To-day has been the saddest day of all my life. On going to see my wife
I found that she talked incoherently and wildly, and did not recognise
me. The doctor said he must convey the sad intelligence to me that the
death of her child and the severe shocks of the last few months had so
deeply affected her mind as to leave now no prospect of recovery. She
fancies herself constantly exposed to the persecutions of all kinds
of demons. It has been held advisable to send her to the Asylum for
Incurables, and she is to be taken there to-day.
For five and twenty long years we have shared all our joys and sorrows
with each other, and have lived together in the closest affinity, both
of heart and mind. And now to behold the partner of my life, all dazed
and bewildered, the dear, kindly eyes not even recognising me, is worse
than death’s separation.
On all sides the storm of revolt increases in fury. But what are all
such things to me now, with my load of grief and sorrow? There has been
some fighting in Eastern Prussia, and also in Alsace and Lorraine, and
our side has everywhere had the worst of it. Our troops had to contend
with many disadvantages. They were badly clothed, and insufficiently
nourished; and when, after wearisome forced marches, they came face to
face with the enemy, they were unable, in spite of all their bravery,
to make a permanent stand.
In Berlin, the riot continues to spread. The entire region on the right
bank of the Spree, and many other parts of the city and suburbs are
quite in the hands of the rioters. The latter are reinforced by an
uninterrupted stream of people from the provinces, and it is also said
that portions of the army fraternise with the people.
It is hence evident that the revolution was not long in spreading
beyond the limits of the iron-workers and their particular demands.
It aims now at the abolition of Socialism. And the more I reflect,
the more I feel inclined to anathematise myself for having, for so
many years, aided in bringing about such a state of affairs as we
have experienced during the last few months. My only motive was the
sincere belief that Socialism would cause a better order of things for
future generations. I believed so then, but I now see that I did not
comprehend the whole question. But how can my boys ever forgive me for
having helped to bring about those events which have deprived them of
their mother and their sister, and utterly destroyed our happiness as a
family?
But now I must speak to Ernst, be the consequences what they may. I
feel myself impelled to him, so that I may warn him against going out
at all just now. Young lads like he is are only too apt to go forth and
to mingle in the sin and excitement of a time like this. I have leisure
enough now to visit Ernst even in the day-time. Suspected of no longer
being sound in politics, I have been deprived of my place as a checker,
and told off as a night-scavenger. I only hope my work there will not
turn out to be of a horrible nature.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE LAST CHAPTER.
To Mr. Franz Schmidt, New York.
“MY DEAR FRANZ,--Be a man, and prepare yourself to bear with fortitude
the sad news this letter conveys. Our dear father is no longer amongst
the living. Like many other innocent victims, he has fallen a sacrifice
to the great rising which has raged for the last few days in Berlin.
“Father had left home with the intention of calling upon me, and
warning me to on no account mix myself up with the commotion in the
streets. Close to our school there had shortly before been a fight
between the police and the rioters, and some of the police had taken
refuge in our school. All this was of course quite unknown to father.
A party of the rioters lay in concealment, and in all probability one
of these, on seeing him, took him for a government messenger; anyhow,
a shot fired from an upper window struck him, and he expired in the
course of a few minutes. You may fancy my horror when they brought him
into our house, and I found it was my own father.
“He fell a victim to the solicitude he felt for the welfare of his
family. In the hope of seeing a better future for those dear to him, he
had allied himself with the Socialists, but recent events had entirely
cured him of his errors.
“Respecting the sad state of our dear mother, father wrote you lately
himself, and also mentioned about poor old grandfather. In all my
wretchedness and loneliness, my thoughts are continually turning to
you, Franz, across the ocean, as my only human refuge. By the time
I post this letter I shall, I hope, have already crossed the German
frontier. Towards Holland they say the frontier is pretty open. When
once there, I shall be able to make use of the money you sent me.
“Things here are in a frightful condition. Sanguinary defeats on the
fields of battle towards the frontiers, and in the country nothing but
anarchy and threatened dissolution. How all these things have come
about, and got into such a muddle, you will best gather from the diary
which father kept down to the very day before his death, and which I
will bring with me.
“With best love to you both,
“Your lonely brother,
“ERNST.”
_POSTSCRIPT._
“If it be true that ‘good wine needs no bush,’ it is true that a good
play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and
good plays prove the better for the help of good epilogues. What a case
am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate
with you in behalf of a good play.”
Amongst the various writers who of recent years have painted, for the
world’s benefit, pictures of the state of society which they conceive
would result from a widely extended Socialism, Bellamy and Morris
take prominent rank. Perhaps by the time, in the twentieth century,
that Socialism is realised, human nature will have undergone such
an extraordinary and phenomenal transformation that the views of
above-named sanguine gentlemen will prove to have been justified. Let
us hope such will be the case.
Meanwhile the talented and clear-sighted Member of Parliament for
Hagen, Eugene Richter, pictures to himself a somewhat different state
of things as the result of the establishment of Socialism. And his
little book may be read, perhaps not quite without advantage, as a
slight contribution to the literature of this subject, as presenting
the consummation in a different light, and as an expression of what
some will doubtless regard as eccentric and extreme views.
In treating a prosy subject of this kind, the mind has a natural
craving to get away now and then from the dry detail of statistics and
political economy, and to escape, if only for occasional moments, into
an atmosphere of lightness and laughter. So far as English readers
are concerned, it is to be regretted that Richter did not see fit to
arrange his matter in a less dry and ponderous way, and to introduce
an element of fun and ridicule into his treatment of the subject. The
English are firmly persuaded that the Germans quite lack all sense
of humour. It need hence occasion no surprise that this nation, with
that stolidity conventionally ascribed to it by the English, have,
nevertheless, read this little book with avidity in editions of
hundreds of thousands.
THE TRANSLATOR.
* * * * *
THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the chapter where they appear
and relabeled consecutively through the document.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.