The question: “Has any news of Frederick come during this while?” rose several times to my lips, but I could not find courage to give voice to it. At last, when we had driven some distance, while my father kept silence all the way, I brought it out.
“Not up to yesterday,” was the reply. “It is possible that we may find news today. It was, of course, yesterday, immediately after the receipt of the telegram, that I left for the city. Oh, what a fright you have given us, you silly creature! To go to the battlefields, where you might meet the most cruel enemies, for these folks are just like savages. They are perfectly intoxicated with the victories of their needle-rifle, and all; they are no disciplined soldiers, these landwehr fellows; from such men you may be sure of the worst outrages, and you—a lady—to run into the midst of them—you—However, the doctor just now ordered me not to scold you.”
“How is my son Rudolf?”
“He is crying and moaning about you, seeking you all over the house, will not believe that you could have gone away without giving him a parting kiss. And do not you ask after the rest? Lilly, Rosa, Otto, Aunt Mary? You seem to me altogether so indifferent.”
“How are they all? Has Conrad written?”
“They are all well. A letter arrived yesterday from Conrad. Nothing has happened to him. Lilly is happy. You will see that good news will very soon arrive about Tilling too. Unfortunately there is nothing good to be hoped in a political point of view. You have surely heard of the great calamity?”
“Which? In the present state of things I have seen nothing but great calamities.”
“I mean Venice. Our beautiful Venice given away—made a present of to that intriguer Louis Napoleon, and that after such a brilliant victory as we won at Custoza! Instead of getting back our Lombardy to give up our Venice as well! It is true that by this means we get free from our enemies in the South, have Louis Napoleon too on our side, and can now with our whole force take our revenge for Sadowa, chase the Prussians out of our country, follow them up and gain Silesia for ourselves. Benedek has committed great mistakes, but now the chief command will be put into the hand of the glorious commander of the Army of the South. But you make no reply? Well, then, I will follow Bresser’s prescription and give you repose.”
After a drive of two hours we arrived at Grumitz.
As our carriage drove into the court of the château my sisters ran out to meet me.
“Martha! Martha!” both of them shouted from a distance. “He is there.”
And again at the carriage door: “He is there.”
“Who?”
“Frederick, your husband.”
Yes, so it was. It was the day before, late in the evening, that Frederick had been brought with a consignment of wounded from Bohemia to Vienna and from thence here. He had received a bullet in his leg, a wound which rendered him for the moment unfit for service and in need of nursing, but was entirely free from danger.
But joy is also hard to bear. The news then shouted to me by my sisters, so entirely without preparation, that “Frederick was there,” had just the same effect as the terror of the past days—it deprived me of consciousness.
They were obliged to carry me from the carriage into the château, and put me to bed. Here, whether from the aftereffect of the narcotic, or the violence of the shock of joy, I spent several hours in unconsciousness, sometimes slumbering, sometimes delirious. When I came to myself and found myself in my own bed I believed myself to have awoke from a dreadful dream, and thought I had never left Grumitz. Bresser’s letter, my resolution to start for Bohemia, my experiences there, the homeward journey, the news of Frederick’s return home—all was a dream.
I looked up. My femme de chambre was standing at the foot of the bed. “Is my bath ready?” I asked. “I want to get up.”
Now Aunt Mary rushed forward out of a corner of the room.
“Oh Martha! poor dear, are you at last awake and restored to your senses? God be praised. Yes, yes; get up and take your bath. That will do you good, when one is covered, as you are, with the dust of the roads and railways.”
“Dust from railways; what do you mean?”
“Quick; get up. Netty, get everything ready. Frederick is almost dying with impatience to see you.”
“Frederick—my Frederick?”
How often had I during these last days called out this name, and with what pain! But now it was a cry of joy—for now I had comprehended. It was no dream. I had been away and come back again, and was to see my husband.
A quarter of an hour afterwards I went into his room, alone. I had requested that no one should go with me. No third person should be present at our meeting.
“Frederick!” “Martha!” I rushed to the couch on which he lay and sobbed on his bosom.
XIII
My Delight in the Restoration of My Husband—The War Practically at an End: But the Prussians Continue Their Advance on Vienna—Life at Grumitz—Military Education—My Brother Otto—Description of the Flight of a Routed Corps—Peace Imminent—Victory of Lyssa—Plans for the Future—Conrad’s Return—The Soldier’s Delight in War.
This was the second time in my life that my beloved husband had been restored to me from the dangers of war.
Oh! the blessedness of having him once more with me. How was it that I, just I, had succeeded in emerging out of the flood of woe in which so many had sunk, on to a safe and happy
