If it had seemed dull and lonely in the little household of the Gulden
Strasse at Lubeck after Eric had gone to sea, how much more so was it
not to the two sad women left alone to console each other when Fritz,
also, had departed from home!
For days, Madame Dort appeared borne down by a weight of woe, and even
Lorischen lost that customary cheeriness with which she usually
performed her daily duties in her endeavours to console her mistress.
Mouser, too, went miaow-wowing about the house at nights, as if he
likewise shared in the family despondency--not once being caught in the
act of stealing the breakfast cream, a predilection for which had
hitherto been an abnormal failing on his part. So changed, indeed,
became the old cat that he did not possess spirit enough to put up his
tail and "phit" and "fiz" at Burgher Jans' terrier, when that predatory
animal made an occasional excursion into the parlour at meal times, to
see what he could pick up, either on the sly or in that sneaking,
fawning fashion which a well-trained dog would have despised. This
continued almost to the end of the month; but then came a bright little
bit of intelligence to gladden their hearts. It was like a gleam of
sunshine breaking through the dark cloud of gloom that hung over them.
Fritz wrote home from Coblentz, close to the frontier, telling how
comfortable he was, and how every one in the army of the Fatherland was
confident as to the result of the campaign. In a few weeks at the
outside, they thought--everything was so carefully planned and every
contingency provided against--the French army of invasion would have
been dispersed to the four winds of heaven and the war be over; and,
then, the Landwehr, at all events, would be enabled to return home to
their several states and resume those peaceful employments which their
mobilisation had interrupted. Fritz said that he feared he would have
no chance of distinguishing himself in the campaign, as one alone of the
three great army corps they had already massed along the Rhine would be
sufficient to crush the hated foe. The only men who would probably see
any fighting would be those serving under the Crown Prince, who had
already routed the enemy and were in active pursuit of them across the
borderland. His veteran old general, Steinmetz, every one considered to
be "out of the hunt completely!" All he would see of the whole affair,
they thought, would be the warriors returning home crowned with laurels
after the victory.
Thus ran the tenor of Fritz's letter, the writer evidently not dreaming
of the events in store for him; and that, instead of returning to Lubeck
in a few weeks, it would be many weary months before he saw the blinking
eyes of the ancient astronomical clock in the Dom Kirche again!
Through the intricacies of the field post, too, this communication was a
long time in reaching the little seaport town on the North Sea, being at
least ten days old when it arrived; but what mattered that? It
contained good news when it did come, and was as welcome as if it had
been dated only yesterday.
"Ah, ha!" exclaimed Lorischen, when her mistress communicated the
contents of Fritz's letter. "The young Herr will soon be back, and then
we'll see him give Meinherr Burgher Jans the right-about. I call it
scandalous, I do, his persecuting an unprotected, lone widow--just
because her sons are away, and there's only me to look after her! But,
I keep him at arm's distance, I promise you, madame. It is only his
thief of a dog who manages to creep in here when I am about!"
Madame Dort blushed. She was a comely, middle-aged woman, and when she
coloured up she looked quite pretty.
"I'm sure, Lorischen," she said, "I wonder you can talk such nonsense;
you are as bad as poor Eric used to be, teasing me about that little fat
man! Poor Burgher Jans means no harm in coming to inquire after my
health while Fritz is away."
"That's just what I object to, dear lady," interrupted the other; "why
does he do it?"
"Can't you see, you stupid thing," said Madame Dort, laughing heartily,
the hopeful letter of her son having quite restored her spirits, "that
is the very reason? If dear Fritz were here, he would naturally ask him
how we all are; but, as he is away now, and I never go outside the
house, while you, my faithful Lorischen, are not very communicative, I
suppose, when you go to the Market Platz, it is plain enough to common
sense that the worthy Burgher, if he takes an interest in us, must come
here to inquire after the family himself!"
"Oh yes, I understand," answered the old nurse, in a grumbling tone.
She had lived so long with the widow, whom she looked upon really as a
child committed to her charge, that she considered she had a perfect
right to pass an opinion on anything which did not please her. Besides,
she was jealous, on behalf of the boys, of any interloper being put over
their heads in the shape of a stepfather, she as an old spinster having
a wholesome horror of the designing nature of all men, especially of the
little Burgher Jans, to whom she had taken an inveterate dislike. "Oh
yes, I understand," she said in an ironical tone she always assumed on
being a bit vexed; "when the cat's away the mice play!"
"I presume then," said Madame Dort dryly, "that Mouser is a good deal
absent now from his duties; for, I noticed this morning that half that
cheese in the cupboard was nibbled up. It was a good Limburger cheese,
too!"
"Ach, Himmel!" exclaimed the old nurse, not perceiving the design of her
mistress to change the conversation, and taking up the cudgels readily
to defend her dearly loved cat. "The poor creature has not been himself
since the young masters have been away. He feels too lonesome to hunt
the mice as he used to do so gaily in the old days, tossing them up in
the air when he caught them, and bringing them mewing to my feet,--the
dear one! Why, he hardly ever touches a drop of milk now."
"Yes, I see he spares our cream--"
"Oh, madame, that was a libel on the poor animal. It was only the dear
lad Eric's joke! Mouser would never touch one drop of the breakfast
cream, save perhaps when we might be late for the meal, or when the dear
fellow felt a little thirsty, or--"
"Ah, indeed! Yes, no doubt," interrupted Madame Dort, laughing again.
"He would have been at it again to-day, only Burgher Jans' dog came in
at the nick of time and scared him away!"
"Did he!" said Lorischen indignantly. "It strikes me that pest of a
terrier is here a good deal too much, like his master! And, talk of
him, there he is!" she added hastily, leaving the room as a knock came
to the door.
Burgher Jans came in as the old nurse went out, brushing by him with
ill-concealed contempt and aversion. He was a fat little man, with long
straight hair coming down over his coat collar, and a round, full-moon
sort of face, whose effect of beaming complacency was enhanced by a pair
of large-rimmed tortoise-shell spectacles out of which his owl-like eyes
shone with an air of balmy wisdom.
"Most worthy lady," he commenced, addressing Madame Dort with an
elaborate bow, sweeping the floor with his hat. "Unto me the greatest
and ever-much rapture doth it with added satisfaction bring, to tell you
of the glorious success of the German arms over our greatly-overbearing
and hopeful-of-victory foe."
"Dear me!" exclaimed the widow, "you are rather late with your news; I
heard from Fritz just now."
"And is the dear, well-brought-up, and worthy youth in good health?"
"He is," said Madame Dort; "and tells us to expect him home soon."
Burgher Jans looked startled at this announcement, losing a trifle of
his beaming smile. "He is not wounded, I trust?" asked he tremblingly.
"Oh dear no, thank the good God who has watched over him," answered the
other cheerfully. "Why, he has not been in battle yet! He tells us
that the French are retreating, and that the war will be over almost
before another blow has been struck, the enemy having to surrender
before our irresistible battalions."
"Have you not heard of the battles of Woerth and Forbach, then?"
"No; what--when were they?"
"Where did your son Fritz write to you from, then?"
"From Coblentz. His letter is dated the day he arrived there, but I
only got it this morning."
"Ah then, most worthy lady, two terrible battles have occurred since
that time. We have beaten the French and forced them back into their
own country; but, alas! thousands of German lives have been lost. The
slaughter has been terrific!"
"Good heavens, Burgher Jans, you alarm me!" said Madame Dort, rising
from her chair in excitement. "Fritz told me there would be no fighting
except between the Crown. Prince's army and the enemy!"
"The worthy young Herr was right so far," put in the little man
soothingly, "that is as regards the south of the line; but our second
army corps has been likewise engaged on the banks of the Saar, hurling
disaster on the foe, although the French fought well, too, it is said.
Where, however, is Herr Fritz?"
"Serving under General Steinmetz."
"Ah, then he's safe enough, dear madame. That army is but acting as the
reserve. It is only my poor countrymen, the Bavarians, and the Saxons
who will have the hard work of the campaign to do. Von Bismark wants to
let out a little of their blood in return for the feverish excitement
they displayed against the Prussians in '66!"
"You relieve my mind," said Madame Dort, resuming her seat. "I thought
for the moment Fritz was in danger. You speak bitterly against the
Chancellor, however. He is a great man, and has done much for Germany."
"Oh, yes, I grant that," replied the other warmly; "still, he is one who
never forgets. He always pays out a grudge! You will see, now, if
those poor Bavarians do not come in for all the thick of the fighting."
"You talk as if there is going to be a lot more?"
"So there is, without doubt, without doubt," said Burgher Jans, rubbing
his hands together, as if he rather enjoyed the prospect.
"In that case, then, Fritz cannot return to Lubeck as soon as he thinks
possible?" and Madame Dort looked grave again, as she said this half
questioningly.
"I fear not, most worthy lady," replied the little man in a tone of
great concern; but, from the look on his face and the brisk way in which
he still continued to rub his hands together, it might have been
surmised that the prolonged absence of poor Fritz from his home would
not affect him much,--in fact, that he would be rather pleased by such a
contingency than not.
Madame Dort noticed this, and became quite sharp to him in consequence.
"I must beg you to say good-bye now," she said; "I've a busy day before
me, and have no more time to waste in chatting. Good-morning, Burgher
Jans."
"Good-morning, most worthy lady," said the little fat man, accepting his
dismissal and bowing himself out.
"The ill-natured little manoeuvrer!" exclaimed Madame Dort, half to
herself, as he left the room. Lorischen entered again at the same time,
the two always playing the game apparently of one of those old-fashioned
weather tellers, in which a male or female figure respectively comes out
from the little rustic cottage whenever it is going to be wet or fine;
for, as surely as the Burgher ever entered the sitting-room, the old
nurse withdrew, never returning until he had left. "The ill-natured
little manoeuvrer!" exclaimed Madame Dort, not thinking she was
overheard. "I believe he would be glad to keep poor Fritz away if he
could."
"Just what I've thought all along!" said Lorischen, immensely pleased at
this acknowledgment of her superior power of discernment.
"I mean, not on account of wishing any harm to Fritz," explained the
widow, "but that he himself might be able to come here oftener."
"Just what I've said!" chirped out the old nurse triumphantly; but
Madame Dort made no reply to this second thrust, and before Lorischen
could say anything further, a second visitor came to the little house in
the Gulden Strasse. It seemed fated as if that was to be a day for
callers, and "people who had no business to do preventing those who
had," as the old nurse grumbled while on her way to open the street door
for the new-comer--a courtesy Burgher Jans never required, walking in,
as she said, without asking leave or license, just when he pleased!
The visitor was Herr Grosschnapper, the merchant who employed Fritz in
his counting-house and who was also a part proprietor in the ship in
which Eric had sailed for Java. Madame Dort's heart leapt in her bosom
when she saw the old gentleman enter the parlour.
But, the shipowner's face did not look as if he brought any pleasing
news; and, after one brief glance at his countenance, the widow's fell
in sympathy. She almost anticipated the evil tidings which she was
certain he had in store for her.
"Madame Dort," he began, "pray compose yourself."
"I am quite calm, Herr Grosschnapper," she answered. "Go on with what
you come to tell me. You have heard something of my poor boy Eric; is
it not so?"
"It is, madame," replied the merchant, deceived by her composure. "I
grieve to say that I have received intelligence through the English
house of Lloyd's that the _Gustav Barentz_ foundered at sea in the
Southern Ocean early this year. Two boats escaped from her with the
crew and passengers, one of which, containing the first officer and
several hands, was picked up when those on board were in the last stage
of exhaustion, by a vessel bound to Australia. The men were taken to
Melbourne before any communication could be received from them, so that
is why the news of the wreck has been so long in reaching us."
"And Eric?" asked the widow, with her head bent down.
"He was with the captain in the other boat, dear madame," said Herr
Grosschnapper; "but, I'm afraid there is little or no chance of their
having been saved, or else we would have heard of them by this time.
Pray bear up under the loss, madame. He was a good son, I believe, and
would have made a good sailor and officer; but it was not to be!
Remember, you have another son left."
"Ah, but not Eric, my little one, my darling!" burst forth the poor
bereaved mother in a passion of tears; and then, the merchant, seeing
that any words of comfort on his part would be worse than useless,
withdrew.
The violence of Madame Dort's grief, however, was soon assuaged, for she
had long been preparing herself for this blow. She had given up all
hope of ever hearing from Eric again, even before Fritz left home.
Thenceforth, all her motherly love was bound up in her firstborn, now
the only son left her; and daily she scanned the papers to learn news of
the war.
Time passed on, the widow occasionally receiving a hurried scrawl from
Fritz, who, as she knew, was now no longer resting with the reserve
battalions in the fortresses of the Rhine, but marching onwards with the
invading army through France.
She heard of the terrible battle of Gravelotte, in which she dreaded
that he had taken part; but, almost before she could read the full
official details published in the German newspapers under military
censorship, her anxieties were relieved by a long letter coming from
Fritz, telling of his participation in the colossal contest and of his
miraculous escape without a wound, although he had been in the thick of
the fire and numbers of his comrades from the same part of the country
had been killed.
But, he had better news to tell--that, at least, is what he wrote, only
the mother doubted whether any intelligence could be more important to
her than the fact of his safety!
What would she think of hearing that he had been promoted to be an
officer "for gallantry in the field of battle," as the general order
read out to the whole army worded it? Would she not be proud of her
Fritz after that?
Aye, would she not, would not Lorischen?
And did not the entire gossiping community of Lubeck know all about it
by and through the means of the old nurse before the close of the self-
same day, eh?
Certainly; still, would it be believed that the very first person whom
Lorischen told the news to was her special antipathy, Burgher Jans? She
actually went up to and accosted him of her own free-will on the Market
Platz for the very purpose of telling him of Fritz's promotion! Yes,
such was the case; and she not only was friendly to the little fat man
on this occasion, but she actually patted his dog at the same time!
Still, Eric, the lost sailor laddie, was not forgotten in his brother's
success. The mother's grief was only chastened; and almost the very
first thought she had on receiving the news from Fritz, and afterwards
when she read it in official print, was "how pleased poor Eric would
have been at this!"
Bye-and-bye, Fritz wrote again, telling that their task had become very
monotonous. The Tenth Army Corps was detained along with several others
to besiege Metz, so hemming in Bazaine and the remainder of the army
that had endeavoured so gallantly at Gravelotte to pierce the German
lines, that they were powerless to assist the rest of their countrymen
in driving the Teuton invader from their soil. The besieging army,
which was formed of the united forces of the different corps under
Prince Frederick Charles and Steinmetz, had nothing to do, said Fritz,
save to stand to their guns and perform sentry duty; for the French,
since the fearful battle of the 18th of August, had not once attempted
to push their way out beyond range of the guns of the fortress, under
whose shelter they were cantoned in an extended entrenched camp, and
were apparently being daily drilled and disciplined for some great
effort.
On the 31st of the month, however, Fritz told his mother later on,
Bazaine made a desperate effort to break the German cordon around Metz;
and this being repulsed with heavy loss, the Marshal again remained
quiet for the space of another six weeks.
During this period Madame Dort heard regularly from her son through the
field post. She sent him letters in return, telling him all the home
news she could glean, and saying that she expected him back before the
winter. She hoped, at least, that he would come by that time, for Herr
Grosschnapper had informed her that he would have to fill up Fritz's
place in his counting-house if the exigencies of the war caused his
whilom clerk to remain away any longer.
Things went on like this up to the month of October, the anniversary of
poor Eric's going away; when, all at once, there came a cessation of the
weekly letters of Fritz from headquarters.
His mother wrote to inquire the reason.
She received no answer.
Then she read in the papers of another heavy battle before Metz, in
which the Tenth Army Corps had taken part. The engagement had happened
more than a week before, and Fritz was silent. He might be wounded,
possibly killed!
Madame Dort's anxiety became terrible.
"No news," says the proverb, "is good news;" but, to some it is the very
worst that could possibly be; for, their breasts are filled with a storm
of mingled doubts and fears, while hope is deadened and there is, as
yet, no balm of resignation to soothe the troubled heart! The proverb
is wrong; even the most heartbreaking confirmation of one's most painful
surmise is infinitely preferable to being kept in a state of perpetual
suspense, where one dreads the worst and yet is not absolutely certain
of it.
It was so now with Madame Dort. She thought she could bear the strain
no longer, but must go to the frontier herself and seek for information
of her missing son, as she had read in the newspapers of other mothers
doing. However, one afternoon, as she was sitting in the parlour in a
state of utter dejection by the side of the lighted stove, for winter
was coming on and the days were getting cold, Lorischen brought in a
letter to her which had just come by the post.
It was in a strange handwriting!
The widow tore it open hurriedly, glancing first at the signature at the
end. "Madaleine Vogelstein!" she said aloud. "I wonder who she is; I
never heard of her before!" She then went on to read the letter.
It did not take her long to understand the sense of it.
For, after scanning the contents with startled eyes, she exclaimed, "My
son! oh, my son!" and then fell flat upon the floor in a dead faint.