Waldfried: A Novel

CHAPTER VIII

While Martella and I were on our way to the depot, in order to return to our home, we were encountered by a dense and impenetrable crowd.

What could be the matter?

"The Crown-Prince of Prussia is coming."

We stopped.

The sounds of distant music were heard mingling with the joyous shouts of thousands of voices. It was the cry with which a race welcomed its brothers from whom it had long been estranged, and who were now advancing to save it. How this must have stirred the heart of the Crown-Prince!

I was so wedged in by the crowd, that I could see nothing. Martella had ascended some steps back of me, and called me to follow her; but it was impossible to do so.

I heard a carriage approach; the men who were in front of me spoke of the splendid appearance, and the calm, yet determined expression of the Prince.

"Father!" exclaimed Martella, "he looks just like him-indeed, more like Richard."

The crowd at last scattered, and cheers were still heard in the distance.

We started for home. The railway on the other side, which for some distance ran into our valley, was obstructed. They were momentarily expecting an invasion of the French, and, after that day, the other line was only to be used for military trains.

We rode on for a part of the way, and, at the intersection, met a large crowd of persons from the watering-places. They had suddenly been obliged to give up the springs and the amusements that had there been at their disposal.

The gambling banks are closed, it was said. I hoped that they might never again be reopened.

Ludwig and his servants were there awaiting me. I also met Carl, who had been conscripted, and with him were two of the meadow-farmer's servants.

Carl laughed while he told us how the meadow-farmer grumbled that he was now obliged to harness and feed his oxen himself. He cheerfully added that Marie could do the service of two laborers.

His joyous face made it plain that before leaving home he had come to an understanding with Marie. When he spoke of her he pressed his left hand to his heart. I think he must have had a keepsake there.

When Carl saw Ikwarte, he went up to him and extended his hand saying: "I forgive you. I cannot remain at enmity with any one whom I leave behind when I go forth to battle. Forgive me, too."

Ludwig asked Ikwarte, "Willem, would you like to go?"

"I am waiting until the Colonel gives me leave."

"You have never asked my permission."

"I have waited until the Colonel would speak of it himself."

"Pray speak a few kind words to my mother, for my sake," said Carl; and I saw the old spinner sitting on the lower step of the depot. She gazed into vacancy as if she were dreaming with open eyes.

"This gentleman will take you home with him," said Carl to his mother.

"Then you will not take me along? I must go home-home-home," said the old woman; and Carl told me that Rothfuss had brought the conscripts to this spot, and was in a neighboring inn where he was feeding the horses.

I endeavored to persuade the spinner to control her feelings. She murmured a few words that I could not understand, and which Carl explained to me. She had, by hard savings, gotten seven thalers together, and wanted Carl to take them with him, because he would need them while away; and that now she was quite inconsolable, because he wanted to leave the money at home with her.

I took the money from her, and promised to send it to Carl whenever he should need it, through my son-in-law the Colonel.

"And how is the great lady?" said the old spinner. "She ought to have married my Carl-she always looked at him with so much favor; and if he were now married, he would not have to go to war."

His mother's words were unintelligible to me, and it was with a sad smile that Carl interpreted them.

"Why have you not told her about Marie?"

"I have done so, but she wishes to know nothing about her."

Ludwig, accompanied by Ikwarte, started towards the Rhine. He said that he did not yet know how he could take part in the war, as he was an American citizen; but he was resolved not to remain a quiet spectator.

Carl's parting from his mother was heart-rending. She refused to get on our wagon, and Carl, with tears in his eyes, lifted her in his arms and placed her there. During the greater part of our journey home, she bewailed the loss of her son, and we drove on in silence, for we felt so sad that we could not utter a word.

Martella was the first to speak, saying, "It is, after all, the greatest happiness to have a mother."

I could well understand what it was that agitated her.

Up at the top of the mountain, where we always stopped to rest our horses, there is a large and shady beech-tree, to which was fastened the image of a saint.

While at a distance I could see a white object on the tree, and when I drew near, I recognized it. It was the proclamation of the King of Prussia, in which, in simple but well-considered words, he declared that he was forced into waging this war.

Soon after that, I met Joseph, who was delighted to see me again. He had engaged the guard of the stage-coach that passed by there every day to fasten the "extra" papers to the tree, so that the forest laborers, who at this point separated in order to repair to their different villages, could know what was going on.

On the following day, the young Catholic pastor of the village had the words of the heretical king removed from the tree on which the holy image had been placed, and was about to lodge a complaint against Joseph for his sacrilegious conduct. But, on the advice of a lawyer who belonged to his own party, he desisted, and the tree, to this day, is known as "the newspaper tree."

I crossed the boundary line and was in our own territory. The people were busily employed in changing the bed of the stream; and the newly married stone-mason asked me whether work would be continued during the war. I told him that it would be, and that we intended to give employment to the people as long as possible.

Shortly after that, I even employed the old spinner's two sons who had been ordered out of Mühlhausen; and it was a very happy thought to do so, as the younger of the two was an excellent cabinet-maker.

I walked on. All along the roadside I had planted pear-trees; they were laden with fruit. Will the enemy pluck the fruit or destroy the trees?

I saw the young meadow-farmer. He was setting his water-gates, and appeared as unconcerned as if we were living in peaceful times. When I passed, he looked up from his work, and said, "The war does not affect me, thank God. None of my kindred are in it."

The first house in the village belongs to the meadow-farmer. He had relinquished the farm to his son, and was now living on a pension which the latter had settled on him. When he saw me, he called out, "Now you have it! The accursed Prussian is at the root of the whole affair; but the Frenchman will give him a beating, for he has caught hold of the wrong fellow this time."

At home all were in good spirits, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself in some sort of sympathy with Johanna.

"It will soon be seen," she said, "whether the godless Frenchmen are as willing to sacrifice themselves for their country as we are."

She praised the King as a God-fearing man; but to me he was simply a righteous German.

A happy change had taken place with Johanna's daughter. She had always been sickly, and had thought herself of no use in this world; but now she knew nothing more of sickness. She had determined to join a society which had just been organized by the wife of the Privy Councillor, in order to obtain instruction in the art of nursing the sick and wounded.

I was now again in my own calm and peaceful home. Rothfuss informed me that during my absence parties had been there to buy up oats and hay, – we still had a good supply left from last year, – and Rothfuss had promised the refusal of it to Kuhherschel, whom he always favored.

The old hay was sent off, and the new was brought in. In Carl's place we engaged a Tyrolese farmer. The early barley was harvested, the ground was ploughed over again, and the potatoes were dug up. How long would affairs remain thus? The enemy might break in on us the very next day, as we were very near the border. Our enemies claimed that they were fighting in the interests of civilization, but sent Asiatic hordes against us.

The schoolmaster's wife told us that Baroness Arven had left for Switzerland, taking a great amount of luggage with her.

I was determined to await the enemy in my own home, and when Johanna asked me whether she, too, could go to the city and try to be of some use, I consented.

"But you will remain with me, Martella, for you do not fear the French?"

"Oh, I am not afraid of them," answered Martella.

She had only answered the latter portion of my question, but I did not think of that until afterwards.

CHAPTER IX

My solitude was soon broken in upon by a visit from Baron Arven. I was astonished to find him looking so sad. "Is there still so much of the old Austrian officer left in him?" I asked myself. He soon relieved me of all doubts on that head, and, in a tone which showed how he had struggled with and conquered his grief, told me that in many things, and especially in religious matters, he and his wife had not agreed. He had, at last, conquered himself, and had determined to let her have her own way; but now-he said it with apparent reluctance-the long-impending rupture had occurred, under circumstances almost too terrible to bear. Although he knew that, as a Czech and a Catholic, his wife hated Prussia, he could hardly believe his ears when she said, "All saints be praised! The French are coming! Our deliverance is at hand!" Her words had provoked him into unpardonable vehemence of language.

He hardly dared say it, but she had actually made a French flag, with the intention of displaying it as soon as the enemy should arrive, – an event of which she had felt perfectly assured. He never thought that his wife had political opinions of any kind, because mere abuse of Prussia does not argue the presence of political convictions. He had carefully avoided affronting her feelings as a Czech; for he well knew how the Czechs resent the fact of their being dependent on German culture. But he could never have believed that her hatred of Germany could have carried her so far as to allow her to connive at the correspondence with France, which was carried on under cover of her address, and with complete ignorance, on her part, of its origin.

The village clergyman had been to see her, and must have given her strange information, for she now insisted on leaving for Switzerland at once.

"God be praised!" said I, "let her go." I told him that her intended departure was already the topic of common talk.

The Baron, however, feared that her course might be fraught with evil consequences to the whole neighborhood, as he thought that her fleeing to Switzerland might awaken a panic.

To me, it seemed as if he were trying to justify his course in allowing her to leave. I assured him that no one doubted his patriotism, and he begged me not to divulge what he had told me.

I succeeded in reassuring him, and he seemed to recover from his depression. He felt that I fully sympathized with him. And can anything be sadder than to find that one's love of country is opposed and ridiculed in his own home? The antagonism which had so long been veiled under courteous forms, now broke forth with redoubled venom and fury.

"Your hearty sympathy does me good," said the Baron; "and I feel like a changed being since I have unbosomed myself to you-just as if I had withdrawn my hand from a bleeding wound, which can now flow freely."

I understood him. Grief which has been long repressed, and at last finds vent in words, renews itself while the sufferer speaks of it.

When I mentioned this to him, he took my hand and held it in his for a long while.

"But we must not think of our own little lives," he added; "great questions now claim us. If France should fail of success, she is still France; but if we meet with defeat, we shall become the prey of others."

I learned from him, for the first time, that the opposing bishops had handed in a protest against the promulgation of the doctrine of Papal infallibility, and that, as the measure had been determined on, in spite of their protest, they had left Rome.

When I told him of what had happened in the city-omitting, of course, all mention of my interviews with the Prince-his features assumed an expression of cheerfulness.

He was about to leave, when Martella entered, and asked, "May I show it to the Baron?"

Before I could answer her question, she took the letter of pardon from her satchel and spread it out on the table, at the same time saying that Rothfuss and Ikwarte were foolish enough to think that it was of no account, because it came from so petty a prince.

Baron Arven assured her that the paper would be of immense importance, if Ernst could be found again.

"Now I shall not ask another person," joyfully exclaimed Martella; "that seals it doubly-and just see how nicely it fits into my little satchel!"

She replaced it in the satchel and rubbed her hands over the embroidery, which represented a dog carrying a bird between his teeth.

The Baron rode off just as the letter-carrier arrived. He brought me a letter from my sister-in-law, who lives in the forest of Hagenau. She wrote to tell me that, on account of the war, her daughter's marriage had been hastened, and that, as there was danger that the incendiaries might come, she had instructed her daughter to remain at Strasburg, to which place she had sent all her stores of linen and other valuables. In case any of our ladies were alarmed, she would be willing, she wrote, to place them under protection at Strasburg.

About that time, we had sorrow in our house on account of the death of old Balbina. She had been our faithful servant for thirty years. When we attempted to console her by saying that she would recover from her illness, she would answer, "Don't mind me; I shall go to my good mistress, and she will give me the best place."

It was not until after my wife's death that I learned how much she had done for this servant, for then Balbina said to me:

"I was very wicked, but she converted me."

"Wicked? why, what could you have done?"

"I committed a theft when I had only been in the house a week. She caught me and spoke to me in private, saying: 'Balbina, I dare not send you off; for then you will steal from others, just as you have done here. I must keep you with us until you conquer this habit.' And it turned out just as she said, for during the thirty years I've lived in this house, my hands and lips have never touched a morsel that was not mine."

Balbina died without receiving extreme unction. She regarded her confession to my wife as having fully absolved her.

We never interfered with the religious opinions of our servants, but when the priest told Balbina that Protestants would not go to heaven, she answered, "I don't want to go to any other heaven but the one where my mistress is."

We were now on the high road towards political unity, but was not the antagonism in religious matters greater than ever before?

Ludwig wrote to Conny, informing her that he would soon return. She often told me that her father, had, until his dying hour, cherished a love of the Fatherland, and that no two men had ever had more beautiful and affectionate relations with each other than Ludwig and her father.

Their projected journey to Italy was out of the question. How could they now find pleasure in works of art? Ludwig would not rest content until he could, in some way, be of service to his country.

Suddenly, there was great commotion in the village and cries of "The French are coming!" were heard.

Lerz the baker had been driving along the valley-road at full tilt, and had called out to the people who were working in the fields, "Unhitch your horses! the French are coming!" They took the animals from their wagons and ploughs and hurried homeward. But it soon turned out that the news was false.

I do not think that this was wanton spite on the part of Lerz. He swore-although his oath was of but little value-that a farmer from down the valley had told him that he had seen the French. The rumor had indeed been spread far and near, but no one could tell who had started it.

CHAPTER X

What could it have been that made me feel so proud when my fellow-citizens elected me as their delegate? I was still full of self-love, for, when I searched in my own heart, for the real cause, it lay in a self-complacent satisfaction in the fact of my being the chosen representative of many others.

All this was now changed. Now none were chosen, but all were called. The whole people had become freed from egotism, and no one was isolated. Of course the sacrifice was not made without a pang. All thoughts were no longer centred on one man, but were directed towards a great invisible object which was cherished by the whole people.

Sunbeams seemed to light up every tree and house, and the whole world seemed to have undergone a change.

And how all felt drawn towards each other; they had ceased to be strangers-we could not have enemies in our own land.

I met Funk and could not avoid shaking hands with him and saying, "I admit that you thought you were acting for the best, in all you have done."

"Thanks for your good opinion," answered Funk, while he barely returned the pressure of my hand. I made no reply. I had followed my own convictions, and that is always well, even though others do not approve of one's course.

I drove to town with Joseph, in order to attend the weekly market. It had never been so numerously attended, for every one that could manage to procure a vehicle, or get away from home, hurried to town in order to learn what was going on in the world. And, besides that, all wanted to assure themselves whether it would be best to sell supplies to the dealers at present prices, or, to wait for an advance, and run the risk of being plundered by the French in the meanwhile.

It was soon seen who believed that the Germans would succeed, and who believed in the French. Schweitzer-Schmalz, and a large number who followed his example, sold their hay, their oats, and their bacon.

Joseph speedily became the centre of a large crowd. He excels us all in knowing how to adapt himself to people of every kind. His fine, large figure and cordial manner make him a universal favorite, while his well-known riches are not without weight.

The crowd were impatient, and complained that we had not yet heard of any actual hostilities. He asked them:

"Have you never been in a saw-mill?"

"Certainly we have."

"Well, how do they manage there? They set the wheel and let the water run until the log is in the proper position; then they go ahead and saw it right through. Have a care. The Prussian, or, as we had better say, the German, waits until the log is in the proper position, and then he goes to work with seven saws at once."

Joseph understood the feelings of the people, and felt especial satisfaction that Schweitzer-Schmalz seemed quite lonely and deserted in the midst of the crowd. He simply smiled, when Schweitzer-Schmalz said, "This little fellow. Joseph is all talk, like the Prussians."

Joseph and I called on Martha, for I had promised Julius to visit his wife as soon as possible.

We found her and the rest of the family calm and resigned, although the son and the son-in-law were in the field.

For the first time since I had known him, the Privy Councillor revealed a sense of his noble birth. He dwelt on the fact that, as a member of one of the oldest families in the land, he belonged to the order of St. John, and that he and Baron Arven would soon enter on their duties as members. He explained to me that it was an old order, but that a man like myself might also become a member. I had never thought of that before, but now it struck me forcibly.

The ladies requested me to accompany them to the courthouse, where the Sanitary Commission was to assemble. On the steps, I met Remminger, the so-called "peace-lieutenant."

He seemed quite agitated, and urgently requested me to accompany him to the house of his father-in-law, where he wanted me to act as umpire. He gave me no further information, but said that I should find out all about it when we arrived there.

I found the family in great distress. The lieutenant, who had left the army on account of marrying the daughter of Blank, the rich lumber-merchant, had become quite an adept in his new calling, but had been even more devoted to the pleasures of the chase. He had just announced his intention to enter the army again; in justice to himself, he could not remain a mere looker-on in the moment of danger.