Napoleon And Blucher Part 34

The invalid cast a quick glance on Leonora. She stood, drawn up to her full height, in the middle of the room; a proud, contemptuous smile was playing about her lips, which uttered no word in reply to her mother's plans.

"But what will Charles do?" asked Prohaska, quickly. "He cannot be as useful as his sister."

"Father!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Leonora, somewhat reproachfully.

"Hush!" he said, almost sternly, "mother is right; it behooves you women to prepare lint, cook soups, nurse the wounded, and sew shirts for them. But war itself is the task of the men. But, my wife, before telling me what Charles is to do for our wounded, I must ask a very sad question. Where shall we find money for the expenses we shall have to incur? We are unfortunately poor, dependent on the labor of our hands. This small house and my pension of three dollars a month const.i.tute our whole fortune, and if you were not the most skilful hair-dresser in Potsdam--if I could not besides earn a few dollars by making baskets, and if Leonora were not the best seamstress in town, I should like to know how we could live and send Charles to the Lyceum. But if we are to nurse the wounded, and devote our labor to them alone, we shall unfortunately soon lack the necessaries of life."

"I have thought of all that, husband," said his wife, eagerly. "But, listen to me! Charles wants also to have his share in our sacrifices, he does not intend to be idle while all are at work to promote the welfare of the country. As he cannot enlist and fight, he must use his head. He will, therefore, publish this advertis.e.m.e.nt: 'As I have unfortunately been rejected by the military commission on account of my youth, and because I have not yet been confirmed, I request generous patriots to allow me to give private lessons to their children, that I may earn a sufficient sum to nurse and support a wounded soldier till his complete recovery.'"

"Yes, I will do that!" exclaimed Charles. "The citizens will learn then why I have not enlisted, and I shall, moreover, be able to earn money for the country. I shall certainly get pupils, for my teachers are pleased with me, and I am already in the first cla.s.s. I can give lessons in Latin, Greek, mathematics, and history; I have good testimonials, and, for the sake of the n.o.ble object I have in view, parents will a.s.suredly intrust their children to me, and pay me well for my trouble."

"All of you will have employment, then," said Leonora, "and your labor will benefit the country. But I also want to render myself useful to the country."

"Well, you can a.s.sist me," said her mother; "you can prepare food, wash, and sew shirts."

"However industrious I might be, mother, I could in that way earn only as much as my own support would cost," said Leonora, shaking her head. "I can be of no use to you, I am superfluous; I will go therefore to another place, where I can render myself useful and make money."

"But whither do you intend to go, and what do you wish to do?" asked her mother in amazement, while her father cast searching glances upon her.

"To Berlin, and seek a situation as saleswoman," said Leonora. "What money I earn I shall send to you, and you will spend it for your wounded soldier. You know, mother, my G.o.dfather, Rudolph Werkmeister, who is a merchant at Berlin, has often asked me to go to see him, and take such a situation at his house. I have always refused, because I did not like to leave you, but thought I would stay with you and devote my whole life to nursing you; but G.o.d has decreed otherwise. Yesterday my G.o.dfather wrote again, stating that his wife had been taken sick, and that he was greatly embarra.s.sed because he had no one at his house on whom he could depend. He offers me a salary of eighty dollars a year. Now, I pray you, dear parents, let me go! Let me pursue my own paths, and do my duty as I understand it. Dear mother, I am sure you will not refuse your consent? You will permit me to go this very day to Berlin, and make money for our wounded soldiers?"

"I will, my child," said her mother, her voice trembling with emotion. "I have no diamonds and golden chains to give my country, so I give to it the most precious and beautiful jewels I have--my children. Yes, go, my Leonora; take the situation offered you, and give the money you earn to the fatherland and its soldiers."

"Oh, thanks, mother!" exclaimed Leonora, hastening to her and clasping her in her arms--"thanks, for permitting me to put my mite on the altar of the country!" She kissed her mother with fervent tenderness, and then turned toward her father. "And you, father,"

she said, in a low and almost timid tone--"you do not say a word-- you do not give your consent."

The invalid stood leaning on his crutch, and looked thoughtfully into the n.o.ble face of his daughter. He then slowly raised his right hand and laid it on Leonora's shoulder. "I repeat what your mother said. Like her, I have no treasures to give my country except this jewel, my Leonora! Go, my daughter!--do what you believe to be your duty, and may G.o.d bless you!" Opening his arms, she threw herself into them and leaned her head on his breast.

"And now," said Prohaska, gently disengaging himself from a long and tearful embrace, "let us be calm. These are the first tears I have wept since the death of our dear Queen Louisa--the first for your sake, my Leonora! May the Lord forgive them to a poor father who has but one daughter! The heart will yield to its emotions, but now I must again be a soldier, who knows no tears!"

"But, husband, Leonora will not leave us immediately," said her mother. "She must remain yet a day with us. Alas! we discover what treasures we possessed only when we lose them. I believe I have never loved Leonora so intensely as I do at this hour, and my heart is unable to part with her so suddenly. I must first accustom myself to the separation, and engrave her image upon my soul, that I may never forget her dear features. Let her stay, then, until to- morrow!"

The invalid gravely shook his head. "No," he said; "what is to be done must be done at once; otherwise, our hearts will grow weak, and our tears soften our resolutions. To-day I can permit Leonora to leave us; whether I shall be able to do so to-morrow, I do not know."

"Father, the stage-coach starts for Berlin in two hours, and I shall take pa.s.sage in it!" exclaimed Leonora, quickly. "You are right, what is to be done must be done now, and when we have taken a resolution, we must not hesitate to carry it into effect. I will go to my chamber and pack my trunk."

"I will go and help you," said her mother, hastening toward the door, and leaving the room with Leonora.

"And I will write my advertis.e.m.e.nt," said Charles. "It must be published to-morrow, that I am obliged to stay here because my country will not accept me as a soldier, and that I desire to give private lessons, the proceeds of which are to be devoted to the support of a wounded soldier."

"And I--what shall I do?" asked the old invalid, when he was alone.

"I must swallow my tears, and tell no one my thoughts. I shall quietly accustom myself to the idea that the darling of my heart, my Leonora, is to leave me, and that my old eyes are to see no more her dear face, or my ears hear her voice. Ah, when she looked at me, I felt as though it were spring in my heart, and the sun shining there; and when I heard her voice I thought it music rejoicing my soul. Now, how quiet and gloomy all around me will be in the small house--no more sunshine or music! all will be gone when Leonora is gone. And will she come back, then?--will not some bullet, some sword-blade--hush, my thoughts! I must not betray them! Be still, my heart, and weep! Be still and--" Tears choked his voice, and the strong man, overwhelmed with grief, sank into his easy-chair and sobbed aloud. After a long time he raised himself again and dried his tears. "Fie, Sergeant Prohaska!" he said aloud. "You sit here and cry like an old woman, and wring your hands in grief, instead of being glad and thanking the Lord that a subst.i.tute has been found for the invalid sergeant with the wooden leg. Thunder and lightning, Sergeant Prohaska! I advise you to behave yourself, and not be weak and foolish, while women are becoming men. Keep your head erect, turn your eyes on the enemy, and then, 'Charge them!' as old father Blucher used to say. I will go to work now," he continued, drawing a deep breath, after repeatedly pacing the small room with measured steps. "Yes, I will go to work, and that no one may discover that I have wept, I will sing a beautiful song I learned yesterday from a volunteer. Yes, I will work and sing!" He hastened to the chamber adjoining the sitting-room, and brought from it a neat half-finished basket upon which he had been at work the day before. "It must be finished to-day; I have promised it," he said, sitting down on his old easy-chair. He then commenced working a.s.siduously, and sang in a powerful voice:

"Nun mit Gott! Es ist beschlossen!

Auf, Ihr wackern Streitgenossen, Endlich kommt der Ehrentag!

Besser flugs und f rohlich sterben, Als so langsam bin verderben, Und versiechen in der Schmach."

"Endlich darf das Herz sich regen, Sich die Zunge frei bewegen, Alle Fesseln sind eutzwei.

Ach, da Alles schier zerstoben, Kam der Retterarm from oben, Neugeboren sind wir, fred!"

"Tag der Freiheit, Tag der Wonne!

Bruder, seht! es tanzt die Sonne, Wie am ersten Ostertag!

Todte sprengen ihre Grufte, Und durch Berg und Thai und Klufte Hallt ein freudig Jauchzen nach!"

"Auferstanden, auferstanden Aus der Knechtschaft Todesbanden, Streiter Gottes, nun zu Hauf!

Unsre Adler! Ha sie wittern Ihrer Raub--die Feinde zittern, Unsre Adler fahren auf!"

"Zu den Waff en, zu den Rossen, Auf, Ihr wackern Kampfgenossen Er ist da, Der Ehrentag!

Besser flugs und frohlich sterben, Als so langsam hin verderben, Und versiechen in der Schmach!"

[Footnote: It is resolved in G.o.d's great name!

Up, comrades! to the field of fame!

This day of glory save.

Quickly and merrily to die Is better than the sick-bed sigh, And an unhonored grave.

Our heart at last resumes its life-- Our tongues now urge to holy strife; The broken chains we see.

When all seemed lost, a saving hand From heaven vouchsafes to bless our land, And make us strong and free.

O happy day! The sun new-born Is dancing as on Easter morn!

See, risen brothers, see!

"We come from slavery's grave unbound, And mountains and the vales resound With songs of jubilee.

Ascending from Oppression's night, Behold the dawn of freedom's light!

Soldiers of G.o.d, arise!

The enemy will rue this day, For victory's eagle scents the prey And onward quickly flies.

To arms! to horse! my comrades brave!

And let the battle-standard wave, For now is honor's day.

The dying shout of b.l.o.o.d.y strife Is better than the pining life That sinks by slow decay."]

"Yes, it is better to die quickly and merrily than slowly pine away and perish in disgrace," repeated a sonorous voice behind him. It was Leonora, who had just entered the room, unnoticed by her father, and had listened to the last verse of his song. "Yes, the song is right," she said, enthusiastically. "But I, father, have already been pining away for a long time. The first volunteer I saw was as a dagger that pierced my soul, and ever since I have been ill and suffering, and in my heart a voice has been continually singing the words I once heard at the theatre: 'I wish to be a man!'"

"And why do you wish to be a man?" asked her father, bowing his head, and seemingly devoting his whole attention to his work.

"Because a man is allowed to do freely and boldly what he deems right and good," replied Leonora; "because, when the fatherland calls him, he may step forth with a bold front, and reply: 'Here I am! To thee, my country, belongs my arm--my blood! For thee I am ready to fight, and if need be to die!' Father, when a man talks thus, his words are sublime--the women clasp their hands and listen devoutly to him, and the children fall on their knees and pray for him. But if a girl talk thus, it would be as mockery; the women would deride their heroic sister, and the children point at and shout after her, 'Look at the foolish girl who wants to do what is solely the task of man! Look at the crazy one, who imagines she can do men's work!' Her most sacred sentiments, her most patriotic desires and resolutions, would be mercilessly ridiculed!"

"That is the reason, my child," said her father, calmly laboring at his basket, "why she should not betray her sentiments, and confide her thoughts to G.o.d alone. Have you forgotten what Charles read to us about Joan of Orleans? She left her parents silently and secretly, and went whither G.o.d called her."

"But her father cursed and disowned her for it," said Leonora, in a tremulous voice. "Do you think her father was right, merely because she followed the voice of G.o.d, and went out to deliver her king and country?"

"No," said Prohaska, laying his basket aside and rising, "I do not; I was always indignant when that particular pa.s.sage was read to us."

"And what would you have said, father?" asked Leonora, in a tone of profound emotion. "Imagine me to be Joan, the inspired maid of Orleans, and that I say: 'Father, I cannot remain any longer in this narrow dwelling. The voice of the king and the fatherland has penetrated my heart also, and has called me. I must obey it, for I feel courageous and strong enough, and it would be cowardly to disobey.' What would you say if I were Joan of Orleans, and should talk thus to you?"

"I should say, 'Kneel down, my Leonora, and receive my last blessing,'" replied Prohaska, straightening himself and approaching his daughter.

Leonora knelt down, and, raising her tearful eyes to her father, whispered: "What blessing would you give me if I were Joan of Orleans? Oh, think I am she, and give me your blessing!"