CHAPTER IV.

The morning was bright and clear. We were seated around the breakfast table, every one of us doubly oppressed. We were grieved on our own account, and troubled by the thought that the mother's heart was soon to become rent by the sad tidings.

Richard had told the news to Bertha.

My wife seemed to be watching Bertha, and at last reproved her for having been weeping again. "It is our duty," said she, "to accept the inevitable with resignation. Mankind might well be likened to the plants in the field, which are obliged quietly to submit to the storm that descends on their heads."

We exchanged hurried glances, but Bertha did not reply.

"Will my wife be as strong in a few moments from now?" was the question I inwardly asked myself.

Rothfuss was heard cracking his whip in front of the house. He was about to drive out into the fields, taking Martella with him.

His intention was to tell her all that had happened as soon as he reached the fields, so that she might there spend her rage, and not annoy the household by her noise.

Victor rode along with them.

My wife inquired whether the newspaper had not yet come, or why I was not reading it, and wished to know what was the matter.

The moment had arrived. I gathered up all the courage that was yet left me, and said, "We will take you at your word--'It is our duty to accept the inevitable with resignation.'"

"What is it? Tell me."

"Our son Ernst has--deserted!"

"After all!" exclaimed my wife, while she laid her clinched fists on her heart, as if to prevent it from bursting, and with compressed lips stared into vacancy.

Fearing that she would faint, the children and I rushed to her a.s.sistance.

"Never mind; all will be over in a moment. I can now breathe again. And now, I beg of you all, be silent." She closed her eyes. We remained standing around her in silence. Not a sound was heard, save the rapid ticking of the clocks and the innocent singing of the thistle-finch.

At last, she removed her hands from her face and gave way to a torrent of tears. With her hands folded on her breast, and softly, without a loud sign of pain, she thus lamented:

"O my son! My poor son! My poor, unhappy child! You are now a fugitive in the wide world, and without a home--lost and distracted--a wandering proof of the confusion of our broken household, now rent in twain and bereft of peace. His heart is a wayward one. It is easier to spoil a human being than to improve one. Let him who believes that this war is just before G.o.d rise up and plunge his sword into my son's heart!"

She had raised herself while uttering the last sentence; when she finished, she fell back in her seat again. She then suddenly and energetically sat up again, and asked, "Does Martella know of this?"

I replied that Rothfuss had taken her out into the fields with him in order to tell her all.

"It is well," she answered. "Give me the newspaper, that I may read the letter of arrest. This was the reason the director came to us yesterday and departed without saying good-by. Give me the advertis.e.m.e.nt which thousands are now reading--I am his mother."

I was obliged to tell her that I had given the paper to Rothfuss, who had asked for it in order that he might show it as a proof to Martella.

My wife nodded approvingly, and said, "Yes, Martella. Listen to what I am about to say. Ernst has run away because he was unwilling to fight in this fratricidal war. That is true enough, as far as it goes; I feel a.s.sured of that. But let me tell you something more--he is unfaithful--unfaithful to his parents, his brothers and sisters, and his betrothed. I beg of you, Henry, do not contradict me! Promise me one thing."

"Whatever you wish."

"You, my husband, and you, my children, faithfully promise me that, when I am no longer with you, you will firmly and inviolably cherish Martella as a child of the house and as one of the family."

We promised all that she asked.

"I have one other request to make. Whatever may happen, do not for a moment conceal aught from me; do no violence to yourselves for my sake.

I can support everything as long as I know all."

Her next wish was that we should all go out into the fields, for she felt sure that Rothfuss would not be able to control Martella, who, she feared, might run away and rush into suffering or death.

Richard said that he would be able to a.s.sist Rothfuss, and that he knew the direction in which they had gone.

He hurried away to meet them.

"You had better go in and join them," we heard Richard say as he left the house, and then he ran off on his errand.

A moment later, Annette joined us. Although usually quite courtly in her manner, she was now diffident and timid, and in heartfelt tones begged us to consider her as one of us, and permit her to a.s.sist in bearing our affliction.

My wife extended her arms towards her, and for the first time embraced and kissed Annette.

"I have brought smelling-salts and other restoratives," said Annette in a cheerful tone, while the thick tears were running down her cheeks.

"But, dear Madame Gustava, you need nothing of that kind; you are as firm as a forest-tree."

"Ernst will never again return to his forest," complained my wife.

Neither Bertha nor I were able to utter a word, but Annette said to my wife, "You have a right to indulge in the deepest grief. I shall never attempt to persuade you otherwise. I know how galling it is when friends come and imagine that they can console us by smoothing over or belittling our griefs. It is well, after all, that I am with you. It is indeed true that I only feel your sorrows through sympathy, while the blow itself has descended on your heads. With all my sincere sympathy, there are hours when I can forget your sorrows, and am thus better able to be of use to you."

My wife again took Annette's hand and pressed it to her own forehead.

"Do you believe," said my wife, addressing Annette; "do you believe that Ernst sees his actions in their true colors?"

"I do not."

"I hope that it is so. Indeed, I really trust that my child does not reason clearly on this subject. I would rather have him think himself right in what he is doing; for he will then be able to endure his days, and to sleep peacefully at night."

"How happy one is to watch the growth of bright, youthful memories in a child's soul; but after such a deed, it were kindest to wish that he might forget everything." And then turning towards me, she added, "I feel so badly to think that my favorite maxim is now dead."

"Which?"

"When I was asked how one could best bring up children, I would always answer, 'Let your married life be pure, for thus alone can you have good, righteous children.' But it seems that even this is no longer the case."

No one replied. Annette told us that she had just received a dispatch.

The tidings of victory were false, and the very reverse of the first news was the true report, for the Prussians had penetrated into Bohemia.

"Ah, how soon there will be more grieving mothers! If the woful cries of all these mothers could be concentrated into one utterance, who is there that could hear it, and still live?"

Thus lamented my wife. We sat in silence.

Richard entered, saying, "Mother is right; she looks far ahead." He told us that Martella had shouted with joy when Rothfuss had told her of Ernst's flight; she had praised his adroitness.