CHAPTER V.
"A Prussian doesn't let go his grip from anything he holds," said Ikwarte to the councillor, when the latter called to him not to let a badly wounded man, who was being carefully carried by, drop. This was, in a certain sense, a motto for us all.
Prussia has the Frenchman in her grip, and will not let him go; and our troops have gone bravely on. The blood of the South and North German has been shed together. Grief for the individual was assuaged by the thought of the result which would be achieved.
The union of the German people is now indissoluble.
The councillor returned to the army.
I was greatly grieved that I could not also lend a hand, and that I was forced to return home, there to watch and wait. But the councillor assured me, and I dare say he was right, that I would be unable to stand the sights of the battle-field. On the first day, he himself, even before he knew of his son's fate, had become so crushed and dazed that he could hardly keep his feet. Now he no longer thought of the misery itself, but solely of the means of remedying it.
Rontheim related, to our momentary amusement, how the vicar had lost the trunk containing his robes of office, and how he therefore had to perform his duties without his distinctive dress: a circumstance which worked no harm, as he was of great service at any rate. Martha took a quantity of goods along, which she wanted either to finish up at home, or to use as a means of instructing the children of our village. We drove home. It seemed like a dream to me that the saw-mill was running, that wagons loaded with wood met us, and that people were at work in the fields. Everything goes its gait, and yonder rages the battle.
At the newspaper-tree we met Carl's mother and Marie, and she called out to me, "Do you see the flock of hungry crows! They are flying beyond the Rhine, to where the boys who used to sing are lying dead--and each of them had a mother."
"Your Carl has written that he is safe and sound."
"Yes, yes, until to-morrow. Come! We'll go home."
The two boundary posts were united by means of a black, red, and gold flag, which had been wound around them. Joseph, whom we met there, had done it. He was greatly shocked at the sight of Martha in mourning, although he had already heard that her brother had fallen; but all life was now so uncertain, that he feared she might also be mourning for Julius. She gave him a letter which her father had brought from Julius. It was full of sadness, but at the same time he wrote with pride of his dead brother-in-law, and expressed himself as being convinced that he would return from the war uninjured.
The days passed by quietly. The school-master reported that the children had become so inattentive that he did not know what to do, for they would not study their lessons, and talked of nothing but the war. He determined to let the children read the newspapers aloud, and copy the reports from the seat of war.
The game-keeper who reported to Joseph told us that fewer crimes were being committed than usual, although the taverns were constantly full. There was a good deal of trespassing on the woods; but that was none of his business.
Short and precise letters came from Carl, and he never forgot to mention that he had enough to eat and drink, for he knew that such news would gladden his mother's heart.
Martha reported that Marie and Carl's mother had stopped going to the newspaper-tree. Marie had learned, to her astonishment, that you could buy your own newspapers, and so she procured one daily. Living in constant dread of her father, she subscribed for it in the name of the schoolmaster, and receiving it every evening, she undertook the troublesome task of reading it aloud to the old woman at night. The worst part of it was that the latter insisted on having the lists of the dead and wounded read to her. She did not know what she should do in case the awful news were to come.
I live among peasants, and see a great deal of rudeness, as well as good feeling; but the greatest affection I ever saw lay in the conduct of Marie towards Carl's mother.
The wagons of our district were ordered to Alsace, and my wagon and team of bays had to go along. I wanted to employ one of the workmen engaged in regulating the course of the river to drive them, but Rothfuss insisted on taking charge of the team himself, so I had to let him go. He was in great spirits, and declared that he would return with the wagon wreathed in flowers, and that Martella and Ernst would sit in it.
Our house became still more quiet now, and when our horses were gone, we felt as if we were cut off from the world.
The nights were so calm and peaceful, the moon shone so clear; no leaf stirred, and even the brook ran dreamily along. And yet, at this time, there were thousands attempting to kill each other.
Martha was often busy looking at the pages of an album through a magnifying glass. This book contained a collection of mosses and ferns, which Julius had arranged for her. Underneath each specimen was noted the place from which it came and when it had been gathered; and there were always added the words "for Martha."
We were in almost daily receipt of postal cards from Julius, and with the same minuteness which he had shown in the album, he gave us the day, hour, and place of writing. Sometimes a sealed letter from him would also reach us. Martha let me read them, and only once did she blushingly cover a postscript with her hand. Conny called my attention to Martha; what a touching and hallowed vision she seemed to be, and how humbly and modestly she bore her life's great secret!
While I was examining the mosses, Martha told me, with radiant face and sparkling eyes, how she had become acquainted with Julius. She had danced with him at a country ball, but they had seen no more of each other.
On the next morning, as she and her sister were walking in the "Rockenthal" and were passing through the shrubbery, they suddenly came to a large pine-tree under which a hunter was sleeping. His dog sat at his side, and they motioned to him to remain quiet, while they both stood there examining the man's youthful, browned features and white brow. Martha summoned up her courage, seized his hat and took out the feathers, replacing them with a bunch of freshly gathered flowers. After this bold deed, the sisters fled to the shrubbery; but the dog barked, and the hunter awoke. He stared about him, seized his gun and hat, apparently puzzled to find the alteration that had been made, and uttered an energetic oath. He just caught sight of the two sisters in their light-blue summer dresses, as they disappeared in the shrubbery. He called after them, and they ran, until Martha stumbled over the root of a tree and fell. "Your voice is too good to swear with," said the sister who had remained standing, and then the young hunter pulled off his hat, and looked confused. Recovering himself immediately, he said, "It was not you, but your sister, who played the robber. She has the feathers yet. I--I thank you for the exchange." Then, as Martha handed him the feathers, and as he held his hat out towards her, he succeeded in touching her hand with his lips. He escorted the two girls through the woods, and starting with the joke of having caught them trespassing, they ended by having a merry talk. He soon begged Martha to sing, for he said that he could see that she, like him, was in the humor of singing. So these two began to sing their favorite songs, which, strangely enough, were the same; and when they reached the road, both of the sisters stretched out their hands to Julius. He held Martha's hand in his the longest, and from that moment their fate was fixed, and became more blissful every day.
He arranged the album while they were engaged. It was filled with the fondest memories, and even I learned much from it that was new to me. Each tree showed me new forms of existence, and in a little while I was able to forget, while contemplating these minute products of nature, the great commotion that was raging so near us. A bird is perched on the telegraph wire, while beneath it the most stirring news is passing silently and invisibly. I often regarded the wires that were stretched in front of my woods. Who knows the news that is flashing through them? We were soon to hear it.