Waldfried Part 62

On the other hand, she took great pleasure in hearing Carl discussed.

He had always said, "I don't like it that Marie is so rich. I don't need much. If I have enough to eat and drink and my clothes, I am satisfied; and if I have any children, they shall be like me in this respect. I do not care to be like the great farmers, and have money in the funds. I do not find that they are happier, more jovial, and healthier than their servants."

The schoolmaster also spoke of Carl: "He was my best pupil, and learnt the most; and when, as a soldier, he received his first furlough, he came to visit me first of all. He waited before the door until the school was dismissed, when he accompanied me home and thanked me. Yes, he will succeed in life."

In short, Carl has the qualities which we wish the people to possess: he is bright, clever, and active; is not dissatisfied with his lot, and is modest and frugal.

Martha did not merely place the flowers from the meadow before me, she also brought blossoms from the kind hearts of our villagers; for, as beautiful flowers grow among nettles, so can genuine feeling be found coupled with rudeness. We had to return to our quiet life, for, in spite of our heavy thoughts which were far away, the present demanded our attention.

In irrigating our meadows, we were frequently forced to protect ourselves against the tricks of the meadow farmer. The traps are set in the evening, and at night or early in the morning they are drawn up; for the meadows need cool water, that which the sun has warmed being injurious.

As the meadow farmer did not sleep well, he used to go out to the ditch and turn our water into his meadows.

Rothfuss found this out, and I caught the meadow farmer stealing the water. He feared the French, and yet he tried to rob his neighbors.

Martha, when she heard of this, thought that his love for his meadows might excuse this wickedness; but my daughter-in-law reproved her with a severity which I had never observed before. She looked upon such trespa.s.sing as being a most serious matter; for the growth of all that belongs to us out of doors depends on public confidence.

Alas! how we cared for such little matters, while such great affairs were being settled yonder. The French might come upon us at any moment.

But it is always thus. You stoop to pick a strawberry, and do not notice the mountain range. Why, as I was walking through the woods I was delighted at the prospect of a good crop of huckleberries. This is of importance to the poor people; for the productions which those who are better off do not care to cultivate, furnish food for the poor.

On the evening of the 1st of August, I was again on top of the Hochspitz Mountain, where Wolfgang had been with me the last time. The whole valley of the Rhine was bathed in the glow of the setting sun, which filled the air like a golden stream, and beyond lay the blue Vosges Mountains.

What is going on there? Will the French soon be here, killing and burning as they go?

To protect the pine-tree seeds against the birds, Wolfgang had placed brushwood over the spot on which he had sowed them. This had already become dry, and the leaves, therefore, covered the ground from which the young plants were starting.

On my way home I could hear the murmur of the brook below; and everything was so still, that I could even hear the noise made by the fountain in front of my house. Sometimes the shrill sound of the saw-mill would be carried up to me by the breeze. The grain-fields were in bloom; a nourishing haze lay upon them; the forest-trees were silently growing; the sun shone so clear by day; the moon was so bright by night. We seemed to be separated from that world in which a dreadful slaughter was just beginning.

The next morning I looked from out my quiet home, into the far distance. It had rained during the night. Everything was cooled off, the sun shone brightly, and the air from the fields was most refreshing. We had brought in our hay the day before, and the thunder-storm during the night had nourished the meadows. It seemed as if the myriads of refreshed plants joyfully gave token of new vigor. I said to myself: Thus may it be with our country and our people; perhaps, while you slept, a dreadful storm--and, let us hope, a beneficent one--may have pa.s.sed over us.

Just then Joseph brought the news: "Fighting has begun. We have been beaten at Saarbrucken."

"None of our people are there: only Prussians are there," cried Rothfuss.

Joseph saw how angry these words made me, and, to turn away my wrath, he begun to tell about Funk, who was down in the tavern boasting of his knowledge of French, and saying that he would get along with the Frenchmen. He also had several little books for sale, from which the ordinary French phrases could be learnt.

Funk went about in jack-boots, carrying on a heavy business in grain, b.u.t.ter, and bacon with the army. Schweitzer-Schmalz had advanced him money for the purpose. He boasted of his generosity in putting the poor fellow on his feet, but at the same time had wisely bargained for the lion's share of the profits.

An hour afterwards, the wife of the councillor sent word that the news of our defeat was false.

That afternoon a message came from Hartriegel, informing us that, from the top of a hill in his neighborhood, a great movement of the opposing armies could be seen. I hurried up there with Joseph, Martha, and Conny. The engineer, who had been engaged at a neighboring stone-quarry while the troops had been stationed about us, reappeared and accompanied us.

We stood on the top of the tower of the ruined castle and gazed over into Alsace, where we could see the movements of the battle.

It was going on near Weissenburg, the region which was so familiar to me. Looking on thus from a distance, with fear and trembling as we saw the sudden flashes, the clouds of smoke, the burning villages, and hearing, occasionally, the sound of the guns which the echo from the hills brought us--all this oppressed me so much that Martha persuaded me to take some wine. It went hard with me to do so, for I first had to drown the thought of the many men yonder who might be restored to life if we could but wet their lips.

Martha prayed; I could only think of the new epoch that was just beginning. Happiness and victory must be the share of those who desire their own good and that of others. One great step was already gained, for the war had been carried into the enemy's country.

We did not return before nightfall. Joseph drove to town to bring the latest news. The morrow came, so calm and clear. What has been the result?

At noon a shot was fired down at the saw-mill; this was the signal that Joseph was to give in case we had triumphed. He came and brought the news of the glorious victory at Worth.

"We have beaten the French on their own ground," he cried; "it _was_ their own ground, but it must be ours again. Our boys were there," he added, after a pause. "Father! sisters! let us be prepared for everything."

Our resolve was a timely one.

CHAPTER IV.

Martha, who had hitherto shown such self-possession, was now seized with the greatest anxiety. She changed color constantly. She tried in vain to control her feelings, but at last her anxiety as well as mine became so great that we drove to the city. The crops were being already gathered from such fields as lay facing the south; nearly all the reapers were women.

While driving up the hill towards the court-house, I saw Edward Levi, the iron merchant, turn about suddenly as he caught sight of us and go towards his house. That was not the way he usually received us; so at once I feared that there was some bad news awaiting us, and that he did not wish to be the first one to tell it to us.

We halted before the court-house, but no one came to the windows; no one came to meet us. We went upstairs into the hall. The councillor's wife stood by the round table in the centre. She kept her hand on the table for a moment; then advancing towards Martha, and taking her hand, she said, "I awaited you here; I did not wish to cause you any emotion on the stairs, much less in the street. Your brother--dear Martha--your brother--died--an heroic death."

She said this with a firm voice; but when she had finished, she sobbed aloud and embraced Martha. The latter sank down beside her. We raised her; her faintness was of short duration, and her mother whispered, "Don't be alarmed! the shock will not harm her."

"My brother!" cried Martha, "I shall never see you more; never call you brother again. Pardon me, mother, I distress you instead of helping you. Where is father?"

"He is gone to the battle-field with Baron Arven. He has telegraphed that he is bringing the body with him. Ludwig, Wolfgang, and that st.u.r.dy Ikwarte are of the greatest a.s.sistance to him."

"Where is my sister?"

"She is at work in the town-hall. That is the best, the only thing to do--to care for others while you are bowed down with grief. As soon as you are restored, we will go to work together. Only do not idly mourn now! I have had your brother's room put in order; we will take charge of some wounded man and nurse him."

Martha looked wonderingly at her mother. How was such self-control possible! That is the blessing which long and careful culture brings, while it, at the same time, strengthens the moral sense. Her mother was dressed with care; she looked as she did in more peaceful days, and displayed no emotion, deeply as her heart was torn by the loss of her dearly beloved son. She told me that a messenger had come after bandages and to get help for the battle-field, and that her husband had sent word by him that the young lieutenant had been the first officer that had fallen. He had not been rash, but had moved forward at the head of his men with steadfast courage, had broken the ranks of the enemy, and, while crying, "The day is ours! the day is ours!" he had fallen with a bullet in his heart.

Martha was now restored, and a half hour after our arrival we were on our way to the town-hall. Her sister, who was engaged in cutting out garments, came towards us, gave Martha her hand, and repressed the rising tears. She spoke softly to Martha: she evidently begged her not to give vent to her grief before those who were present. Martha accompanied her quietly to the table, and helped to spread out the linen.

The daughter of Councillor Reckingen, who was just budding into womanhood, and who had hitherto been a stubborn, proud girl, lording it over every one, sat among the workers and was in entire harmony with them, while her father had cast aside his grief and joined his comrades in the field. She was placed specially in Christiane's charge.

The children, who were making lint in the bas.e.m.e.nt, were singing the song of "The Good Comrade"--in the hall upstairs everything was still.

Orders were given quietly, and the women and maidens pa.s.sed silently to and fro. It seemed as if some one was lying dead in the adjoining room; but, above all this affliction and sorrow, there was a spirit which had never before shown itself among those present. All cla.s.s distinctions had ceased, for all were united in their sympathy for their fellow-men.

Why does this spirit of friendship, this unanimity, appear only in times of trouble and sorrow; why not in every-day life?

I felt sure that this union of hearts would remain with us and beautify our lives, and this thought was strengthened by the remark of the lady at whose side I sat, who said, "You see,--this activity is the salvation of many, as you can perceive in your grand-daughter Christiane. She is untiring, and the dissatisfied air her face used to wear is gone. We are now all united. It will not last; but hereafter the thought that there once was a time when the children of the poorer and of the upper cla.s.ses did not ask 'Who are you, after all?' will greatly benefit us."

I stayed in the city. The next evening, just as it was growing dark, the councillor arrived with his son's body. The whole town, young and old, was collected at the railway station. The children carried wreaths and flowers, the bells were ringing, and thus was the body taken from the station to the churchyard. After a hymn was sung, the clergyman delivered his address. What could he say? He explained in few words that this was not an ordinary funeral, but that we were now parts of one great whole, even in death.

The father, mother, and sisters cast the first clods of earth on the young hero's coffin; the grave was then filled in and covered with flowers.

We had buried the first one who had died for the union and independence of our Fatherland. I was staying with the family which had thus lost its only son. They sat at home in silence; indeed, what could be said?

The parson had added a text from the Bible, and had made some earnest remarks thereon; yet I thought, and am sure that these stricken ones thought as I did, that all political feeling is foreign to that holy book. Patient endurance here, and the hope of better things beyond, suit a nation that is kept in subjection, but not one that is gladly battling and sacrificing itself for its existence. What an entirely different comprehension the Greeks had of exertion carried to its utmost limit. I remembered how, while in prison, the speech of Pericles, delivered at the funeral rites in Athens, had illumined and elevated my soul; and I could almost see the words, for they seemed to have been hewn out of stone, like a finely chiselled piece of sculpture. I found the book in the house, and read the address to the parents and children. I had to stop frequently, for sometimes the father and sometimes the mother would exclaim: "That is intended for us, for to-day."

"No enemy has ever seen our entire forces," says Pericles, and so say we.