CHAPTER IX.
My solitude was soon broken in upon by a visit from Baron Arven. I was astonished to find him looking so sad. "Is there still so much of the old Austrian officer left in him?" I asked myself. He soon relieved me of all doubts on that head, and, in a tone which showed how he had struggled with and conquered his grief, told me that in many things, and especially in religious matters, he and his wife had not agreed. He had, at last, conquered himself, and had determined to let her have her own way; but now--he said it with apparent reluctance--the long-impending rupture had occurred, under circumstances almost too terrible to bear. Although he knew that, as a Czech and a Catholic, his wife hated Prussia, he could hardly believe his ears when she said, "All saints be praised! The French are coming! Our deliverance is at hand!" Her words had provoked him into unpardonable vehemence of language.
He hardly dared say it, but she had actually made a French flag, with the intention of displaying it as soon as the enemy should arrive,--an event of which she had felt perfectly assured. He never thought that his wife had political opinions of any kind, because mere abuse of Prussia does not argue the presence of political convictions. He had carefully avoided affronting her feelings as a Czech; for he well knew how the Czechs resent the fact of their being dependent on German culture. But he could never have believed that her hatred of Germany could have carried her so far as to allow her to connive at the correspondence with France, which was carried on under cover of her address, and with complete ignorance, on her part, of its origin.
The village clergyman had been to see her, and must have given her strange information, for she now insisted on leaving for Switzerland at once.
"God be praised!" said I, "let her go." I told him that her intended departure was already the topic of common talk.
The Baron, however, feared that her course might be fraught with evil consequences to the whole neighborhood, as he thought that her fleeing to Switzerland might awaken a panic.
To me, it seemed as if he were trying to justify his course in allowing her to leave. I assured him that no one doubted his patriotism, and he begged me not to divulge what he had told me.
I succeeded in reassuring him, and he seemed to recover from his depression. He felt that I fully sympathized with him. And can anything be sadder than to find that one's love of country is opposed and ridiculed in his own home? The antagonism which had so long been veiled under courteous forms, now broke forth with redoubled venom and fury.
"Your hearty sympathy does me good," said the Baron; "and I feel like a changed being since I have unbosomed myself to you--just as if I had withdrawn my hand from a bleeding wound, which can now flow freely."
I understood him. Grief which has been long repressed, and at last finds vent in words, renews itself while the sufferer speaks of it.
When I mentioned this to him, he took my hand and held it in his for a long while.
"But we must not think of our own little lives," he added; "great questions now claim us. If France should fail of success, she is still France; but if we meet with defeat, we shall become the prey of others."
I learned from him, for the first time, that the opposing bishops had handed in a protest against the promulgation of the doctrine of Papal infallibility, and that, as the measure had been determined on, in spite of their protest, they had left Rome.
When I told him of what had happened in the city--omitting, of course, all mention of my interviews with the Prince--his features assumed an expression of cheerfulness.
He was about to leave, when Martella entered, and asked, "May I show it to the Baron?"
Before I could answer her question, she took the letter of pardon from her satchel and spread it out on the table, at the same time saying that Rothfuss and Ikwarte were foolish enough to think that it was of no account, because it came from so petty a prince.
Baron Arven assured her that the paper would be of immense importance, if Ernst could be found again.
"Now I shall not ask another person," joyfully exclaimed Martella; "that seals it doubly--and just see how nicely it fits into my little satchel!"
She replaced it in the satchel and rubbed her hands over the embroidery, which represented a dog carrying a bird between his teeth.
The Baron rode off just as the letter-carrier arrived. He brought me a letter from my sister-in-law, who lives in the forest of Hagenau. She wrote to tell me that, on account of the war, her daughter's marriage had been hastened, and that, as there was danger that the incendiaries might come, she had instructed her daughter to remain at Strasburg, to which place she had sent all her stores of linen and other valuables. In case any of our ladies were alarmed, she would be willing, she wrote, to place them under protection at Strasburg.
About that time, we had sorrow in our house on account of the death of old Balbina. She had been our faithful servant for thirty years. When we attempted to console her by saying that she would recover from her illness, she would answer, "Don't mind me; I shall go to my good mistress, and she will give me the best place."
It was not until after my wife's death that I learned how much she had done for this servant, for then Balbina said to me:
"I was very wicked, but she converted me."
"Wicked? why, what could you have done?"
"I committed a theft when I had only been in the house a week. She caught me and spoke to me in private, saying: 'Balbina, I dare not send you off; for then you will steal from others, just as you have done here. I must keep you with us until you conquer this habit.' And it turned out just as she said, for during the thirty years I've lived in this house, my hands and lips have never touched a morsel that was not mine."
Balbina died without receiving extreme unction. She regarded her confession to my wife as having fully absolved her.
We never interfered with the religious opinions of our servants, but when the priest told Balbina that Protestants would not go to heaven, she answered, "I don't want to go to any other heaven but the one where my mistress is."
We were now on the high road towards political unity, but was not the antagonism in religious matters greater than ever before?
Ludwig wrote to Conny, informing her that he would soon return. She often told me that her father, had, until his dying hour, cherished a love of the Fatherland, and that no two men had ever had more beautiful and affectionate relations with each other than Ludwig and her father.
Their projected journey to Italy was out of the question. How could they now find pleasure in works of art? Ludwig would not rest content until he could, in some way, be of service to his country.
Suddenly, there was great commotion in the village and cries of "The French are coming!" were heard.
Lerz the baker had been driving along the valley-road at full tilt, and had called out to the people who were working in the fields, "Unhitch your horses! the French are coming!" They took the animals from their wagons and ploughs and hurried homeward. But it soon turned out that the news was false.
I do not think that this was wanton spite on the part of Lerz. He swore--although his oath was of but little value--that a farmer from down the valley had told him that he had seen the French. The rumor had indeed been spread far and near, but no one could tell who had started it.