A GERMAN "GOTT BE WITH YE"
A dash of adventure was to crown Gard Kirtley's farewell to Germany
as it had crowned Jim Deming's, but with an ominous wreath of the
tragic instead of garlands of the comic. War was at hand, yet even
Anderson did not see it plainly enough to report it. War was often
in the sky in Germany and often had he been fooled. The Teutons must
be sure of victory and, he was positive, would avail themselves of a
long summer for their campaign.
In those days of July something peculiar and tense hung over the
land, but its sources were untraceable, its form, abstract. The
unadvised, ordinary people wiped the sweat from their foreheads and
said it must be the heat. Kirtley would not have been expected to
interpret Friedrich's surprising engagement in the music ranks of
the _Landwehr_ as a sign that widespread preparations were being
made for the fullest onslaught of which the nation could be capable.
The Government was, nevertheless, quietly laying its hands on all
its young men--even musicians who were blind in one eye and could
not see out of it.
Gard was glad to go home through the heart of Germany. Jena, Weimar,
Erfurt, Eisenach!--the land of Goethe, Schiller, Luther. While these
figures were discarded from the blatant pageantry of the armed
Empire, the landmarks associated with them remained to satisfy the
vision, and he could tell of them to dear old ignorant Rebner who
would be waiting to hear of his beloved Deutschland which existed no
more. Afterward, Heidelberg; the trip down the Rhine to the spires
of Cologne; and then Aix at the western border, where that august
sovereign slept in a haunting majesty, wrapped in the mystic
grandeur of the Dark Ages. It was the most fitting and impressive
place on the frontier from which to bid adieu to Germania.
In gratitude for his recovery Gard made handsome presents to
everyone at Loschwitz, accompanied by the conventional _Edelweiss_.
Villa Elsa, in turn, was profuse in its expressions and little acts
of good will. Herr Bucher gave him a queer pipe, and the boys
furnished the smoking tobacco. These gifts were to while away the
lost hours on the tour. From Frau came a flask of cognac for use in
case he were dizzy on the trains. Fräulein bestowed on him one of
her tiny etchings showing the Elbe with the Schiller Garden where
all had spent so many evenings.
Gard's route, his through ticket to the sea, his traveling clothing,
were subjects of daily conversation at the table. Although the
family were entirely obliging, Rudi, odd to say, occupied himself
the most about the trip. He seemed wonderfully keyed up and more
full of military talk even than usual. He insisted on seeing about
time-tables, hotels to be recommended, the favorite dishes and brews
to be called for at each stopping place for local tone.
Kirtley was pleased over his friendly attentions. He wished to leave
with good feelings all around.
When Rudi helped him get his trunk from the store room, Gard's
forgotten passport fell out and excited the other's curiosity.
"I've never seen an American state paper before," he remarked,
puffing a cigarette. "What a droll looking affair! So different from
ours. Would you mind if I just glanced at it?"
"Certainly not." Anderson's suspicions of the young German glanced
through Kirtley's mind. But Rudi was a thick-headed boy, and what
could he or anyone accomplish with a passport? Gard had scarcely
been called upon to use it. It had been treated almost as a blank
formality, an empty courtesy.
"You don't have to show it in German towns--only at the frontier? Am
I right?" inquired Rudi after he had minutely read it through as if
he had been an official.
"Only at the frontier." Gard grew wary. This knowing and recent
familiarity was not becoming entirely agreeable. It would be prudent
to mystify the son.
"But of course something _might_ happen in a German town and I might
need it. So it's always convenient to have about."
"Where are you going to carry it, then?" pursued the other, handing
back the ribboned paper.
"Would you think my grip would be the place?"
"Your grip? Yes, that's just like me. I always shove everything into
my grip at last. See here, now. I have none of my papers about me.
All in my grip--even in the house." Rudi opened to view his inside
coat pocket in testimony, as if he were an important individual.
Gard shifted ground again.
"I don't know. I may carry it in my pocket--with my ticket. What if
I leave it in my trunk after all? I shall have to open up at the
border anyhow."
The subject of the passport kept in Rudi's mind. Three days later he
called out to Gard:
"I have been thinking it over and I believe you should carry your
passport in your grip. It may slip out of your pocket while you are
dozing in the train."
"Danke schoen!" said Gard.
The parents also took great interest in the matter. The paper ought
to be examined by the German authorities. Was it not Herr Kirtley's
credentials to the German nation? Nothing would answer but that Herr
Bucher and Rudolph should take it in town and see that the proper
officials were duly cognizant. It was another evidence to Gard that
a Teuton is not content until his Government is given an
opportunity to approve. The document seemed so vital to Villa Elsa
that Gard mentioned it to Anderson in the way of gossip.
"Don't leave it in your trunk or grip," cautioned the elder. "Keep
it on your person. Sew it on your shirt, by golly. One never needs a
passport, you know, and then you need it like the devil. I've heard
of two or three persons this month who got separated from their
passports and were in trouble. Something seems to be really going on
under the surface. But spring is the classic time for war as well as
love to break out."
Gard decided to follow Anderson's advice and keep the parchment in
his innermost pocket. He also checked his trunk through to the
frontier, contrary to Rudi's suggestion. He said nothing of these
changes, yet he was far from thinking that the hand of the Goth
would dare to reach out after him--a friendly foreigner and guest
leaving this peaceful hearthstone, so effusive in its amicable
leave-takings.
Just before his departure he felt something of a restraint in the
household. He attributed it to the social stiffness of the German.
This increases when intercourse comes to a point. Affecting moments
jolt hard in him--moments when embarrassment is natural to all
humans.
At the gate, for the last time, the Herr was energetically smoking
his long pipe. The Frau frequently wiped her sweating face with a
handkerchief. The boys kept kicking away the dogs whose barking half
drowned the parting words. Gard said good-by, too, to the old linden
by his window. How one can miss a tree!
And Elsa! He flattered himself she looked a mite regretful that he
was going. She was starting for her class when she joined the
topsy-turvy group by the gate and waved her creamy hand. Her small
straw hat, wreathed fatiguingly in roses, clung desperately to her
head in the awkward way German women have of wearing headgear, and
made her, despite her blossom-like attractiveness, seem quaint and
so truly German like the rest. She looked to Gard as pink and blonde
as the year before when he had first been dazzled by her glistening
hair.
On crossing the river he could see her moving down their meadow path
where Heine had sung to him, her etching materials under her arm.
One last look at the row of knightly castles rimming the heights
above her and at the storied Elbe at her feet as she hurried along!
He gulped down a small something in his throat, and turned his face
toward the station.
After all, Dresden had been a year of his life.