But the mind has great power, and one can force himself to forget things.

It would be wrong towards my son Ludwig, if I were to mix other feelings with joy at his return; and it is also wrong towards myself not to permit a single pleasure to be without alloy.

My spirits were, however, not a little checked on my being reminded of Ernst. Every nerve in me trembled, so that I began to believe that I would not be able to survive the hour in which I should again see Ludwig. But now the sad thought that had floated across my mental horizon soothed my excited nerves.

Ludwig had sent me his photograph from Paris, in order that I might recognize him at once.

He had placed the pictures of his wife and of his son in the same package.

I read over his last two letters again.

In a letter from Paris, dated Sunday, April 24th, he wrote:

"Here I am in the midst of the hubbub in which the 'saviour of the world' is permitting the people to vote. It is truly a demoniac art, this power of counterfeiting the last word of truthfulness. In order that nothing may remain uncorrupted, the ministers declare that the question of the day is to secure tranquillity to the land for the future, so that, both on the throne and in the cottage, the son may peacefully succeed his father. The last lingering traces of modesty and purity are being destroyed; the last remnant of piety is appealed to in order to carry out the deceit.

"How glad I should be, on the other hand, to bathe my soul in the pure waves of great harmonies. The thought that I shall enter my Fatherland in time to a.s.sist in celebrating the Centennary of Beethoven's birth is an inspiring and an impressive one to me."

Joseph was at Bonn, awaiting the expected guests. He was again successful in combining high objects with business profits; he concluded a contract to build the festival building out of trees from the Black Forest.

I looked at Ludwig's picture, and it seemed to me, indeed, as if I were looking at my father in his youth. All generations seemed to be combined in one, as if there were no such thing as time.

Martella came into the room, dressed in her Sunday attire.

"Good-morning, father," said she. "To-day you will hear somebody else say, 'Good-morning, father.'"

I could not help wondering how Martella would appear to Ludwig. She seemed new to me. It seemed as if during the four years that she had been with us she had become taller and more slender. She wore the pearl-colored silk dress that had been my wife's, and had about her throat the red coral necklace that Bertha had sent her. Her unmanageable brown hair was arranged in the form of a coronet; and her walk and carriage were full of grace and refinement. Her face seemed lengthened, instead of being as round as it had once been; and her old defiant expression had given way to one of gentleness. Indeed, since the death of Gustava, a certain look of pain seemed to have impressed itself on her features, her large eyes had become more l.u.s.trous, and seemed full of unsatisfied longing.

Johanna and her daughter had also arrayed themselves in their best clothes; at least, as far as that was possible with Johanna, for, since the death of her husband, she had always worn mourning.

I rode off in the chaise with Rothfuss; Julius, with Johanna and her daughter, followed us.

Martella remained in the house with Carl; and the schoolmaster's wife had come to a.s.sist in baking and cooking.

When we reached the saw-mill, the miller said, "I have heard the news already--this is Ludwig's day."

We drove on, and after a while Rothfuss said, "It seems to me that the trees are stretching and straightening themselves in order to appear at their best when our Ludwig goes by."

When we arrived at the top of the last hill, Gaudens, who was breaking stones on the road, said: "Ludwig will have to own that the roads are not kept better in America than here." It was strange how the news of his return had been noised about.

At the last village before reaching the station, Funk came out of the tavern and called out, "Rothfuss! Stop!"

Rothfuss turned towards me with an inquiring look, and I told him to stop.

Funk now informed me that he had succeeded in inducing the members of Ludwig's party to refrain from receiving him at the railroad station with a festive procession. He did not wish to interfere with the family festivities; but on the following Sunday, the friends of freedom would take the liberty of greeting Ludwig as one who belonged to mankind.

I could only reply that I could decide nothing for my son,--that he was free and would act for himself.

Funk went back into the tavern. We drove on. Rothfuss remarked, "That fellow is like a salamander; when he tries to climb a rock and falls on his back, he turns about and is on his feet again quicker than thought."

We were much too early when we got into town, and I walked about the streets as if I had never been there before, and as if there were nowhere a chair on which one might rest.

It suddenly occurred to me that I ought to have sent my picture to Ludwig, so that he might know me; I had grown a full beard since his departure, and it would grieve me if he did not at once recognize me.

I decided at once. There was yet time enough to have my beard removed; and when I returned, Johanna and Rothfuss were greatly astonished by the change in my appearance. But I did not tell them my reason for removing my beard.

I had a presentiment that Ludwig would bring Ernst with him. I note this down, because we frequently speak of fulfilled presentiments, but never of those which are not fulfilled.

At the depot, there were numbers of emigrants who were about to leave the valley. I knew many of them, and they guessed at my innermost thought; for now one, and then another, would come to me and say, "If I learn anything about Ernst, I will write to you immediately."

The locksmith's widow was there, with her three children. The children had bouquets in their hands, and I begged them to stand aside until the first meeting was over.

A young stone-cutter who lived at a village in our neighborhood, and was employed in the shops at the depot, greeted the locksmith's widow in the most friendly manner. He held her hand in his for some time, and she seemed pleased thereat. How strange that at such moments one can see more than is transpiring about him! It suddenly occurred to me, "Who knows--they may yet be a couple."

The Inspector invited me to his dwelling; I accompanied him. A short time afterward, he returned and told me that the train had been signalled. He led me down the steps and remained at my side. Now we hear the whistle;--now the train is coming round the curve; now it is slacking its speed. No one is beckoning to me from the car windows. Can he have failed to come? Many pa.s.sengers alight; but I see no sign of my son.

Suddenly a guard calls out to me, "Herr Waldfried, you are to come this way!" He opens the door of the car and I am lifted up into it.

I hear a voice exclaim, "Father!" and I know nothing of what happened for some time afterward.

"Grandfather, give me your hand," says another voice. But, before that, I am embraced by a lovely woman, who sheds tears of joy.

Leading my son with my right hand and my grandson with the left, I walked out as if marching in triumph. My daughter-in-law was escorted by Johanna and her daughter.

Suddenly Ludwig dropped my hand and called out, "You here, Ernst?"

"I am not your brother Ernst; I am Julius, the son of your sister Martina."

"Where is Rothfuss?" inquired Joseph, who had also come on the train with Ludwig.

I had already seen him. He stood aside, lighting one match after another, and seemed to be waiting for Ludwig to come to him to get a light for his cigar.

At last he threw the match away and called out, "Hurrah! Shout till you burst your throats!"

They all shouted "hurrah," and when Ludwig and his son had shaken hands with Rothfuss, and the wife had taken him by the hand, Rothfuss said, "She has a firm hand; you have done this thing well, Ludwig."

A middle-aged man, erect in figure, and with a red mustache, was looking after Ludwig's luggage. Ludwig now called to him, "Willem, just leave those things and come here. Here, Rothfuss, let me recommend to you my servant and friend, Willem. Shake hands with each other, and be good friends."

Rothfuss extended his hand, and asked, with an air of doubt:

"He speaks German, of course--does he not?"

"Yours to command; I know nothing else."

It was on a Sat.u.r.day, and the Jews of the little town were accustomed on that day to loiter about the station. We were just about to leave, when the Jewish teacher came up to me and said, "Herr Waldfried, the verse in the Bible which tells of Jacob again seeing his son Joseph, applies to you. It says, 'And Israel said unto Joseph, Now let me die, since I have seen thy face, because thou art yet alive.'"

The words of the little old man did me much good.