance for his sake. It

was no secret that the Prince was beside himself with rage, because the

general commanding had telegraphed the news not only to him, but also

to the Prussian embassy. The latter made no secret of it, and the

Prince saw in this an attempt to obtain popularity and favor at his

expense. He hated the ambassador, as a legalized superintendent over

him, who left him daily conscious that he no longer possessed his

former sovereignty.

It was fortunate that the Professor had prepared us; for--I cannot give

the name of our halting place--we suddenly came to a stop. We had to

wait an entire day, and it was only a day's journey to where the

Colonel lay.

Rolunt tried negotiations here and there; he had become hoarse from

much talking. At last he came to us with a cheerful countenance. A

shrewd, energetic man, he had succeeded in obtaining a wagon, and we

travelled through the country. During the entire night we drove over

torn-up roads. In the distance we saw burning villages. How many

hundreds of peaceful homes were there destroyed. We turned our eyes

from the sight. We went through villages riddled with shot and shell,

and through others, in which here and there a light shone, and where we

halted to feed the horses, we were observed with ugly, threatening

glances. But the country was safe; for it was everywhere occupied by

detachments of our troops.

We reached the village where the Colonel was reported to be lying. We

inquired here and there, but found him not: he must be in the next

village. Thither we now journeyed.

We met an artillery corps, and had to move into a field and await its

passing. This took a terribly long while. They mocked us and cried at

us in sport as they passed, and we were almost beside ourselves with

impatience. And still we sat there protected from the drizzling rain,

while our soldiers were steaming like horses.

Rolunt got out. He asked the officers of the column after the Colonel.

They knew nothing of him; they had only just arrived from a long march.

At last we were permitted to proceed.

At the entrance of the next village, Bertha recognized a soldier of her

husband's regiment.

"Is your Colonel living?" she asked.

"Yes, yesterday he was still alive."

"And to-day?"

"Don't know. Haven't heard anything about him."

I felt confident that he was yet living. I could not think that the

strong, powerful man could be dead, and my hopefulness helped to

support Bertha. We reached the house from which the white flag with the

red cross was floating. I commanded my daughter to remain seated in the

wagon, and to inquire of no one until I returned. She gave me her

promise, but she could not keep her word, and it was indeed requiring

too much of her. She saw her husband's servant, and called to him, and

the lad said, "The Colonel is living, but--"

"But what?"

"He is very low."

We entered the house, and the first one we met was Annette.

"Be composed, Bertha! he lives. I came here immediately on receiving

the intelligence of his being wounded, that I might do all that was

possible for him," she said. She embraced her friend, and added, that

we could not see him: he could not bear the shock.

The Professor begged that he, at least, might be admitted. Annette

called the doctor, and he gave permission to the Professor to see the

wounded man.

Annette remained with us, and said, "The bullet has not yet been

found." The shot had entered the breast just above the heart, only

escaping it by a hair's-breadth.

The Colonel led his regiment independently and separated from the

Prussians, and it was a piece of jealousy, and the ambition to

distinguish himself, that caused him to press forward so recklessly and

thrust himself in danger's way. He had to march over a plain, to take a

battery planted on a height, and it was there that he was struck.

When he had fallen, and saw death before him, he exclaimed, "The Romans

were right; it is glorious to die for one's country. I want no other

grave; let me be buried with my soldiers." Then for a long while he was

unconscious.

After a little while Rolunt came to us, and said that the Colonel was

unable to speak, but by his glances had shown that he recognized him.

Bertha begged for the dress of a nurse, so that she could at least

venture into the sick-room. She promised not to go near her sick

husband. But the doctor emphatically forbade it. There was no certainty

that the wounded man would not recognize her, if only by her step or

carriage. He almost feared that the sick man might suspect something

from the presence of the Professor; for he opened and shut his eyes so

quickly. And so we had to wait and listen, and were condemned to

inactivity.

We met still another friend: Baron Arven. He had forgotten his own

griefs, was restlessly active and appeared wondrously rejuvenated. In

an hour he had to go to another hospital, and transferred to us his

quarters, in which we could rest.

Bertha said she could not sleep; but consented to lie down and rest

herself, in order to gather strength for what might be in store for

her. She lay down and was soon fast asleep. She often moved

convulsively, as if troubled with fearful dreams, but still continued

to slumber. I at last also fell asleep. Towards morning, I was awakened

by a loud voice:

"I must see him; I have found him."

Is not that the voice of Rothfuss? Yes, it was.

Bertha also awoke, and asked, "Where are we? Has the train stopped?" I

explained to her where we were. With difficulty, she collected herself.

She went directly with us to the house where the Colonel lay, and

remained with Annette. She heard that the Colonel had also slept, and

Annette, who had sat with him, remarked, he had lightly whispered,

"Bertha;" he must suspect that she is here.

Rothfuss took me aside and said, "We have him and her also."

"Yes, the Colonel and Bertha."

"No, no! Ernst and Martella. 'The Lord God is the best child's nurse

for wild lads,' my mother has often said."

I felt as if reason had forsaken me.

CHAPTER XIII.

Only gradually did I clearly comprehend all that had happened to me.

I can no longer count the shots, nor specify whence or by whom they

were discharged against me, and how it was that I remained unharmed.

But I have passed through it all, and must also permit you to

experience it.

Rothfuss related to me, very composedly, that he had done Carl

injustice; one might be imprisoned, although innocent, and it happened

to him with horse and wagon. He and the bays had been captured by the

wild Turcos, and he had almost fancied himself in hell while with those

savages, who did not even know how to talk intelligibly.

"Sir! they would have shot me for a spy. They placed me against the

wall. And there I stand and they aim at me. I take a last look at the

sky and the trees, something dims my sight, and I think to myself, if

it were only over! Then some one calls out, 'Halt!' And I think I

recognize the voice. He talks gibberish, of which I do not comprehend a

word, but they don't shoot. He orders me to be tied tighter. And there

I lie in a miserable stall and can't stir. And then comes some one

sneaking along, and whispers, 'Keep yourself quiet, Rothfuss.' And who

do you think it is? Our Ernst. And then we cried together, like little

children, and Ernst said, 'Keep yourself quiet! What I have been

through, couldn't be told in a thousand years. Now come with me!' And

for a long while there we were, creeping along the ground like frogs,

until we reached the horses, which were fastened outside. To unloose

them, spring upon them, and gallop away, took but a moment. The French

fired at us, but they didn't hit us, and away we went until we reached

our lines, and there Ernst said to me, 'You once passed for my brother

Ludwig; now do as much for me! Give me your clothes!'"

Rothfuss had to give him his blue blouse. Then Ernst transferred his

horse to him, and said, "Leave me now! we will soon meet again."

Rothfuss was about relating how he had found Martella, when she

entered. She had become very thin, but otherwise unchanged; was gayly

attired, and cried out as she perceived me: "Oh! father, happily met

again! To-day is Ernst's wedding-day, and my Sunday, my greatest

holiday, my ascension-day."

She offered no excuse for having run away; she made no mention of her

recent experiences, and as I could not avoid telling her what pain and

anxiety she had occasioned me, she exclaimed, "I know it better than

you can tell me; but indulge me for to-day: to-morrow, when I have

Ernst by the hand, we will set everything straight. He rescued Carl,

who would have bled to death, if he had not found him.

"Ernst carried him; yes, he is strong; he brought him all the way here.

His face, his hands, his clothes, were all full of blood. But that

doesn't hurt; it can all be washed off. Everything can be washed away

if one is sound within; and now everything, everything will be washed

away.

"Now I heard that Ernst had come to the regiment in which Carl was. He

introduced himself as a German with the name of Frohn." Martella added,

"That is the name of a comrade, who on the voyage threw himself in

despair into the sea."

Ernst had declared that he would not fight against his countrymen, but

with them against the French. What proofs of loyalty he was submitted

to have never been made known to me. He was uniformed and placed at a

post of danger, where a strict watch could be kept upon him. He

conducted himself bravely, and when Carl was struck, he rescued him at

the risk of his own life. But he was never recognized, and none but

Carl, Martella, and Rothfuss knew who he was.

They had, during the night, heard of my arrival, and Ernst had stood

guard before the house for hours. Martella had shown him the letter of

pardon; but he exclaimed that he wished no pardon, and would not

examine the letter.

Martella begged him to show himself to me. But he said, "I know of how

many nights of rest I have robbed my father; I will not now disturb his

slumbers, and will for the first time appear before him, and clasp his

knees, when by I have done something to show him what I am at heart.

When I come out of the battle, I will go to my father: then I can look

him in the face."

"Right, right," said Martella; "if you go into the fight with such

thoughts, you will surely come out of it safe and sound, and your

mother in heaven will stretch her hands in blessings over you."

"My mother in heaven? Is she dead?"

"Didn't you know it? Alas! already over three years; she died upon your

birth-day."

"On my birth-day!" He said this, and was then for a long time silent.

Then again he said, "I think I dare not kiss you again to-day."

"Your mother loved you to her latest breath, and she kissed me just

before she died."

"He sighed heavily and then kissed me," said Martella, "Only once

again; for the last time. No, not for the last time! he must live!"

Just as Ernst had again gone away, there came the order to march

immediately without baggage. The people never knew beforehand when

there was to be a battle; but such a command naturally gave rise to

anticipations of a fight.

As Martella turned away, while Ernst prepared for his departure, she

heard the voice of Rothfuss, who told the baker Lerz that his bays were

ruined, but that he had received two fine Burgundians in exchange.

CHAPTER XIV.

It was now highly important to find Ernst. We left the house before

day-break; Bertha was still sleeping.

I permitted Martella and Rothfuss to conduct me to the hospital in

which the Colonel was lying. I was scarcely conscious where I was, or

whither I was going; I felt as if there was a heavy burden upon my

shoulders, and could not help looking to the right and left, as if

something was threatening me. But I could endure it and could proceed

without assistance.

Rolunt seemed to have expected me. He said the Colonel was in about the

same condition, neither better nor worse. I bade him send one of the

female attendants to Bertha; I could not tell him who it was I sought.

When we left the house, my grandson, the vicar, approached me.

"Grandfather, I know all," said he, "but at such a time one can bear

manifold troubles. I also endure them; I have just come from my sad

duties at a deathbed."

I told him that we were seeking Ernst, and we thought he might be with

those with whom, just before the march, he had held a brief divine

service. We went with him. The day began to dawn.

The graceful figure of Martella seemed to hover in the gray twilight,

and as she turned and looked upon me, it seemed to me that the

extraordinary depth of the sockets of her eyes was greater than ever.

There was something sadly brilliant in her glance, and it seemed

directed to a distance.

Before the village, on a plain in front of a small hill, the regiments

were formed in deep squares, presenting masses that looked like church

walls.

We searched around. Martella went to the left, Rothfuss to the right.

They came back; they had not found Ernst, and yet he must be there.

Martella stood quietly near me; only once did she look up at me, and

her eye was piercingly brilliant. She folded her hands together

convulsively, apparently, also, to conceal her trepidation.

A chorale was performed by the band, in which all the troops present

joined, while the heavens reddened as the vicar, with steady steps,

descended the hill, and wended his way towards us. Every one held his

breath; perhaps Ernst is down there among them.

The vicar spoke with a clear voice. He had pleased by his written

words, but when he spoke, it was still better and more inspiring.

"See here!" he exclaimed. "I have come here without any Bible. Holy is

the Book of Revelation, thrice holy. With it the world has learned to

comprehend itself and God, and will gather instruction from it to all

eternity.

"I carry it in my heart, and from my heart I call out to you in the

words of the Apostle Paul (Romans xiv. 7): 'For none of us liveth to

himself, and no man dieth to himself.' That should be in your soul, in

your memory, should your soul be in a struggle, and, if it must be so,

in death. Thou art not for thyself in this world, and goest not for

thyself from this world. Thou art called, thou art mustered for the

great universal battle for the holy kingdom of the spirit, of honor, of

freedom, of unity.

"Just imagine, ye who have achieved the victory and must again win it,

how it would be if all these things were reversed.

"The spirit of darkness hovers in the air like millions of black

ravens, hiding the sun and blighting everything that hath life. Through

the streets of thy native villages rage the wild hordes of Asia, and

murder, robbery, outrage, and fire prevail everywhere.

"Thou who mournest thy brother, or thy fallen comrade, thou that liest

wounded, forget thy pain. Open thine eyes! Through thee, through thy

comrades, the light of the world is rescued: knowledge, justice,

decency, honor, integrity. I say it to you and you may say it to each

other; for thus has God willed it.

"And thou who still holdest the weapon in thy firm grasp, be of

cheerful heart! The saints hover over the banners that you shall

victoriously bring home; and when the bloody, cruel, terrible work is

done, then you will permit no other pride to possess you, than that you

were summoned to labor for the kingdom of freedom and unity, for the

kingdom of the spirit, in which there is no enemy to be conquered, but

in which each shall be a moving temple of the Holy Spirit. Keep

yourselves firm: for none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to

himself. Amen!"

A quiet prayer was offered up; then the regiments moved into column,

and the whole army set itself in motion.

The vicar came to me, and for a long while held me by the hand. We

uttered no word. Then he followed the army, and I went with Rothfuss

and Martella back to the hospital.

CHAPTER XV.

We met Annette, whose presence had greatly improved Bertha's spirits.

Annette took us into an out-of-the-way room, and there said, "I have

for a long time called you father from mere sentiment. You allowed me,

but now I dare to do so because it is my right."

She gave me a letter from Richard, from head quarters, and the letter

was addressed, "My beloved bride."

Annette kissed my trembling hands, and she kissed me again and again,

when I told her that my wife in her dying hour had called out, "Richard

will marry her after all."

Annette added that they did not intend to get married until peace was

concluded.

"Of course," said Bertha, as if addressing me, "you will understand

that we can give no expression to our joy just now."

Annette, indeed, did not permit us to linger long over this joyful

message. She said that her patients now claimed all her time, and only

while we were descending the steps, she once stopped and quietly

related to us how her old custom of pouring out her feelings with every

new experience had suddenly opened the hearts that had so long been as

if sealed towards each other. She had said to Richard, who recently

passed through here, "So long as men are well, they are all alike. When

they are wounded or sick, each one displays the traits that are

peculiar to him." Then Richard replied, "You speak from my mother's

soul;" and on that day they were betrothed.

"Now I no more need," said Annette, as we went on, "to chloroform my

soul with religion. I have learned to apply the real chloroform, and in

helping others we help ourselves also."

Annette invited us to go with her to the patients; she might thereby

make the tedious hours of watching more easy for Bertha. She first

conducted us to a handsome young man with a full, blond beard, whose

thigh had been fractured. Her mere appearance seemed to revive the sick

man.

It was a pathetic look with which he gazed upon her, and stretched his

thin hand towards her.

Annette introduced him to us as an artist of great repute, and,

assuming a merry tone of voice, she said, "He has painted me in other

colors. He does not like the dull and sombre black; indeed, the

silver-gray dress with the white apron is much more cheerful. And why

should we not be cheerful?"

The face of the young man brightened, and Annette bade Bertha to read

something to him. In going the rounds, she made us acquainted with a

wounded German officer, who never ceased heaping extravagant praises

upon his nurse. Annette bade me to come quickly to a man from my

village, for whom I could perhaps do something, and, with a trembling

voice, mentioned Carl's name to me.

We approached his bed. He gazed upon me with staring eyes, and cried,

in heart-rending tones, "Mother, mother!" I spoke to him; I asked him

if he knew me. But he continually exclaimed, "Mother, mother, mother!"

The surgeon came and bade us leave the patient. Then he said to

Annette, "Have a screen placed here. This young man may die at any

moment, and the others should neither see nor know of it."

Just as the screen was put in its place, the door opened, and a voice

was heard, "My child! my child! Carl! my child! Carl!"

"Mother, mother!" cried the wounded man, and he raised himself up, and

mother and son were folded in each other's arms. Then Carl cried out,

"Marie! you too! you too, there! Come!"

He then fell back.

The surgeon then approached and said, "He is extremely weak, and in a

critical condition!" Restoratives were applied and he opened his eyes.

After a while he said, "How did you know that I--"

"Be quiet! don't speak so much! Don't exert yourself too much. Your

eyes have already told me everything. And now, yes, it was the vicar,

Waldfried's grandson, who wrote me where you were."

"I am hungry. Give me something to eat!"

"I have brought you one of our hens; I brought it all the way from

home," said the old woman.

"I must eat, I must eat!" exclaimed Carl. His strength, wasted and

exhausted through loss of blood, appeared to return, and he seemed

rescued by the magic of love.

His mother ought to have left him, but she would not obey the surgeon.

She obeyed me, however. When she saw Bertha, she cried out, "My son,

my Carl, my child lives! Bertha! I tell you, your husband who lies

there--Bertha, your husband is saved too: he will be saved."

"Bertha!" We heard a call from the adjoining room; it was the voice of

the colonel.

Bertha almost swooned; I caught her in my arms. She collected herself

and hurried towards the door; it was closed. Annette called to us from

within, that we should wait quietly, for it was a critical moment.

What anxious moments were those, while we stood at the door listening

to the movements and groans within.

After a while, the surgeon hastily opened the door, and said, "Now go

away softly! There has been a hemorrhage, and the ball has come with

it. There is now a chance of his recovery, but I must insist on perfect

quiet!"

Bertha sank to the floor, while she placed her finger on her lips, and

motioned me to be silent. They say that we were only waiting a quarter

of an hour. But oh! how long it seemed! Then the surgeon opened the

door again, and, seeing Bertha on the floor, said, "You may go in now

and shake hands with the Colonel, but do not say anything to him, as he

is not allowed to speak for the present."

Bertha went in. She reached her hand to her husband. He moved his eyes

in recognition; then the surgeon motioned us to depart.

We went away. From afar, we could hear the rattle of musketry and the

roar of artillery, and the reports constantly became louder and more

frequent.

CHAPTER XVI.

Evening was approaching, when the surgeon sent us word that his patient

had been sleeping. He had awakened and asked for Bertha and me.

We went to him. He could only recognize us by glances, and a wonderful

smile overspread his features. He turned his eyes to the surgeon, who

understood him, and said, "Yes, your wife may sit here for a quarter of

an hour. But you must both be perfectly quiet."

And so we sat there speechless, and heard the din of battle gradually

cease; only occasional shots were now fired.

I was called to the front of the house. Martella and Rothfuss stood

before me. Martella, breathless, told me that Ernst's company had again

been in the fight, many were missing, and, among them, Ernst; he ought

to be hunted up.

Rothfuss desired that I should stay behind; but Martella exclaimed,

seizing my arm, "What do you mean? Father goes with us!"

She had made a wreath to take to Ernst, and she held it in her

trembling hands. She carried Ernst's prize-cup and a bottle of wine in

a basket on her arm.

We went through the village towards the hill. Four men approached with

a litter.

"Ernst! Ernst!" cried Martella.

The two men stopped, and one asked, "Who's there? Who calls?" It was

Ikwarte's voice.

"Set it down!" commanded the other. "Isn't that Martella?" It was

Wolfgang who spoke.

We stepped nearer. They carried a man who had been shot in the leg. The

man raised his head, and said, "That is his father." It was the son of

the owner of the saw-mill down in the valley. "He commissioned me to

carry his love to you. He made himself known to me."

"Where is he? Is he dead?"

"He must be lying up there. Oh! he has done great things."

"What has he done? Where is he?" anxiously inquired Martella. "Speak!

be quick! listen, father!"

The wounded man raised himself with difficulty and spoke:

"We stood within range of the enemy's batteries. Shot after shot tore

through our ranks. Many were falling. Everybody sheltered himself.

Ernst stood upright, and said in a clear voice, 'Stand firm! Face the

bullets! That's the way to be brave.' Finally, we advanced, when a

lieutenant was shot in the forehead; our sergeant stepped into his

place, and he also fell. Then Ernst took command, and marched along by

the drummer. Bang! then the drummer was shot. Ernst unloosened the drum

from his body, and drummed for us. He beat a powerful flourish, and

cried out, 'Give it to them!' Then there came a shell, and I lay on the

ground and saw nothing more. When I came to myself, I still heard

drumming. But all at once there was a report, a cry--and the drumming

ceased."

Martella tore up the wreath; but she quickly seized the grasses and

flowers and held them with a convulsive grasp.

"Away! away! we must find him!" she exclaimed. "We must find him! He is

living!"

Ikwarte and Wolfgang hastened with the wounded man into a neighboring

house. Not far off, a wagon stopped. They returned with it, and

Wolfgang and Martella sat in it with me. So we drove on through the

entire night. Ikwarte knew where the miller's son was sheltered. We

were silent; only Martella murmured to herself, "Keep up, Ernst; keep

up! We are coming! Oh! mother in heaven, look down upon him!"

We were obliged to get out--the road crossed the fields. I went a

little distance, but could go no farther. Both of the faithful servants

begged that Wolfgang would stay with me. We sat down by the roadside,

and noticed a moving object quite near us. It was a wounded horse, that

raised its head, and then, with a rattle in its throat, fell back dead.

We heard Martella, across the field, calling, "Ernst! Ernst! my Ernst!

where are you! Ernst! we are here, your father and I!" Then we heard

nothing more.

A chill seized me. The ground was damp, and Wolfgang insisted that I

should sit upon the dead horse, whose body was still warm. We quietly

waited. In the heavens the clouds were scudding by, and here and there

the stars sparkled. In the village a clock commenced striking. Wolfgang

counted aloud: it struck eleven.

Now some one approached; my name was called. It was Ikwarte.

"We have found him," he joyfully exclaimed. "Come quickly!"

"Is he living?"

"Yes."

Accompanied by Ikwarte and Wolfgang, I went along. Oh! I cannot tell

the horrors I then saw and heard.

"There, by the torch, there he is!"

My knees shook under me. Then a man came again towards us, and cried

out, "Grandfather, come! There is yet time!"

It was my grandson, the vicar. We reached the place. There lay Martella

on the ground bending over a figure. Rothfuss stood by her with the

torch, and Martella cried, "Ernst, wake up! Your father is here!"

I kneeled down by him. I saw his face. His eyes were closed, but his

breast rose and fell quickly.

"Ernst! my beloved child! my long-lost child! Ernst! your father calls

you! Your mother calls you from eternity! Ernst, you shall live! you

have repented; you have atoned! Ernst, Ernst! my son, my son!"

He opened his eyes and moved his hand towards me. I seized it; it was

stiff.

"Father, forgive!" he moaned. "Martella, pardon! Oh! mother--father!"

He breathed his last breath. I just saw Martella throw herself upon

him, with an agonizing cry; then I saw and heard nothing more.

BOOK SIXTH.

CHAPTER I.

"Stand firm! Face the bullets!" With these words, Ernst had encouraged

his men to the last. My own experience illustrated them.

For a considerable time, I did not know what had happened, either to me

or to those about me. I only knew that I lay behind a white curtain

with blue flowers, and could not keep my eyes open for any length of

time. The flowers assumed all sorts of odd shapes, and the fantastic

figures seemed to be ever changing and rushing towards me.

I think I was not really sick, only inexpressibly weak; and the fatigue

and exhaustion prevented me from directing my thoughts at will. I was

childishly grateful for everything. I looked at the wood in the door

and rejoiced that it was firm; I heard the fire in the stove and was

delighted that it warmed me; I was grateful to the bed that supported

me, so that I did not need to do it myself.

I remember that Bertha and Annette would occasionally visit me; but my

grandson Wolfgang stayed with me nearly all the time. Through the

hardships of war and constant exposure, Wolfgang had almost ripened

into manhood. He had become stronger and stouter than of old, and his

voice was now more manly.

"I am so glad, grandfather, to hear you call me by my own name again;

you always used to call me Ernst," said Wolfgang one day, and from that

hour I felt that the heavy clouds were slowly clearing away; and when

they had disappeared, I saw everything around me distinctly, and by

degrees I remembered what had happened.

"Is Ernst--buried?"

"Yes, grandfather."

I now asked Wolfgang to inform me what had occurred while I was

unconscious, and what had become of Martella.

"Grandfather," said Wolfgang, "I must tell you the truth. Martella is

no longer separated from Ernst. She has reached the goal."

I felt as if the clouds were again gathering before my eyes, but,

through the mists, I met Gustava's lustrous eyes, saying, "She was true

till death."

Wolfgang took my hand in his, and the youth's firm grasp gave me

renewed strength. I begged him to tell me all, and he began:

"We brought you down to Aunt Annette, who, foreboding evil, had met us

half-way. It then suddenly occurred to us that in our dreadful

excitement and anxiety about you, no one had taken care of Martella,

and that she had not followed us. Rothfuss said he was completely worn

out, and must stay with his master. Ikwarte has nerves and muscles of

steel. I felt as if my eyes burnt in their sockets; never before

had I been so tired; but I returned with him, nevertheless, to the

battle-field, half dead with sleep and fatigue." Wolfgang shivered,

stopped awhile, and then continued: "We knew the place where Ernst lay,

and soon found him. The moon lit up his face wonderfully. Beside him

lay Martella, motionless; she clung to him in a close embrace, cheek to

cheek, hand in hand. Is she dead, too? It were best! I bent down to

her; she breathed heavily. I called her name. How she stared at me

wildly and vacantly! Then she motioned us to be quiet, and whispered,

'He will soon be warm again; soon, very soon.' I tried to persuade her

to follow us; she answered, 'O Wolfgang! you are so good; bring some

wild honey. Oh, wait, Ernst! your nephew is coming with wild honey, and

here I have your cup, your hunting cup.' I tried to persuade her, and

she answered, 'Oh, you have mother's voice. Mother, tell him, oh, tell

him to rise again.' She threw herself beside the corpse, and when I

cried, 'Martella, get up; come with us,' she answered, 'You see he

cannot move now, but I will follow you; you have my mother's voice.'

She did not then seem to remember the dead. She went with me and let me

lead her by the hand; but suddenly she tore away and returned, crying,

'They leave him lying alone on the cold ground, in the dark night.'

"She broke down. We tried to administer some restorative, but her mouth

was firmly closed, and her breast was heaving violently. At last

Ikwarte succeeded in administering the draught. We brought her to a

ruined house in the vicinity. The doors had all been taken off--I had

helped at the work myself; they had done service as litters.

"We placed Martella on a seat by the hearth, and I succeeded in

gathering some wood and starting a fire. 'Oh, how good! Oh, how warm!'

said she to the flickering flames. Her teeth chattered. We hoped that,

after she was well warmed, she would be able to go farther with us. She

sat there quietly, her elbows resting on her knees, her face covered

with both her hands.

"'Wolfgang, keep me with you,' she said suddenly. 'Be good to me; you

are his brother's child; keep me with you--do not leave me. Tell me how

many years it is since he died? O Ernst, you are so happy that I cannot

weep. Why are you glad? Oh, if I could but weep! You have been away so

long, and why do you not return? What shall I do in this world without

you! Mother, Ernst is with you; you do not need him; send him to me--he

is mine. I have nothing more in this world. My dog is dead, too. My

little red stockings--oh, I was so happy. Martella is lost. Hunt for

her in the woods where the wild honey grows. Do you hear the cuckoo?

Cuckoo!'

"She stared vacantly into the flames; then she cried: 'My eyes burn

like fire! I cannot weep. O Ernst! Ernst!'

"She tore the satchel from her girdle, tore the letter of pardon into

fragments, and cried: 'Everything shall burn just as my eyes do. Come

here, your Highness, and see how your handwriting burns.'

"Dawn was breaking. Through the open door, we saw some men approaching

with a litter.

"'Here is Herr Rautenkron,' said Ikwarte. Martella rushed out and saw

the men carrying Ernst's body. She rushed towards them, sank beside the

litter and cried: 'My Ernst! You are not dead!'

"A fearful shriek, which rang out far over the barren fields, was

forced from her tortured breast. She clasped her hand to her heart

while a flood of tears streamed over her cheeks. Suddenly she broke

down and sank on the body of Ernst. A physician, who had come with the

men, laid his hand on her heart. It was still: he listened for her

breathing; it had ceased.

"'My child! my child!' cried Rautenkron; she heard nothing more."

So ended Wolfgang's story. His firm hand clasped mine, and I felt as if

that alone held me there among the living.

"And what became of Rautenkron?" I was able to ask after a long

interval.

"He had suddenly become an old man, with hollow cheeks and lustreless

eyes. He sat on the ground, stared at the corpse, and did not speak a

word. It rained in torrents. Every one endeavored to induce Rautenkron

to seek the shelter of the hut, but he did not answer. At last he

arose, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, lit a cigar, and

said to me, 'Stay here; I shall come back presently.' After a while, he

returned with axe and spade. Alone, he dug the grave in which Ernst and

Martella were laid."

Wolfgang paused, and I remembered the sacred verses from the lament of

David for Jonathan:

"In death they were not divided."

"Where is Rautenkron?" I asked at last.

"When the grave was filled up, he disappeared. Later, we learned his

fate. You remember that our men had taken the city near by and occupied

it; but the French had so strengthened the castle which commanded it,

that it seemed impossible to drive them out. Rautenkron volunteered to

discover the mines which doubtless were under it. No one knows how he

gained an entrance, but on the following day the powder-magazines in

the cellars of the castle exploded and destroyed part of the castle,

which was then stormed. Great numbers of the enemy were killed. Careful

search was made for Rautenkron, but no trace of him was discovered, and

as, up to this time, nothing has been heard of him, it seems sure that

he was buried beneath the ruins."

CHAPTER II.

Bertha informed me that the Colonel was out of danger, and was staying

in the city during his convalescence. The physician thought he would be

able to lead his regiment within a few weeks. The old spinner had

returned homewards with Carl. He had been taken to the hospital of our

capital.

"And Anton, of the saw-mill--is he dead?"

"Father, I am telling you the whole truth; but I beg of you, do not

seek to learn all these things to-day. Take care of yourself, for our

sakes."

I was soon again able to be up, and Bertha could not say enough in

praise of the kindness and sympathy of the French people, in whose

house I lay.

The housewife now wanted to speak to me, too.

She came, and was quite delighted to receive my heartfelt thanks.

A few days later, I was permitted to visit the Colonel, and the first

words he uttered were, "Bertha, now I firmly believe in my recovery.

You wear your hair in curls again."

He informed me that he had considered it an ill omen, when Bertha had

worn her hair plain. Now that he was out of danger, the curls and

happiness were back again.

Then he recounted everything, from the first moment of his being

wounded, when he seemed to realize what death is. It seemed like a

stroke of lightning; then all was night and utter darkness. His

adjutant stepped to his couch, grasped his hand, kissed it, and wept

over it. He felt the kisses and the tears, but was unable to give a

sign of consciousness, either by a pressure of the hand or by a word;

within him, all was life, like a subterranean stream.

I did not long have the pleasure of listening to the reminiscences of

the convalescent Colonel. I longed to return home. When the next train

started for Germany, it was in charge of Professor Rolunt, who had

nursed the Colonel like a brother; they yielded to my entreaties, and,

in a well-heated car, I journeyed homewards.

Wolfgang accompanied me to the State capital, and then, in company with

Christiane, returned with a load of medicines and delicacies to the

theatre of war.

I felt as if I could not get thoroughly well again except at home, and

so it proved. When I inhaled the air of our forest-covered mountains,

it gave me new life.

The Privy Councillor's wife insisted on my resting at her house for a

few days, and by the careful nursing of our physician as well as his

confident manner, which of itself was a remedy, I soon gained fresh

vigor. It did me good to hear Lady Von Rontheim entwine the memories of

our fallen sons. She informed me, briefly and clearly, of what had

happened during my illness; for now, when I could again read and

understand the papers, I noticed many lapses in my knowledge of events.

While I was living in the little town, Ludwig came. I did not

comprehend how I could have omitted to inquire about him; and now he

brought with him a refreshing breeze from another hemisphere. As he had

previously informed me by letter, he had journeyed to England and then

to America, to prevent shipments of arms for the French. He had not had

much success, although he offered, through the newspapers, a large

reward for any information regarding such shipments.

I felt pained when he said, "We Germans have no friends abroad, because

we have not hitherto presented to the world an imposing front. During

the last half-century, the German nation was like a man who has the

consciousness of honest intentions, and who counts on the recognition

of them by others. But neither an individual nor a people obtains

recognition gratuitously. They must wrest it from the world; and the

best and the easiest way is not to wait for it, but to put your

shoulder to the wheel. Now the nations speak in another key; but they

would all have rejoiced if the brilliant Frenchman had overpowered us."

This pained me, and I did not wish to believe it. Ludwig proved to me

that, in England and America, some of the more far-sighted favored our

cause, and that the governments could have easily prevented the

shipment of arms and much useless carnage, had they seriously desired

it. He considered it infinitely better that we did not need to ask, as

we had hitherto done, "What do other nations think of us? How are they

inclined towards us?" but that in future others would have to ask,

"What do the Germans think of us? How are they inclined?" Ludwig, while

abroad, had, with delight, perceived the general curiosity and

amazement, in regard to the newly discovered wonder-land--Germany. He

declared that we had no idea of the effect our wonderful achievements

had had upon the people of all lands. He had everywhere announced the

German Emperor, before he even was proclaimed at home.

We at home scarcely know how much we have gained in the esteem of

others, and how gigantically our future looms up before the eyes of

astonished mankind. They see a thousand different effects flow from

this new birth; and I believe they are in the right.

Conny came to town, and, with her and Ludwig, I returned home.

CHAPTER III.

When I rode along the forest road, I saw Gaudens at his work. He wore a

soldier-cap, and whistled "Die Wacht am Rhein," while clearing up the

ditch beside the footpath.

The valley stream was frozen tight, the trees were heavily laden with

snow. Ludwig reported that he had purchased machines in America and

England for our mill. With the aid of these, the winter would, in

future, not prevent operations. Finished work could be set up, except

when the orders were to ship the articles in separate parts. It seemed

as if he contemplated remaining with us, as he had settled up much of

his business in America. Besides, on his way home, he had taken some

large contracts from building associations. When I expressed surprise

at the varied fields of his activity, he said, "Father, I have

remembered this from what I have learned of music; you may play a

different air with each hand, and still both must be in harmony. My

right hand plays the melody 'personal advantage,' my left, the melody

'public weal;' sometimes they change about, too. I have built

water-works, that were for the good of many; but they were good for me,

too, and I do not think that without this I would have built them so

cheerfully. Just now a great mania for building prevails among the

people, and we shall be able to give employment to many good laborers

who have been driven out of France."

We came to the saw-mill near the bridge. Here, on the same day that the

news arrived of Anton's death, a workman had lost three of his ringers

by the circular saw. Ludwig went to the man and engaged him as sorter

of the different kinds of timber.

The saw-mill was stopped, and all the shutters were closed. Here we met

Joseph, who informed us that since the death of his son, the owner of

the mill had lost all energy and pleasure in his business. He had

removed to a daughter of his in the opposite valley, and wanted to sell

the property. "You must buy this, and work for us," cried Ludwig.

Joseph answered sadly that he could not; he said he was in danger of

losing everything. He had invested almost his entire property in wood

in the Hagenau forest, and if Bourbaki and his army should force their

way through, all would be lost over there as well as here.

These were certainly very gloomy prospects, and we could not get any

comfort at home; we daily expected the advance of Bourbaki's army, and

it was said that preparations were being made to lay the whole country

waste.

My sister wrote that in Alsace it was the general belief that there

would now be a change. Bourbaki would strike down Germany. Her husband

had hung up the pictures and epaulettes again; but with this proviso,

that if the French would not deliver them this time, he would have

nothing further to do with them, and would become a forester in

Germany.

Bertha had returned to the capital, and wrote that the Colonel, with

whom Rothfuss had remained, was again at the head of his regiment in

the division that opposed Bourbaki's advance towards the Rhine.

At home, I found another cause for deep emotion; it was a letter for me

from Ernst. It had been forwarded from the field by the army post. The

paper showed the traces of many tears. I was so much overcome, every

time I read the letter, that my children took it away from me; but I

asked them to return it, and here it is:

"DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER:--See me prostrate at your feet; what I desired

to do a thousand times, and again and again postponed, I must now

finish.

"I know that, both for you and for me, my deeds have filled many days

and nights--nay, whole years--with sadness. I cannot express in words

what I have thought and felt while on the march in the hot sun, or at

night when I looked up to the stars that shone also on my paternal

home. And, oh! how, when on the march and parched with thirst, I longed

for a drop of water from our fountain. I write with burning tears, but

they cannot blot out the past, nor recall a single wasted hour. Lost!

lost! I repent, I suffer deeply. You often told me, mother, 'You must

curb your spirit.' I could not succeed in my peaceful home, although I

had so many to help me you, father, Martella, my brothers and sisters.

From afar, the sound of ardent prayer swells into an eager wail for

redemption. I have wasted all. Am I a sacrifice to my country's misery?

And now comes the most dreadful consequence of my misdeeds. We have

received orders to take ship to fight against Germany. No, not against

Germany. The old misery is here again with redoubled force. An officer

has confided to me, that several of the lesser German states had called

upon France to release them from the tyranny of Prussia.

"I had loaded my gun and pointed it at my head, but, thinking of you, I

fired into the air.

"Is it my guilt, or am I but a drop in the stream that overflows its

bed?

"O my parents! He who leaves his country is suspended in mid-air, and

has no ground to stand upon. It is well that the end is near; but I

wish you to know that my soul is with you at home. At this moment, I

feel your hands on my head, blessing me.

"May Martella remain forever true! I can say nothing to her. Oh,

Richard was in the right. How dared I, who was nothing for myself, bind

another life to mine?

"I thank you a thousand times for all the kindness, all the love you

bestowed upon me who am unworthy of it, and upon Martella who deserves

it.

"I beg forgiveness of my brothers and sisters for the wrongs I have

done them.

"Do not mourn for me; I shall find the way to atonement. Console and

comfort yourselves with the thought of one who will remember you till

death.

"ERNST."

CHAPTER IV.

"Father, I did not hitherto wish to speak of it, but now I must tell

you," said Ludwig, one day.

"For God's sake, what can have happened?"

"Nothing bad, quite the contrary; I am resolved to remain here. I did

not wish to tell you until peace was restored, but I think that this is

the time when the news will do you most good."

I deemed it my duty to advise him to delay before making up his mind,

but he replied, "I have considered everything. Whatever a man may

achieve in this world, be it ever so great or important, if he has not

done his whole duty to his parents, all else is vain. I remain with

you, and to public duties I will devote as much of my life as can be

spared from you."

Thus spoke my son, whose roving life in America we thought had made him

harsh and cold.

I inquired whether he had already consulted his wife. He replied that

there was no doubt of her consent, because she would simply and gladly

consent as soon as he should tell her that it was for the best.

Conny at once consented. She mentioned that her father had always

prophesied that she would some time return to Europe. She now felt

particularly happy, because, if it should turn out that a German

confederation with an emperor at its head would be established, the

ideal of her father's life, and for the sake of which he went into

exile, would be realized.

While our eyes were wandering from the warlike past to a peaceful

future, we were thrilled over and over again by the thought that our

army stood like a gigantic wall in the path of the advancing Bourbaki.

Ludwig told me that, in connection with some friends, he intended to

start a new building association for the public benefit. He had found

the starting point with some former friends from the gymnasium. Their

object was to locate some grand industrial establishments in the

country, in order to avert the threatened overcrowding of the large

cities, by giving profitable employment to the dwellers in the rural

districts. He intended to transfer his mill to the company, and also to

enlarge it.

Martha, who had remained with her mother in the city, sent us a letter

from Julius. He wrote about the great sortie from Paris, and what heavy

sacrifices it had cost us. He was very happy to have been able to give

proofs of his valor, and he had received the Iron Cross of the first

class on the field of battle.

Madam Von Rontheim begged me to hold myself in readiness to return to

the city within a few days.

It was towards evening when the sounds of great rejoicing were heard in

the village. All flocked together, and we heard loud cries, "Rothfuss

is here again!" Rothfuss came with two horses harnessed to his vehicle,

and two following in the rear.

"I bring four captured Frenchmen," he cried: "I have bought them

honestly. Of course I paid only for their hides. They are not much more

than skin and bone anyway, but in a week I shall feed four new horses

into their skins. When they taste the fodder from our mountain forests,

they will think, 'What a fine country Germany is; there they feed

horses on sweet herbs.'"

Rothfuss also brought the great news that our German troops had pushed

Bourbaki and his men to the wall; just as might have been done in a

tavern fight.

We did not quite understand what he really meant. Then Joseph brought

the newspaper. Alsace was free; and his joy over the victory was

enhanced by the certainty that his timber in the Hagenau forest was now

all safe.

We read about the three days' battle before Belfort; and as long as

valor and endurance are remembered, history will have a glorious page

to unfold there.

My daughter Johanna came down to enjoy a few days' rest with us. In

spite of the great hardships she had undergone, she had become

stronger, and looked more cheerful. She wanted to deliver her good news

in person. Her daughter had become engaged to a man who had lost his

right arm. Christiane had nursed him faithfully, and fallen in love

with him, and Johanna is right in saying, "She will always love him the

more because of her having to take care of him; she is just the wife

for an invalid."

On the very next day, we had a triumphal entry in our village. Carl was

well again, but carried his left arm in a sling. Rothfuss harnessed his

four "Bourbakis" (they were lean as yet, but lively) and drove Carl and

his mother, four-in-hand. Down at the saw-mill, Marie mounted beside

Carl and rode along into the village.

Rothfuss stopped before the house of the meadow-farmer. Nobody was to

be seen there, but all cried, "Hurrah for the meadow-farmer!"

"You must say the old farmer," commanded Rothfuss, "because Carl is now

the young meadow farmer. Come out, old fellow; Napoleon had to

abdicate, too. Give up your flail to Carl, the conqueror."

At last the door opened. The old meadow farmer came out and welcomed

Carl. It seemed as if the cheering would never end. Carl becomes the

meadow farmer! After this everything is possible.

"Have you any news of my faithful nurse, the Captain's wife?" asked

Carl, when he entered our room; and the old woman, who had not heard a

word, also asked, "How is the worthy lady?"

Just then, as it happened, a letter arrived from her.

CHAPTER V.

Annette wrote:

"What happiness it is to write to you! This is the first time that I

address you as your real and true daughter. Do you remember how ill you

took it when I once called you Patriarch? You were right, because

bandying sharp speeches was a great fault of mine. Too much of the

intellectual was my misfortune and that of all of us. Now I am nothing

but a quiet ant, crawling up a tree and bearing my tiny mite; to be one

ant amongst a thousand is now my only ambition. I do not wish to be

anything for myself. I must give you an extract from Richard's letter.

What is dearest and most beautiful in it, I cannot, of course, repeat

to you. He writes:

"'Hitherto, our happiness consisted in the general belief that every

one was a nobody, unless he was something quite apart, because the

people as a whole were held in but little esteem. Germany was like the

educated Jew, who is always intent on hearing from others, "How do they

regard me?" "What do they think of me?" You yourself,'--but here he

begins praising me--enough of that.

"'It gave me great pleasure to have Johanna with us in the hospital for

a few days, which enabled us, by working together, to gain a better

appreciation of each other. She has gathered experience and insight

from other sources than myself, and she insists that nature is better

than what we call principle. We can afford to let the latter pass, here

and there. She acknowledges that unbelievers, as she calls us, are

capable of virtuous actions. This war has taught all of us not to ask

for dogmas, but for deeds.

"'I am scarcely able to-day, to write a letter in my own name. It was

general mail-day, and I sat for hours at the bedside of the sick,

writing word for word as they dictated. I am glad to have learnt enough

French to be able to write for the officer whom you may remember. How

manifold are the relations of life with which I have become

familiarized! There is much wonderful beauty hidden in the world, and

every people and every station in life has its share.

"'I had to add postscripts to two letters announcing the death of those

in whose name they were written. One was the son of honored parents,

and the other was himself the head of a family, and leaves four

children.

"'_Midnight_.--I could not write further. Now all is hushed; and I do

not wish to sleep before fulfilling my duty towards you. I find it

hateful, when in full health, to say, "I cannot," and, therefore,

continue writing. I feel as if mother were sitting beside me and

saying, "Tell my husband everything. The best remedy against fear is to

know the whole truth." But I must inform you about Martella.

"'_The next day_.--Last night, while I was writing the last sentence,

Wolfgang came. He informed me that he had told you all. I may then

speak of ourselves again.'

"Richard has written me: 'Remember that you once told me you would go

through the wide world with me. That may now come to pass. Through

varied labors which have given entire satisfaction, I have received an

offer of employment in the foreign service, and it may happen that we

shall have to begin our married life in the new world. I leave my quiet

study, or rather I shall not return to it. I may be able to influence

the living present, and you, my good and lovely wife, shall win

admiration and respect in the highest circles. I am proud to place you

in life's highest stations, and for this reason I joyfully surrender my

solitary, peaceful studies and long-cherished plans of scientific

investigation.'

"How I replied to Richard you will see by these lines, which I copy for

you without conventional modesty; they are from a second letter, in

answer to mine:

"'A thousand times, I kiss your hands and press you to my heart. You

are my good genius. Pardon every unpleasant thought which, in the

erring past, I may have harbored against you. Even then, despite

myself, my mother knew you better than I did; her blessing rests upon

your head. You have liberated me and brought me back to myself; I

receive all willingly from your hands.

"'How clever and how pointed are your accounts of the nothings of

diplomatic life which you noticed in Paris at the house of your

sister-in-law, the wife of our ambassador.

"'Pardon me that I was just a little jealous of the title of nobility,

and that I thought you might regret having to change it for a plain

civilian name. I thank you for scolding me so merrily about it; but I

reproach myself very seriously that I could entertain such a thought

for a single instant.

"'How much you are in the right! I dare not abandon my innermost

convictions. Your Christian admonition has gone right to my heart: yes,

I would have been doing violence to my soul.

"'Now all is bright and free within and around me. It is settled. I

shall keep on the straight line marked out for me; I am born and bred a

man of letters. _You_ see clearly what I could not confess to you or

myself. For your sake the glitter of life allured, and attracted me. I

fondly imagined your queenly form moving among those the world call

noblest; but you, my lovely wife, are greater, purer, and freer than I

am. You do not wish to shine; you will live for me, and I am to live

for my ideal. It is decided; I am fortified against all temptation. I

shall remain true to my calling, to you, and to myself.'

* * * * *

"I have told you all. I hope the time is not far off when this horrible

war, this killing and dying, will be but as a shadowy dream in our

memories. There must be peace at last, and peace will bring home to you

"Your happy daughter,

"ANNETTE."

CHAPTER VI.

The very same day, a messenger arrived from the Counciller's wife, to

call me, and I drove to the city with Joseph and Ludwig. From afar, we

heard the booming of cannon, and at the new saw-mill the lumber

merchant Schwarzenberg, an ever-faithful patriot, told me: "We have an

Emperor; he has been proclaimed at Versailles." This was as it should

be. Our great achievements in war were consecrated by the establishment

of the German Empire.

Ludwig was dissatisfied because the celebration was held on a Prussian

anniversary. He had to acknowledge, however, that the history of

Prussia now glided into that of Germany, and that it was not improper

thus to exalt a family festival.

O fortunate posterity! you can never know or appreciate our feelings

during those days. We had long cherished these aspirations for our

country, for a United Germany; the less we could hope for their

realization, the deeper they lay in our hearts. Patriotism was like

religious martrydom. Our country did not return our love. On the

contrary, it was requited by hate and persecution from those high in

station, and by neglect and ridicule from the lowly. And, in spite of

all, for more than fifty years we stood firm and true, without hope of

reward.

In the city, the bells were ringing and all the houses were decorated

with flags. The Councillor's wife received us on the stairs and said,

"Welcome, great-grandfather! Martha has given birth to a son."

How can I express the emotions that filled my heart! My country

united under a powerful, victorious chief, and on the same day a

great-grandchild born to me. How can I deserve such unspeakable bliss!

I was allowed to speak to Martha for a minute, and to take my

great-grandson in my arms. He opened his eyes, and Martha cried, "He

has his grandmother's eyes. When at Strasburg, Julius asked that his

name should be Erwin."

The Councillor's wife ordered her to be quiet, adding: "You can now be

perfectly happy; the conflict is over, and your husband returns full of

honors. You are blessed indeed, and we are blessed through you. Sleep

now; when you really want to sleep, you can do so."

I had to leave the room; and, after a while, the new grandmother came

to tell me that Martha was sleeping quietly.

I remained in the city. The grandfather came for a day, and told me

that he agreed with Julius, who, as he had so greatly distinguished

himself, wished to remain in the military service.

My eyes have looked upon the third generation; I was also to see the

dream of my youth realized in the establishment of the German Empire,

and my family had fairly done their share towards it. But our joys are

never unalloyed. No tree in the forest has an uninterrupted growth. A

raven comes, rests on its top, and bends and blights the tender

sapling.

Yes, a raven of misfortune came. A letter from Annette reported, in a

few hasty words, that Richard had disappeared, and that he had probably

fallen into the hands of the _franc tireurs_. There was still some hope

of his life. She had started out with Wolfgang to hunt him up.

Wolfgang, being an American citizen, could get through the lines. She

asked us to move heaven and earth to save Richard. In a postscript, she

reminded me of the wounded French officer whom she was nursing when I

searched for the Colonel. How wonderful! every good deed meets its

reward. The officer had given her a pass, from which she promised

herself the best results.

Ludwig was not for a moment alarmed by the danger into which his only

son had ventured. He had full confidence in Wolfgang's discretion, and

his words were full of assurance that he would not be found wanting.

I believe that this confidence was genuine, but I also believe that he

tried, for my sake, to mitigate the shock which the news about Richard

had given me.

It puzzled me how Richard, who did not belong to the combatants, could

be captured by the enemy; but Ludwig stopped all brooding over it by

saying: "Father, will you accompany me to the capital? I wish to see

our ambassador; he must give me all possible assistance."

In the capital, all the bells were ringing, and at the railroad station

"extras" were announced with the Emperor's proclamation. In the midst

of a group of people in the street stood a man reading the words of the

Emperor. I knew him; it was Loedinger. His voice trembled; and when he

had finished, and the joyful crowd marched through the streets, he saw

me and embraced me heartily.

"What have we lived to see?" he cried. "Now we can die in peace. But

what is the matter with you? Why do you not cheer with us?"

I told him, in a few words, of the capture of my son, and the worst

fears which it justified.

Ludwig went at once to his ambassador, and I to the palace to see the

Prince, who would doubtless use his influence for the rescue of my son.

In the palace, there was great commotion. They said that no message

could be taken to the Prince now, as he was presiding at a session of

the Privy Council. I had to wait a long while. In the streets, the

rejoicing went on; it could be faintly heard from afar. The whole city

was illuminated.

At last I was told that the Prince could not see me today; I must leave

my petition with the chief of the Cabinet. He was a relative of my

son-in-law, and was favorably inclined towards me. He said that from

there no effective steps could be taken; that it was the business of

the Imperial government, and that I should address myself to the

Prussian ambassador, to whom he gave me a few lines. I felt like a

beggar who is sent from house to house.

At the Prussian Embassy, I was informed that the American Minister was

attending a conference, and that there was a stranger with him.

I was called in, and found Ludwig with the two ambassadors. All

necessary steps had already been agreed upon, and dispatches were at

once forwarded to Versailles.

We drove to the station in the American Minister's coach, and Ludwig

started for France, at once.

I went to Bertha, and, in spite of the new trouble that poured in upon

me, I felt somewhat relieved when with my daughter and her children.

Victor looked splendidly in his cadet uniform. Bertha met me with

outstretched arms, saying, "Father, we shall soon have peace, and he is

now almost a general."

It was not the least part of my sorrow that I had to inform Bertha of

our deep anxiety for Richard. In the gladness of her heart, she

ascribed it all to the exaggerated fears of Annette. The human heart is

selfish; in moments of great happiness it wants to hear nothing of the

sorrows of others, and refuses to believe them.

I was compelled to mar the joy of the proud, loving wife; and when

Bertha too was filled with alarm, she pitied Annette even more than her

brother. She thought it particularly hard that Annette, who was so good

and self-sacrificing, should again and again be overwhelmed with

sorrow. She believed that Richard had loved Annette before the death of

her husband, and that his repentance and severity towards himself

caused him to be so bitter to her. He struggled with his love for the

woman on whom his eyes had rested with admiration at a time when such

admiration was sinful.

On the other hand her natural good humor and buoyancy of spirits made

her confident that Richard would surely soon be saved. Richard always

was a lucky fellow. She remembered, from childhood, that once while I

was coming down the river on a raft with my raftsmen, Richard stood on

shore, and, crying "Father!" rushed out into the stream till the water

came up to his chin. Balbina ran to the rescue, and, when he was safely

ashore he laughed heartily. He had not been conscious of danger or

fear.

While Bertha recalled all this, I became more tranquil, and when she

expressed her confident hope that we would not live to see another war,

I heartily agreed with her.

CHAPTER VII.

It was well that I had come up to the capital, for Parliament had been

convoked, in order to consider the new constitution, or rather, the

question of giving in our adhesion to the North German Confederation.

I scarcely heard the speeches, and did not have the strength to take

the floor myself.

When a vote was at last reached, it went hard with me to vote "aye." In

spite of my joy that there was now a United Germany, I had labored too

long for the establishment of German landed rights, to content myself

without their being embodied in laws.

I was deeply moved by a remark of my old and faithful colleague,

Loedinger: "I fear that in the new German constitution, it will only be

too evident that the movement which brought it about, was not initiated

by the people."

We heard from Annette and Wolfgang, who wrote that they had at last

obtained a clue to aid them in the search for Richard. He had, for a

long time, been dragged about the country, and had then been sent to

the Isles d'Hyeres.

Now, for the first time, I learned the details of his capture. Richard

had crossed our lines into the enemy's country, being tempted to do so

by a desire to investigate certain points of local history. He was

arrested by the _franc tireurs_, who took him for a spy and wanted to

shoot him. It was only through the interference of a man who was able

to read Richard's journal that he was saved from instant death.

This was all they had been able to discover, up to the arrival of

Ludwig, who sent Wolfgang home, and continued the search with Annette.

They were often led astray, and shown prisoners whom they did not know.

They would have liked to console and encourage them by the news of the

progress of our victorious armies and the certainty of a speedy peace,

but they dared not risk it.

Ludwig added to his letter minute directions concerning the mill.

We were now perfectly safe in pushing the enterprise forward, as

Bourbaki's forces had been driven into Switzerland and disarmed.

I could not content myself at the capital, and journeyed homewards. On

the way, I met Baron Arven, who had returned from the field seriously

ill, and who hoped to regain his health at home. I accompanied him, and

found some pleasure in bearing him company in his deserted mansion--his

wife was in Rome, both his sons still in the field. "I shall die at

home after all," was his invariable answer whenever we attempted to

console him. Our excellent physician prepared me for the worst. I was

with Arven in his last hour, and was present when his remains were

deposited in the family vault.

Joseph came to take me home.

In war times, one's feelings at last become familiarized with death

scenes.

I soon again was called upon to take a part in public life.

The election campaign opened. Remminger, who had returned from the

field to get cured of severe rheumatism, brought me the paper which

represented our party. In it, he was recommended as delegate to the

Reichstag from our district, as a man of merit, and of experience in

military matters. I did not begrudge him the honor, nor the office. It

gave his life a greater value, though I did not know that he ever took

any part in political matters, or even showed any desire in that

direction.

I thought it remarkable that in the article, particular stress was laid

on the fact, that he was a friend and former comrade of my son-in-law,

who had so greatly distinguished himself in the three days' battle

against Bourbaki.

What motive could there have been for referring to that fact? However,

if it could be of any use to the man, I was content.

He asked me whether I had had any hand in the publication of the

article. He had never thought of taking part in politics, but if the

place were offered him, he would not shirk the duty. I heard that the

article was supposed to have emanated either from Joseph or myself.

We inquired at the office, and were informed that the nomination had

been sent in with the stamp of our nearest post-office, and with a

rather indistinct signature, which might well be Joseph's.

Joseph asserted that Funk was the author. I did not believe it, because

the entire article did not contain a single superlative. He never

could, even while writing, restrain his peculiar talent for screaming.

Great thoughts stirred the hearts of men, but littleness, cunning, and

mischief-making had not ceased either. But what matters it? A tree

grows all the same, whether ants and beetles crawl upon it or not.

A second article shortly afterward appeared in the country papers, in

which it was said that military despotism had unmasked its batteries.

But the people were awake; the people, who did not pray to the god

whose name is Success; but were true to their own eternal aims and

ideas. The clamor of victory must not drown the cries for liberty. We

still had approved champions in our midst; our district still owned an

independent man of large landed property; he should be deputy; they

should be made to see at Berlin what plain, strong men tilled our land.

Joseph asserted that the papers of the popular party wanted to draw me

to their side. There were inquiries in the journals from different

quarters as to who was meant by "the firm man of solid worth," until he

was named at last. It was Schweitzer-Schmalz. As usual, it was claimed

that South Germany was the only real Germany, just as peasants were

said to be the only genuine people. To-day, the peasants; to-morrow,

perhaps the so-called laborer. The red waistcoat of Schweitzer-Schmalz

was to do service as the popular flag.

Joseph was filled with anger and disgust, and I urged him to accept the

nomination himself. He had much influence, and there were few other men

in the district so well thought of as he.

I can say much in Joseph's favor; he wishes to see the state honestly

served; but he also likes to attend to his business. Just then, Joseph

had indeed a heavy load to carry. He had brought a large squad of

foresters from the Tyrol, and had to provide several new teams.

We heard that Schweitzer-Schmalz had, at first, declined the proffered

offer; but when he found the election was not to cost him any money,

only some little condescension towards the poorer people, a few casks

of beer, and, more than all else, strong language against military

dictation, he declared his readiness. He was plain spoken, and yet

cunning enough to declare, at the valley tavern, that, if he should be

defeated it would be more of an honor than a disgrace to him. People

would then always say, "Here is the man who ought to have been our

deputy at the Reichstag. He is a man of the right sort."

The movement continued. It was a sorrowful spectacle for me, to see how

the domestic enemies of the Empire inscribed our Frankfort Constitution

on their flag, and cried that it must be accepted without debate. What

should be done in case it was not accepted, they would not say; they

knew as well as we did, that the adoption of the constitution of 1848

was an impossibility. But they wanted to start an opposition, and to

surround it with a halo of glory.

On the last day of February, we received the news that the

preliminaries of peace were agreed upon, and our German Emperor

announced, "We have arrived at the end of the glorious but bloody war

which was so wantonly and wickedly forced upon us."

We who lived on the borders were delighted beyond measure to know that

Alsace-Lorraine had been brought home to us again; and when I was

speaking with my folks about it, Rothfuss remarked:

"Now I know how it worked. Those who live along the Rhine, from Basle

downward, felt the way you do, when you lie abed in winter time and

have too narrow a blanket. Whenever you move, you are uncovered and get

cold. Now we have a good double bed; now we can stretch ourselves, and,

over there, stand the Vosges mountains; that is a good solid wall; no

draft gets through that."

CHAPTER VIII.

The ides of March had returned as they had twenty-three years before,

but how different now! We stood on a basis of real power, which had

been wrested in battle from our restless neighbor.

The armistice with the enemy without was concluded, but at the polls we

had to struggle against adversaries within.

The best men of our district came and explained to me how false a game

was being played. "They are electioneering for Schweitzer-Schmalz, who

would not be so bad a man, but, at the last moment, they mean to drop

him and transfer the votes to Funk, who has acquired a considerable

fortune by the war."

The men urged me, and Schwarzenberg, the lumber merchant, was not the

least among them, to allow myself to be put up as a candidate, both as

a matter of right and duty. He claimed that I, who had assisted at the

vexatious and fruitless labors at Frankfort, should have the

nomination. Only in that way, could the defeat of the Funk party be

assured.

I told them what trouble I had, and that I was too old, and unequal to

the duties the office would impose upon me.

Then the burgomaster of Kaltenbach, a quiet, worthy man, reminded me

that I had often said one should drown domestic griefs in active labors

for the Fatherland. He bade me consider what would become of us

Germans, if we should fail to secure true unity.

Those who had fallen in France, would, in that case, be disgraced and

dishonored by the result.

I could not yield, in spite of all that was said; and Joseph asked me,

"If Richard is saved, will you consent?"

"I do not make vows!"

"I did not mean it in that way; but would your mind be sufficiently at

ease?"

I asked for time to consider the matter.

There was to be a meeting of electors on the next evening. I was alone,

buried in thought; but soon a true and encouraging companion arrived.

It was a letter, the handwriting of which I did not recognize; but when

I had broken the seal and read the signature, I seemed to hear the

voice of sincerity itself--it was a letter from Doctor Wilhelmi, of

Berlin.

Ludwig had already informed me that Wilhelmi had returned years ago,

and I had heard of his labors with genuine delight. I had often wished

to send him a word of cheer, but had not found the opportunity. Now he

wrote:

"All hail! thus do I salute you in your forest home. And now let me

tell you all about ourselves. My wife and other ladies are at work day

and night at the railroad depots, providing the troops, and

particularly the sick and wounded ones, with refreshments. One day, a

large body of prisoners arrived in charge of one of your country

people. My wife observed this as soon as he opened his mouth, and asked

him about you. The man had been servant to a sullen and ill-natured

forester in your neighborhood, and you may imagine how glad we were to

hear of you. For years I have often read your name, and often intended

to write to you; now, a messenger had come to us from you.

"We provided him with quarters. He is really becoming spoiled by our

friends, for the Berlin folks find the Suabian dialect 'charming,

delightful,' and your countryman is a rogue.

"He outherods Herod; speaks the dialect more emphatically than ever

Suabian did before, and, when his bravery is praised (he has received

many orders) is condescending enough to confess, 'We did not do

everything; the Prussians too behaved quite decently.'

"'Quite decently,' is the highest compliment your countrymen ever

bestow on any one. When the man gets home he will tell you that the

Berlinese are all angels. I sincerely trust that you, too, will soon

make their acquaintance.

"How are your children? above all, the daughter who was with you in

Strasburg years ago.

"I hear that Ludwig is with you. Tell him to remain; we need men like

him.

"What has become of the handsome boy, Arndt's favorite, who was with us

in Frankfort? And what of the young student who came to visit us there?

"Write to me, or, what would be better still, come here soon. We need

old masons to build up the new state."

His wife had added a postscript saying: "When you come to Berlin, you

must stay with us."

Joseph thought the best way to keep Ludwig at home would be to elect

him a member of the Reichstag. He had made inquiries of an attorney in

the little neighboring town, and had been told that Ludwig had not

resided long enough in Germany to be eligible; but that as these were

extraordinary times, the Reichstag would probably admit him.

The matter was brought before the election committee, but was not

carried, as we should not be so sure of our voters if we had to go

before the county a second time. The country people could with

difficulty be induced to lose a work-day; the high pitch of patriotic

sentiment that now obtained might not last long.

I accepted the nomination.

I have nothing to report in regard to the election campaign, except

this; it was the first time we had been obliged to fight the new

clerical party.

I do not like to speak of clerical machinations. France was conquered,

and France was the last stay of the Papal power. Our victories had

enabled the King of Italy to enter Rome. There was now an attempt to

set on foot a carefully disguised opposition in our own country. A

prebendary belonging to the diocese, travelled through our district,

and held secret conferences with the pastors, to induce them to

influence votes for a champion who had made himself notorious, by the

strong language he had used.

Joseph finds out everything, and thus he soon learned that the lower

clergy leaned towards the patriotic side, but that they would not risk

open opposition. And, apropos of that, an amusing story was in

circulation.

The prebendary asked the sleek and wily pastor of Rottenhoch, "And how

do matters stand in your village? What are you able and willing to do?"

"Whatever the Right Reverend Bishop commands, shall be done."

The Right Reverend turned and twisted as best he might: but the priest

could not be made to understand that his superiors desired to avoid

giving explicit orders; and the others, who saw that the attempts to

secure his compliance always elicited the same reply, bit their tongues

to keep from laughing outright.

It was the first Sunday after Easter, on a bright spring day, when my

friends came to take me to the meeting of the voters.

Rothfuss went with Carl, the young meadow-farmer, and said, "Yes, Carl,

you are lucky; you begin in your young days. This is the first chance I

have ever had to tell our man what he should say to the Emperor for me.

But it is a good thing after all; and mind what I tell you--before the

election we will only take one drink; not a drop more."

At the same time, he swore at the workmen at the mill, who had allowed

themselves to be influenced by Funk. He declared that they were even

capable of voting against me. Carl said that, as far as his two

brothers were concerned, it was true. They had been expelled from

Alsace, had received employment in Ludwig's mill, and now publicly said

that they would give their votes to Funk.

At the meeting, it happened just as Joseph had predicted.

Schweitzer-Schmalz stepped forward and declared that a man like himself

could not leave his large estate and go to Berlin; they should,

therefore, give the votes intended for him, to that intrepid man of the

people--Funk.

But now something happened that took us all by surprise. Funk mounted

the rostrum. He laid it down that a constitution without fundamental

rights was a farce, and it cut me to the quick when he dared to add,

"We uphold the old German flag--the sacred flag of freedom--immaculate,

and shall not desert our colors."

In conclusion, he said. "I implore you not to call on me now. The time

will come when they must call us to save our liberties; that time has

not yet arrived.

"For the present, we will leave the pseudo-Prussian to the undisturbed

enjoyment of the national beggars' broth filled with imperial

dumplings, which is being served up in the famous spiked helmet.

"I thank you," he cried, when the yelling which followed this speech

had somewhat abated, "for the votes with which you honor me. I esteem

them highly, but we must wait. So let us bide our time."

Joseph prevented me from answering. He mounted the stand, and said that

Herr Funk deserved all possible praise for his shrewdness. He knew that

he could not be successful, and had therefore declined, in order to try

his chances at some future time. "Herr Funk waits; we, too, can wait."

I was elected by a large majority; and the walk homeward, surrounded by

my electors, was one of the happiest hours of my life. It was even more

joyful than when, twenty-three years earlier, I was elected a delegate

to Frankfort. I forgot my anxiety about Richard.

When I took leave of Rothfuss at the railway station, he held me by the

hand, a long while, and said: "Oh master, if it was only not so far to

Berlin, you should have taken me along, anyhow. Keep yourself well,

right well; and don't drink any water; Willem says there is good wine

to be had at Berlin, too."

A tear glistened in his eye, and the leave-taking from this faithful

companion moved me deeply. He had never before been so anxious and

concerned about me.

Many friends told me, "This new labor will wear you out."

Be it so, I am here to be of use.

CHAPTER IX.

THE old Burschenschafter[7]! 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 Ruedesheimer."

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:

HERE RESTS,

IN THE SOIL OF OUR UNITED COUNTRY,

HEINRICH WALDFRIED,

BORN MAY THE 10TH, 1800;

DIED JULY THE 22D, 1871.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Throughout, the translator will, according to the German

custom, use the word "bride" to designate a woman who is only

betrothed.]

[Footnote 2: This name means: Lizzy, the huntress.]

[Footnote 3: Director or governor of the district or department.]

[Footnote 4: Feast commemorative of the dedication of a church.]

[Footnote 5: I am waiting (dialect).]

[Footnote 6: _Guten Ort._]

[Footnote 7: A member of the Burschenschaft, the name of an association

of the students of Germany, formed in 1815, and having for its object

the political regeneration of their Fatherland.]

THE END.