Tilling was now obliged to smile. He threw me a look which said plainly “I know you better,” and answered aloud: “I think so too; she really only fell in love with my uniform.”
VI
Marriage and Visit to Berlin—Lady Cornelia von Tessow and Her Son—A Wedding Tour—Life in Garrison at Olmütz—Christmas at Vienna—Rumours of War—A New-Year’s Party—Back at Olmütz—War Imminent—Outbreak of the Schleswig-Holstein War—History of the Quarrel.
In September of this year our marriage took place.
My bridegroom had got two months leave for the wedding-tour. Our first stage was Berlin. I had expressed a wish to lay a wreath on the grave of Frederick’s mother, and begin our tour with that pilgrimage.
We stopped eight days in the Prussian capital. Frederick introduced me to his relatives who were living there, and all seemed to me the most amiable people in the world. And, really, everything we met was pleasant and beautiful—wearing as we did the rose-coloured glasses through which one looks at the outside world during the honeymoon. Besides, the newly-married pair were greeted on all sides with cheerful and kindly politeness; everyone seemed to find it a duty to strew new roses on a path already so sunny.
What pleased me particularly in North Germany was the dialect. Not only because it was marked by my husband’s accent—one of his qualities which had excited my love at first—but also because in comparison with the way of speaking used in Austria it seemed to announce a higher level of education, or rather did not seem, but was really its result. Grammatical solecisms such as deform the common speech of the best circles in Vienna do not occur in good society at Berlin. The Prussian substitution of the accusative for the dative, “Gib mich einen Federhut,” is confined to the lower classes, while in Vienna the ordinary confusions of cases, such as “Ohne dir,” “Mit die kinder,” are heard commonly enough in the best drawing-rooms. We may for all that call our way of speaking kindly, and get foreigners to take it as being so, but it shows some inferiority nevertheless. If one measures human worth by the scale of education—and what more correct standard can one have?—then the North German is a little bit more of a man than the South German—an assertion that would sound very arrogant in the mouth of a Prussian, and may seem very “unpatriotic” from the pen of an Austrian authoress; but how seldom is there any outspoken truth which does not give offence, somewhere or somehow?
Our first visit in Berlin, after the churchyard, was to the sister of the deceased. From the amiability and intellectual accomplishments of this lady I could infer how amiable and accomplished his mother must have been if she was like Frau Cornelia v. Tessow. The latter was the widow of a Prussian general, and had an only son, who had just then become a lieutenant.
I never met with a handsomer young man in my whole life than this Godfrey v. Tessow. It was touching to see the affection between mother and son; and in this also Frau Cornelia seemed to have a resemblance to her deceased sister. When I saw the pride which she visibly had in Godfrey, and the tenderness with which he treated his mother, I was already delighting myself with imagining the time when my son Rudolf should be grown up. One thing only I could not understand, and this I expressed to my husband, thus:—
“How can a mother allow her only child, her treasure, to embrace so dangerous a profession as the army?”
“My dear, there are simple reflections which no one ever makes,” Frederick answered, “considerations which lie so near one that no one ever heeds them. Such a reflection is the danger of the military profession. People do not allow themselves to take that into consideration; it is thought a kind of impropriety or cowardice to allow that to weigh with one. And so it is assumed as a matter of course and inevitable that such danger must be survived, and indeed is nearly always survived by good luck (the percentages of killed are distributed over other people), and so the chance of being killed is not thought of. To be sure, it exists; but so it does for everyone born into the world, and yet no one thinks about death. The mind can do a great deal to chase away troublesome thoughts. And, lastly, what more pleasant and more respected position can a Prussian nobleman occupy than that of a cavalry officer?”
Aunt Cornelia appeared also pleased with me.
“Ah!” she sighed on one occasion, “how I wish that my poor sister could have lived to feel the joy of having such a daughter-in-law and seeing her Frederick so happy as he is now with you. It was always her warmest wish to see him married. But he demanded so much from marriage—”
“That it did not seem likely he would fall in love with me, aunty.”
“That is what the English call ‘fishing for a compliment.’ I only wish my Godfrey could get such a prize. I have been long impatient to know the joy of being a grandmother. But I shall have long to wait for that, my son is only twenty-one.”
“He may turn many young ladies’ heads,” I said, “break many hearts.”
“That would not be like him; a better, more straightforward young man does not exist. One day he will make a wife very happy—”
“As Frederick makes his.”
“You cannot tell that quite yet, my dear. We must talk about that ten years hence. In the first few weeks almost everyone is happy. Not that I would express any doubt of my nephew or of you; I believe quite that your happiness will be lasting.”
This prophecy of Aunt Cornelia I wrote down in my diary, and wrote underneath it: “Did it come true? The answer to be
