Waldfried Part 17

"Curse him!" cried Ernst; "I would not have missed aim."

I reproved him with great severity, but he insisted that one had a right to commit murder. I replied that no one would ever have that right, and that this deed had been as culpable as the a.s.sa.s.sination of Abraham Lincoln; for if any one man has the right to be both the judge and the executioner of his enemies, you will have to accord the privilege to the democrat as well as to the aristocrat.

"Let us cease this quarrelling," he answered; "I have no desire to dispute with you. I am firm in my belief that one is justified in doing wrong for the sake of bringing about a good result. But, I beg of you, father, let us now and forever cease this quarrelling."

His face showed his conflicting emotions, and he kissed my hand when I gently stroked his face.

The crowd had dispersed in the meanwhile, and we proceeded on our way.

Ernst suddenly stopped and said to me: "Farewell, father. Give my love to mother and Martella."

He held on to my hand quite firmly for a moment or two longer, and then said, "I must go to the barracks."

His eyes plainly told me that he would like to say more that he could not express; but he merely nodded, and then turning on his heel, departed.

"Write to us often!" I called out to him. He did not look back.

I followed after him for a while, keeping near enough to hear his firm step and the rattling of his spurs. I fondly hoped that he would yet return to me, and tell me of the thoughts that oppressed his heart.

I met many acquaintances on the way, who saluted me and extended their hands. They wanted me to stop and talk with them, but I merely nodded and pa.s.sed on.

In my eager haste I ran against many people, for I did not want to lose sight of my son. There he goes! Now he stands still--now he turns.

Surely-- At that moment a company of soldiers marched down the street to the sound of lively music; we were now separated. I could not see my son again. I returned to Bertha and the Major, and the latter promised me to keep a watchful eye on Ernst, and to send us frequent tidings in regard to him, in case he should neglect to write.

I rode to the depot. I was fearfully tired, and felt as if I could not walk another step.

As the trains were quite irregular, I was obliged to wait there for a long while.

I felt--no, I cannot--I dare not--revive the painful emotions that rent my bosom. Of what avail would it be? My son was going forth to war, and I had brought him here, myself.

"Brother fighting against brother." I fancied that I had been talking to myself and had uttered these words; but I found that they were frequently repeated by the excited groups that were scattered about the depot. All about me there was ceaseless turmoil. People were rushing to and fro, yelling, shouting, cursing, and laughing. I sat there absorbed in thought, not caring to see or hear anything more of the world, when a familiar voice said to me, "How charming, father, that I should meet you here!"

My son Richard stood before me; he had finished his lectures and was about to return home.

Accompanied by him, I started for home.

Richard informed me of the political divisions among the professors, and thus afforded me a glimpse of a sphere of life entirely different from my own. Even the immovable altars of science were now trembling, and personal feeling had become so violent that the friends of Prussia, of whom Richard was one, could not appear in public without being subjected to insults. On our way home, we stopped for dinner at the garrison town, where we heard the most contemptuous allusions to the "Prussian braggarts," as they were termed.

It was said that they had no officers who had ever smelt powder. That what had been done in Schleswig-Holstein had been achieved by the Austrians; and that if they ever dared go so far as to fight, they would be sent home in disgrace.

I do not know whether they really believed what they said, or whether they were simply trying to keep up their courage. But, on every hand, one could hear them say, "They will not let matters proceed so far; they are loud talkers and nothing else."

I was quite beside myself; but Richard begged me to remain silent. He thought it was well that matters had come to this pa.s.s.

Whoever had brought on this war had a.s.sumed a great, but perhaps unavoidable, responsibility. It was the sad fiat of fate, and none could foretell where the sacrifice and suffering would end. History would march on in its appointed path, even though sin and suffering be its steppingstones.

And then he pointed to our surroundings, and added, "Such fellows as these will never be converted by speeches; nothing but a thorough beating will teach them reason."

I have found that sober history tells us very little of all those things. She brings the harvest under shelter and enters the result; but who stops to ask how the weather may have changed while the grain was ripening?

But to us who live in the present, such things are not trifles; and I cannot help maintaining that the war of 1866 was forced on the people against their will, as far as I can judge, and I have spoken to many on the subject. The Prussians did not desire war; the conservatives did certainly not wish for it, for Austria was, spite of all, the bulwark of their principles. The liberals did not want it; nor did the soldiers go forth with cheerful hearts. But necessity had become incarnate in the brain of a single statesman: separation from Austria was the end to be gained, and though it went hard, that result must be achieved.

But the operation was a difficult and a painful one.

CHAPTER XXII.

Before the train left the station, the newsboys were running about offering copies of extra issues of the journals, with news that the Diet had raised the German colors: black, red, gold.

And thus the Diet dared to unfurl the flag which we had always regarded with devotion,--for the sake of which we had been persecuted, imprisoned, or exiled. It seemed as if the holiest of holies had been denied and dishonored.

"It is the death-bed repentance of a sinner who has not enough time left to do good in," said Richard, who divined the thoughts that were pa.s.sing through my mind.

A large company of soldiers was on the train, and went as far as the next garrison town.

But how could they have found it in their hearts to sing?

Haymaking had begun, the cars were filled with the fragrant odor of the newly mown gra.s.s. The laborers in the fields would look up from their work, and raise their scythes on high when they saw us pa.s.s.

And now, when it seemed as if my Fatherland was to be laid waste and destroyed, I became more than ever sensible of my great affection for it.

These woods, these fields and villages, were all to be laid waste, and shrieks of woe would resound from the flames. I felt it as keenly, as if beholding a beloved relative in the grasp of death.

The train was just moving away from the station when I heard a soldier call out to me, "Grandfather!"

I recognized him: it was my grandson Martin, the son of my daughter Johanna. He nodded to me, and when I turned to look at him, I saw the lieutenant collaring and buffeting him for speaking without orders while in the ranks.

We had proceeded but a short distance when I observed that Funk was on the train. He kept at a distance from us. He had bought a large bundle of extra newspapers, which he distributed to the people at the different stations.

When we reached our circuit town we repaired to the Wild Man Tavern, where, while waiting for a conveyance, we seated ourselves under the newly planted lindens. While sitting there, engrossed by thoughts of the country's troubles, I learned of another trouble nearer home.

I am old enough to know something of human wickedness, but I admit that I am, even to this day, frequently surprised by the shape that human meanness will sometimes take.

At a side table was seated Funk's special satellite--the baker Lerz, of Hollerberg. He was accompanied by his wife, and both looked about them with an air of serene contentment. The baker was a sensual, self-complacent man, who had a habit of smiling and moving his lips, as if he were smacking them at the thoughts of a feast he had just been enjoying. He had just been involved in an unclean piece of business, in which he had sworn that he was innocent, although, according to my conviction and the general belief, he had perjured himself in so doing.

But what does such an unconscionable voluptuary care for that? When the peril was pa.s.sed, all care was at an end.

The baker approached me and inquired if I would like to ride home with him; for the government levies had rendered it difficult to obtain a conveyance. I declined; Fortunately, my neighbor, the young meadow farmer, who had been taking hay over to the railway station, was pa.s.sing by at the time, and so I rode home with him.

A little way out of the town, we came up with a young woman who was walking along the road. She had covered her head with a large white kerchief, and was carrying an infant in her arms.

Her head was bent forward; and it is generally a sign of deep thought if one who is walking along a road does not look around at the rapid approach of a vehicle. And this woman was Lerz's victim.

The meadow farmer, who was, usually, a man of few words, leaned back from his seat on the front bench, and whispered to me, "Such a fellow as Lerz ought not to be permitted to take an oath."

The meadow farmer had for a long while been my worst enemy, simply because I had deprived him of his greatest enjoyment--venting his spite on others.