He looked very handsome, but very sad. We were standing before the office of the State Gazette, when suddenly the street seemed filled with groups of excited people, listening to a man who had climbed to the top of a wagon and was reading off a dispatch just received from Berlin, to the effect that there had been an attempt to shoot Bismarck, but that the ball had missed aim.
"Curse him!" cried Ernst; "I would not have missed aim."
I reproved him with great severity, but he insisted that one had a right to commit murder. I replied that no one would ever have that right, and that this deed had been as culpable as the assassination of Abraham Lincoln; for if any one man has the right to be both the judge and the executioner of his enemies, you will have to accord the privilege to the democrat as well as to the aristocrat.
"Let us cease this quarrelling," he answered; "I have no desire to dispute with you. I am firm in my belief that one is justified in doing wrong for the sake of bringing about a good result. But, I beg of you, father, let us now and forever cease this quarrelling."
His face showed his conflicting emotions, and he kissed my hand when I gently stroked his face.
The crowd had dispersed in the meanwhile, and we proceeded on our way.
Ernst suddenly stopped and said to me: "Farewell, father. Give my love to mother and Martella."
He held on to my hand quite firmly for a moment or two longer, and then said, "I must go to the barracks."
His eyes plainly told me that he would like to say more that he could not express; but he merely nodded, and then turning on his heel, departed.
"Write to us often!" I called out to him. He did not look back.