CHAPTER XI.
We had much to do to set up trees that had been prostrated by the wind; for dead trees, because of their harboring all sorts of noxious insects, imperil the existence of a whole forest.
There came good letters from Julius, Richard, and the vicar, and we saw war life from three quite different aspects. Bertha sent us letters from the Colonel. He wrote but briefly. He must have been suffering great hardships, especially in the protracted rains; but he wrote, "when one feels inspired, he can endure much."
They tell me of the noble courage of the olden time. When man fights with man, he receives invigorating impulse from the personal struggle. But to stand under a shower of fire, then advance on the enemy and be struck by far-carrying bullets, without firing a shot until one is at the right distance--all that is much more.
Away off, the cannon thundered; we at home heard nothing but the measured beat of the thrasher, and that lasted a long while, for we lacked men at home.
When it rained and snowed, and we sat sheltered in the room, we naturally fell to thinking of those who, for nights and weeks, fought on the now thoroughly drenched soil, and for their brief rest had no couch but the wet or icy earth.
Ludwig wrote from Hamburg that he was about going to America. He was to make the journey with the secret approval and authority of an officer of high rank, in order to prevent the transmission of arms and ammunition to our foes.
How much war demands of human nature!
Snow had fallen; it snowed again and again, and we knew that what here was snow, up there was cold rain.
I sat in the large arm-chair, and read the gazette. Here stands in few words, in peaceful paragraphs, what up there is blood and mangling of human bodies. It is indeed grand and sublime how the French, after the annihilation of their forces, again quickly gather together, and venture everything. A nation cannot surrender, and a nation that is so consciously proud and all-powerful cannot easily acknowledge, "I am conquered, and am wrong."
They would not give us security for our boundary, and so the fighting and the devastation must still go on.
While I thus sat quietly thinking, a telegram from the cabinet of the Prince was brought to me; I must forthwith hasten to the capital, and upon my arrival at the palace should cause myself to be immediately announced, be it night or day.
What could be the matter? why was I so urgently summoned? Was it on Ernst's account? or Richard's, or the Colonel's? It seemed to me a great injustice that not a word of explanation accompanied the message, yet I equipped myself immediately for my departure. The stonecutter conducted me to the railway station. Joseph was not there; he had gone on to Lorraine. I was not familiar with his business enterprises.
That--it was indeed, strange--kept my thoughts busy during the journey, and yet was I much oppressed by suspense as to the reason of my being called away. But happily the human mind can engage itself with new problems, and thus, for a while at least, forget the care and vexation that lie near at hand.
I reached the capital, and found it as I had expected. What was snow with us in the mountains, was here a penetrating rain.
On my way to the palace, I passed a brilliantly lighted theatre, and heard from within the sounds of music. Ah, that men should sing and juggle at such a time! But is not life a mighty aggregation of many incongruous individual activities?
I reached the castle; the great entrance hall was lighted up and thoroughly warmed; I was obliged to wait a long time. When, at last, I saw the Prince, I found him unusually distressed or disturbed. He began by observing how different times were when we last had met; he said how deeply it pained him that so much blood must be shed--so much noble blood. He said this with deep emotion, and finally added, he had faith in me as a man of stout heart; I had so nobly borne so much suffering, that he had courage to tell me that the Colonel had been wounded by a shot through the breast. He was still living, but quite unconscious, when the bearer of the news left, and perhaps we had already a dead one to mourn.
I could not utter a word; what was there to say?
The Prince continued to speak of his grief at the shedding of so much blood, and expressed his dissatisfaction that his countrymen should have placed themselves in alliance with foreigners.
I had no time nor mind for such discussions. I asked if the news had been sent to my daughter. He appeared disturbed by my question, and somewhat unwillingly answered, "I considered that a father's right and duty."
He added, that this evening a sanitary commission would depart, with whom I and the Colonel's wife could go to the front.
I know not what suggested the thought, but suddenly it occurred to me: The Prince would never make a minister of you; you were only a clever story-teller, who drove away the recollections of his own sufferings by the recital of your life-history. And of that was I thinking all the while I was talking to the Prince of other things.
The demeanor of the Prince towards me seemed cold and distant. He called after me without extending his hand, "Adieu, Herr Waldfried!"
Formerly, I had been called "dear Waldfried;" yes, at times, "dear friend."
I mention this here, although it first struck me like a waking dream, during the journey. I was glad to be independent, and to be relieved from rendering homage to princes, and troubling myself as to whether I was addressed in one way or another. Although in my inmost heart I believe in a constitutional monarchy, I tell you, keep yourself free, and be dependent on no stranger's favor, or else you will be the most degraded of slaves.
But now I must tell of my sad journey; and I think of the saying of the Colonel's: Human nature in its elevated moods can endure much.
I came to Bertha's house. My heart beat wildly at the thought of the news I should bring to her. But as I ascended the steps, Professor Rolunt, the Colonel's friend, approached me, and said, "After the first dreadful shock, you were your daughter's first thought. She has asked for you."
"And so she knows of it?"
"Yes! I have told her, and we are off in an hour."
"We!"
"Yes! I go with her; and keep up Bertha's spirits. Should the worst have happened, we must bear it all."
I went to Bertha. Speechless, she threw herself upon my neck, clasped me to her bosom, and wept and sobbed; nor could I utter one word.
"Father!" she said, at last, "you will remain here with the children--or will you take them home with you?"
"No, I will go with you. Don't refuse me. Don't let us waste useless words. I will go with you."
We departed in the evening. We rested in beds, upon which soon should lie the sorely wounded. But, indeed, we, too, bore painful wounds in our hearts.