He grasped my hand firmly while he said, "You are a strong man, a just father--no father can be blamed for what his child may do.--Your son Ernst has deserted."
Those were his words: I have written them down with my own hand. Could I, at that time, have believed that I would ever be able to do this! But to this day, I cannot tell what rent my heart and crazed my brain. All that I can recollect is that I felt as if a bullet were piercing my brain, and found it strange that I knew even that much of what was going on. I remember Richard's throwing his arms about my neck, and crying, "Father! Dear father!" and all was over.
When I recovered consciousness my first thought was, "Why live again? Death has been conquered."
The next thought that flashed upon me was, "But my wife!--She foresaw it all, yet how will she bear this burden?"
Annette came up to me and seemed to guess at my thoughts, for with a voice choked with tears she said:
"Do not tell your wife of this to-night. In the morning, when day approaches, if you wish me to tell her of this, I am at your service. But how cold your hands are!"
She knelt down and kissed my hands.
The director handed the newspaper to Richard. I noticed how his hand trembled while he held it. I asked to have it handed to me, and read the proclamation of my son's dishonor and the order for his arrest.
When I at last started to return home, I was obliged, for the first time in my life, to lean on my son Richard for support. Annette had asked permission to accompany me. We declined her proffered aid. The kind-hearted, impulsive creature was all gentleness and desire to assist me.
I arrived in front of the house. There stands the large and well-ordered house,--but no joy will ever enter there again.