CHAPTER VIII.
THE LAST DAY TOGETHER.
I have had rather a bad time of it to-day with my two women folk, my wife and Agnes. It was mother’s birthday, a day whose return I have for the last twenty-five years greeted with joy. On the present occasion, alas! there was nothing but heaviness in our hearts. To-morrow Franz is to set out for Leipsig, and on the same day we must yield up our other two children. Grandfather is to remove into the Refuge for People of Advanced Years.
It will readily be understood that there was more thought of all these matters than of the birthday. My wife’s heart was full to overflowing, especially at the sight of grandfather. “Socialism,” said he, “is a calamity for all of us; I have foreseen this all along.” I tried to comfort him by describing to him the easy, agreeable life he would lead at the Refuge.
“What is all that to me?” he cried, full of impatience. “When there I shall have to live and sleep and eat with strangers. I shall no longer have my daughter about me to look after me. I shall not be able to have my pipe whenever and wherever the humour takes me. I shall be no longer able to have games with Annie, or to listen to the tales Ernst brings home from school. I shall never hear how things are going on in your workshop. And whenever I become ill I shall be left quite to myself. Old trees should be left where they are, and never be transplanted. And I am sure the end won’t be long in coming to me.”
We tried to reassure him by promising to visit him very often.
“Such visits,” said he, “are only a doing of things by halves. You are never alone and really at your ease, and you are constantly getting disturbed by other people.”
We got little Annie, grandfather’s pet, to do the best she could, in her confiding way, to solace him. The child was the only cheerful member of the company. Somebody had told her a lot of tales of all the cakes, pretty dolls, clever dogs, picture-books, and similar delights which were to be had at the Children’s Homes. So she was never tired of talking of these things.
Franz manifests resignation, and quiet, firm resolution. But I don’t like to see this in him. It looks to me as though he were devising some plans or other which he is determined not to betray. Whatever such plans may be I trust they are not at variance with our socialistic principles.
My second son, Ernst, does not much betray what his thoughts and feelings are. Towards his mother, however, he has been especially tender, and this as a general thing is not at all his way. We had meant to apprentice him to some trade now, and he had looked forward to this with much pleasure. He has a skilful hand, and would push his way onwards at a trade; but he has not made all the progress in school matters that one could have wished. But now it must be otherwise, as lads of his age, one and all, have to be kept at school a few years longer before they can receive a technical training.
Upon everyone of her birthdays mother treats us to a prime, juicy loin of veal, which Franz playfully calls our historical joint.