A Hero of the Pen

CHAPTER XI.

The Dawn of War

The American's words proved true, although in another sense than he had intended. His apprehensions became a political prophecy. There was indeed something in this German atmosphere, and it was upon the Rhine, that the first lightnings gleamed, heralding the approaching storm. France had declared war! The blow came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and as in rolling thunders, from its rocky mountains to the sea, all Germany echoed the call to arms in thousand-fold reverberations.

Upon the Rhine, every city, village and hamlet was all aglow; here, the excitement was more fiery, more ardent than elsewhere; for it was the Rhineland for whose sake the momentous game was to be played, and every man, down to the poorest peasant, felt himself called upon to defend his precious inheritance, to avenge his insulted country, and prevent the intended robbery. In one giant, unbroken procession, Germany threw its assembled forces upon the imperiled boundaries; mightier and mightier swelled the advancing tide of armed men, more and more densely grouped the soldier-masses around the threatened palladium of the nation. For this, the enemy was not half prepared. Those green waves already rolled on under secure protection; shoulder to shoulder, stood the now united Germany, keeping guard on the banks of its Rhine, ready to protect the sacred, ancient stream or to hurl it, an annihilating tide, into the enemy's country.

Nowhere did the fires of enthusiasm mount higher than in B. The students hastened to join the ranks or the sanitary corps; the professors closed their lectures, and when age and health permitted, placed themselves at the head of the students; the women exerted all their powers to send aid and comfort to the soldiers soon to be wounded in the field. All were impelled onward as by one mighty impulse; all was feverish activity and excitement; here, in the city, the once strictly-guarded barriers of class and position were broken down; here, as throughout the fatherland, the old hostility between North and South was forgotten; all united in one common sacrifice, one renunciation; all were borne onward by one common tempest of enthusiasm.

CHAPTER XII.

A Rocket in the Camp

In the first days of this excitement, upon a lovely July morning, Jane sat alone in the balcony chamber, whose doors, leading to the garden, were wide open. Outside, the glowing sunshine lay upon grass and shrub, upon the waves of the river gliding past; the roses were in their full splendor; beetles and butterflies flitted merrily past, and the large, old-fashioned room, with its vine-wreathed windows, its high backed chairs and sofas, its monotonously ticking wall-clock, looked as peaceful and comfortable as if no outside alarm of war could disturb the rest and peace of this house.

But no rest and peace lay upon the face of this young girl; bending low over a newspaper, she seemed to be reading something which fettered her whole attention; for in eager intentness, her glance followed the lines, and she neither heard the advancing step nor saw the form which stood close before her upon the balcony.

"Are you so much absorbed, Miss Jane?" said Atkins entering the room. "You seem to have found something very interesting. But what can be the matter with you?"

Jane had hastily risen, and turned her face to him; the newspaper was still in her hand. If she had not been accustomed to such strict self-control, perhaps her features would still more have betrayed the stormy emotion which thrilled her whole being; now only the glowing cheeks, the flaming eyes expressed it; but they said enough to give the lie to her hasty subterfuge.

"It is nothing, nothing at all; only I am suffering from the intolerable heat, from which I have vainly sought refuge here."

Atkins gazed at her distrustfully, and a sudden thought seemed to occur to him; there was only one single topic upon which he had ever seen Jane excited.

"Have you learned anything further of that affair? Have you found a new trace?"

Jane had already mastered her emotion. She calmly laid down the paper. "Nothing of that sort; nothing at all! I was hoping, on the contrary, that you came to bring me new tidings."

He shook his head. "I have received none; I expected none. The authorities at this moment have neither time nor inclination for private researches; these would be difficult to them now, when everything human and otherwise, is so out of place. A journey on our part would be of no avail; aside from the impossibility of travelling now, we do not know where to go. Weeks may pass before we receive an answer to our last letter; we shall be obliged to wait."

"Wait!" echoed Jane, "yes, wait forever! And meantime we lose the clue we have just found. How sad it was that this fisherman and his wife must die!"

"It was a very fortunate thing for you and young Mr. Forest," returned Atkins dryly; "for this alone rescued him from the circle into which untoward fates had thrown him. We certainly do not know upon what footing he entered that clergyman's house; let us hope it was as a foster-son, and that all former neglect was there repaired. In any other case the much desired re-union might be very painful; or, would it be a matter of indifference to you, Miss Jane, to find your nearest blood relation unfitted to move in your own sphere?"

The young lady was silent. She had often thought that she should find her brother poor,–but low or ill-bred,–the idea had never for a moment occurred to her; and it now won scarce a moment's power over her; her whole pride rose against it.

"My brother has the blood of his father in his veins; that tolerates no lowness! If he lives, he has risen above a sphere unworthy of him. I know that!"

"Without having learned either to read or write? Ahem! You forget that education aided your father in all his undertakings. A student who has received his education in a German high school, is fitted for any station in life. A fisherboy–well I hope our excellent clergyman has saved us from that mortification; but this war, which has so suddenly broken out, plays us a sorry game; it brings all our researches to an end."

With a sigh of impatience, Jane resumed her seat, while Atkins stepped to the table and took up the newspaper in which he had found her so absorbed.

"Have you read the 'Appeal to the German Nation' that stands at the head of the first column?" asked he.

"Yes," came hesitatingly, and as it were with inward reluctance, from Jane's lips.

"A strange composition!" said Atkins, half mockingly, and half with a gravity not usual to him. "I do not comprehend how a man can mix such a senseless lot of poetry into the prose of a newspaper article. In any event, the author of this must be some sort of a poet, and certainly none of the worst. A mere journalist surely has not written it: it has altogether too much."

"Inspiration!" added Jane, with that rare uplighting of her dark eyes.

"Yes, but that means it is extravagant! Well, this German inspiration always is! But the article has genius and fire, we must admit that; and in the present excitement of B., which is already at the boiling point, it will be like a spark in a powder-keg. Half the city has already lost its senses over it, every student in the university is frantic; the words are setting fire to everything, like congreve rockets. I only wonder how long this brilliant display of fireworks is going to last."

Jane glanced at him somewhat scornfully. "But all this at least gives you a change," she said not without irony. "You found Germany so dull, past all endurance."

"Yes, I did find it so!" growled Atkins, "but I would rather endure the former dulness than be here among a crazy people, whose only praiseworthy virtues, humility and modesty, are now entirely discarded. Do you suppose that they now respect us foreigners, that they concern themselves at all about us? I am horribly neglected at my hotel; every care and attention is for the German officers. On the streets, at re-unions, in conversation, I am every hour made to feel how utterly superfluous a being I am among these Teutonic gentlemen. Your amiable Herr Frederic thinks it no longer necessary to place the least rein upon his bearish nature, and seems every day to develope a greater appetite for devouring me at breakfast. Even the good Frau Stephen begins to assert herself! Did she not yesterday say something really malicious to you when you would not allow yourself to be pressed into her patriotic committee? Would she have dared this a little while ago? They are rebelling even against you, Jane; you must see it. Heiress! American! Englishman! All these are nothing to them, now that they have become a united people. They need none of us any more; they are Germans."

At the last words, a deep flush mounted to Jane's forehead, but she did not look up.

"I have declared to my aunt, that as soon as there are suffering and danger to relieve, I will be in my place; but that I think these enthusiastic demonstrations, in which the ladies now so much delight, unnecessary and superfluous."

"And so they are!" replied Atkins, excitedly. "Hold your ground there, at least! Do not yield a foot's-breadth. And now just hear that uproar at the doorbell! I would wager, that here is again some newly aroused patriot, who, a week ago, rang the bell modestly, and now, as a matter of course, introduces himself with this deafening clamor!"

The malice of the American had this time been directed against his host. It was Doctor Stephen who now opened the door, and rather excitedly entered.

"Well, and even this shall–Ah, I beg your pardon, I did not know that any one was here. But I had to ring three times before the maid stirred out of her kitchen. When Frederic is not in the house all goes wrong."

"And I, too, missed our distinguished porter!" said Atkins with that extraordinary politeness which with him always concealed some malice. "In any event, we must congratulate the Prussian army upon such an acquisition."

"Yes, Frederic has received marching orders," said the doctor, with a suppressed sigh. "He rode over to H. yesterday, but is to return. The professor went at the same time."

"Professor Fernow? And what has he to do in H.?"

"He must submit to the formality of an examination, which in times like these none can easily avoid. Of course it will be only a form with him, but we shall have to lose Frederic. We can get along without him; but how the professor, who he has so petted and spoiled, can content himself with another servant, Heaven only knows!"

So saying, the doctor stepped over to his niece, who seeming to pay no heed to the conversation, had again taken up the newspaper. He looked over her shoulder at the sheet.

"I think you exaggerate Professor Fernow's interest in unlearned and practical things," said Atkins mockingly. "Behind his writing-table and his folios, he will as little remark the change of servants, as he would have remarked anything of the war, if he had not been obliged to take that journey to H."

The doctor's small gray eyes gleamed with a peculiar malicious pleasure as he glanced over to the American, "Ah! Do you really think so? Have you read the 'Appeal to the German nation' which appears in the journal today?"

"Yes," replied Jane hastily, while with a sudden intentness, she raised her eyes to her uncle.

"And you too, Mr. Atkins?"

"The congreve rocket which this morning set afire the good city of B., and will probably enflame hundreds of other cities? Yes, Doctor Stephen, we have read it."

"That delights me. The congreve rocket came out of my house–the article is by Professor Fernow."

Jane trembled, and let the journal fall as if she had all at once taken a glowing coal into her hand; but Mr. Atkins started from his chair, stood erect a moment, and then just as suddenly sat down again.

"It is not possible!" said he dryly.

"Well, I have heard that word at least thirty times to-day?" replied the doctor triumphantly, without feeling in the slightest degree offended. "All have cried out to me, 'impossible!' I could not have believed it myself if the awkwardness of Frederic, who was sent to take the article to the printing office, had not revealed all. I naturally awaited its effect, and then I gave my secret to the four winds. It fell like a bomb into the university; it has kindled a fire everywhere. The professor must make up his mind to a reception when he returns, and I to a scene with him, for he will be enraged at my indiscretion. Bah! He did not take me into his confidence, I had no silence to keep. What do you say to all this, Jane!"

"I? nothing!" said Jane with the severest tone and emphasis that lay at her command. Then she turned away, went to the window, and pressed her forehead against the panes.

"And you, Mr. Atkins!"

The gentleman addressed leaned back resignedly in his chair.

"I shall await further developments, Doctor Stephen. You will perhaps next inform me that the professor has stormed a battery, and that Frederic has given an archaeological lecture in his place. Do not seek to spare me in the least; I am prepared for all; I shall never again be surprised at anything here in Germany."

The Doctor laughed aloud; but his merriment all at once ceased, and he gazed anxiously out at the window.

"What has happened now? Here is Frederic coming back already, and in such haste! What is the matter with the fellow? He seems greatly agitated."

It was surely Frederic hastening at a full run through the garden. He now burst into the room in such excitement that even the presence of the much feared American Miss and her more hated companion, did not affect him in the least.

"What is the matter?" asked the doctor hastily. "Has anything happened, Frederic?"

"Yes," whispered Frederic, breathlessly. "Something has happened–the Herr Professor"–

"An accident? Where? Upon the railway or over in H. Speak out quickly!" urged the doctor, in serious alarm.

"Over in H.!" burst out Frederic despairingly. "The Herr Professor–he, too, is going with us to the field–we march to-morrow morning!"

The momentary effect of these words was a deathly silence. Jane had turned around, and was gazing at the unhappy messenger as if she seriously doubted his sanity; the doctor stood there as if struck by a thunderbolt; but Mr. Atkins, after an instant's pause, said, half aloud:–

"Now, nothing is really wanting, now, but Herr Frederic's lecture upon archaeology!"

"But are my military colleagues fools?" broke out the doctor, in great exasperation. "Professor Fernow declared capable of bearing arms! My patient, who I have attended for three years! How in Heaven's name has this happened?"

"I do not know how it really came about," said Frederic, to whom anxiety and excitement had lent a wonderful gift of speech; "but it is my master's own fault. I was standing very near him when one of the doctors gave him a side glance, shrugged his shoulders, and said: 'Well you are not fit for military duty; you could scarce carry a musket!' God only knows why the Herr Professor took this so ill; his whole face all of a sudden became red as blood; he gave the doctor an angry glance, drew back a few steps, and then said in a loud voice: 'I beg at least for an examination!' 'If that is all, you shall have it,' answered the surgeon-in-chief, and you can yourself decide"–

"Was it the surgeon-in-chief?" interrupted the doctor. "I should have supposed so! He takes all! even those who, at the very first march, will have to be left lying in the hospital. Well, go on!"

"He only asked: 'Have you any illness?' 'No!' answered the Herr Professor, and set his teeth together, for the men were all staring at him. Then he drew himself up, his face became fire-red even to the forehead, and he did not look at all sick. The surgeon gave him a slight examination, and then said: 'Nonsense, colleagues, we cannot now be so critical; his chest and lungs are sound; this slight weakness comes from close confinement and study, and will soon pass away. You are accepted, never fear!' I thought I had received a paralytic stroke, and the Herr Professor drew a breath deep enough to rend his breast."

CHAPTER XIII.

The Triumph of Pride

The doctor began to pace excitedly up and down the room; but Atkins now joined in the conversation.

"Do not take it ill Doctor Stephen; your professor is a genius, and this is only one of those freaks of genius which borders on madness. A consumptive professor to come down from his chair, and enroll himself with the army! A lovely accession!"

"Fernow is not consumptive," said the doctor with great positiveness. "My colleague knows that as well as I, and his nervous disease might not be discernible in a moment of excitement;–to learn that would require longer observation. His position does not fully release the professor from the service; he is young yet, scarcely as old as Frederic. If I had only had a suspicion of this proceeding, I would gladly have prevented it by giving the necessary hint about the nervous trouble, which God knows I could have done with a good conscience. But who could have foreseen all this? The matter was not arranged here in B.–and now it is too late."

"But Herr Doctor"–in mortal anguish Frederic gazed at the physician,–"the Herr Professor cannot march with the soldiers. You know he can bear no draughts of air, no heat, not even cold; that everything has to be cooked for him in a peculiar manner, and that he gets ill if he even goes out with out his umbrella. Good God! he will die before the first week is over!"

"Well, don't take it so tragically," said the doctor, "We will see what can be done. Your master's proceeding cannot be recalled, but perhaps we can arrange it so that he will be allowed some light service in some of the bureaus or official departments. I will take the necessary steps in this direction; but above all things I must speak to him myself. He came back with you?"

"Yes," said Frederic, with a sigh of relief, "I only ran on ahead."

"Well, go now, and arrange your own affairs. Are you, too, going, Mr. Atkins?"

"Only for a quarter of an hour–to get cooled off! I feel an urgent necessity of convincing myself that somewhere there exists in B. something that is not upside down. Miss Forest seems to have a similar feeling. May I request your company, Jane!"

"I–am weary!"

The young lady sank into an arm chair, rested her head on her hand, and thus withdrew her face from further observation.

"Jane is evidently out of sorts to-day!" said the doctor to Atkins, when they reached the balcony outside, whither he had accompanied his visitor. "Scarce a word can we get from her! She seems to have changed very much during the last fortnight. Do you know the reason of this persistent ill-humor?"

"The reason, at this moment, abides in Paris," thought Atkins, but he replied aloud, and in an indifferent tone: "I suppose that Mr. Alison, my young countryman, to whom I introduced you a short time ago, brought Miss Forest letters and tidings from her intimate acquaintances, which are the cause of the change in her demeanor. At least, I have received a hint to that effect."

"Well, that is only natural," said the doctor unsuspectingly. "I feared there was something in my house or in its surroundings, which had displeased her."

Jane, meanwhile, remained motionless in her place. The door-bell rang anew, but this time more gently than before; a step echoed in the hall, but she did not stir until the door of the balcony-room opened. Then she started up. Professor Fernow stood before her! They had not met since that evening upon the Ruènberg; he had indeed, not crossed her path and the persistence with which he avoided a repetition of those earlier accidental meetings in the house and garden, was only excelled by the resoluteness with which Jane shunned every possibility of a re-union. For a fortnight, they had managed to forego the most casual glance, the coldest greeting; and now, all at once, they stood face to face, so near, so entirely alone, that the meeting could not be ignored.

Jane had sprung from her chair; whatever she might have been thinking a moment before, all vanished at the sight of this man, whom she could never forgive for his triumph, and her humiliation. The old, hostile spirit again raged wildly within her. Why did he now appear so suddenly in her uncle's apartments which he had never before entered,–here, where he must apprehend a meeting with her? Was this appearance on her account? The young lady stood there ready for the fray, determined with her whole strength to defy a might to which this time certainly she would not yield.

But her heroism was, just now, quite superfluous; it happened differently from what she had dreamed. The professor still remained upon the threshold; his glance slowly swept the room, but it did not rest upon her.

"I beg your pardon; I seek Doctor Stephen."

"My uncle is in the garden."

"I thank you."

He closed the door behind him, and, without looking at her, walked through the room to the balcony. Jane's brow flushed deeply; she had made up her mind to meet an attack, and met, instead, the most entire disregard; this was more than she could endure; her hand convulsively grasped the arm of her chair.

Meantime, in the balcony, the professor had run against the doctor, who was just returning from the garden, and at once engrossed him entirely.

"Well, here you are at last! Professor, in God's name, what kind of a freak have you been playing? Frederic has thrown the whole house into an uproar by his ill-starred tidings."

So saying, without further parley, he grasped the professor by the arm, and drew him back into the house. This seemed to be the last thing the professor wished; he followed the doctor with evident reluctance, and, regardless of the invitation to sit down, stood upright by the chair offered him.

Without a word, Jane rose and left the room. The doctor gazed after her in surprise and displeasure; the discourtesy of his niece, toward this inmate of his house, began to surpass all bounds. Fernow's lips quivered, but no glance betrayed that he had even noticed this movement.

Miss Forest, meantime, had not gone far; in the next room, morose and hostile, she leaned against a window. She would not remain in the same room with the man who allowed himself to ignore her and her resentment, but–she would hear what he wanted of her uncle, and, through the half-open door, she caught every syllable of the conversation, which the doctor opened with an impressive lecture.

"And now, before all things, tell me, has that Frederic lost his wits, or is it true that you have been declared fit for the military service, that you yourself urged this declaration, that you have represented yourself as healthy, while it would only have cost you a word, a mere silence even, to have proved quite the contrary? Have we heard aright?"

The professor cast down his eyes.

"It was a sudden inspiration," he said, softly; "I was sure of rejection, but the rather contemptuous sympathy of the examining physician enraged me beyond measure. To be sent home as a miserable weakling, when all were hastening to the conflict,–that I could not bear! It was an act of folly for which I must atone with my life; but–I would do the same thing again!"

"You seem at times to have very wonderful inspirations," said the doctor with a glance at the morning journal. "Well, we will speak of that another time, our first business now is how we shall atone for this stupidity,–now, don't fly into a passion, I mean the surgeon, not you–how we shall atone for this fellow's stupidity. I will preach him a sermon! I shall drive over to H. with you, and he shall use his influence to have you detailed for duty in some of the bureaus. This is the only thing we can do, as you cannot now wholly withdraw from the service."