meadows, she suddenly stood still. Here she had stood on the first
morning, here had the thought darted through her soul that she must
often pass through this gateway, over this path, engaged in deep
struggles, and contending for victory. This foreboding had now been
realized.
CHAPTER V.
BE LED INTO TEMPTATION.
Manna went regularly to church, and prayed with constant and unchanging
fervor, but a peculiar shyness held her back from the parsonage. She
said constantly to herself that the Priest himself had told her that it
would be well to avoid seeing him for a time, till she had become
familiar with her new life.
Often, in the midst of conversation with the Professorin, a fear came
over her that she was binding herself too closely to the life of
another, and she felt that she must regain her power of looking beyond
all the varying phenomena of the world. She at last came to the
determination to go to the Priest, to whom she began to explain and
excuse her long absence; but he interrupted her mildly, saying that she
need tell him nothing, he had read her soul, and believed that he
understood her feelings; she must appear to herself, like a person who,
returning to earth after his departure from it, watches the actions of
men, their restless days and nights of painful dreams, their attempts
to satisfy or to benumb the conscience.
He impressed it upon her that she ought to judge people gently; the
worst sinners indeed were those who believed they knew what they were
doing, and it was most difficult to pardon them; but if we take the
highest views, these were the ones who most needed forgiveness,
because, in spite of what they say, they really do not know what they
do, and we can always say of them. Lord, forgive them. There is nothing
left for us, but silently to pray for their salvation, imploring the
merciful Father to grant them redemption.
Without mentioning any name, he then went on to represent to her that
there are some people, who, with outward piety and self-complacency,
perform so-called good works, and borrow holy words for the expression
of thoughts far removed from what is really divine.
He thus described the Professorin without naming her.
Then he delineated others, who, full of knowledge, swerve constantly
from the central truth, and who, without having any fixed goal of their
own, imagine that they are able to lead others.
Thus he delineated Eric.
With the greatest caution he painted the men of the world, who wish to
force the Lord of heaven and earth to show them favor, and who with
their scoffs banish all humility. He openly named as examples Doctor
Richard and the Weidmann circle, but at the same time he had Sonnenkamp
in view, but the daughter must make this application for herself.
Manna listened eagerly. As she looked out of the window, her eyes
rested on her father's house, with the park and garden, and it seemed
to her as if they must all be overwhelmed, the waters surge up from the
Rhine, the everlasting floods submerge the earth, and only here in this
room is the ark of safety.
Timidly, hardly breathing the words aloud, she mournfully asked why the
task of returning into life was laid upon her.
The Priest gently consoled her, telling her that, as an eye which must
soon close, to open again in eternity, watched from this window over
all which passed below in the valley, so an unchanging eye was watching
over her; she must enter the tumult without fear, having within her
thoughts which looked down upon it all from a lofty height of their
own. This was the real trial specially laid upon her.
He went farther, and charged Manna not to come to him again for a long
time; she was to remain away for weeks and months, that she might gain
strength within herself; she was to be fettered by no external bond,
not even that of making stated visits to him, but all was to depend on
her own free, steadfast, independent will; leaning upon herself, with
no outward support, she was to conquer all temptations.
Manna asked hesitatingly, why the Priest had not taken upon himself the
wide-extending benevolent work, which the Professorin was now
commissioned by her father to carry on.
"Why?" exclaimed the Priest, with a flash in his usually quiet eye.
"We cannot take what is not given to us; they must learn that this
so-called benevolence, without the blessing of the Church, becomes
absolutely null, and I command you to have nothing to do with it, for
you cannot enter into such a fellowship."
Manna was much startled when the Priest told her that he did not
consider her fitted to take the veil, that it would be better for her
to be Pranken's wife.
The color mounted to Manna's face, and she moved her hands as if
warding off a blow; she opened her mouth, but could not utter a word.
"It is well," said the Priest, soothingly, "it is well if you can
conquer this too, but we do not call you, we do not beguile you; you
must come at your own call, and follow your own leading. People will
whisper to you. The parsons, for so they call us, have misled you with
most cunning wiles. You must remember, the sun shining down upon us
bears witness that I have urged you not to renounce the world entirely.
If you cannot do otherwise, if you feel an imperative call, then you
will be welcome to us; not otherwise, not even with all your wealth."
The Priest had arisen, and was walking up and down the room with hasty
strides, A long pause ensued; he stood at the window, looking out,
while Manna sat trembling on the sofa. The Priest turned towards her,
saying,--
"You see what esteem we feel for you, when we leave all to your own
strength, the strength of faith and of renunciation within you; hold
firmly to that, and let us speak freely and calmly to each other. Do
you not think this Herr Dournay a most attractive man? Speak to me as
openly and sincerely as you would to yourself."
"I don't yet know what to think. I am inclined to believe that there is
something in him which might make him a noble instrument of the Holy
Spirit."
"Ah! is that your feeling? Thank you for being so honest and
unreserved. That is the wonderful art of the tempter, that he can
assume the purest form; with a pretence of duty and the hope of
conversion he can so tempt the poor child of humanity, that it does not
notice that it has already fallen into evil. This then is the shape he
takes for you? I advise you, yes, I require it of you, I command you,
to attempt to change this false coin into true metal. Try it, it is
your duty; and if you succeed, you are greater than I thought, and if
you fail, you are cured for ever. The ways of Providence are wise,
which have brought this man to you, and planted the thought of his
conversion in your heart; you are bound, for the sake of his salvation
and your own, to make the attempt and to persevere in it. Look out of
doors! it is springtime, everything seems thriving and blooming in
security; but the day will come when the tempest will burst forth,
rending the branches and tearing up the roots, and so it must be. What
is planted in you must be tried by the storm of temptation, with all
its fine and cunning wiles; it must be tossed hither and, thither till
it is all but uprooted--not till then will you be strong."
Again the Priest strode up and down with heavy steps. Manna knew not
what to say, nor how she was to leave this room, and go back again into
the sight of men who were to be to her as shadows, as forms assumed by
the tempter.
The Priest turned towards her, and said gently,--
"Now go, go, my daughter. And God be with thee."
He gave her his blessing, and Manna went. With a conflict in her heart,
straining her powers to look at life as a spectacle, as a temptation
which she must not avoid, she devoted herself to those around her, and
no one suspected why she was so cheerful and ready to be induced to
take part in every kind of merriment.
CHAPTER VI.
ANOTHER SPIRE BUILT.
The Mother was the only one who suspected that any change was going on
in Eric; he became peculiarly reserved, even shy. Instead of his former
communicativeness, he was now very careful of what he said, especially
in Manna's presence, as if he felt himself near one whose serenity must
not be troubled.
But this change in Eric's demeanor soon attracted the notice of another
observer who kept a keener watch. Bella came to call upon her future
sister-in-law. She was very confidential towards Manna; she had the
habit of putting her arm round the waist of girls whom she liked, and
towards whom she desired to be gracious, and promenading with them in
this affectionate way; but whenever she attempted this with Manna, the
latter always made a movement as if she would shake her off, and
finally told her, in so many words, that she disliked it. Bella smiled,
but she was inwardly vexed. In this house, in this garden, she must
encounter such rebuffs as she had never believed possible. But
outwardly there was no trace that her feelings were hurt, although it
required her utmost exertion to remain composed.
With an easy turn of the conversation, she asked Eric if he now had
another pupil.
Eric answered her in the same light tone, that Manna had already
completed her education.
Bella nodded pleasantly.
The formal visit to Manna was now over; and when she excused herself
for not returning it, saying that it was her purpose to visit nowhere,
Bella made a friendly call upon the Mother and the Aunt. She went back
to Wolfsgarten with the resolution to give, hereafter, the go-by to
this house and all its inmates. Otto wanted to marry a wife from it,
and that was his affair; but she believed that she ought to call his
attention to the fact, that in the mutual reserve of Manna and Eric
there was the germ of a deeper feeling. Pranken replied with a spice of
maliciousness, that the family tutor was not half so dangerous as he
appeared to his sister, especially not to one whose character was
grounded in religious conviction.
Pranken made frequent visits to Villa Eden, and always enlivened its
inmates. But it did not escape Manna's penetrating observation, that he
was an artisan, but not an artist; he displayed much clever ingenuity,
but had no productive genius, and was unstable and impulsive. This was
especially noticeable when Eric was present.
Pranken was never at a loss in uttering some pointed remark, but he
could not carry on a discussion; novel propositions bewildered him, and
he had no pertinent observations to bring forward, whilst Eric became
more inspirited and more original by the presentation of opposing
thoughts and new statements.
Eric was always the same from morning to night, while Pranken was a
different being in the evening from what he was in the morning. In
the morning he was obliged to rouse himself; he was tired, heavy,
low-spirited; at evening he was lively, dashing, and full of energy. He
often seemed languid and spiritless; and being aware of this, he was
stimulated to exertion. There was always an element of disquiet in
intercourse with him, and under an appearance of friendliness there was
almost always a latent bitter hostility. He thought now, too, that he
could discover an understanding between Eric and Manna.
Both Manna and Eric thought more of the universal, of the purely ideal,
than they did of the personal; in her, this proceeded from the
religious, and in him, from the philosophical element. In the
beginning, Manna had held herself aloof from him with a sort of
defiance, even with a positive antagonism; but gradually she came to
perceive the inviolable truthfulness of his whole being. When Pranken
was engaged in argument, he asserted what he had to say as if it were
incontrovertible; while Eric, on the other hand, often replied:--
"I should like to be allowed first to state the question; for the best
thing we can do in order to arrive at some actual result, is, to state
the question sharply and definitely." "And," he added, laughing, "the
old philosopher, Epictetus, has designated 'asking the right questions
and exercising forbearance' as the very essence of philosophy."
"Who is Epictetus?" Manna would ask; and while Eric briefly gave an
account of the life of this stoic, a slave, who had become a
philosopher and taught after the manner of Socrates, adding some
reflections of his own. Manna was alarmed to see how fully she agreed
with him; her gods were different, but their devotional spirit was the
same.
Pranken was jealous when he saw Manna deeply interested in Eric's
expositions, and often tried to make him expose his heretical
sentiments, so that he might become abhorrent to Manna.
There was frequently a sort of tournament in which they took part, and
Manna sat, as it were, upon a dais to crown the victor. In such a state
of feeling, if easily happens that insignificant circumstances become
the starting point of a life and death contest. And this was the case
one day, when Pranken related in a merry way that to-day was a bona
fide pilgrimage of the whole country to the railroad station, for they
were expecting, by the evening train, the list of those who had drawn
prizes in the Cathedral lottery; and all the poor people, the servants,
male and female, the vine-dressers, the quarrymen, and the boatmen,
were each one of them hoping to get the first prize. Manna had it on
her lips to say that she had given money to Claus in order to redeem
his ticket, but, before she could do it, Eric, unable to restrain
himself, cried out:--
"This lottery is an atrocity, a disgrace to our age."
"What's that? What do you say?"
"I beg your pardon, I was hasty," said Eric, trying to divert the
subject.
But Manna asked:--
"May we not know what your objection is?"
"I would rather not state it."
Manna's face flushed. This man, she thought, is also a heretic in
regard to social institutions! But she quickly composed herself, and
continued quietly:--
"It ought not to be a matter of indifference to you to be regarded as
open to the charge of being unjust."
"Herr Captain," Pranken said, coming to her help, "would you favor us
so far as to give us your view? It would be very kind of you if you
would instruct us, and give us at length your objections." Then turning
to Manna, he said in a low tone:--
"Take notice, this will be the order of his discourse. First, he
declines to speak, like a singer who is urged to sing in company; then
he asks pardon for his novel views; next comes a condescending
definition; after that a citation from Professor Hamlet, to be
succeeded by a moral burst of indignation, and every one who thinks
otherwise is an idiot or a knave; and finally, when you think now is
the grand finale, he adds something else, and winds up with a trill."
Eric perceived that he was to be irritated and goaded on, but he had
self-control enough to say to himself: I will not be driven over the
barriers. With quiet deliberation he proceeded to say:--
"First of all, I beg you would remember that Catholic as well as
Protestant cathedrals are to be completed by this horrible and no
longer unusual means."
"And why so horrible?" asked Manna.
"Yes, go on, go on!" urged Pranken, as if he were flourishing his
horse-whip.
"Allow me to take more time," answered Eric; "I must take a longer
spring."
"Proceed! proceed!" said Pranken sharply, twirling the ends of his
moustache.
"The largest cathedrals," Eric began by saying, "are unfinished; quiet
in the lap of earth rest thousands and tens of thousand hands which
devotion once moved to dig the stone, to raise, and lay, and chisel
them. Careless and thoughtless enough, undoubtedly, were the workmen,
but they were set in motion by devout feeling, the feeling of those who
poured out the money, and those who superintended the work, desiring to
build a house of God. But listen to the cry now: You servant-man, you
servant-girl, you journeyman, come here! here's a lottery ticket--only
one dollar to pay--you can make so much by it, and help build a church
besides! How can the holy Word be devoutly proclaimed in a building
erected by an appeal to the covetousness of men? You smile. You think,
perhaps, that it does no harm to the servant-man and servant-girl to
lose the dollar; but I ask if it's no harm to their souls to be hoping
for prizes in the lottery? And suppose a schedule of the lottery were
laid in the corner-stone of the new building. Future generations would
have harder work to decipher these figures, than we with the remains of
the lake-dwellers. What sort of a race was this, they would say, which
built a church with the profits of a lottery? Tetzel's hawking of
indulgences was far less objectionable, for then they paid money for
the pardon of their sins; the motive was a moral one, however much they
may have been in error. But here----"
"I had thought," Sonnenkamp interrupted, "that you considered beauty,
the completion of the beautiful structure, as a sufficiently moral
motive, just as any pagan would."
"I thank you for this suggestion, for it brings me to the point, to
state it briefly, that it is a contradiction to make use of unholy
means for a holy end, and nothing incongruous is truly beautiful."
Sonnenkamp was exceedingly charmed with this exposition, but Pranken,
who saw that his prophecy in regard to the way in which Eric would
proceed was altogether falsified, held his moustache thoughtfully
between his fingers, and contracted his brows. He was stirred up, and
doubly so, when he saw that Manna looked very attentive and serious. He
would have been beside himself if he could have imagined what were her
thoughts.
This heretic, Eric, would not have been able to reach a single dogma of
her belief, with all his philosophy, for this was no lever with which
to move the solid rock; but in this assault upon an apparently
incidental matter, her confidence was shaken in the perfect moral
beauty of the measures of those who were the representatives of the
Spirit in the world. Everything which concerned religion was in her
view fixed and unalterable, and just this thing troubled Manna, this
insignificant trifle, that their object was money. She despised money,
she regarded it as a dangerous enemy, and "money--money!" echoed and
re-echoed within her. "Is gold the temptation?"
Pranken hastily summoned up his energies to say:--
"It strikes me as inconsiderate or immodest--excuse me if I do not use
just the right word--I mean, he who is an unbeliever should not attack
another's belief."
"Should we not?" replied Eric. "And still we are attacked. Humility is
a virtue. Very true; and it is the virtue of a state of siege. We still
stammer at the word of salvation. But is the child who cannot yet
speak, on that account not to make known his wishes by cries? Lofty and
noble to us is the religion of love, but love cannot be commanded, love
is the genius of the heart; on the other hand, kindness, regard, active
help can be commanded and guided; love, never. The great command, Love
thy neighbor as thyself, has become hypocrisy; it is said, I love my
neighbor, but I have nothing to do for him. Our doctrine says, Help thy
neighbor as thyself. Love is a sort of musical susceptibility which can
be counterfeited, but help cannot be. Therefore we apply more broadly
the command, and say, Help thy neighbor as thyself. And you must do it
yourself; for we stand upon the fundamental principle that there is no
substitution in the realm of moral activity, and here it is the primal
law that every one shall do guard-duty for himself."
"You've said that once before," Pranken interposed.
"True, and I shall often repeat it. I think that we have as good a
right as our opponents, who are not always uttering some new truth. The
sunlight of to-day is like that of yesterday----"
Here Roland burst in breathless, crying: "Eric, you must come at once,
the field-guard is here; he is like a crazy man, and he says that you
only can decide, and you alone shall decide."
"What has happened?"
"Sevenpiper has drawn the grand prize, and Claus says that the money
belongs to him. Come, he's like one raving mad."
Eric went down to the courtyard.
There sat Claus upon a dog-kennel, and looked dolefully up at Eric and
Roland. He spoke so thick and confusedly, that they could not make out
distinctly what he meant; this only was plain, that Sevenpiper had
drawn the prize, and Claus asserted that it belonged to him.
Sonnenkamp, Pranken, and Manna also made their appearance on the steps,
and now Claus screamed out that Manna must bear testimony to having
given him the money for the ticket, and he had simply forgotten to
redeem it.
Eric quieted Claus, and promised to go with him to Sevenpiper. He asked
permission of Sonnenkamp to have the horses harnessed. Roland was
urgent to accompany him. Claus took a seat with the coachman on the
box, and so they drove to the village to Sevenpiper's house.
They met the cooper in front of the house, and he told Eric that
Sevenpiper had just turned him out of it. He said that he was in love
with Sevenpiper's oldest daughter, and that this attachment had met the
approval of the parents on both sides; but now Sevenpiper had shown him
the door, saying that he could obtain a better match for his daughter,
and that most assuredly he would not marry her to the son of Claus, who
wanted to claim his property before the world.
"Is't true, father, that the prize belonged to you?"
"Yes, indeed; and it belongs to me still."
"So! Now I understand all about it," said the cooper, taking his
departure.
In the house of Sevenpiper the newcomers found everything in confusion;
the oldest daughter was weeping, and the other children were running
over one another.
They became quieted at last, and Sevenpiper said that he was not going
to allow himself to be driven out of his wits; anyhow he would no
longer be a day-laborer in the vineyard; he would just do nothing for a
year, and then he would see what he would take hold of. The children
screamed and shouted in all sorts of ways, and Sevenpiper tried to make
them sing, but not one of them was willing; all that was past and gone
forever.
Eric had induced Claus to wait outside the house; he now told them what
the field-guard wanted.
As soon as he made known this desire, Sevenpiper raised the window and
cried out to his former comrade standing in the road:--
"If you don't clear out from here, and if you claim a single red cent
from me, I'll break every bone in your carcass. Now you know what to
expect! Off with you!"
No appeal was of any use; Sevenpiper insisted upon it, that he would
not give Claus as much as he could put into his eye.
Roland and Eric went away exceedingly cast down. They came to the house
of Claus, who was asleep on the bench. His wife lamented that he had
come home very drunk, and that the cooper was half-crazed.
Neither could Eric and Roland be of any assistance here.
On the way home, Roland seized Eric's hand and said:--
"Money! money! How speedily it can ruin people!" Eric made no reply,
and Roland continued:--"I never heard that there were any lotteries in
America. You see, Eric, this is something that we have wholly to
ourselves."
In silence, inwardly disturbed, they reached the villa. There seemed to
be some ghost stalking abroad, for they could not shake off the
remembrance that the demon of sudden riches had ruined two families;
and immediately on waking the next morning, Roland said:--
"I should like to know how Claus and Sevenpiper will feel this morning,
when they wake up."
A messenger was sent to the village, and they were gratified to hear
that the two families were getting along comfortably again; but the
eldest daughter of Sevenpiper had left her parents' house, and had gone
to the field-guard's.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRST RIDE.
Manna was extremely gracious towards everybody, and no one would have
suspected that this graciousness had pride for its basis. Every one
appeared to her so poor, so forlorn, so trammelled! Whenever she was
spoken to, her thought of the speaker was, "You, who say this, are but
a child of the world;" and whenever she took part in any pleasure
excursion, there was the perpetually recurring suggestion, "You
yourself are not here, you only seem to be here, you are in a wholly
different world, yonder, far above."
Every one was charmed with her friendliness, her gentleness, her
attentive listening, and yet only a part of herself was really taken up
with all this; she was elsewhere, and occupied with other interests.
No one ventured to exert any influence over her; but the Doctor agreed
with Pranken and her father, that she must again ride on horseback.
A new world seemed to be disclosed; inside the house, there was
singing, dancing, playing, and outside, too, all went merry as a
marriage-bell. Manna took pleasant rides on horseback with Pranken,
Eric, and Roland in the country round. Sonnenkamp also, mounted on his
great black horse, frequently joined the party. Their ride was full of
enjoyment, and they received on all sides marks of respect, not only
from those who had been the recipients of benefits through the
Professorin and Fraeulein Milch, but also from those who were well off
and independent in their circumstances. Wherever they alighted, and
wherever they reined up, there was always some fresh proof of the pride
which the whole region felt in such a man as Sonnenkamp.
One day Manna, Pranken, and Roland, Eric and Sonnenkamp, were riding
along the road bordered with nut-trees.
"Herr Dournay is right," exclaimed Manna, who was riding in advance
with Pranken and her father.
Manna said that Eric had made the remark, that nut-trees were much more
beautiful, and that it was a stupid and prosaic innovation to set out
lindens and other common trees along the roads; that the nut-tree
belonged to the Rhine, was beautiful and productive, and at least gave
to the irrepressible boys a fine harvest time.
As she rode along she tore off a leaf of a nut-tree.
For some time her voice had been different; it was no longer as if
veiled with tears. Turning to her father, she continued:--
"You can bring this about. Set out a nursery of nut-trees, and give to
all the villages round as many nurslings as they can make use of."
Sonnenkamp promised to carry out the idea, and unfolded a plan which he
had much at heart, of establishing general benevolent institutions, the
first of which should be a fund for the widows and orphans of boatmen.
Manna stroked her beautiful white pony, to which she had given the name
Snowdrop.
Pranken was happy that the horse proved itself worthy of its mistress,
and voluntarily extending her hand, she thanked him for his care.
"Now trot. Snow-drop!" she cried, chirruping; and with Pranken on one
side, and her father on the other, she rode boldly, rising in the
saddle.
They now came in sight, of an advancing procession. Manna reined in so
suddenly that she would have been thrown over her horse's head, had not
Sonnenkamp held her by her riding-habit. They dismounted, and Roland
and Eric were also obliged to dismount. The grooms led the horses, and
Manna walked with the procession. Holding up her long riding-dress, not
proudly, but humbly, she sang aloud with the pilgrims, and Pranken
also. Eric was silent.
At a chapel by the way-side Manna knelt down, and Pranken also knelt by
her side. When she arose, she was amazed to see that the rest had gone,
leaving Pranken and her together. They were waiting in a pathway
through the field, not far off, with the grooms who were holding the
horses. The procession moved on, and Pranken and Manna were left alone.
The murmur of the pilgrims was heard in the distance. Pranken held his
hands folded together, and looked at Manna as if praying.
"Manna," he began, he had never called her Manna before. "Manna, such
is to be our life. We acknowledge the grace of heaven, that we,
possessed of wealth and inheriting noble names, can occupy a lofty
position, but are ready every moment to unite ourselves with our
brothers and sisters who walk the holy paths in coarse shoes and
barefoot, and to put ourselves on a level with them. Manna, thus will
we live!"
He took her hand, which she allowed him to hold an instant, and then
drew it away. He continued:--
"I have never yet told you that I too have wrestled with the holy
resolution to renounce the world, and to assume the priestly vow. You
also, elevated and pious, have struggled, and have returned to the
world. I place my heart, my soul, my soul's salvation in your hand.
Here, on this consecrated spot, come with me into the chapel." He
seized her hand, and at the same moment, Eric cried:--
"Fraeulein Manna!"
"What's the matter? What do you want?" exclaimed Pranken.
"Fraeulein Manna, your father wants me to tell you that yonder is a
boundary-stone convenient for you to mount your horse."
"I shall not ride again, I shall walk back to the house," replied
Manna; and turning round, whether she knew that Pranken was not
following her, or did not know it, she went on with Eric. After they
had gone some distance, turning round she saw Pranken still standing
motionless in the place, and she called to him to come with them.
In spite of all urging, she would not mount her horse, but walked the
whole distance in her heavy riding-dress.
She said nothing; there was a strange look of defiance in her
countenance.
She locked herself in her room, and wept and prayed for a long time.
The struggle had come sooner than she thought, and she seemed to
herself all unarmed. Pranken had a right to address her in that way.
And would it not be better that she should enter into life? At this
thought she looked around, as if she must ask Eric what he thought of
this conclusion, what opinion he would form of this fickleness. Again
she looked around, and it seemed to her that Eric had come into the
room with her, and still she was alone.
It was a severe conflict, and only this one point was gained, that she
would no longer allow herself to be robbed of herself by such
distractions.
A boat-sail upon the Rhine had been appointed for the evening. Manna,
who had promised to go, now positively declined. She stood at the
window of her silent chamber without opening it, and she wished that it
was grated. She saw the gentlemen and the ladies go down to the river,
and heard Lina singing a beautiful song accompanied by a fine manly
voice.
Who is that?
It is not Pranken, nor Roland; it can be no other than Eric.
On the boat, Lina requested Eric to sing the "Harper's Song," set to
music by Schubert. Eric considered it entirely inappropriate to sing
aloud here, in a joyous company upon the Rhine, the plaint of a sorely
burdened soul breathed out to the lonely night.
But Lina persisted, and Eric sang,--
"He that with tears did never eat his bread."
The rowers stopped rowing, and Eric's voice thrilled the inmost soul.
He paused, and then sang the words,--
"Ye lead us onward into life. Ye leave
The wretch to fall; then yield him up, in woe,
Remorse, and pain, unceasingly to grieve;
For every sin is punished here below."
Schubert's air closes without any musical cadence, just as Goethe's
words give no final solution. The strain, "For every sin is punished
here below," filled the air as the boat glided past the villa. Manna
heard the words, sank down, and covered her face with both hands.
Hour after hour passed away, and then some one knocked at the door.
Manna waked from the sleep into which she had fallen in the midst of
her anguish. It was quite dark. Roland and Lina were calling her name.
Overcome by weariness of body and soul, Manna had not been able to keep
from falling asleep, and now she joined the rest of the family, as if
in a dream. It seemed to her as if it were morning, and yet it was
night. She had a feeling of oppression in the society of those around
her, all of whom looked upon her with loving eyes.
In order, as it were, to recover self-possession, she proposed another
sail upon the Rhine by moonlight, and she asked Lina to sing.
Lina rejoined that she could not sing so beautifully as Eric, and that
he ought to sing.
"Do sing," Manna said to him. "I cannot sing now," Eric replied.
The first request she had ever made of him he positively refused to
grant. Manna was vexed at first, and then she was glad of this lack of
friendliness. It is better thus; there is no reason why he should
interest you in any way; you must again take the proper position in
regard to him. And in order to show that she did not feel hurt by the
refusal, she was more animated than she had ever been before.
When they returned from the excursion, Sonnenkamp met them as they were
getting out of the boat, and told them that Sevenpiper had informed
him, lest they should be taken by surprise, or be away--but no one was
to know anything about it--that he was to be waited upon by the boatmen
to-morrow evening, to thank him for the benevolent institution he had
established.
CHAPTER VIII.
THOU SHALT LAUGH, DANCE, AND DRINK.
"A house without a daughter is like a meadow without flowers," said the
Major, who was watching, with Sonnenkamp and the Professorin, the young
people playing graces in the lawn between the villa and the green
cottage.
Lina had induced Manna to be present, and she was there in a bright
summer suit. And Lina, together with the maid, had prevailed upon Manna
to wear a deep red velvet ribbon in her black hair, and that her rich
dark hair should be shown to the best advantage.
The young people formed a large circle, sending differently colored
hoops swiftly through the air, and catching them upon the pretty
sticks.
The Architect was present, too, having been invited at Manna's special
request. No one except herself and Lina knew why this had been done.
Roland had requested Eric to join in the play; at first he declined,
but Lina cried,--
"Whoever doesn't play wears a wig and is afraid of its being found
out."
He made one of the circle. Pranken gave him a sort of military salute
with his stick, as if it were a sword. They laughed merrily as they
sprang about on the lawn, and it was a delight to the eye to witness
Roland's, and, still more, Manna's graceful movements. When she looked
up and reached out an arm, with her lithe and ethereal form, it
appeared as if her eyes were fixed upon something else than the play;
as if she were in an ecstasy, and were expecting not a hoop, but some
heavenly vision. Pranken stood on her right, and Eric on her left;
Pranken threw so skilfully that she always caught the hoop from him,
while Eric sent it too high or too low, so that she was obliged to
stoop and pick it up from the ground. It almost seemed as if he did it
purposely, for in this movement Manna's grace was always displayed
afresh.
Roland and Lina made fun of his clumsy play.
Lina and Roland kept up a constant running fight; she struggled with
the boy as if she were a boy herself, and they tried to throw each
other down in the endeavor to catch a hoop tossed beyond the circle.
But Roland was not thrown down, and escaped from all her clutches as
smoothly as a weasel. The Architect smiled as he looked at Lina's
fawn-colored gaiter-boots. As Eric was leaping forward to catch a hoop
which Manna had thrown on one side, he fell his whole length on the
lawn.
Manna laughed outright.
As soon as Lina heard it she clapped her hands, exclaiming,--
"The princess is set free! Manna has, heretofore, been the princess who
couldn't laugh. Captain, you've broken the spell! What name shall we
give to the knight who has set our Manna free?" Lina was overflowing
with merriment, and she might indeed take pride in having been the
means of enlivening the whole house, and, more than all, Manna.
Eric succeeded in turning his fall into a joke, and he was at a loss,
when he looked at his mother, to know why she shook her head so
strangely. He had entirely forgotten how she reminded him with pride
during those sad days when Bella was visiting the villa, that his
father had said he had never had a fall.
Manna's cheeks had never before glowed so brightly as they did to-day;
the spell upon her seemed broken; one deep, hearty, childlike burst of
laughter had given her new life. She was sorely vexed, but she could
make no suitable response when Lina said to Herr Sonnenkamp:--
"Your Highness! The king was obliged to give the princess in marriage
to the knight who made her laugh, and public proclamation was made of
it from the tower of the castle throughout all lands. Now say what you
will give to Herr Dournay."
"I grant him a kiss," answered Sonnenkamp.
"Herr Dournay, you are authorized to kiss Manna, her father grants
permission," Lina called out to the company.
They all stood amazed, and Sonnenkamp cried:--
"No, child, that was not my meaning. He can give you a kiss."
"I don't need your permission for that," replied Lina.
She was now entirely in her element; wherever there was any fun, any
teasing, she seemed a different being, quick, inventive, excessively
merry, full of fanciful suggestions; as soon, however, as the
conversation took a serious turn, she always sat very quiet and
attentive, but her look said:--
"All this is no doubt very fine, but I've no relish for it; I've never
yet seen that people were any better off or any merrier for all their
smart speeches."
They returned to the villa.
Lina had hung her hat upon a bush. The Architect carried it to her,
stroking the brown ribbons, and regarding fondly the brown straw braid,
and the artificial vine-leaves, of a brown autumnal tint. He handed the
hat to Lina, and while doing it they pressed each other's hands, as the
Architect said that he must go to the castle again, in order to make
some arrangements for the next day. For an instant only, Lina looked
thoughtfully after him, and then, giving her head a toss, she bounded
up the steps and went into the music saloon. Placing herself at the
piano, she played a dancing tune, for the day must be wound off with a
dance; the release of the princess who had not been able to laugh must
be celebrated with a dance, and Lina was so self-denying as to be
willing herself to play. When Pranken now came up to Manna and
jestingly invited her to dance, Lina jumped up from the piano.
"No, that won't do! The knight of philosophy gone to grass; he who
freed the princess, he must come first."
Lina would not have it otherwise. Manna had first to dance with Eric,
and the Aunt was obliging enough to play for them, so that Lina could
dance too. With a very roguish, saucy courtesy, she challenged Herr von
Pranken, who took her arm without any hesitation, and danced with her
behind Eric and Manna.
"I can't realize that I am dancing," said Manna, as she floated rather
than danced round the great hall.
"Nor can I," replied Eric.
Manna broke the pause which ensued, by saying:--
"Lina sets us all crazy."
Pranken now came and asked her to dance; she was still somewhat out of
breath. He held her hand until he began to whirl with her in the dance.
Roland was delighted that Lina was free, and the Aunt must still keep
playing for him to dance with Lina, as he was unwilling to stop.
Sonnenkamp was quite happy as he stood there in the music-saloon; and
he said to the Professorin that this was all so pleasant, and he had
never thought that he should see his children dancing in this hall. He
had sent to Frau Ceres, who would like to be a looker on, too. She
came, and Pranken and Manna must dance again in her presence.
Sonnenkamp praised the happy suggestion of his wife, that she should
give a grand ball in honor of Manna; but Manna decidedly opposed this,
and the wise Lina, happy in her triumph, begged the parents in a low
tone not to urge Manna any further to-day, and she would bring
everything about in good season.
After tea, Lina wanted to have another dance; she would like to keep up
all night, and that Sonnenkamp should telegraph to the garrison to have
the military band sent by an extra train.
She was to-day so full of buoyant sprightliness, and so overflowing
with cheerfulness, that even Eric, who had heretofore regarded her with
indifference, approached her in a very friendly mood.
"Yes," she said, "do you remember that time? Would you have believed
that you should ever have danced with your winged apparition? Isn't she
a heavenly creature? Ah, and if you ever know her as she used to be, so
full of glee! Ah, I am delighted to think that you will fall so deeply
in love with Manna,--oh, so deeply in love,--so dead in love. Will you
promise me something?"
"What, for instance?"
"That you will tell me the very first day when you fall in love."
"But if I should fall in love with you, what then?"
"Come, don't talk so. I am much too stupid for you. I should have been
smart enough for Herr von Pranken, but I am engaged, and out of the
question. Hasn't Manna told you anything about me?"
Eric said she had not, and Lina continued:--
"Yes, do this, do it out of regard for me, and snatch Manna away from
Baron von Pranken. I beg of you, do it for my sake."
"What are you laughing at so merrily?" said Manna, coming up to them.
"I have begun to laugh to-day, and now I should like to keep you
company."
"Tell her," said Lina with a nod. As Eric was silent, she continued:--
"He can tell you, but he is awfully reserved and profound. Don't let
him have any peace, Manna, until he has told you. Herr Captain, if you
don't tell at once, then I'll tell."
"I have that confidence in your sense of propriety," said Eric very
seriously, "that I do not believe you would wantonly turn a joke into
sober earnest."
Lina's whole mien changed, and she said:
"Ah, Manna, he is so awfully learned! My father says so too, and he
sees people through and through. Don't you sometimes feel afraid of
him?"
Without making any reply, Manna took Lina's arm and went with her
through the garden, Lina chatting, joking, and singing incessantly,
like a nightingale in the shrubbery.
After Manna had gone to her room, it seemed to her there that the
pictures on the wall looked at her and asked: Who can this be? She shut
out the dumb pictures by closing her eyes, threw herself upon her
knees, and a voice within her seemed to say: It must be thus; thou art
to become acquainted with the world, and all the vain delights of life,
in order to gain the victory over them. Yet she felt down-hearted, for
in the midst of her contrite prayer she seemed to hear the lively
waltzes sounding in her ears, and she heard a burst of laughter. Could
it have been she herself who had so laughed?
The next day she had to enter into fresh gaieties.
In the afternoon they drove to the castle, and there the Architect
contrived a new delight. He was a genuine priest of the May-bowl, and
with a sort of solemnity he mixed the various ingredients of the
fragrant beverage. The whole company sat upon a projecting wall of the
castle, and looked out upon the broadly-extending landscape, while
Lina, in her exuberant joyousness, sang and caroled without
intermission. She sang in the open air, as a general thing, better than
in a room; and she had a good accompaniment, for she sang a duett with
the Architect.
Eric was again asked to sing, and again he declined.
Lina induced Manna to drink a whole glass of May-wine, and said, in
joke, that if she could only get Manna once a little intoxicated, the
old Manna, or, more properly, the young Manna, would again show
herself. She seemed ready to make her appearance, but Manna had
strength enough to hold herself in restraint, though she laughed to-day
at Lina's most trifling jokes.
Roland nodded to Eric, but he whispered to him that he must not call
attention to Manna's cheerfulness, as that would put an end to it.
Wreaths were woven, and Lina recalled the time when Eric first came to
Wolfsgarten; with wreaths on their heads they all drove from the castle
back to the villa.
At the last declivity. Manna bounded lightly down the hill and Lina
after her; at the foot the latter embraced her old schoolmate, saying
to her:--
"You are released! You have done the three best things in the world;
you have laughed, danced, and drunk--no, this is not the best; the best
is yet to come."
And again Manna burst into a ringing laugh.
CHAPTER IX.
DEMONSTRATION OF RESPECT FROM BELOW.
When a person is to be surprised in the evening by a demonstration of
respect, what does he do in the morning?
Sonnenkamp must pretend not to notice anything, but nevertheless, he
watched the barometer very closely. It had been raining, and now the
mercury was rising; it is clearing off, and the proposed demonstration
will come off beautifully. If one only knew beforehand the address
which would be made this evening, one could get ready a suitable
response. Princes have the advantage of receiving beforehand any
address that is to be presented. Sonnenkamp, however, was confident
that the occasion would suggest to him a suitable reply. He had never
regarded the honor that comes from men; he had honored himself, so far
as there is any need of honor at all. Should he now feel any concern
about it? And by what was this respect obtained?
By money!
Had he not a superfluity of that? it was very evident that their eyes
would not be turned upon him.
He rode out at the usual hour, but he did not follow his usual route,
and without being aware of it, he cast amiable glances upon all the
people he met; he had a new accession of benevolent feeling. He rode to
the castle, and looked smilingly around, involuntarily fancying to
himself with what delight the knights formerly returned home from their
raids; they were strong, fierce, courageous men.
Not far from the ruins he turned aside into the wood, for he saw that a
large flag was floating over the battlements of the only completed
tower, and there were no men visible. He wandered about in the wood,
leading his horse by the bridle. He himself could not have told what
there passed through his mind. Here walks a man in the wood, silent,
alone, lost in thought, and this evening hundreds and hundreds of men
will honor him with cheers.
The Major lay in wait for him as he was returning, and insisted upon
his going home with him. The Major had the air of a groomsman, who has
made every preparation for the wedding, and now, confident that all the
requisite arrangements have been made, retires with the bridegroom into
the quiet apartment until he shall be summoned by the full band.
The dinner to-day was not so well served as usual, but Sonnenkamp took
no notice of it, not wanting to show that he knew of the preparations
for the evening celebration.
In the afternoon there were present the neighbouring families of the
Cabinetsrath, the Justice and his wife, the Doctor, and the Major, who
had absented himself for a brief period and now appeared with all his
decorations. Many others came also; even the young widow, the daughter
of Herr von Endlich, was there, in her widow's weeds, having come to
spend a few weeks in the summer with her parents in the country.
Pranken had invited the best society in the vicinity, for he knew that
this public recognition of his renown was very agreeable to Herr
Sonnenkamp. All were present, however, as if by accident, and
Sonnenkamp allowed this tacitly understood lie to pass.
Pranken was particularly attentive to the beautiful young widow, and
made the most of his position as son of the house. He was glad, as he
once caught Manna's glance, that she had an opportunity of perceiving
what temptations and charms were offered to him; and the words which he
made use of in introducing Manna to the young widow seemed to him very
well chosen. He said,--
"You, gracious lady, and Fraeulein Sonnenkamp are just fitted to be
friends; for Fraeulein Sonnenkamp has also a maturity of mind far beyond
her years."
The young widow was very gracious to Manna, and Pranken left them by
themselves, for he had a great deal to attend to as son of the house.
He had given orders to the cook to have in readiness an ample provision
of roast meats and common wines, and he had looked out also for the
cigars. Sonnenkamp knew everything that was going on, but pretended to
see and hear nothing.
When evening came, Pranken, in presence of all, requested the
father--such was the word he made use of emphatically--to remain in his
room until he should be sent for. Very modestly, bashfully, and
indulgently, Sonnenkamp betook himself to his room.
Long tables were now set in the courtyard, and food and drink were
spread upon them, for the boats fastened together and gondolas were
already coming down from the upper Rhine, and music was heard in the
distance. The boats arranged themselves in front of the villa.
When it was dark, torches and parti-colored lamps, like a garland of
fire, were hung upon the vessels.
Sonnenkamp was alone in his room, and he was continually trying to
imagine what sort of an address would be made to him, and he repeated
half aloud to himself his reply.
Approaching footsteps were now heard, and the Major and the Justice
made their appearance. The Major said that they would bear him company
for a while, and the Justice added that it must certainly touch him
very deeply, for he would be obliged to be an actual witness of the
gratitude which the hearts of so many people, struggling for the means
of living, felt towards him. Sonnenkamp expressed his thanks, and
smoked away quietly, holding his cigar very tenderly, as if he felt
bashful even in its presence.
He begged his friends to excuse him for not being able to entertain
them; that he had lived so many years abroad, and now it almost
overwhelmed him to have found a home in so many staunch hearts; and he
did not deserve it, for he had given nothing but a little wretched
money. The Justice wanted to make a reply, but the Major nodded to him
to omit it. In such moments, he whispered to him, a man must be
expected to make some extravagant speeches, and it is sufficient to
listen quietly to what he says; and besides, he saw that Sonnenkamp was
conning over the speech which he was soon to get off.
Several heavy footsteps were now heard, and Pranken said, opening the
door,--
"This way, my men."
A deputation of boatmen entered, headed by Sevenpiper, and he begged
Sonnenkamp to be so kind as to allow them to present to him a tribute
of their grateful respect. With eyes cast down, and as if weighed down
by the burden of honor heaped upon him, amidst the boatmen dressed in
their light-colored clothes, Sonnenkamp went down the steps into the
park.
Here a beautiful scene presented itself to his view. The boatmen were
standing in the boats illuminated by differently colored lights, and
singing in chorus a song which sounded on the distant air. Sonnenkamp
stood there with folded hands, looking straight before him; and then he
separated his hands, and rubbed the ring on the thumb of his right
hand, which pained him. The song ended, and a cheer was called for in
honor of the great benefactor. The cannons roared, and the reports were
echoed and re-echoed from the mountains, so that it was proclaimed
through the land as with a voice of thunder up the river and down.
Sonnenkamp returned his thanks in a brief but hearty speech; Roland
stood at his right hand and Manna at his left. He placed his right hand
upon the shoulder of his son, by this means hiding the thumb, and with
the other hand he took Manna's; he concluded with the request that the
good neighbors would be pleased to extend their kindness also to his
children.
A lad, who was standing at the helm, wearing the clothes which Roland
had sent him on his birthday, now called for a cheer for Roland; again
the cannons fired. Roland said to the Major: I cannot make a speech. He
went down, and got on board the boat and shook hands with the men; and
he now perceived, for the first time, that Eric was on the boat. He sat
behind the others and had assisted them in singing; the school-teacher,
Fassbender, was sitting with him.
They all now came on shore. The boatmen, with a band of music, marched
through the park to the tables that had been spread for their
entertainment. Sonnenkamp immediately gave orders, and in a sharp tone,
that the chairs should be removed.
"It isn't necessary for them to sit down," said he to Pranken; "I had
imagined you would have thought of that. Have them out of the way soon.
You can't trust these common people, they soon get out of order. Let
the wine be taken on board the boats, and there they may get as crazy
as they please."
At the first glass Sevenpiper proposed the health of Frau Sonnenkamp,
and Sonnenkamp returned thanks in her behalf from the outside steps,
and expressed his regret that his wife, on account of illness, could
not be present. He begged them to be as quiet as possible, for she was
very sensitive. A damper was thus put upon the merriment, and Eric led
the men back to the boats. They took their departure, the cannons
roared, the music struck up, and then all was again still at the villa.
They sat in a friendly circle in the grand saloon, and Sonnenkamp
looked more used up than he had ever been before; his features lighted
up, however, when the Major, who had a happy thought, said,--
"This must all be reported by a good hand in the newspaper! You,
Comrade," turning to Eric, "you will certainly do it up finely. Not a
word; you must."
Eric explained that he had no intention of refusing; he had only wanted
to do of his own accord what the Major had suggested. The Major gave
him a violent grip of the hand, and did not drop it until Eric said,--
"If you squeeze my hand any longer, I shall not be able to write
to-morrow."
The Major went to Eric's mother, and commended him for having sung with
the people; he only regretted that Fraeulein Milch had not been a
spectator of the beautiful celebration, but she was stiff-necked in
regard to everything connected with the Sonnenkamp house. He could not
imagine why it was; she was in every other respect so kind towards
everybody.
The Professorin knew why Fraeulein Milch stayed away, and it gave her a
severe twinge, that she herself had to be present, and that her son was
to proclaim the fame of this man, who, in all that he did, had an
entirely different end in view from what Eric imagined. She looked at
the man, at his children, and at the whole company, and could not help
thinking how it would be, if, instead of these salutes of cannon in his
honor that now echoed in the night, a wholly different report should be
heard over mountain and valley.
The company at last departed. Roland and Eric accompanied the Mother
home. Roland was brimful of joy over this tribute of universal respect,
and Eric took care to impress upon him again how great a happiness it
was, to be able so to make other people happy. Roland spoke of the
intention of his father to set out walnut trees throughout the whole
region, and complained that he himself seemed to be like Alexander of
Macedon, who found fault with his father, Philip, for leaving nothing
for him to do. The Mother and Eric rejoiced at this awakened zeal of
the youth, and when he took leave, the Mother shed tears as she kissed
him.
"What was the matter with your mother, that she was so sad all the
evening?" said Roland, as they were returning home.
"She has lost the key-note of joy," replied Eric.
That very night he wrote a spirited account of the benevolent
Institution, and the cheerful festivities, and sent it to Professor
Crutius at the capital. The next day but one, the journal came to the
villa. Sonnenkamp thanked Eric for his well-written communication, and
Roland begged,--
"Give me the paper; I will keep it for a perpetual remembrance. I am so
glad that I am going to be a soldier. If I win battles, it will be
published in the papers, and the scholars will be obliged to hear of my
name, and of my deeds, just like those of Miltiades, and Washington,
and Napoleon."
There was another communication published in the official gazette, and
Pranken did not deny that he was the author of it. What Eric had
written was every way fine, but this communication came to the eyes of
the Prince, and so was of far greater importance, and soon showed its
results.
CHAPTER X.
THE VICTORIA REGIA IN BLOOM.
The Cabinetsraethin proved herself to be grateful and well informed; she
showed to Sonnenkamp a letter from her husband, in which he stated that
the Prince had read with great satisfaction the account of the
Institution and the popular celebration. But a much more important
point was, that the Prince expressed the intention of paying a visit in
person to the famous green-houses and fruit-plantations of Sonnenkamp.
This must be kept a profound secret, but it was very proper that
Sonnenkamp should be informed of it. He sent back the request that the
visit of the Prince should be announced by a telegram.
He seemed to himself now a prisoner in his own domains. He had had no
idea of leaving the villa until it was time for him to set out for the
Baths, but now it seemed to him that he might be called suddenly away,
and the Prince would be sure to come during his absence.
He gave precise orders, and promised a special remuneration for the
speediest forwarding of any telegram from the capital; but day after
day passed, and none came. Everything had resumed its quiet routine,
but Sonnenkamp was constantly in a state of feverish excitement.
Pranken wanted to go away, but remained at Sonnenkamp's request, who
imparted to him, in the strictest confidence, what distinguished
visitors he was expecting.
Pranken endured very patiently Manna's aversion to any decided advances
towards intimacy; he was glad to perceive that she treated Eric with
special coolness, for after those days of harmless and merry enjoyment,
she had withdrawn into her life of strict penitential seclusion; and if
she chanced to meet Eric, her countenance at once became darkened.
Sonnenkamp went through the park, the orchard and the green-houses, and
would have been glad to beseech all the plants to be in a beautiful
and a fresh condition when their Highnesses arrived; and his old
predilection for grubbing in the earth with his sack-like garment was
indulged with great circumspection.
He was sitting in the hot-house, and saying to himself how very quiet
he would be, if the Prince, as was scarcely to be doubted, should bring
into the house his diploma of nobility. And as he thus sat meditating
with himself, there was a strange rustling in the air; a gentle,
scarcely perceptible crackling was noticed, and Sonnenkamp cried out,--
"It has burst open!"
The Victoria Regia had bloomed. He saw the flower, he took delight in
it, and yet he shook his head in vexation. Why couldst thou not wait,
and open at the very instant when the Prince was standing here? One
ought to be able to compel nature! That would be the thing!
He sent a carriage immediately for the Cabinetsraethin, and she came.
She found the whole family, Frau Ceres included, in amazement at the
sight of the wonderful flower; and she too was enraptured.
Sonnenkamp explained to her that the Victoria Regia was white when it
first bloomed, and closed its flower at night; that during the second
night it opened again, and was then of a rose-color. For four days a
new flower appeared each day, and the former flower sank down under
water.
He took the Cabinetsraethin aside; she must immediately inform the Court
of the event. Now there was a special inducement for the Prince to
come.
At evening, the tidings were sent that the Prince and the Princess were
coming the next day; but they would take it very ill, if any one should
give it to be understood that this was anything more than a mere casual
visit.
Sonnenkamp heaved a deep sigh; if all was to appear accidental, then
the Prince would not bring with him the patent of a nobility, for that
required previous preparation, many formalities, and sessions of the
Commission on Orders. But perhaps all that was a matter of secrecy,
which the Cabinetsraethin was not allowed to disclose.
The well-posted neighbor did not consider this probable, and so
Sonnenkamp's peculiar satisfaction in all this was utterly destroyed.
Then one must keep doing forever some new thing, must wait, and use
fresh exertions. He was so vexed, that he feared he should be uncivil
to the Prince. He impressed upon himself the necessity of the greatest
self-control that no vexation and impatience should appear.
In the morning, after an almost sleepless night, Sonnenkamp issued
directions that no one should leave the house on that day, and in a
measure commanded Frau Ceres not to be sick. He went to the Professorin
and begged her to do the honors of the house, confessing to her whom he
was expecting, and saying that he could have no secrets with her.
The Professorin shuddered all over, and her look said:--
"You dare to tell me that, when I know----"
But she restrained herself, and placed herself at the disposal of Herr
Sonnenkamp.
He waited in the garden in front of the green cottage until the
Professorin had changed her dress; and she wore to-day, for the first
time, a miniature in pastel of her deceased husband. She accompanied
Sonnenkamp to the villa, and Frau Ceres was exceedingly surprised to
see her at so unusual an hour.
The Professorin had obtained permission to inform Frau Ceres of the
expected visit, and the lady wished to deck herself with all her
jewels. It was very hard to convince her that she ought to be dressed
with great simplicity.
A telegram from the Cabinetsraethin at the capital informed them that
the royal party had set out.
It was now a matter of certainty. Eric, Roland, and Manna were also
informed, and Eric wished to remain in his room.
"Perhaps you expect to be summoned?" said Pranken sharply.
"I expect nothing but civility, where I am not aware of having done
anything to offend," replied Eric, courteously.
Pranken tossed his head slightly; he had, in fact, fully made up his
mind: This person must be off; the man is becoming a nuisance; but this
tutor's family have nestled themselves in here, like caterpillars in a
bee-hive, and there's nothing to be done but smoke them out.
Pranken was the only one who was composed and self-possessed; he was
the chamberlain and the Baron von Pranken, and all the rest were
nothing but wretched underlings.
Manna especially was restless; and today, for the first time, she was
confidential towards Pranken.
She expressed her satisfaction that the whole household had such a
noble support to lean upon.
Pranken was freshly inspirited by these words,
"You will like being at Court," he said to Manna.
And Sonnenkamp, who was standing not far off, added immediately:--
"Yes, my child, you will receive delight and honor at the side of the
most honored and most beloved nobleman."
Manna cast down her eyes. Then Roland came up, dressed completely in
white.
"Just see how handsome he is," said Manna to Pranken.
Roland was full of confidence, and exhorted Manna not to be so timid:
their royal Highnesses were very gracious, and after the first words,
one had the feeling that he was with his own comrades.
Lootz was stationed on the flat roof of the house to look out, and now
he came hurriedly down, exclaiming:--
"They are coming!" They separated as if no one was expected.
Two carriages drove into the courtyard. Sonnenkamp hastened down the
outside steps, but stumbled on the lowest one, and had to hold on by
the railing.
What is the meaning of this?
A black face!
Where does this come from?
"Come! Come!" cried Pranken, who was hurrying after him. "Their royal
Highnesses are already getting up."
He reached the carriage at just the right moment, and had the honor of
being able to take the hand of the Prince as he was getting out of the
carriage. The Princess got out at the other side, with Pranken's
assistance, and expressed in gracious words how much satisfaction she
took in being able for once to see the place, and the man in his own
house, whence proceeded so much that was excellent and beneficent to
the people.
The Princess, who cherished a special zeal for the benevolent
institutions of the land, considered herself bound to express her
thanks for Sonnenkamp's generous expenditures. She would have preferred
that he should have devoted his munificent outlays to institutions
already established by her, instead of founding new ones. It was a
decided oversight of Pranken's not to have taken that into
consideration.
There was a slight tone of dissatisfaction in the remark of the
Princess, that she was always glad when new institutions were founded.
Frau Ceres had approached, accompanied by Manna.
The Princess addressed a few words to Frau Ceres, and then said to
Manna that she looked wholly different from her brother, except that
her eyes were like his.
"But where is Roland?"
He was now seen coming down the steps; he was urgently requesting Eric
to go with him, while Eric and the Mother bade him go alone.
He obeyed, and was welcomed by their royal Highnesses in a very cordial
manner.
The Prince went towards the house, where the Professorin was standing
on the steps with Eric; he went up to her with quick step, holding out
both hands, and saying how glad he was to see her again; then, pointing
to the miniature, he added that he cherished a most grateful
remembrance of its subject, and wore his image not on but in his
breast. Eric seemed to be hardly noticed, till a glance from his mother
said, "Speak to my son," and the Prince turned to him with the words:--
"I hope, dear Dournay, that you have a better pupil than your excellent
father had in me."
Eric found nothing to say in reply, but bowed in silence. Pranken
approached, and asked:--
"Will your Highness see the Park and the Victoria Regia in bloom first,
or the house?"
"Ask the Princess," was the answer.
Pranken moved with great deference towards the other group, catching
Manna's bright glance, which followed him everywhere. Where was Eric
now? There stood the poor fellow, and it was laughable to think of his
daring to aspire to an equality with a Pranken.
The Princess said that, after her drive, she would prefer to go into
the house first.
They repaired to the balcony room, where a breakfast stood ready, and
Sonnenkamp had the audacity to beg their Highnesses to accept with
favor such a simple and extempore repast as a commoner could offer
them.
Frau Ceres was favored with a seat at the Prince's right hand, and the
Professorin was seated at his left; the Princess sat between Sonnenkamp
and Roland.
Eric was fortunate enough to find, among the gentlemen in attendance, a
former comrade to converse with.
"You must enter the military school soon," said the Prince, addressing
Roland.
Sonnenkamp looked fixedly at him; the Prince knew very well when Roland
was to enter, and every moment Sonnenkamp expected to see a sign given
to one of the chamberlains to hand him his patent of nobility, but it
did not come. The Prince talked very earnestly with the Professorin,
expressing his regret that a lady of such rare spiritual and mental
endowments should have withdrawn from Court.
They soon rose from the table, and Sonnenkamp was made happy by the
Prince's praise of his green-house and park, and his skilful fruit
culture. Suddenly, in the orchard, the Prince asked the Professorin:--
"Where is your sister-in-law, the beautiful Claudine?"
"She is close by; she lives with me in the house in which Herr
Sonnenkamp has established us."
"We will call upon her," said the Prince, abruptly; and they went
through the new gate, across the meadows, to the green cottage.
The Aunt was very much surprised, but retained her quiet
self-possession. The Prince told her that he could never think of
harp-playing without at the same time thinking of Fraeulein Claudine;
one of the pleasantest recollections of his youth was of seeing and
hearing her, as she sat with her long curls, on a tabouret in his
mother's room; it was the prettiest bit of romance among his childish
memories. Then again he expressed his gratitude to the sister of his
teacher, and extolled Herr Sonnenkamp's good fortune in having two such
noble ladies as neighbors.
The Prince sincerely desired to make people happy, and he believed that
he could do so with his porcelain flowers of speech; he was perfectly
convinced that from this day forth Aunt Claudine would feel an
unexampled satisfaction and happiness.
He remained a long time at the cottage, and gave orders that the
carriages should follow him, that they might start from there on their
return.
Eric, who had not been asked to join the party, remained behind at the
villa, and talked with a tall coal-black negro, named Adams.
The negro, who wore a fantastic livery, soon became confidential, and
said that he had been a member of a circus company, and was much
applauded for his bold leaps, and his extraordinary strength; the
brother of the Prince, when travelling in America, had bought his
freedom, and he was now the Prince's favorite footman. His only trouble
was that his wife, a white woman who had loved him dearly, and his
child were dead, and he should never get another wife.
Eric had never before spoken to a man who had been a slave, and he
could not help saying how much it moved him to do so.
While Eric was talking with the negro, he little thought that he was
being talked of in the green cottage; his aunt resolutely turned the
conversation upon him, and told the Prince what a man he had become. As
the guests were about to enter their carriage, the Prince said, in
quite a loud voice, to the Professorin:--
"Where is your son? Tell him that I should be very glad to prove to him
how well I remember our boyish companionship."
The Princess' party drove off. The tall negro, who was sitting behind
the carriage, gazed back for a long time. Sonnenkamp was much out of
temper, and said to Pranken that this visit from the Prince had taken
an incomprehensible turn, which he could not understand; he was unused
to such things. It was clear that it had left him in most decided
ill-humor.
When they returned to the villa. Manna went to Eric and said,--
"The Prince left a special message for you with your mother, and you
are to remember that you were his comrade in boyhood."
Eric answered with frank cordiality:--
"The only gratifying circumstance about the Prince's gracious message,
Fraeulein Manna, is, that you bring it to me."
All looked surprised at this friendly dialogue between Eric and Manna.
Pranken ground his teeth, and clenched his fists at the ready audacity
of the tutor.
"Where have you been?" asked Sonnenkamp, in a tone of reproof.
"I have been talking with the Prince's servant."
Sonnenkamp gave him a peculiar look, and then went to his green-house.
Pranken announced that he must now take his departure; he evidently
expected Manna to raise some opposition, but she said nothing. So he
rode off, leaving a strange feeling of disturbance behind him at the
villa.
CHAPTER II.
DEMONSTRATION OF RESPECT FROM ABOVE.
A flash of lightning in the night-sky makes us fully conscious of the
darkness, and our eyes are blinded. So it was after the departure of
the Prince and Princess; every one sought to avoid the eye of another,
every one went his own way, but no one spoke out his vexation and
disappointment more frankly than the valet Joseph, and the steward
agreed with him; the latter could not say much, because his mouth was
full of the delicacies which had been removed from the table, but he
nodded silently, and became very red in the face. Joseph said:--
"Not to leave a single gratuity behind them! What is there left of the
whole show? Nothing; and at Court there isn't a table better laid and
served, or more handsomely provided. They ought to be ashamed of
themselves! Not to leave a single penny for the servants!"
Such was the fact.
No one, except Aunt Claudine, of whom nobody had thought, could find
any good reason for satisfaction.
Sonnenkamp pondered and speculated how he could have brought about the
change in the Prince's gracious mood. His inmost soul rebelled against
being so dependent on the whim or the glance of another--he, the man
who had ruled so absolutely over all that came in his way. He tormented
himself till his head burned, to think over the whole course of the
visit, and at last he thought he had found out the trouble; it was only
a hitch at a glove which had shown it, but that was doubtless the sign
of annoyance. He had told the Prince how delighted he should be to
drink new health from the same spring as his gracious highness, and,
when the Prince looked at him inquiringly, he had added that he also
was going to Carlsbad, where he should have the happiness of beholding
his Prince's face every day. Yes, that was it; the Prince had cast a
hasty glance of astonishment upon him, and given his glove a twitch.
Sonnenkamp acknowledged to himself that he had made a decided blunder
in not using more reserve; for nothing of the Prince's journey to the
Baths was yet officially announced, and his mentioning it had been
premature, and showed some private source of information. He was more
vexed at the caution and self-restraint that one was compelled to
observe, than at his own want of tact. Could not the Prince have taken
it pleasantly? Had not a good, and, as he himself thought, a most
graceful turn been given to his allusion?
The thoughts of the self-tormentor went further, and new tokens
appeared. Had not the Prince said to Aunt Claudine:--
"Everything seems so thoroughly pleasant here; here I find nothing
disturbed from its usual course."
The Prince was evidently offended that any secret preparations had been
made for his reception; it probably seemed to him that he was
surrounded by spies.
And now Sonnenkamp's wrath broke out anew, not against himself, but
against the Prince, who ought to remember how long he had lived in a
foreign land; and the Professorin ought to have managed matters better,
for she had been a lady-in-waiting at Court; and Pranken ought to have
managed better, too, for was he not a chamberlain?
Sonnenkamp fumed with rage over the whole business, and now, for the
first time, it struck him how strange it was that these people should
treat all this humbug of rank so seriously; they knew that it was
humbug, but its very existence depended on their vying with each other
to keep up the appearance of entertaining religious veneration for the
humbug.
For a little while Sonnenkamp thought of giving up the whole scheme.
Why should he be ennobled; why should he enter the Court circle, and
put himself under a lasting obligation? He was proud of possessing an
independent nature, and now was he to allow himself to be put in
uniform, and to measure every step, every movement, and every word,
according to the court etiquette? He would rather remain as he was,
proud of his own position, and show openly the contempt which he felt
for the whole body of nobles.
Then he felt with pain that he had already gone too far; a retreat
would be a mere disgrace. And how long he had consoled Frau Ceres with
this hope, how far he was bound for Pranken's sake, and, more than all,
for Roland's! What was to become of the latter, if he was not raised to
the nobility? Were Roland and his descendants to be impoverished again?
No, rank must be won. On the boldly earned property an entail should be
laid, so that generation after generation of his descendants should
never be stripped of rank and wealth; the villa and the castle should
remain an inalienable possession in the family.
Something of his own past life rose in Sonnenkamp's memory, and he said
to himself aloud,--
"You owe it to your child to turn aside from him what has brought you
to this pass."
Calm and resolved he went back to the house, and appeared to all highly
gratified with the visit. Indeed, when Joseph told him that the
Princess' party had not left a single present for the servants, he gave
him a handsome sum, saying that it had been entrusted to Pranken; the
servants would spread the report far and wide, that the Prince had been
at the villa and left large gratuities for them; this would rouse the
envy of the neighbors, and the envy would carry the report still
farther, and the best of it was that they would all be deceived.
Sonnenkamp whistled softly, a sure sign that he was particularly
cheerful and contented. He devoted himself with special attention to
the Aunt, praised her modesty and the Prince's insight in knowing how
to value her as she deserved. It seemed really to delight him to see
people decline praise which really tickled them excessively.
On the next evening but one, when the Aunt and Manna went out upon the
flat roof to look at the stars, they found an excellent telescope
placed on a movable stand. When they thanked Sonnenkamp for this
surprise, he asked in return only one favor, that Fraeulein Dournay
would accompany the family to Carlsbad; but she declined positively, as
the Professorin also did.
Pranken had come back; he thought it absurd to appear offended, and to
do this tutor the honor of looking upon him as a rival. He was made
happy by the unconstrained and cordial greeting he received from Manna,
who treated him with more familiarity than ever before.
"I am glad," he said to her, "that you have something of the sphinx in
you, like other women. I was mistaken in you, and am rejoiced that I
was mistaken. What is puzzling and constantly offering new problems,
keeps life fresh."
Manna did not understand him, but she asked for no explanation; she
only told him with regret that the Aunt and the Professorin were not
going with them to Carlsbad. Pranken thought this very proper, and
Manna looked at him in surprise when he spoke of the pretensions of
these Huguenots.
"And Herr Dournay," he added, "will he stay behind also, declining as
firmly and decidedly as he did to go to Vichy last year?"
"I don't know," answered Manna. "Papa," she called out to her father,
who came up just then, "is Herr Captain Dournay going with us to the
Baths?"
"Certainly. He belongs to the family, and understands that he does; he
has not objected for a moment."
Pranken was in some embarrassment; he took this compliance quite
as a matter of course, and added that perhaps Herr Captain
Dournay--emphasizing the title, would find his friend, the negro Adams,
the Prince's footman, at Carlsbad, and would be able to perfect the
intimacy which he had begun here. Pranken hoped, perhaps, to bring out
some cutting remark about Eric, but, to his surprise, neither
Sonnenkamp nor Manna answered a word; he was forced to wind up the
subject, by saying that these atheists and democrats must of course
disorganize all social arrangements, and fraternize with a negro; it
was only praiseworthy in Herr Dournay to act consistently with his
principles.
Bella and Clodwig only just made a passing call, to say that they were
going to Carlsbad and should be very glad to meet their friends there.
Bella was especially animated in her expressions of pleasure at the
idea of meeting them constantly for weeks together; she promised
herself and her friends great enjoyment, and was enough at her ease to
say jokingly to Eric, that if a charity-concert was given, at which she
played, he must sing.
Eric assented, without the least embarrassment.
CHAPTER XII.
THE PRIDE OF OUR PLANET.
The season at Carlsbad was unusually brilliant. Seldom had so many of
the nobility and so many adventurers assembled at the Baths. To the
second class, but perhaps also to the first, belonged Sonnenkamp, who
arrived with a great retinue, wife and daughter, son, tutor,
gouvernante, and a number of servants, the latter, however, not dressed
in livery, but modestly, in plain citizens' clothes.
The Count, as well as Clodwig and Bella, had been at the Baths a week
when Sonnenkamp's household arrived. Clodwig took his young friend,
with some solemnity, to the spring, and told how he himself had once
been brought thereby the philosopher, Schelling, who said to him,--
"Behold! this spring is the pride of our planet."
All conventional distinctions must cease before such a fountain of
health as this, Clodwig added, for it says to us,--You must leave your
lofty and your lowly dwellings; in my presence, all are alike high-born
and low-born. Clodwig had already caught the liberal tone.
On the very day of Sonnenkamp's arrival, a guest was departing whose
modesty was equal to the consideration in which he was held; it was
Weidmann. Eric met him just as he was drinking his last draught from
the spring. The relations between the Sovereign and this President of
the representatives, an unyielding opposer of the Court policy, long
furnished matter of conversation among the guests; the Sovereign had
twice invited him to his table, and addressed him several times when
they had met upon the morning walk. Statisticians differed somewhat in
regard to the latter point, some maintaining that these morning
conversations had taken place twice, others that they had occurred as
often as thrice, or even four times.
Again Eric's meeting with Weidmann was short and unsatisfactory, and he
disliked to be always reiterating his intention of visiting him.
Clodwig also presented Eric at once to an old friend of his, a
well-known banker of liberal education from the great business capital,
whom he met every year at some baths, either at Gastein or Ostend, if
not here, and with whom, on such occasions, he always spent many hours
of the day. The two men were both seventy years old, but the Banker had
all the restlessness of youth; he was as eager for knowledge as a
German student, and as talkative as a Frenchman in a railway carriage.
Clodwig, on the other hand, preserved always a great repose of manner,
hardly ever speaking when in motion, but always stopping if he had
anything to say, or any reply to make to the remarks of a friend.
The Banker took pains to tell Eric, early in their acquaintance, that
he was a Jew.
Owing, doubtless, to the warm commendations that Clodwig had bestowed
upon his young friend, the old man took advantage of every opportunity
of being in his company, a complaisance which Eric did not reciprocate,
he not being accustomed to play the part of listener rather than of
speaker, and feeling moreover jealous of the banker, who engrossed so
much of Clodwig's time, when he had depended on enjoying the Count's
society himself every day during their visit here.
At the breakfast-table, the Prince and Countess Bella were as usual a
frequent subject of conversation; they were served up with the favorite
dish of delicate pastry. A more interesting topic than even the
Countess's toilette were the frequent, almost daily walks, which the
Prince took in her company, apparently much to the enjoyment of both
parties, as the Prince was often heard laughing at her ready sallies.
Clodwig also could congratulate himself on having received many marks
of favor.
Bella established a little court of her own. She breakfasted with a
company of chosen friends in the open air, where every one could see
her, and her table was always adorned with the choicest flowers. It was
even said that the bands played a waltz of her composition.
The Wine-Cavalier also spent a few days at the Baths, and the painter
Potiphar, as Bella called him, because he had the misfortune to be
surnamed Tailor. This was the fourth watering-place that the Cavalier
had honored this summer with his studied elegance, his private album,
and his neat little anecdotes. His only object in coming to Carlsbad
was, as he often repeated, to pay his respects to his highly esteemed
neighbors. Bella received him coldly, and Clodwig pleaded business as
an excuse for seeing but little of him, so that after playing a few
games with a famous chess-player who was among the visitors, he
departed.
The painter Potiphar zealously instructed Eric in the private histories
of all the men and women who were drinking the waters, and his
companion's ignorance and innocence in these interesting matters were a
marvel to him.
When Sonnenkamp met Bella and the Prince walking together, as he did
every day, Bella nodded graciously, and the Prince also bowed silently,
but in spite of the frequency of their meeting never addressed him.
The Cabinetsrath was present as one of the Court, and with him and an
experienced officer of police, who always hovered about the sovereign
at a distance, Sonnenkamp usually took his morning walk.
Pranken, who had his own independent lodging, but joined himself to the
Sonnenkamp party, was soon initiated into the life of the various
groups.
A beautiful Wallachian, who always went about dressed in deep mourning,
with a black veil upon her head, and spoke to no one, contested with
Sonnenkamp the glory of being the most remarkable object of the season.
It was said that the handsome stranger had had the misfortune to
discover, soon after her marriage, that her husband had another wife.
Manna took no part in the morning gaieties at the spring; after holy
mass, she remained in the house, spending a great portion of her time
in practising on the harp, for which purpose she had chosen a room out
of hearing of the other visitors.
Frau Ceres awakened general excitement, by being taken to the spring
every morning in a chair on wheels. In her lap she always held a little
dog, and in her hand a fresh rose.
Pranken was assiduous in his attention to her, and Fraeulein Perini
never failed to walk by her side. At noon, Frau Ceres appeared
beautifully dressed among the promenaders.
All the visitors at the spring were astonished at this, and every
morning all eyes followed her, in wonder at her allowing herself to be
wheeled through the crowd, though she was in perfect health. But the
lady was unconscious of the anger she excited, and only rejoiced in
what seemed to her the general admiration.
After the first three days, Eric forbade his pupil to go to the spring
in the morning, a regulation which Sonnenkamp remonstrated against,
feeling a pride in the universal admiration the handsome boy received.
But Eric declared that it was impossible to attend to studies after
hearing music in the morning, and the two therefore remained by
themselves. Whenever they appeared abroad, however, men and women alike
agreed that they had never seen a handsomer boy, or a man of more
attractive appearance.
Pranken often complained that the extraordinary favor shown him by the
Sovereign obliged him often to spend whole days away from his friends.
Sonnenkamp could boast of being received into the most select society,
thanks to the influence of Bella. It was no matter to him that the
aristocracy said among themselves that a bath-acquaintance did not
necessitate any subsequent relation with a man. He hoped, nay, he was
almost sure, that during his stay here at Carlsbad, the first step
would be taken that should put him on an equality with the best; in the
meanwhile he conducted himself in the most free and easy manner, as a
peer among peers.
Already his relations to Bella had assumed a character which added a
fresh interest to his life here. They had always been secretly
attracted together, chiefly by admiration of a certain heroic power
which each saw to exist in the other, and which each held to be the one
mark of distinction from the masses. This daily intercourse now
revealed more distinctly to them what they had only glimpses of during
the winter in the capital.
Both agreed perfectly in looking upon all communities, all human
society, as nothing but a tacit agreement to tell lies: no one believes
his neighbor, no one honors his neighbor; all that is valued is a
certain outside show, a humbug, which must be kept up as long as it
can; no one, except a few idiots of teachers or idealists, actually
believes in the idols of his own constructing.
Sonnenkamp admired Bella extremely, and maintained that she was the
only woman of spirit and intellect he had ever met, a declaration which
both knew to be true, in spite of their agreeing that all fair words
were nothing but lying conventionalities. Bella knew that she had
spirit, and acknowledged Sonnenkamp's right to bear witness to it.
He repeatedly gave her to understand that he alone appreciated the
greatness, of her nature.
"The man who should have a wife like you," he once said openly to her,
"and were himself a man--a dominant nature with a wife like you would
establish a new throne in the world. I consider it a privilege to have
been allowed to know a nature so born to rule as yours."
He said it half in a tone of gallantry, but she knew he meant it in
earnest, and she took it in earnest, being full of contempt for the
pettinesses of the world, where half the people found pleasure in
intrigue, and the other half in what they call humanity, which is
really nothing but sentimentality.
Their mutual salutations, therefore, if they only met and passed, were
significant, and implied a secret understanding. Their glance said: We
alone are strong, and we are great enough to scorn all trifling.
One beautiful July morning Bella gave a great breakfast, to which the
Sonnenkamp family was invited, and Manna came with her mother; there
were also present the Cabinetsraethin, the Adjutant-general, besides
several others of the highest nobility, both gentlemen and ladies, from
different countries.
The rich and tasteful arrangement of the flowers on the breakfast-table
excited the admiration of the guests. Bella presented Herr Sonnenkamp
as the generous and skilful giver, and, with great tact, called the
attention of the guests to the admirable taste in arranging flowers
possessed by this famous garden-artist, whom she even proclaimed the
true high priest of flowers.
Sonnenkamp was delighted at the impression produced.
Manna timidly remarked that her taste was offended by the profusion of
flowers displayed here on all occasions; she thought that massing them
together, and tying them into close bunches, destroyed the whole
character of the flowers, of roses especially; their tender nature
suffered from such treatment.
Eric replied that, without these flowers, life here would lose an
important element of brilliancy and cheerfulness; that the purest and
best things were not safe from abuse and exaggeration, but that we
should not therefore lose sight of the beautiful underlying principle.
Pranken observed the impression which these words made, and gave a more
lively turn to the conversation, by saying that he too did not like
bouquets; flowers, birds, and women were the ornaments of life, and
should be dealt tenderly with and left unconfined.
Jest and merriment now reigned supreme. All were in that happy frame of
mind which is induced by the drinking of the waters and the fresh
morning air. There was not wanting an object on which to exercise their
wit, in the person of a long lieutenant from Schwarzburg-Sondershausen,
or Schwarzhausen-Sonderburg, as Bella always called it. The long
lieutenant had openly confessed that his object in coming to the Baths
was to bless the daughter of some rich commoner with his title. He had
made Bella his confidante, and she amused herself now by bringing him
into all manner of ridiculous positions.
The tall lieutenant took it all in good part; his standing joke was
that he regretted, on his honor, Roland's not being Sonnenkamp's
daughter, that he might marry her.
Manna blushed, for this plainly implied that she was considered
betrothed to Pranken.
There was a good deal of gossip about some of the guests at the Baths,
their loose and frivolous lives, all of which Manna listened to with
the rest, secretly thinking all the while: It is well to know all the
discord and confusion of the wicked world before leaving it forever.
Eric divined that some such thought was in her mind, and said in a low
tone:--
"In the Bible God says that he will spare Sodom, if a few righteous
persons are found in it. And so it is now. The sun shines, the birds
sing, the flowers bloom, and the world is better than it seems."
"So you are a believer too?" asked Manna softly.
"Yes; but in a different way from yours."
On rising from table, Clodwig, Sonnenkamp, Eric, Roland, and the
Banker, started on a long walk in the woods, while Bella kept Manna by
her. Pranken also staid behind with the ladies, being excused today
from attendance on the Prince.
Bella had succeeded in getting invitations for Sonnenkamp and his
family to the next assembly, at which only the first nobility of Europe
were to be present, and began to talk over with Manna the dress she
should wear on the occasion. Manna had begged to be allowed to stay at
home, but this was declared impossible, and she had been obliged to
consent to appear.
Meanwhile the men were taking their walk through the woods. Eric had
joined Clodwig at once, and made him smile by saying that he had never
before participated in the gaieties of a watering-place, and that the
life here almost bewildered him. He wondered whether it would be
possible to induce men to go, for a few weeks of every year, to some
place for the cure of their souls. In this care for the bodily health
was exhibited a selfishness which the world usually took pains to
conceal. Clodwig had remained standing, while Eric thus spoke.
"You will never feel quite at home in the world," he answered,
continuing his walk.
At a turn in the road, Eric fell back and allowed Sonnenkamp to go in
front with Clodwig. There was something at once attractive and
repulsive to Clodwig in the society of Sonnenkamp. He had never seen
such a man before, and was chiefly impressed by the sort of courage he
possessed in assuming no foreign disguise.
Sonnenkamp made another attempt to induce the Count to use his
influence in procuring him a title, but was treated as he never before
had been in his life, by receiving a most crushing answer couched in
words of courtesy.
"I am amazed at your courage and forbearance," he said; but the idea
conveyed by the words was: I detest your insolence and importunity.
"You are indefatigable, and may stand on an equality with the rulers,"
were the words, but the meaning was: You are a shameless tyrant.
Sonnenkamp had experienced many strange things in his life, but, never
this lashing a man to madness with courteous words. He kept a smiling
countenance, however, not daring to show any sense of injury, while
Clodwig maintained a calm superiority, tapping occasionally on his
golden snuff-box, as if saying to all the tickling spirits within: Have
patience; the man is getting a strong dose. Finally he opened the box
and offered Sonnenkamp a pinch, which the latter accepted with thanks.
Eric meanwhile was walking with the Banker. There was one point of
common interest between them, their admiration of Clodwig. The Banker
maintained that scarce any one but a man of rank could be so
independent and thoroughly human.
Roland cast a glance at Eric which seemed to say: You see this man says
the same thing.
Eric zealously opposed this idea, and the Banker, who assumed a rather
patronizing tone in conversing with the young scholar, was easily
converted, and broke out into enthusiastic praise of Eric.
A great pleasure was awaiting Eric on his return from his morning walk,
in the arrival of his friend and teacher, Professor Einsiedel.
The poor man of science felt himself quite lost and helpless in such a
place as Carlsbad, whither he had been ordered by his fellow-professor,
the first physician of the University. Eric made the necessary
arrangements for his board and lodging, and whatever else he needed,
feeling it a privilege to serve him in every way in his power.
While standing with his teacher, Eric perceived Sonnenkamp in the
distance talking with Professor Crutius, who had just arrived. Crutius
seemed unwilling to accept Sonnenkamp's friendly advances, and yet
could find no way of avoiding them. When Sonnenkamp offered his hand at
parting, however, he did not take it, but raised his hat instead with a
formal salute. Eric was so fortunate as to find a room for his teacher
in the same house with his own party.
CHAPTER XIII.
A WHIRL OF BODY AND MIND.
Beautifully dressed, with flowers in her hair, Manna walked to and fro
in the great drawing-room. The sight of her uncovered neck and
shoulders in the long mirror seemed to shock her, and she drew more
closely about her the encircling cloud of tulle. Roland and Eric
entered. Eric stood motionless.
"How late you are!" said Manna.
Eric explained that he had been introducing his teacher to the routine
of watering-place life, and expressed the hope that Manna would enjoy
the society of the delicate-minded old man.
"Your teacher?" said Manna, and again Eric noticed the tears in her
voice. "Introduce me to him to-morrow. But now make haste, or you will
be late to the assembly."
"I am not invited," replied Eric.
"No! he is not invited, and so I am not going either," cried Roland.
The father and mother appeared, but their persuasions had no effect
upon the boy. He would not even yield to Eric's urgent entreaty, but
persisted in remaining behind. After the family had actually driven off
to the Hall, Roland appeared to regret not having gone with them, and
insisted on Eric's taking him to the gallery, whence they could see the
dancing.
Pranken was manager of the assembly, and Manna shared the distinction
with him. Her cheeks glowed, and she seemed in great spirits, but to
Roland's vexation, she did not once look up to the gallery. Manna, in
fact, hardly knew herself. In the midst of the gaiety, she said to
Pranken:--
"Did you know that Captain Dournay's teacher had arrived?"
Pranken knit his brows. So she was thinking of him in the midst of this
gaiety! He was silent for awhile, not knowing what to reply; at last he
said in a light tone:--
"Ah, teacher! Don't you get tired of this whole pack of teachers? Here
we have pleasing music, dancing,--come!"
He whirled her swiftly among the circle of dancers, and she felt as if
she were no longer upon the ground, but were floating in the air.
"Let us go!" said Roland to Eric in the gallery. They left the hall,
and took by moonlight the same beautiful walk through the forest that
they had enjoyed in the morning.
"Is there no way in which I may relieve myself of a secret that has
been confided to me?" asked Roland. "I should so like to talk it over
with you! May I not tell it you?"
"No, you must not under any circumstances break your word. If you did,
you would lose all hold upon yourself."
Roland sighed; he sorely wanted to tell Eric that his family was to
receive a title.
When they came out upon the clearing, and saw the town and the whole
valley lying in the moonlight, and heard a few broken strains of music
from the ball-room rising through the night air, Roland returned to the
subject:--
"I have an idea that this evening Manna is to be openly acknowledged as
Pranken's bride. My mother thinks that that will help forward the
accomplishment of the other secret. Can you not guess what it is?"
Eric replied with great self-control, that it was not honorable of
Roland to speak of any family matters that had been confided to him.
He spoke with a trembling voice. This thing, which had been so long
decided, suddenly came upon him as something new, unheard of,
improbable. With rapture and yet with fear, he perceived that he had
allowed Manna to become dearer to him than he ought. He buried the
point of his cane deep in the ground, and pressed upon it so violently
that it broke to pieces in his hand. He told Roland it was time they
went home.
The carriage drove up to the door just as they reached the house, and
out of it came Sonnenkamp, followed by Frau Ceres and Manna.
"Are you betrothed to Pranken?" asked Roland.
"You silly child!" returned Manna, as she ran quickly up the steps.
Sonnenkamp sent Roland to bed, and asked Eric to go with him into his
room.
"Here is a mild brand of cigar," he said, throwing himself back in his
arm-chair, "light one. Captain Dournay, I look upon you as one of the
family; you are ours, and must ever remain so."
Eric trembled. Had the father's suspicions been roused by Roland's
awkward question, and was he about to tell him that he must give up all
thought of Manna? Or was he about to offer him his daughter's hand? He
had time enough to entertain these opposing thoughts, for Sonnenkamp
made a long pause, in the evident expectation of receiving some answer
to his friendly address. But as his companion remained silent, he got
up, and after taking several turns up and down the room, suddenly
stopped before Eric and said:--
"I give you to-day the most indubitable proof that I consider you one
of ourselves. Give me your hand."
Eric did so, and shuddered as he touched the iron ring on the man's
thumb.
Sonnenkamp continued:--
"I recognize and honor your reserve."
Eric's eyes wandered uneasily. What did all this mean?
After several hasty puffs at his cigar, Sonnenkamp continued:--
"You have never, in any way, alluded to what has been going on among
us, though you cannot have failed to be aware of it."
Eric still trembled. Sonnenkamp kept making such unusual pauses.
At last, bringing the words out with an effort, he said:--
"You know that I am about to receive a title?"
"No, I did not know it."
"You did not? Is it possible? Did Roland give you no hint?"
"A hint indeed of some secret, but I strictly forbade him to relate,
even by a breath, any confidence that had been reposed in him."
"Good. You're a good teacher. I am grateful to you, sincerely grateful.
I will be yet more so. You shall have proof of it. To be open with you,
Captain Dournay--you can give me substantial help by furthering this
plan of mine."
"I?"
"Yes, you. You are the friend of our noble Count Wolfsgarten. He is
already one of our family, but he always declines to discuss this
matter, when I, or any of my friends, address him upon the subject. You
know me, my dear Captain; you have watched my life, and your eye is
keen; I have a right to expect that, with all my faults, of which,
unhappily, I have my share, you will judge of me justly and charitably.
You are a man who will act as he thinks. You understand me?"
"Not entirely, I confess."
"Plainly, then, in a few days I shall give a rural fete at Heilingthal.
I will take the Jew with me, and you can go with your friend
Wolfsgarten, and can easily discover what sort of opinion he will give
of me, or has already given."
"Would not Herr von Pranken, or the Countess, or the Cabinetsraethin, be
better suited for such an office?"
"No; in that case I should not trouble you with it. Count Wolfsgarten
has declined expressing any opinion, saying always in his pedantic--I
mean in his strictly honorable manner, that a judgment which is to be
expressed in confidence, to the Prince should be made known to no one
else. In a few days the Prince will depart; he is favorably disposed.
You will therefore discover this for me, dear Dournay, will you not? It
will be so easy for you!"
"Herr Sonnenkamp," replied Eric, "you had the kindness to say a few
moments ago that I did right in forbidding Roland to betray a secret.
How shall I----"
"Ah, my dear Dournay," interrupted Sonnenkamp, "we may reasonably allow
ourselves many things that we should forbid a young person to do. I
respect, I honor your truthfulness. I acknowledge the great sacrifice
you would make in rendering me this service fully, thoroughly, but you
will make the sacrifice, will you not?"
Eric tried to decline the task. Sonnenkamp threw his head back, and
whistled softly to himself, while Eric maintained with great
earnestness that he was not good at sounding others' opinions, and that
he should consider it a betrayal of friendship to repeat anything which
was said to him confidentially. "Besides," he concluded, "I do not
think that Count Wolfsgarten would express his opinion any more fully
to me."
Sonnenkamp was inwardly angry, but summoned all his powers of
self-control to his aid. He praised Eric's conscientiousness; spoke
with enthusiasm of his delicate tact, his moral purity, and the
loftiness of his ideal; he went so far as to apologize for having
fancied, even for a moment, that Eric was more than a friend to Bella;
his unhappy experience among men, he said, must serve as his excuse for
the injustice; he considered it as the greatest of privileges to have
been once allowed the acquaintance of a thoroughly pure and noble man.
Eric had never supposed that this man knew him so well; this Sonnenkamp
must have a nobler mind than he had given him credit for, to be able to
read so well the noble struggles of others.
The impression he had made was not lost upon Sonnenkamp. He laid his
hand on Eric's shoulder, and said with a trembling, almost a tearful
voice,--
"My dear young friend! Yes, my friend--I call you so, for you are
such--even if I have not myself the right to claim so close an intimacy
with you as I should like, consider what a great, what a necessary
influence indeed you may exert--not for me; of what consequence am
I?--but for our Roland. For our Roland!" he repeated significantly. The
mention of Roland's name suddenly roused Eric as from a dream. He
answered by asking why Herr Sonnenkamp desired a title for Roland.
"Oh, my friend!" Sonnenkamp continued with increasing affection, "that
is the last, the only object of all my efforts in the Old World and in
the New. Oh, my friend! Who is able to tell how soon I may die? You
will remain the friend, the support of my son. Give me your hand upon
it. Promise me you will so continue. I shall die without a fear,
knowing he is under your protection. Alas, no one suspects how ill, how
shaken I am. I force myself to appear firm and erect, but I am inwardly
broken. The labors and struggles of life have sapped my strength. Any
moment may end my life, and I would gladly leave my son in an assured
position. You, my friend, love our beautiful, glorious Germany; you
will be glad to secure to her a strong and faithful son. Should Roland
continue as he is, should he preserve his present name, he will always
consider himself a citizen of the world across the ocean, not a true
son of our noble Germany, where alone a man of mind and of means can
find a sphere for his usefulness. Forgive me if I do not express myself
as warmly as I feel, and as I ought, to a friend like you. I only ask
you to add to your other benefits to Roland that of making him a son of
Germany; if not for our sakes, yet for the sake of our dear country."
Sonnenkamp well knew what a responsive strain he touched in Eric, by
those tender words from the anxious heart of a father, and by this
broad, reverent outlook, not only beyond his own death, but beyond all
thought of self. Eric was touched, and said:
"I would give my life for Roland----"
Sonnenkamp would have embraced him, but Eric begged him to listen
further.
"My life I can give up, but not my principles. I am willing to adopt
your views of the matter in a moment, if you can convince me I am
mistaken. Do you really believe that it would add to Roland's happiness
to have a title?"
"It would make his happiness; without that he would have no happiness.
I am sure you will not misunderstand me, my very dear, noble friend. I
frankly confess to you that I prize money highly; I have worked hard
for it, and should like to keep it; I should like to convert my
personal property into real estate, at least in a great measure: I want
my son freely to enjoy what I have toiled with unremitting industry to
obtain. Oh, my friend, you do not know--it is better you should not
know what blows my life has borne, because I--but no more of that; it
would agitate me too much to-day. I had a tutor--a shrewd man, but
unhappily not of such moral purity as yourself--who, I remember, often
said to me: He only is free who is not bound to the same level with
others, but is entitled to be judged by a loftier standard. A genius, a
man like yourself, my dear friend, is by nature so entitled; but all
are not geniuses. Genius is unattainable, therefore do men seek a title
of nobility that posterity may judge them by that higher standard. I
express myself clumsily, do I not?"
"No! the thought is subtilely developed."
"Ah, let us leave all subtleties. But I have after all omitted the
chief point; it is well I remember it. It was you who first directed my
thoughts and my efforts towards this aim."
"I? How so?"
"Let me remind you. On the first day of your coming among us you told
me, and you have often repeated it since, that Roland had no special
talent that would lead him to the choice of a profession. The remark
offended me at the time, but I see now that it was perfectly true. For
the very reason that Roland is not gifted with genius, he must take
rank among the nobility, have a title, which of itself gives position
and dignity to persons of average capacity, who are not able to carve
out their own career. A nobleman is not sensitive; that is his great
advantage. A baron or an earl is somebody at the start, and is not
obliged to make himself somebody; if, besides that, he has any gifts,
they are all clear gain, and the world is grateful for them. We
commoners must begin by making ourselves something; we are nothing at
the start except sensitive, thin-skinned. Ah, my dear friend, I speak
very confusedly."
"By no means."
"I will say but one thing more. Roland will at some time, and it may be
soon, enter on the possession of millions; if he is a noble, he will
not only stand in the circle of the select, but he will have all the
obligations of honor, of benevolence, of usefulness, and will have them
in a higher degree, because he will be one newly raised to rank. I open
my whole heart to you, my friend--I conceal nothing. Almost the whole
inhabited world is known to me, and shall I tell you what I have found
in it?"
"I should be glad to know."
"Know, then," here Sonnenkamp laid both hands upon Eric's shoulder,
"you are a philosopher, a deep thinker--learn something from me."
"Willingly."
"Let me tell you then, my friend, there are three classes among
mankind, each bound so closely together that no member stands alone. A
man must belong to one of these in this degenerate world."
He paused awhile, and then, in answer to Eric's questioning glance,
continued:--
"Yes, my friend, in this world a man must be either a Jew, a Jesuit, or
a noble. You smile? The idea surprises you? Let me explain. If you
survey the whole world you will find that each one of these three
classes, and only these, forms a firm, lasting, indissoluble union
among its members. My son cannot be a Jew, a Jesuit he shall not be,
therefore he must be a noble."
Eric was fairly bewildered by Sonnenkamp's arguments. He strove to
exercise his own freedom of thought, but he saw how immovably
Sonnenkamp's mind was made up, and looking over the past, he perceived
how everything had been tending towards this one aim. And after all,
might it not be an advantage for Roland to enter the ranks of the
nobility? Might not this be the only means of establishing a home for
him in Germany?
The interview lasted till far into the night, Sonnenkamp constantly
endeavoring to prove the necessity of making Roland a noble, and Eric
at last, almost from sheer weariness, promised to use his influence
with Clodwig. He got no rest as he lay in bed; he seemed to himself a
traitor, but the voice of the tempter said:--
"After all, it is not you who can bring it about, nor he, but the
Prince. Whether you lend your aid or not, the thing is sure to be done.
Why should you be disobliging and ungrateful?"
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TEACHER'S TEACHER.
"Ball"--"American"--"Betrothed"--was heard the next morning at the
spring in all the different languages, for, inconsistent as it may
seem, winter gayeties are brought into a place frequented only by
invalids.
Frau Ceres' carriage did not appear at the spring; she had a tumbler of
mineral water brought to her room.
Before the altar in the village church lay Manna, long after the mass
was over, studying her own heart. She cried out for help, for support
against the world; she remembered the advice of the Priest to make free
confession, wherever she might be, to a brother or a father, and she
longed to confess here; but she did not, for there was one thing she
could not tell. For the first time, she left the church with a burden
on her heart.
Eric was fighting his fight with himself out upon the hills. Sonnenkamp
had spoken with great openness to him, but one thing he had not said,
that Pranken was waiting till Manna was titled before announcing the
betrothal. He was angry with himself for having allowed the idea to
take possession of him, and perhaps increase, though unconsciously, his
repugnance to the commission laid upon him.
The sudden calling of his name terrified him, though it was pronounced
by a gentle voice. Looking up he perceived Professor Einsiedel coming
towards him: What better man could he have to clear up his doubts and
restore his peace of mind? For one moment, he entertained the thought
of laying all his questions before the pure and childlike, yet clear
and brave spirit, of his old friend; but neither could he confess,
neither could he tell all, and so he too shut his secret in his own
heart.
The good old man could not understand how he was to live for weeks
without work, without books, doing nothing but nurse his body. Such a
cure as this, he said with a childlike smile, was only a sickness with
the ability to take walks, and it would be nothing worse than sickness
if he lay in bed.
But he soon turned the conversation from himself, and asked Eric about
his studies, and how he was getting on with his great work upon
slavery. Before Eric could answer, the Professor told him that he was
continually making notes upon the subject for him, and that one of the
most striking things he had met with was the decision with which
Luther, from a religious point of view, had expressed himself in favor
of holding slaves.
"I do not blame Luther," he continued; "he adopted the views of his
day, just as others in other generations have believed in the agency of
evil spirits. The language of the great Bossuet shows how much the
strongest minds were influenced by the general belief of the time; he
said that whoever denied the right of holding slaves sinned against the
Holy Ghost. Perhaps a future generation will be as little able to
understand our prejudices."
Eric found in this morning walk a satisfaction to which he had been
long a stranger. Professor Einsiedel had looked cautiously about him as
he walked, as if fearing some one might overhear the great secret he
was about to reveal. At last he said:--
"Dear Doctor," he always called Eric Doctor, "I have been thinking a
great deal about the task of educating a rich youth. The absolutely
right I have not found; that can exist only in the imagination. But so
to educate a human being, intellectually and morally, that we can be
approximately sure--mark you, I say approximately--that we can be
approximately sure, or have reason to believe, that, in any given case
he will be guided by pure moral laws, that is all that we can hope to
do; and I am very much mistaken, if that is not what you have already
succeeded in accomplishing with regard to your pupil. As far as I know
the world,--and I was tutor myself once, though only for a short
time--as far as I know the world, those of high birth, and no doubt it
is the same with those of great wealth, are full of wishes and
cravings; and the task is to convert these wishes, these cravings, this
expectancy, into active will and effort. Your handsome pupil has
excellent, dispositions, in this respect; he understands the
seriousness of life."
Never had the forest seemed, to Eric so grand, the sunlight so clear,
the air so invigorating, the whole world so transfigured, as when he
heard this testimony from his teacher's lips. Silently he, walked by
his side, and sat with him in the forest; he would gladly have kissed
the good man's delicate hand.
At another time, Professor Einsiedel admonished Eric that he was
falling into the very error common among rich men of neglecting his own
culture.
"Living with others is good," he said; "but living with one's self is
better; and I fear you have not lived as you should with yourself."
He asked Eric plainly how far he had finished his book, and like a
school-boy who finds himself detected in laziness and neglect of duty,
Eric was obliged to confess that it had altogether dropped out of his
mind. The face of the Professor suddenly collapsed, as if it were
nothing but wrinkles; after a long silence he said,--
"You are inflicting the greatest injury on yourself and your pupil."
"On myself and my pupil?"
"Yes. You have no intellectual work of your own to counteract the daily
distractions of your profession, and, therefore, you do not bring to
your teaching the necessary freshness and elasticity. I have been a
teacher myself, and always made it a rule to preserve inviolate my own
intellectual sanctum, and in that way constantly renewed my strength.
It is one of the conditions of a proper education, that the teacher
should not be always at the disposal of his pupil. The pupil should
understand, that living side by side with him is another human being
like himself, who has his own life to nourish, and that no one has a
right to command from another the total surrender of himself and all
his powers. You must never consider yourself as a finished man; mark, I
say finished; you must keep on educating yourself. To be finished is
the beginning of death. Look at the leaves upon the trees; as soon as
one has reached its perfection, it begins to turn yellow and shrink."
The words made a deep impression upon Eric. What this man here in this
silent wood-path was saying aloud, he had often felt, but had never
been willing to confess even to himself.
"'Non semper arcum tendit Apollo,' says Virgil," Eric answered, quoting
from his teacher's favorite poet.
"Good, good! that agrees with what I say. Apollo, to be sure, is not
always bending his bow, but he never lays it aside; it remains his
inalienable attribute."
They went on for some time in silence, till presently the Professor
began again,--
"You are still young; you must not waste these morning hours of your
life. I warn you as your teacher and your father, yes in the very
spirit of your father. It is my right and my duty thus to speak, for
your father should serve you as a warning."
"My father serve me as a warning?"
"Yes. I need not remind you of the worth and importance of his labors,
but your father often lamented that he had allowed an unworthy regard
for his standing in society to interfere with his devotion to pure
knowledge; he could not resume the steadiness of his former habits of
study. More than that, he found himself thinking of persons while he
was writing, instead of thinking only of ideas, which is our religion.
If we lose that, we are the worst of idolaters; our idol is even less
than a picture in a temple; it is the most worthless of all idols, the
fickle voice of society."
Eric still remained silent, and the kindly old man began again,--
"Here is another proof of the wonderful connection of events. Our
clinical Professor had to overcome a strong repugnance on my part to
undertake this cure; neither of us knew that the real object of my
being sent here was, perhaps, to be a healing-spring to you."
"Indeed you are," exclaimed Eric, as he grasped his teacher's delicate
hand. Only for a little while longer, he said, till Roland had entered
upon whatever work should be next appointed him, he wanted to devote
himself entirely to his pupil; then he would return to the service of
pure knowledges.
The Professor warned him not to wait for that, for he should never lose
his hold of the world of ideas.
"Or if you mean to devote yourself to practical life," he added, "I
have nothing to say against that; only you must decide on one or the
other."
Eric returned to the hotel as one roused from a dream. He saw the
danger which threatened him, of seeking to shine in society by a
display of the thoughts and the knowledge he had acquired in the
studies which he now no longer pursued. The Professor had touched a
very different chord in him from what the Doctor had once stirred. He
took pleasure in making his old teacher better acquainted with Clodwig,
the Banker, Sonnenkamp, and particularly with Roland, whose lessons he
now resumed with an energy which filled the boy with amazement.
The Professor took especial pleasure in the society of Roland, who
called him, as he had done at their first meeting, "grand-teacher."
There was a deference and a ready submission in his manner, which
filled Eric with delight, when he saw them together. Many a saying of
the noble old man's sank deep into the boy's mind.
"Who would suppose that the long lieutenant and the Professor belonged
to the same race of men?" he once said to Eric.
Eric liked to leave his pupil as much as possible alone with the
Professor, and was gratified by having the latter say to him after a
few days,--
"You have done a good work; the boy has that sensitive pride in him
which we are apt to associate with gentle birth. I should have no fear
of his falling into low or criminal habits; his noble pride would be
repelled by their vulgarity. There is no denying the fact that
self-esteem amounting to pride can become, under proper guidance, a
sure moral principle."
Bella had begun by trying to make a butt of the Professor, but the old
man looked at her with an expression of such childlike compassion, and
at the same time of such mild rebuke, that she soon dropped her tone of
banter, and overlooked the good Professor altogether.
This unpretending and apparently inexperienced man formed, however,
very decided opinions upon all whom he met. Clodwig he perceived to be
a good and noble man. His classical education delighted him
particularly. "Classical education," he said, "is the stone foundation,
which, firmly planted in the ground, is itself invisible, but bears up
the whole building."
The Banker was too uneasy and restless to please him, but he gave him
credit for possessing a characteristic very common among the Jews, that
of gratitude even for intellectual benefits.
Sonnenkamp inspired the Professor with a shrinking awe. He acknowledged
that the feeling was unjust, for the man had always showed great
friendliness towards him, but still he could not conquer it.
He once confessed to Eric that he was afraid of persons who were so
strong; he always felt as if Sonnenkamp would take him up in his arms
like a little child and run away with him. He knew he should never
understand the man's character perfectly; reading characters was
something like deciphering inscriptions on stone; if you cannot make
them out at the first glance, you will succeed no better with hard
study.
Quite a new influence was exerted, however, as Professor Einsiedel
became more intimate with Manna. In Eric's case, he had recognized
instantly his having been sent to this place by that invisible power
which harmonizes all life, for the purpose of bringing help to his
young friend. Such was even more the fact with regard to Manna, though
here he was not conscious of it. Manna was needing and seeking help,
and attached herself, with the loving watchfulness of a daughter, to
this delicate man, who outwardly was so childlike and dependent.
Geology and chemistry have not yet satisfactorily settled the manner in
which these medicinal springs work their cures, and we are equally
ignorant of the workings of that subtle influence by which one man
affects another for good or for evil. Thus mysteriously did Professor
Einsiedel influence Manna. When she told him of her desire to enter the
convent, he expressed his envy.
"If I were a Catholic," he said, "I would enter a convent too; but it
must be a different kind of a convent, one exclusively for men of
science, who have no time or faculty for providing for the necessities
of life, and yet have works of importance to carry out."
Manna smiled, for she could not help thinking of Claus, who also wanted
to enter a convent, so that he might have nothing to do but drink all
the time. But she quickly banished all such comparisons; for here was a
repose, a devotion to a sacred idea, which might boldly compare itself
with the sacredness of the church. She trembled at the thought, but
could not drive it from her mind. With some timidity, and yet
emboldened by the remembrance of her former undoubting confidence, she
ventured to approach the Professor, though only interrogatively, upon
the subject of the necessity of religious faith, as the only means of
salvation. She was amazed at the sudden excitement that blazed up in
the quiet little man.