Villa Eden Part 233

We have fought a battle; we have been defeated. Roland has distinguished himself, and been promoted. I have to use all my influence to restrain his daring.

The coolness and deliberation of your grand-nephew Hermann are a great help to me.

The hardest thing in this war is, that thousands must necessarily be sacrificed in order to teach the officers the art of war. There is a deficiency of experienced and tried leaders; and it is no small thing that the army, wholly without any confidence in the military skill of its generals, maintains itself so bravely. They must learn how to fight by fighting; and in this particular the Southern States have the advantage.

I have very great doubts whether our opponents fight with the hope of triumph; I mean, whether they honestly believe, that if they conquer, their principle can be permanently established.

Their very bitterness, which exceeds all bounds of a common humanity, the very vindictiveness with which they carry on the contest, shows me that they believe in a victory by war, but not by peace. And here the question presents itself to me: Why must an acknowledged ideal principle always and forever be attained through blood?

This is the great enigma of history. But it is the same as it is in a smaller sphere and in individual life; humanity is rational, but its predominating characteristic is pa.s.sion, impulsive affection, which urges forward and renovates the life of humanity as it does that of the individual. I am reminded of an expression of yours, that nothing is so conducive to the growth of vegetation as a thunder-storm. It is perhaps the same in the history of man and of humanity. Schiller's dream, that the highest form of poetry would be the peaceful idyl of an equilibrium of opposite forces without any great sacrifice, is but a dream. It is not found in the sphere of pure thought or poesy, because it is nowhere found in actual life.

As Goethe said, this America has no middle ages to conquer, but he was mistaken in saying that it had no basaltic strata, for it is now just coming out of its own peculiar condition of feudalism. Its history, like that of a dramatic poem, is condensed into a briefer period of time, and brought more directly under our view.

This America has been engaged in no war for dynasty or religion, and it must now fight for an idea. Independence was the first great question, and that may be also an egoistic question. The emanc.i.p.ation of others is the second and purely ideal one; and to be taken entirely out of the strife for wealth and material goods where external well-being is the sole interest, the final and supreme concern, and to be placed in a period of history where life must be imperilled for an idea, this gives ideal power. America now for the first time brings her new element, her sacrificial gift, into the Pantheon of humanity. Until now, it might be said that the historical greatness of America bore no comparison with its natural greatness.

America has had, compressed into a single epoch of existence, its migration of the nations, its crusades, and its thirty years' war; and there is something of the rapidity and the instantaneousness of the electric telegraph in its history.

Here I am, sitting in camp, and writing like a schoolmaster. But it has done me good. I feel collected, refreshed, and strengthened while turning my thoughts to you.

[Roland to the Professorin.]

We have been beaten! Mother, we have been beaten! Eric consoles me and consoles us all; he says that it is good for us, we must learn to stand the brunt. Well, I will learn.

(Eric's Postscript.) Mother! I found these lines which Roland left behind, and I send them to you. Roland is missing, and has either fallen or been taken prisoner; he has borne himself bravely, and had been promoted to be an officer. O my Roland!

[Eric to Weidmann.]

In Camp.

The great, the necessary step has been taken; the negroes have been called to serve in the army, and we have enlisted in a negro regiment,--Roland, Hermann, and I. Now the contest is for the first time complete. The negroes show themselves willing and docile, and are always merry. This discipline of the army is an excellent preparatory school for life.

We have learned from one of our spies that a man who calls himself Banfield, but who from the description I think is Sonnenkamp, is in the army in front of us, and with him there is a woman in man's dress, a great beauty, who receives the homage of all. I had hoped that he would enter the Navy; it is horrible to me that he and his son are now fighting in hostile ranks, so directly face to face with each other. I trust that Roland will hear nothing of it.

But it is very pleasant to see the beautiful comrades.h.i.+p of Roland and your grand-nephew, Hermann; they are inseparable.

[Roland to the Professorin.]

The final step has been taken. Eric, Hermann, and I have enlisted in a black regiment. This, is just what I wanted. I may be allowed to say it to you, these bondmen now struggling for a manhood which would not have been accorded to them in peace, they love me. I think of Parker's word.

Oh, what a day that was when I heard his name from you for the first time, there going out of church, and then----

Forward! this is now our watchword; there must be no looking back now.

One thing more. I have found a friend, and a better one you could not have wished for me out of your own full loving heart; and my Hermann is Lilian's brother. I dare not dwell upon the thought that he is fighting from his own voluntary choice, and I--No, I, too, stake all freely.

[Eric to Weidmann.]

In Camp.

O my friend! Roland is missing. We have gained a victory. I have searched the battle-field with our surgeon, Adams, and Hermann. O what a sight! We did not find Roland. Our hope is that he has been taken prisoner.

What a hope!

I am obliged to console myself while consoling Hermann. The youth feels to the very depth of his true soul sorrow for the lost one, but he is far from exhibiting any weakness; the good training of a free Commonwealth, and of the German parental home, has now its effect.

Hermann is now my tent companion; he is entirely different from Roland.

Here in America every one has room for development, and all the branches live and spread forth on the tree; and besides, Hermann has no sorrowful conflict with fate in his soul, such as my poor Roland had.

I beg you, if any news comes from Sonnenkamp addressed to me, that you would write to him that his son is a prisoner.

I am tired to death. The images of the wounded, the dead, the trampled under foot, will never fade from my memory.

I don't know when I shall write you again, but I entreat you to let Sonnenkamp know about Roland immediately; perhaps you could insert it in some English newspaper which circulates in the Southern States.

Confer with Professor Einsiedel about everything, but I beg you not to say anything about it to my mother.

[Lilian to the Professorin.]

"Write at once to Eric's mother," says Roland to me.

So you see, honored lady, that I have found him.

The terrible tidings reached us that Roland had either been killed or taken prisoner, and I could no longer endure it. I went down into the enemy's country. Oh, how much I have gone through! I have been on the battle-field, and looked into the faces of hundreds of the mangled and the dead. I have been in hospitals, and heard the moans and the groans of the sick and the wounded, but nowhere Roland, nowhere any trace of him.

I still travelled onward, and they had compa.s.sion for me, those terrible people; they pitied the lonely maiden who was seeking her beloved.

I found him at last--no, not I. Griffin found him, for the faithful animal was with me. We found him in a barn. He is wounded. Oh, he looked so emaciated, so changed, that I scarcely knew him! But now all is well.

Roland relates that a woman in man's clothing had him taken into the barn, and he a.s.serts that it was the Countess Bella. I saw her once when I was at Mattenheim, I have seen her now. I think it was she--rus.h.i.+ng past on horseback, and dressed like a man. She looked at me, and must have recognized me.

On, mother! it is very wonderful. Perhaps Roland has told you that he gave me a pebble, and I gave one to him, when we saw each other at Mattenheim. This pebble he kept and wore over his heart, and the pebble saved his life.

I have sent an account of everything to New York, but I do not know whether the letter will get there. Letters will reach Europe, and I beg you to forward the tidings to my father and to Eric. Say, besides, that Roland is wholly out of danger; a German physician in the army here gives me this a.s.surance.

Send the news also to Mattenheim, to uncle and aunt and all the relatives.

Roland has just waked, having had a good sleep.

He wants me to request you to take the deaf mute to the Villa, and give him something to do in the garden; he talks a great deal about him.

[Eric to Weidmann.]

Now the worst is over! I don't know how to put it into words.

It was a hot day, and the battle was a severely contested one on both sides. We have gained the victory, and our loss is great. Adams came to me; he was bleeding, and foaming at the mouth. I wanted to bind up his wounds, but he pushed me away, crying,--