Lay Down Your Arms 57

Lay Down Your Arms 57

“Very well, dear Rosa. I shall be happy to share this view of it with

you. Let your two hearts made happy be weighed against the many

thousands of hearts that have been broken.”

 

“But it is not only individual destinies that are concerned, Martha. In

the gross and on the whole war also brings great gain to those who

conquer, and therefore to a whole nation. You must hear Henry talk on

that subject. He says Prussia shines out grandly. In the army universal

exultation reigns, and enthusiastic thankfulness and love for the

generals who have led it to victory. And in this way there arises for

German civilisation, for commerce--or perhaps he said for the prosperity

of Germany, I have forgot the exact term--its historical mission--in

short, you should hear him talk himself.”

 

“Why, does not your _fiancé_ prefer to speak of your love rather than of

political and military matters?”

 

“Oh, we speak about everything, and everything he says sounds like music

in my ears. I feel that it is so good for him that he is proud and happy

to have joined in fighting out this war for his king and country----”

 

“And carried away for himself so dear a sweetheart as his booty,” I

added, to finish her sentence.

 

His future son-in-law suited my father very well, and who would not have

been pleased with such a grand young man? Still he gave him his sympathy

and his blessing with all kinds of protestations and restrictions.

 

“You are dear to me in every respect, dear Reuss--as a man and as a

soldier and as a prince”--this is what he said to him repeatedly, and in

various modes of speech--“but as a Prussian officer of course I reserve

to myself the right, despite any family connection, of wishing for

nothing so much as a future war, in which Austria may pay back

handsomely the present victory snatched from her. The political question

must be separated altogether from the personal. My son will one day--God

grant that I may live to see it--take the field against the Prussian

state. I myself, if I were not too old, and if my emperor were to summon

me to it, would at once accept a command to fight William I., and

especially his overbearing Bismarck. This does not prevent me from

recognising the military virtues of the Prussian army, and the strategic

science of its leaders; and from thinking it quite a matter of course

that in the next campaign you, at the head of your battalion, should try

to storm our capital, and set fire to the house in which your

father-in-law lives--in short----”

 

“In short,” said I, one day breaking in on a rhapsody of this kind,

“confusions in terms and inconsistencies of fact twine round each other

like the _infusoria_ in a putrefying drop of water. It is always so,

when you pen up together conceptions repugnant to each other. To hate

the whole and love its parts, to want to have one way of thinking as

members of a nation and another as a man. That will not do; it must be

one thing or another. So I approve of the Indian chief’s way of looking

at it. He entertains for the adherent of a different tribe--as to which

he does not even know that it consists of individuals--no other wish

than to scalp him.”

 

“But my dear girl, Martha, such savage feelings do not suit the stage

of our civilisation, which has grown more cultured and more humane.”

 

“Rather say that our present stage of civilisation does not suit the

savagery which has come down to us from old times. As long as this

savagery, that is, so long as the spirit of war is not cast out, our

much-valued ‘humanity’ cannot be looked on as _reasonable_. For surely

now as to the speech you made just now, in which you assured Prince

Henry that you would love him as a son-in-law and hate him as a

Prussian, value him dearly as a man, and abominate him as an officer,

that you give him your paternal blessing with pleasure, and at the same

time allow him the right, in given circumstances, of firing on you,

forgive me, my dear father, but will you really uphold this as

reasonable?”

 

“What are you saying? I do not catch a word.”

 

The favourite deafness had again come on at the right moment.

 

* * * * *

 

After a few days all became quiet again at Grumitz. The soldiers

quartered on us had to march off, and Conrad had been ordered to join

his regiment. Lori Griesbach and the Minister had already departed

before.

 

The marriage of my two sisters had been postponed till October. Both

were to be married on the same day at Grumitz. Prince Henry was to quit

the service; now that he had finished this glorious campaign in which he

had earned distinction, he could easily do this, and so repose on his

laurels, and on his estates.

 

The partings of the two pairs of lovers were painful and joyful at the

same time. They promised to write to each other every day, and the

certain prospect of bliss so near made the anguish of parting seem not

so severe.

 

_Certain_ prospect of bliss? There is in reality no such thing, and

assuredly least of all in seasons of war. Then misfortunes hover around

“as thick as the swarms of gnats in the air,” and the chances that you

may be standing on a spot that will be spared by the descending scourge

are at best but small.

 

True, the war was over. That is, it had been proclaimed that peace was

concluded. A word is sufficient to unchain the horrors, and thence one

is apt to think that a word will also suffice to remove them again, but

no spell has in reality that power. Hostilities may be suspended, and

yet hostility may persist. The seed of future war is sown, and the fruit

of the war just ended spreads still further, in wretchedness, savagery,

and plagues. Yes, no falsehood and no “not thinking of it” was any good

now, the cholera was raging through the country.

 

It was on the morning of 8th August. We were all seated at the

breakfast-table and reading our correspondence which had just come by

the post. The two _fiancées_ had fastened on the love letters that had

come for them, I was turning over the newspapers. From Vienna the news

was:--

 

The cholera death-rate is rising considerably. Not only in the

military but also in the civil hospitals many cases have been

already reported, which must be looked on as genuine Asiatic

cholera, and energetic measures are being taken on all sides to

check the progress of the epidemic.

 

I was about to read the passage aloud when Aunt Mary, who had in her

hand a letter from one of her friends in a neighbouring château, gave a

cry of horror.

 

“Horrible! Betty writes me that in her house two persons have died of

cholera, and now her husband is ill also.”

 

“Your excellence, the schoolmaster wishes to speak to you.”

 

The gentleman announced followed the footman into the room. He looked

pale and bewildered.

 

“Count, I tell you, with all deference, that I must close the school.

Two children were taken ill yesterday, and to-day they are dead.”

 

“The cholera?” we cried out.

 

“I think it is. I think we must give it that name. The so-called

diarrhœa which broke out among the soldiers quartered here, and of

which twenty of them died, was the cholera. Great terror prevails in

the village, because the doctor who came here from town has affirmed

without any concealment that the horrible disease has now beyond doubt

taken hold of the population of this place.”

 

“What sound is that,” I asked, listening, “that one hears?”

 

“That is the passing-bell, baroness,” announced the schoolmaster. “Some

one must be lying at his last gasp. The doctor tells us that in town the

passing-bell absolutely never stops ringing.”

 

We all looked round at each other, pale and speechless. So here it was

again--Death--and each one of us saw his bony hand stretched out in the

direction of some dear one’s head.

 

“Let us flee!” suggested Aunt Mary.

 

“Flee? whither?” answered the schoolmaster. “The pest has by this time

spread everywhere round.”

 

“Oh, far, far away, over the frontier----”

 

“But a cordon will be drawn there, over which no one will be allowed to

pass.”

 

“Oh, that would be horrible! Surely no one would hinder people from

quitting a land stricken with pestilence?”

 

“Assuredly, the healthy neighbourhoods will protect themselves against

infection.”

 

“What is to be done? what is to be done?” And Aunt Mary wrung her hands.

 

“To await God’s will,” answered my father. “You are besides such a

believer in destiny, Mary, I cannot understand your desire for flight.

Every one’s fate finds him, wherever he is. But, at the same time, I

should like it better if you, children, could depart; and you, Otto, see

that you touch no more fruit.”

 

“I will telegraph at once to Bresser,” said Frederick, “to send on

disinfectants.”

 

What happened immediately after this I am no longer able to set down in

detail, because the scene at the breakfast-table was the last which at

that time I entered in the red book. I can only tell the events of the

next few days from memory. Fear and anxiety filled us all--yes, all.

Who, in a time of epidemic, could help trembling when living amongst

those dear to him? For the sword of Damocles was always suspended over

the dear one’s head, and even to die oneself, so terribly and so

uselessly, who is there that such a thought would not fill with horror?

The chief proof of courage consists in _this_: not to think about it.

 

To flee? The idea had occurred to myself also, so as to get my little

Rudolf into a safe place.

 

My father, in spite of all his fatalism, insisted on flight for the

others. The whole family were to be off next day. He alone determined on

remaining, in order not to abandon his household and the inhabitants of

the village in their danger. Frederick declared in the most decisive manner his determination to remain, and this involved at once my decision. I would never voluntarily leave my husband.