Excerpt, “Drumfire.”  (c) 2009 by Linda Hines.  All Rights Reserved.

Like “Poets&Princes,” the Novels I write are a Celebration of the Historical Figures and Events which intrigue me, and Literature and Music I love.

And yes! striving individuals did read … even in the Old West!

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Thought goes before the Deed as Lightning Precedes Thunder…

Heinrich Heine

After serving themselves from the antique sideboard, they gathered around the supper table. With Lily seated between Court and Calder, Mariah felt assured she would receive much attention.

Ruark Metairie sat among them, occasionally giving instructions to Severn.  The rancher was particularly quiet this evening; other matters concerned him.

As usual, their table talk was spirited.  Bismarck dominated the conversation once again, specifically the issue of power and the strength of his character. “In Berlin,” the professor reported, “he is hated by many; and yet, this is the dynamic individual who had the vision and diplomatic skills to bring about change.”

“How enlightening this has been for us, Rob,” said Mariah, “to hear your impression of Otto von Bismarck from a military man’s point of view.  And yet, I cannot help but consider the architect of the new German Empire along with another unique individual from an earlier year:  Heinrich Heine, the German poet who as a young man opposed unification and whose work was censored in his own land.  As a towering figure of the revolutionary literary movement, Young Germany, he dared to speak his mind and suffered political exile as a result.”

“Colonel,” remarked Galen; “For much of the past decade, with Professor St. Clair’s aid, Mariah and I have followed this Prussian diplomat’s career, in Berlin and elsewhere. We are keenly aware of the political challenges of Count Bismarck’s rise to Prince, whether the Military Reform Bill or Ems telegram or the specific events which led to war for Schleswig-Holstein and conflict with Austria as well.  So we understand that it was his diplomatic skill and machinations, more than any other, which brought about the unification of the German nation, and led the Prussian King to be crowned Imperial German Czar in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.”

“And we gather from you,” added Oliver, “that the German military is, in all likelihood, the best trained, the best equipped on the Continent; perhaps in all the world.”

“But now,” stated Calder, “Prince Bismarck has realized his vision, the unification of the German nation under Prussian hegemony, and Europe’s most powerful politician has vowed no more wars.”

“But can Germany’s existing system of government control its Monarch and his Military?” asked Court; “Or restrain his heirs’ lust for power or territory in the years to come?  Is that a vow the Iron Chancellor can keep?”

Slow to reply, the Colonel finally shrugged.  “I’m a soldier, boys; not a politician.  And you will have that question answered in your lifetime; if not in mine; for we have no mentalist among us here to predict the future.  I can tell you only this is 1871; the situation is complex, and that Prince Bismarck is respected for his judgment and his power.”

“Sir,” Mariah declared; “It was Music and Poetry which drew us first to study German history and culture.  Now we can only hope that its daunting militarism will never overshadow the German Nation’s true monarchs:  Their literary princes and gifted composers.”

“But what were Heine’s words?” Ruark Metairie suddenly challenged his family, breaking his silence. ‘“Thought goes before the deed as lightning precedes thunder.’’’

Solemnly, his brother nodded; yet, offering to her husband a soft smile, it was Mariah who spoke.

‘“German thunder is indeed German, and not in a hurry, and it comes rolling slowly onward; but come it will, and when ye hear it crash as naught ever crashed before in the whole history of the world, then know that der deutsche Donner, our German thunder, has at last hit its mark.

At that sound the eagles will fall dead from on high, the lions in remotest deserts in Africa will draw in their tails and creep into their royal caves.  There will be played in Germany a drama compared to which the French Revolution will be only an innocent idyll.

Just now all is tolerably quiet, and if here and there someone behaves in a lively manner, do not believe that the great actors have as yet appeared upon the stage.  They are only the little dogs who run round in the amphitheatre, and bark and bite one another, before the hour begins when the great array of gladiators will enter, and war to the death … or for life…”’

“He wrote that as early as the 1830’s,” exclaimed Oliver; “As a warning to the French.”

“Who had invaded the German lands more than twenty times in the past!” added Calder.

“I see you Metairies have broad interests, lady.”  The Colonel glanced first at the young men; and then directly at their mother.

“All of us have read Herr Heine.”

“But your knowledge of the poet,” the soldier persisted.

“We honor the man,” she said quietly.  “We venerate his work.”

“Yes,” said sixteen-year-old Oliver with a grin; “But even as an exile … how intriguing to be living in Paris during that revolutionary period of the ‘30’s and ‘40’s!”

“Intriguing?” charged his brother; “Political unrest, cholera and a starving population?”

“Intriguing?” challenged Courty; “To be exiled from your native land and those you love?”

“Oh, you know what I mean!” he exclaimed.  “It’s the political situation which interests me!  And that’s why I wish Heine had written more about the Revolution of ’48.”

“His poor health,” Basil reminded them; “And I suspect there were political constraints as well.  Of course, for Heine 1848 was a year of personal tragedy:  He never left his rooms after that.”

“Professor,” Calder asked, “Did you say both Heine and Robert Schumann died the same year?”

St. Clair nodded.  “In ’56:  Yes, a sadness and a release … for both.”

“Why do you say that?” asked young Lily.

Courty placed his fork on his plate and turned toward the girl.  “Lily, Heinrich Heine is one of Germany’s greatest lyric poets, yet his sharp political satire led to censorship of his work and eventual exile from his own land.  He is a favourite among Lieder composers, and many of Heine’s beautiful romantic poems have been set to music by Schumann and Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn, just to name a few.

But both Schumann and Heine suffered from a terrible debilitating disease.    Robert Schumann’s last two years were spent in a mental asylum, while Heinrich Heine’s brilliant mind was imprisoned within a body slowly dying.  For eight years, he laid upon his mattress grave, unable to walk, eventually blind, all too often in excruciating pain.  And yet, in that state he was able to revise for publication much of his former work and even created his often haunting Romancero. His last poems were published after his death; only then did he reveal, somewhat, the suffering of his brave heart and noble soul.”

Galen Metairie listened, not surprised when Courty glanced his way.  The younger man’s smile was slight, yet Galen understood.  Because, then, his voice soft, yet distinct, the cowboy echoed words he’d learned by Galen’s side as a little boy.

O thou black sun, how often,

I drank from thee

Wild flames of inspiration,

And stood and reeled, all drunk with fire…

Young Lily’s expression was soft; and contemplative, as was young Court’s, when he placed his hand gently over hers.

The boys’ smiles were kind; and encouraging.  “Don’t ya see, Lily girl?” exclaimed Oliver playfully. “We were brought up on Goethe, Schiller and Heine.”

“And tales of golden-spurred princes,” Calder remarked, his tone affectionate as he glanced first toward Mariah and then toward his uncle.

With a grin and a wink at his mother, he added his own to Schiller’s words:  “In a monarchy, as could be said of our American West, the more powerful the territorial Prince, the more he devours … and that often includes other princely houses which lack the strength to resist his own.”

Amused at his son’s professorial tone, Ruark Metairie glanced from one boy to the other.

The Colonel studied them all for a moment more.  “I have a close friend … a strange, powerful and lonely man … and a member of the Austrian high aristocracy, who grew up companion to the boy who became the Emperor Franz Josef.  During the revolutions of ’48, he was among the court camarilla which intrigued to set that young man upon the Habsburg throne.”

“Camarilla you say?” inquired Oliver.  “But the prior emperor was weak and never should have been on the throne at all.”

The Colonel nodded, appreciating the boy’s quick wit.

“Then perhaps you understand some of the situation, and the challenges which confronted the Habsburg Empire.  Not only from the nationalistic aim of all its subject peoples, but from the other Great Powers as well.”

“What happened to your friend?”

Bertram’s expression was enigmatic.  “For the next decade, he continued a firm supporter of the Emperor and the monarchy, often serving to mediate between the Habsburg throne and its subject peoples.  Yet, ultimately, he was a casualty of his own liberalism … and betrayed by the Empire he sought so fervently to preserve.

For,” he stated bluntly, with a slight nod of affirmation toward his host’s eldest son:   “In a monarchy, as could be said of your American West, the more powerful the territorial Prince, the more he devours — and that often includes other princely houses which lack the strength to resist his own.

In ’59, during the conflicts which ensued, Emeric’s family was destroyed, and when the boundaries were redrawn, he lost his lands.”

The soldier paused; suddenly reserved, as if remembering another time … another place.  And when he finally spoke, his voice was but a murmur, and he seemed to choose his words with care.

“Yes, his story does reflect others of the high nobility; except this prince lives still, and is far more powerful … and dangerous … than he ever was before.”

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