Chapter XVII: The Pen and the Sword

The late afternoon sun of a bright September day shone through the thick-leaved boughs of the ancient gigantic chestnuts which shaded the avenues and grass-plats of the broad park stretching behind the castle of S., one of those magnificently situated country seats in which the interior of France is so rich. This castle, on the western declivity of a precipitous range of hills, which at this point unfolded all their widely-romantic beauty, as well as the village in its immediate vicinity, had just been seized as quarters for the soldiery. A Rhenish landwehr regiment, after having taken part in all the August battles had been ordered back here to protect the mountain region from roving bands of French fusileers, and to keep the passes free. It was a dangerous and arduous post for the rather small detachment, which, many miles distant from its comrades, almost daily undertook excursions to the mountains, thereby placing itself in constant danger of an attack for which this region was only too favorable. The soldiery lay in the village, while the officers had quartered themselves close by in the castle, whose inmates had naturally fled. These gentlemen, for the moment at least, seemed to have surrendered themselves to an idleness of late only rarely offered them; from the terrace echoed loud talking and laughing, blended with the ringing of glasses.

At the entrance of the park, under one of these giant chestnuts, lay a landwehr officer stretched upon the tall grass, and gazing up into the thick leafy roof through which the setting sun threw hither and thither its palpitating rays. The floral treasures of the garden, arranged with great art and care, and now resplendent with all the summer's magnificence and luxuriance, appeared to fetter his attention just as little as the sound of his comrades' merriment coming down to him from the castle. He raised his head only when an approaching footstep startled him from his dream.

A man of about thirty years, his uniform and the bands upon his arm designating him as a surgeon, came up the path as if in search of some one, and halted before the reclining officer.

"I thought as much! Here you lie dreaming again, while I, by the sweat of my brow, am winning popularity for you. You really do not concern yourself about it in the least!"

The man addressed half rose and supported himself on his elbows. "I have a duty to perform," he said. "I must go down to the village at four o'clock."

"And for that reason you must make yourself invisible at three? Do not deny it, Walter, you ran away from us because you remarked that I had the horrible intention of reading aloud a poem, a copy of which I forced from you. But flight does not avail you; on your return, you will be received with general acclamation. Our major swears that he never heard anything like it his life; the adjutant was just as enthusiastic in its praise. You know he is a sort of amateur critic, well versed in aesthetics, and from the very first you wonderfully impressed him with your learning. He reminds us how highly favored we are by destiny in being able to call a poet our companion-in-arms, a poet Germany will one day salute as it greatest genius. Our lieutenant swears by all the gods of the upper and lower world, that if the French had possessed a bard who before the battle had inspired them with such songs, they would have given us more to do; but your poetry has had the most stupendous effect upon our fat captain; it has made him forget his dram!"

"Stop this nonsense!" said the young officer half in anger, as he sank back to his reclining posture.

"_Nonsense!_ I give you my word that I have only repeated literally to you, what was said. Did you hear the glasses ring? All the officers were just then solemnly guaranteeing you immortality. I am sent to seize the flying singer, and bring him back, living or dead. They clamorously demand your presence."

"Spare me! You know how much I dislike such ovations."

"And again do you refuse to come? Well, it is just like you! We ought by this time to have learned that we can have Lieutenant Fernow's company only when some service is required, or some fight is at hand. You run away from all recognition of your talents, as any other man would run from punishment. You must cease this, Walter; it really is not fitting for the future poet of Germany."

Fernow had meantime risen; he had put on the helmet which lay near him in the grass, and bound his sword more firmly. One who two months ago had seen the learned professor of the university of B. would certainly not have recognized him in this young warrior, whose military coat fitted the slender form excellently, as if he had all his life worn no other. The sickly pallor and the deep, shadowy rings about the eyes, had vanished with the bowed form and the unhealthy appearance. The forehead and cheeks were deeply sunburned, the blood coursed vigorously through the veins, the blonde hair, little cared for, waved in luxuriant profusion under the helmet; the once smooth chin wore a heavy beard; the upright military bearing seemed to cost the present landwehr lieutenant not the slightest effort, and the once delicate hands, with a strong grip, now seized the sword. These six weeks in the field had wrought wonders; it was evident at the first glance--Doctor Stephen's radical cure had been affected.

"You place too much value on my songs," he said evasively. "The verses, written upon the inspiration of the moment, inspire only for the moment, and when the excitement which called them forth is ended, they will fall into forgetfulness."

"Do you think so?" asked the surgeon gravely. "I may be allowed to doubt it. In your verses resounds more than a mere battle-cry, although you may, perhaps, in future, thank the war for having roused your slumbering talent and for showing you the path to future renown."

"Perhaps!" said Fernow gloomily. "And perhaps, also, a bullet may to-day or to-morrow make an end of all the promised renown?"

"Can you not throw off this eternal melancholy?" asked the doctor chidingly. "Walter, I really believe you are bearing an unhappy love around with you."

"Not at all!" cried Fernow passionately, and turned away. The deep flush which earlier had suffused his pale face at every violent excitement, again appeared, although less visible in the bronzed countenance.

This sudden emotion had escaped the surgeon. He had been a younger colleague of Doctor Stephen, a private tutor in the university of B. He and Fernow had known each other sufficiently to exchange a passing salutation as they met. This had lasted for three years, but the army life had in a few hours made them acquaintances, and in a few weeks, friends.

The always merry young doctor laughed aloud at his own comic idea. "I have really been very curious as to the where and when! Since we have been in the field, I have scarcely stirred from your side, and in B. you never so much as looked at a woman, for which reason, the fairer half of the city, with good reason, declared you outlawed and proscribed." Fernow made no answer; he busied himself with the hilt of his sword.

"But Doctor Stephen was right with his diagnosis," continued the surgeon after a momentary pause, "although I would not believe it when he came over to H. to commend you to my care, he having heard that I was assigned to your regiment. I could with a good conscience, promise to do my best, for I was convinced that you would be the first patient, to fall into my hands. The first week, I would not have given a penny for your life, but when the marches and hardships began, when our men fell in scores beneath the fiery August sun, and you still held out; when amid all the over exertion and deprivation which sometimes lay low the strongest, you grew only healthier and more robust then I took off my hat to the superior discernment of my old colleague. Walter, you have one of the best constitutions, a really magnificent constitution, which only needed to renounce the study and the writing-desk, to gain its full development; and you have found the right, although somewhat unusual remedy for your nerves. The thunder of the cannon has thoroughly re-established them! This will be a surprise to everyone when you return to B."

"When I return?"

"Forever and eternally, these presentiments of death!" cried the surgeon, with an impatient gesture. "You cling to them with a genuine passion."

"Because I feel them!"

"Nonsense! If there is a man bullet-proof it is you! Do not take it ill of me, Walter, but your rushing to the front in all these battles, borders on insanity. Courage need not become reckless; but where excitement urges you on, you see and hear nothing. Your comrades all say this."

"And still there is not one among them, who a little while ago, would have owned that I possessed any courage at all," returned Fernow, with some bitterness.

"I know that," said the surgeon, frankly. "But to tell the truth you used to have little enough of the hero in you. You were entirely a man of the pen, who wholly absorbed in his books had nothing to do with the outside world. Now that is all a thing of the past, as well as the error of your comrades. Since the first battle, none doubt your courage."

Fernow smiled sadly. His eyes alone had not changed. There lay within them the old dreaminess and the old sadness.