Waldfried Part 27

She raised her head and said, "The flowers still bloom." Then she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly.

My wife placed her hand on Annette's head, and said, "Weep on. You have a right to lament. Let them not dare come and say, 'Conquer your pain, for hundreds suffer just as you do.' Were there thousands to suffer this same grief, every one must suffer it for himself, and through life carry a wounded heart. You are very, very unhappy. You were life and joy itself: you must now know what it is to be sad. It is a hard lesson, and although I bear my burden, that will not lighten yours.

That you must bear for yourself, as none besides you can."

Annette raised her head, and when she saw me, extended her hand, saying at the same time:

"You knew him well; but no one knew him as I did. He was a hero, with a soul as pure as a child's. Can it be? Can it be possible that he lives no more? Can a mere bullet put in end to so much beauty, so much happiness? Surely it cannot be! Why should it have been he? Why should this stroke fall on me? Forgive me, Bertha, you were stronger and more determined than I. And how your husband will mourn him! Victor, do you know what has happened? Uncle Hugo is dead! And in the very hour of his death I may have been laughing. Alas, alas! Forgive me for making you all so sad. I cannot help myself."

We had not yet left the garden, when the kreis-director entered. He was accompanied by a tall gentleman who was a stranger to us.

"Max, you here!" exclaimed Annette. "While I was happy, you did not come to me, but now you do come. How kind!"

She threw her arms around his neck, and I then learned that he was her brother.

We retired, leaving them together.

I had known that Annette was an orphan. I now learned that her brother, who was a lawyer of renown, had given up all intercourse with his sister, because of her having embraced Christianity. He had wished her to remain true to the faith of her ancestors, and to contract only a civil marriage. For her husband's sake, however, she had embraced the Catholic religion. This was the first intimation I had of her being a Catholic.

A sudden shower forced us to withdraw into the house.

It is depressing to think that while we were absorbed by the deepest despair, a petty annoyance could cause us to flee. We entered the school-room.

"There it is!" exclaimed Annette, pointing to the blackboard; "there it stands!"

On the blackboard were the words, "War, Victory, Fatherland, Germany,"

as a writing-copy for the children.

"Children are taught to write it," said Annette, "but where is it? All life is a blackboard, and on it are written the words, '_Death_, _Grief_, _Tears_.'"

The old spinner entered. She walked up to Annette, took her by the hand, and uttered a few words which none of us could understand.

Annette called upon us all to bear witness, that from that very hour she would give the spinner a considerable annuity in case her son should lose his life; but that, even if he were to return in safety, she would nevertheless make her a yearly allowance.

Her brother objected that at such a time it were wrong to make a vow.

She could, from year to year, give the old woman as much as she thought proper; but that she ought not, at this moment, to make a promise which would be irrevocable, and for life.

We all looked at him with surprise.

He added that he, too would be happy to contribute a generous sum to the annuity.

Annette returned to her dwelling, in order to prepare for her departure. Her orders were, that her rooms should remain in the same condition as she left them, as it was her intention to return.

"Your master is dead," she said to the brown spaniel; "your eye tells me that you understand my words. You must remain here; I shall return again. He loved you, too; but rest quiet: we can neither of us die yet.

You are well off--you can neither wish for death for yourself, nor seek it: you cannot think of these things. Yes, you are well off."

I can hardly find room to mention all the strange images that were called up by Annette's words. Her richly endowed and many-sided mind was in unwonted commotion.

The shower had pa.s.sed away; the gra.s.s and the trees were radiant with the sunlight, and the lines of the opposite hills were clear and distinct.

Annette stood at her window gazing into the distance, while she uttered the words:

"While the earth decks itself with verdure and brings forth new life, it receives the dead. Let no one dare come to me again and say that he understands the world and life!

"Where is the professor?"

My wife was the only one who could quiet Annette, and she said, "If I could only go with you!"

"You will be with me in spirit, I am sure," replied Annette.

She extended her hand to my wife, saying, "I can a.s.sure you of this: I will so conduct myself, that you could at any moment say to me, 'This is right.'--I have been wild and wayward; I am so no longer; hereafter, I will be strong and gentle."

The carriage drove up and we accompanied Annette down the hill as far as the saw-mill.

There was a rainbow over our heads; it reached from our mountains to the Vosges.

Annette held a handkerchief to her eyes. My wife and Bertha were walking on either side of her.

The only time I heard her speak was when she said to Bertha:

"Your husband has lost his best comrade. The Major will live; there shall yet be some happy ones on earth. I shall write you from the camp."

Rothfuss was ploughing the potato field. He was walking with his back towards us.

Annette called to him. He came out into the road and inquired what was the matter.

"My husband is dead. I am going to bring him and lay him in the earth which you are now ploughing," said Annette in a firm voice.

Rothfuss extended his hand to her. He seemed unable to utter a word, and was excitedly swinging his cap about with his left hand.

At last, in a loud voice, and stopping after every word, he exclaimed:

"I would--rather--not--be--King--or Emperor--than have--that--rest--on me."

He returned to the field and continued his work.

When we reached the valley, Annette said, "I shall not say 'good by;' I shall need all my strength for the other sad affair."

She quickly stepped into the carriage; her brother, Rontheim, and the daughter of the latter following her.

The carriage rolled away.

On our way back to the house, my wife was several times obliged to sit down by the roadside. The sad events of this day had deeply affected her.

We were seated under an apple-tree, when my wife, taking me by the hand, said, "Yes, Henry, how full of blossoms that tree once was; but May-bugs and caterpillars and frost and hail have destroyed it. And thus it is with him, too."

She was not as demonstrative as I was; she could bear her sorrow silently; but the thought of Ernst did not leave her for a moment.

When we got back to the house she fell asleep in the armchair, and did not awaken until sunset, when Richard, whom we had not seen all day, returned.