CHAPTER VI.
The very same day, a messenger arrived from the Counciller's wife, to call me, and I drove to the city with Joseph and Ludwig. From afar, we heard the booming of cannon, and at the new saw-mill the lumber merchant Schwarzenberg, an ever-faithful patriot, told me: "We have an Emperor; he has been proclaimed at Versailles." This was as it should be. Our great achievements in war were consecrated by the establishment of the German Empire.
Ludwig was dissatisfied because the celebration was held on a Prussian anniversary. He had to acknowledge, however, that the history of Prussia now glided into that of Germany, and that it was not improper thus to exalt a family festival.
O fortunate posterity! you can never know or appreciate our feelings during those days. We had long cherished these aspirations for our country, for a United Germany; the less we could hope for their realization, the deeper they lay in our hearts. Patriotism was like religious martrydom. Our country did not return our love. On the contrary, it was requited by hate and persecution from those high in station, and by neglect and ridicule from the lowly. And, in spite of all, for more than fifty years we stood firm and true, without hope of reward.
In the city, the bells were ringing and all the houses were decorated with flags. The Councillor's wife received us on the stairs and said, "Welcome, great-grandfather! Martha has given birth to a son."
How can I express the emotions that filled my heart! My country united under a powerful, victorious chief, and on the same day a great-grandchild born to me. How can I deserve such unspeakable bliss!
I was allowed to speak to Martha for a minute, and to take my great-grandson in my arms. He opened his eyes, and Martha cried, "He has his grandmother's eyes. When at Strasburg, Julius asked that his name should be Erwin."
The Councillor's wife ordered her to be quiet, adding: "You can now be perfectly happy; the conflict is over, and your husband returns full of honors. You are blessed indeed, and we are blessed through you. Sleep now; when you really want to sleep, you can do so."
I had to leave the room; and, after a while, the new grandmother came to tell me that Martha was sleeping quietly.
I remained in the city. The grandfather came for a day, and told me that he agreed with Julius, who, as he had so greatly distinguished himself, wished to remain in the military service.
My eyes have looked upon the third generation; I was also to see the dream of my youth realized in the establishment of the German Empire, and my family had fairly done their share towards it. But our joys are never unalloyed. No tree in the forest has an uninterrupted growth. A raven comes, rests on its top, and bends and blights the tender sapling.
Yes, a raven of misfortune came. A letter from Annette reported, in a few hasty words, that Richard had disappeared, and that he had probably fallen into the hands of the franc tireurs. There was still some hope of his life. She had started out with Wolfgang to hunt him up. Wolfgang, being an American citizen, could get through the lines. She asked us to move heaven and earth to save Richard. In a postscript, she reminded me of the wounded French officer whom she was nursing when I searched for the Colonel. How wonderful! every good deed meets its reward. The officer had given her a pass, from which she promised herself the best results.
Ludwig was not for a moment alarmed by the danger into which his only son had ventured. He had full confidence in Wolfgang's discretion, and his words were full of assurance that he would not be found wanting.
I believe that this confidence was genuine, but I also believe that he tried, for my sake, to mitigate the shock which the news about Richard had given me.
It puzzled me how Richard, who did not belong to the combatants, could be captured by the enemy; but Ludwig stopped all brooding over it by saying: "Father, will you accompany me to the capital? I wish to see our ambassador; he must give me all possible assistance."
In the capital, all the bells were ringing, and at the railroad station "extras" were announced with the Emperor's proclamation. In the midst of a group of people in the street stood a man reading the words of the Emperor. I knew him; it was Loedinger. His voice trembled; and when he had finished, and the joyful crowd marched through the streets, he saw me and embraced me heartily.
"What have we lived to see?" he cried. "Now we can die in peace. But what is the matter with you? Why do you not cheer with us?"
I told him, in a few words, of the capture of my son, and the worst fears which it justified.
Ludwig went at once to his ambassador, and I to the palace to see the Prince, who would doubtless use his influence for the rescue of my son. In the palace, there was great commotion. They said that no message could be taken to the Prince now, as he was presiding at a session of the Privy Council. I had to wait a long while. In the streets, the rejoicing went on; it could be faintly heard from afar. The whole city was illuminated.
At last I was told that the Prince could not see me today; I must leave my petition with the chief of the Cabinet. He was a relative of my son-in-law, and was favorably inclined towards me. He said that from there no effective steps could be taken; that it was the business of the Imperial government, and that I should address myself to the Prussian ambassador, to whom he gave me a few lines. I felt like a beggar who is sent from house to house.
At the Prussian Embassy, I was informed that the American Minister was attending a conference, and that there was a stranger with him.
I was called in, and found Ludwig with the two ambassadors. All necessary steps had already been agreed upon, and dispatches were at once forwarded to Versailles.
We drove to the station in the American Minister's coach, and Ludwig started for France, at once.
I went to Bertha, and, in spite of the new trouble that poured in upon me, I felt somewhat relieved when with my daughter and her children. Victor looked splendidly in his cadet uniform. Bertha met me with outstretched arms, saying, "Father, we shall soon have peace, and he is now almost a general."
It was not the least part of my sorrow that I had to inform Bertha of our deep anxiety for Richard. In the gladness of her heart, she ascribed it all to the exaggerated fears of Annette. The human heart is selfish; in moments of great happiness it wants to hear nothing of the sorrows of others, and refuses to believe them.
I was compelled to mar the joy of the proud, loving wife; and when Bertha too was filled with alarm, she pitied Annette even more than her brother. She thought it particularly hard that Annette, who was so good and self-sacrificing, should again and again be overwhelmed with sorrow. She believed that Richard had loved Annette before the death of her husband, and that his repentance and severity towards himself caused him to be so bitter to her. He struggled with his love for the woman on whom his eyes had rested with admiration at a time when such admiration was sinful.
On the other hand her natural good humor and buoyancy of spirits made her confident that Richard would surely soon be saved. Richard always was a lucky fellow. She remembered, from childhood, that once while I was coming down the river on a raft with my raftsmen, Richard stood on shore, and, crying "Father!" rushed out into the stream till the water came up to his chin. Balbina ran to the rescue, and, when he was safely ashore he laughed heartily. He had not been conscious of danger or fear.
While Bertha recalled all this, I became more tranquil, and when she expressed her confident hope that we would not live to see another war, I heartily agreed with her.