Frederick the Great and His Family [237]
child; his grief-torn heart clung to him with the deepest devotion. To be parted from him seemed more bitter than death itself. When the recruiting officer came into the hut of Buschman and summoned Charles Henry to follow him as a soldier, the eyes of the old man filled with tears, and he laid his hands upon the arm of his son as if he feared to see him instantly torn from his sight.
"Captain" he said, with a trembling voice, "I have sent the king six sons already; they have all died in his service. Tell me truly, is the king in great need? If so, take me as well as my son--if not, leave me my son."
The officer smiled, and extended his hand to the old man. "Keep your son," he said. "If you have lost six sons in the war, it is right that you should keep the seventh."
Buschman uttered a cry of joy, and would have embraced his son, but Charles Henry pushed him gently back, and his father read in his countenance a determination and energy that he had rarely seen there.
"No, father," he said, "let me go--let me be a soldier as my brothers were. I should have gone four years ago, when I was prevented, and Anna Sophia--Ah, let me be a soldier, father," he said, interrupting himself. "All the young men of the village are going, and I am ashamed to remain at home."
The old man bent his head sadly. "Go then, my son," he said; "God's blessing rest upon you!"
Thus Charles Henry went; not from a feeling of enthusiasm for the life of a soldier--not from love to his king--but merely because he was ashamed to remain at home.
He had now been absent several months, and his father had not heard from him. But the news of the lately lost battle had reached the village, and it was said that the Prince Royal of Brunswick, in whose corps Charles Henry was, had been defeated. The old shepherd remembered this as he sat in the meadow this bright summer morning. His thoughts were with his distant son, and when he raised his eyes to heaven it was not to admire its dazzling blue, or its immeasurable depth, but to pray to the Almighty to spare his son. The peaceful tranquillity of Nature alarmed the old man--she speaks alone to those who have an ear attuned to her voice--she says nothing to those who listen with a divided heart. Buschman could endure it no longer; he arose and started toward the village. He longed to see some human being--to encounter some look of love--to receive sympathy from some one who understood his grief, who suffered as he did, and who did not wear the eternal smile that Nature wore.
He went to the village, therefore, and left the care of his flock to Phylax. It comforted his heart as he passed through the principal street of Brunen and received kind greetings from every hut he passed. He felt consoled and almost happy when here and there the peasants hurried toward him as he passed their huts, and begged him to come in and join them at their simple mid-day meal, and were quite hurt when he refused because his own dinner was prepared for him at home. These men loved him--they pitied his loneliness--they told him of their own cares, their own fears--and as he endeavored to console and encourage them, he felt his strength increase--he was more hopeful, more able to bear whatever God might send.
"We must be united in love," said Buschman; "we will help each other to bear the sorrows that may come upon us. To-morrow is Sunday; in the morning we will go to the house of God, and after we have whispered to Him the prayers which He alone must hear, we will assemble together under the linden-tree in the square and talk of the old times and those who have left us. Do you not remember that it was under the linden-tree we heard of the first victory that our king gained in this fearful war? It was there that Anna Sophia Detzloff read the news to us, and we rejoiced over the battle of Losovitz, And I also rejoiced and thanked God, although the victory had cost me the lives of two of my sons. But they perished as heroes. I could glory in such a death; and Anna Sophia read their praises from the paper. Ah, if Anna
"Captain" he said, with a trembling voice, "I have sent the king six sons already; they have all died in his service. Tell me truly, is the king in great need? If so, take me as well as my son--if not, leave me my son."
The officer smiled, and extended his hand to the old man. "Keep your son," he said. "If you have lost six sons in the war, it is right that you should keep the seventh."
Buschman uttered a cry of joy, and would have embraced his son, but Charles Henry pushed him gently back, and his father read in his countenance a determination and energy that he had rarely seen there.
"No, father," he said, "let me go--let me be a soldier as my brothers were. I should have gone four years ago, when I was prevented, and Anna Sophia--Ah, let me be a soldier, father," he said, interrupting himself. "All the young men of the village are going, and I am ashamed to remain at home."
The old man bent his head sadly. "Go then, my son," he said; "God's blessing rest upon you!"
Thus Charles Henry went; not from a feeling of enthusiasm for the life of a soldier--not from love to his king--but merely because he was ashamed to remain at home.
He had now been absent several months, and his father had not heard from him. But the news of the lately lost battle had reached the village, and it was said that the Prince Royal of Brunswick, in whose corps Charles Henry was, had been defeated. The old shepherd remembered this as he sat in the meadow this bright summer morning. His thoughts were with his distant son, and when he raised his eyes to heaven it was not to admire its dazzling blue, or its immeasurable depth, but to pray to the Almighty to spare his son. The peaceful tranquillity of Nature alarmed the old man--she speaks alone to those who have an ear attuned to her voice--she says nothing to those who listen with a divided heart. Buschman could endure it no longer; he arose and started toward the village. He longed to see some human being--to encounter some look of love--to receive sympathy from some one who understood his grief, who suffered as he did, and who did not wear the eternal smile that Nature wore.
He went to the village, therefore, and left the care of his flock to Phylax. It comforted his heart as he passed through the principal street of Brunen and received kind greetings from every hut he passed. He felt consoled and almost happy when here and there the peasants hurried toward him as he passed their huts, and begged him to come in and join them at their simple mid-day meal, and were quite hurt when he refused because his own dinner was prepared for him at home. These men loved him--they pitied his loneliness--they told him of their own cares, their own fears--and as he endeavored to console and encourage them, he felt his strength increase--he was more hopeful, more able to bear whatever God might send.
"We must be united in love," said Buschman; "we will help each other to bear the sorrows that may come upon us. To-morrow is Sunday; in the morning we will go to the house of God, and after we have whispered to Him the prayers which He alone must hear, we will assemble together under the linden-tree in the square and talk of the old times and those who have left us. Do you not remember that it was under the linden-tree we heard of the first victory that our king gained in this fearful war? It was there that Anna Sophia Detzloff read the news to us, and we rejoiced over the battle of Losovitz, And I also rejoiced and thanked God, although the victory had cost me the lives of two of my sons. But they perished as heroes. I could glory in such a death; and Anna Sophia read their praises from the paper. Ah, if Anna