Uncle Ernst had been listening, with his head supported on his hand, in silence; suddenly he looked up, and in a voice which boded no good, said:
“Forgive my interrupting you, to point out to you that I agree with the minority to whom you refer. I always think it right that when a man is speaking he should know if his audience does not agree with him.”
There was an unusually stern look in the commanding eyes, which Reinhold did not fail to observe. One moment he hesitated whether to be silent or to continue. But supposing he only stayed a few days in the house, this topic must constantly form a subject of conversation; and if, as unfortunately there was now no doubt, his uncle differed from him in opinions, it would be worth his while to arrive at the ideas of such a man upon the point. So he said:
“I am very sorry, my dear uncle, for the sake of the cause, and—forgive me for saying so—for your sake.”
“I do not understand.”
“I mean that the cause is so important and so weighty that it needs every pair of strong shoulders to help it on, and it is so great and so sacred that I pity those who either will not or cannot help and advise with all their hearts.”
“Or cannot!” exclaimed Uncle Ernst. “Just so! Have I not helped and advised as long as I could! At the barricades in the days of March, on the benches of the National Assembly and everywhere and at any time where it was possible for a man—at least a man of honour—to put his shoulder to the wheel as you call it. I will not dwell upon the fact of that shoulder having been wounded, more than once, of my having been cavilled at, interfered with, summoned before the authorities, and shut up in prison; that was natural, other and better men than I have fared no better, but worse—much worse. Well! it was a struggle then—a struggle carried on with very unequal weapons, perhaps, a desperate one, but still a struggle. What have we got now but a market and a huckster’s shop, where you may bargain, backwards and forwards, over the counter for piece after piece of our old proud flag of freedom, with the man who has them all in his pockets and who they know has them there?”
The cloud upon his brow grew darker, his eyes flashed, his voice took a deeper tone, a storm was at hand; Reinhold thought it advisable to draw in a little.
“I am no politician, uncle,” said he, “I think my talents do not lie in that direction, and I have had but little time to cultivate them. At all events I cannot contradict you when you say that unhappily everything is not as it should be in this country; but then you too must admit, as those gentlemen of whom I spoke admitted to me, that the cause viewed from another point, I mean from without, from the deck of a ship, from some distant port across the waters, takes another and far better aspect; and I think you cannot take it amiss if I say that I think more highly of this man—and, in fact, have a great respect for him, feeling that it is owing to him that the name of Germany has gained the respect of the whole world.”
“I know the burden of that song,” said Uncle Ernst, “he has sung it often enough, crafty old bird-catcher! he is always singing it to snare the birds into his net. Who brought about the events of , of , of ? I did! I! I!”
“And is he not right?”
“No, a thousand times no!” cried Uncle Ernst. “Because a man removes the last spadeful of earth, has he an exclusive right to the treasure which other men, with untold labour and fatigue, have toiled and digged for in the depth of the earth? Schleswig Holstein would still be Danish if our young nobility had had to conquer it; Germany would still be in a thousand pieces had it been left to them to join it together; still would the raven be hovering over our ruined hovels were it not for the thousands and thousands of patriotic hearts and heads that have been filled with enthusiasm for the unity of Germany, the hearts and heads of men who have thought day and night of her greatness, but have never been gifted and honoured with pensions and titles!”
“Do you know, uncle,” said Reinhold, “I think that it is with German unity as with many another great matter. In imagination many started to go round the world, in reality one man did at last go, and he discovered—America.”
“It strikes me,” said Uncle Ernst angrily, “that he who discovered it was called Columbus, and was imprisoned in lieu of thanks, and died in misery. He who came after him and reaped his glory, and after whom the new world was named, was a miserable thief unfit to tie the other’s shoes.”
“Now really!” exclaimed Reinhold, unable to resist a smile, “I do not believe that there is another man in the world who would speak like that of Bismarck.”
“Very possibly,” replied
