"We are no enemies of the church," he said, "for we only make war upon

the living. The church has not been able to fashion the world, nor

society, nor a single state; all it has succeeded in doing, is to found

asylums and hospitals. Not to her is given the direction of life, but

to classical education, to continually advancing culture. My child,

there is a fellow-professor of mine in the University, who persistently

maintains that the _Corpus juris_ has done much more for the

civilization of the world, than the fragments which are included under

the name of the Old and New Testament. I do not wholly agree with him,

for the Bible has touched a different chord in the world. Consider, the

world has inherited from classical antiquity two great ideas, those of

state and nationality. Men were brought up in these two ideas. Then

came religion, and taught universality, the oneness of all mankind, the

brotherhood of man, and the unity of humanity. Religion alone could

have done it; it would have been impossible for the Roman civilization

under the old and new Caesars. The church has done her work; she has

implanted the idea of humanity. Now people assemble again in states, in

nationalities, still needing to preserve the idea of brotherhood. But

forgive me, I am falling too much into the schoolmaster's tone."

"No, no; pray go on; I understand. Pray go on!"

"Very well, then; what was ever purely ideal is not lost to the world,

only it must not require to be forever and ever the one sole expression

of truth. Here lies the difference between us unbelievers, as we are

called, and believers. Let me illustrate my meaning by facts--or do I

weary you?"

"How can you think so poorly of me?"

"Forgive me. The present century is laboring for two great objects, the

emancipation of the serfs, and the abolition of slavery. They will be

accomplished, but not by the church; no, by the progress of culture.

Forgive me, my child, I do not want to confuse you. Never touch upon

the subject again, be sure you never do again. I am a patient man, very

patient. I want to disturb no one, but I pray you, most earnestly I

must pray you, never to touch upon these subjects with me again. As I

have said, I am sorry if I have spoken slightingly of anything which is

sacred and dear to you; I hope it will so continue to you, although I

reject it. But I beg you, earnestly beg you, not to approach this theme

again."

As Manna walked by the side of the Professor, she longed for some hand

from heaven to snatch her away from him.

What had she fallen upon? What words had she had to hear? and that not

from a man of the world, but from one who desired nothing but to end

his life in modest quiet.

No hand from heaven was outstretched to snatch her away, and she

gradually succeeded in regaining her tranquillity.

It was well she should have heard this from a man she could not

despise. This was the last assault of the tempter; she would not yield

under it. So she promised herself, and pressed her hand on her heart,

as if there was something there of which she would keep fast hold. But

the deed was done; she could not recall it. She had lost that for which

she had been ready to sacrifice her life, for the church, to which she

had been ready to give herself, had done nothing towards destroying

this monstrous evil.

She felt inclined henceforth to avoid the Professor; but that would

have been unjust. What had he done except honestly to tell her his

convictions?

A feeling of attachment led her still to devote much of her time to

him, but both avoided any discussion upon matters of religion; only

Manna would sometimes look up at him with wondering eyes, when he would

quote, from heathen writings, sayings which she had been taught to

consider the exclusive property of the church.

A wide horizon opened before her eyes, in which the different religions

seemed only so many promontories, and this unassuming, delicately

organized man seemed a type of the human individual, who had received

into himself and harmonized all contradiction. She saw Eric's reverence

for the Professor, his childlike deference, his respectful attention,

the submission which he every hour displayed towards him. She watched

Eric closely. It surprised her that this man of strongly marked

individuality should be capable of such humble veneration for another.

Professor Einsiedel was often accompanied also by a little dried-up old

man of most humble exterior, who always withdrew at Manna's approach,

as if he felt himself unworthy to intrude upon the society of men.

Professor Einsiedel once told Manna the history of this companion of

his. They had been school-fellows together, and this man was early

taken from his studies on account of the death of his father, and the

necessity of providing for his brothers and sisters. He became

book-keeper in a great banking house, by which he earned enough not

only to support a widowed sister and her children, but managed, by

practising the strictest economy, to lay by a considerable sum.

One night, on returning from the theatre, he found that his nephew had

broken open his desk, stolen his whole property, and escaped with it to

America. Without telling any one of the robbery--for how could he give

up to justice his sister's son?--he began anew to spare and to save,

and thus sacrificed his life for that of another.

Professor Einsiedel had no idea what a deep impression this simple

history made upon Manna,--this story of silent, unobtrusive

self-sacrifice.

One subject upon which Manna and Einsiedel could converse with perfect

sympathy was Eric's mother. The Professor took for granted that Manna

lived on terms of intimate friendship with the noble lady, and he could

not find words strong enough to express his appreciation of her

firmness and nobleness of mind. Manna smiled to hear him say that the

Professorin had converted him from a very low opinion of the

capabilities of her sex, to a conviction that a woman is endowed with

all the characteristics of man, only in a more beautiful shape. Manna

also had many pleasant things to tell of Eric's mother.

This unassuming little man, who had thus dropped by chance into their

circle, had exercised on the minds of all an influence far outweighing

that of the excitements and allurements of the life in the great world.

But even in this society, Sonnenkamp thought only of advancing his own

plans of self-aggrandizement. In a few days the Prince, Clodwig, and

Bella were to take their departure; if he could not win over the

Prince, he was resolved to attach all the nobility at least to his

interests.

CHAPTER XV.

THE MARRIAGE PROCESSION TURNED TO STONE.

The day of the fete had arrived. Roland rode on in front with Pranken,

Sonnenkamp walked with the Banker, and Eric with Clodwig. The day was

clear and sunny, without being too warm. A brilliant company left their

carriages upon the hill, and strolled down; the wood-path to the valley

below.

Eric tried to lead the conversation to Sonnenkamp's receiving a title

of nobility, but Clodwig at once interrupted him, and, with a tone of

almost parental authority, warned him against mixing himself up in any

way with that matter. For the first time, there was something in

Clodwig's look that Eric could not fathom. They went down the path in

silence. A struggle was going on in Eric's mind, and in Clodwig also

was a conflict of feeling concerning his young friend.

As soon as they reached the valley, Sonnenkamp drew Eric aside, and

asked what opinion Clodwig had expressed. Eric replied that he declined

speaking at all upon the subject.

"Thank you--thank you very much," ejaculated Sonnenkamp, with no

apparent reason.

By the side of the brook in Heilingthal Joseph had already spread the

table, and Sonnenkamp had only the addition of a few trifles to

suggest. The company assembled was most select, and all expressed

surprise and pleasure at the arrangements that had been made. The long

lieutenant was particularly eloquent, and called up a singular

expression in Sonnenkamp's face by always, although he was no Austrian,

addressing him as Herr von Sonnenkamp. A band of music, stationed in

the forest, played sweet and lively airs. A great point of interest was

the group of rocks above where the company were seated, which, the

story ran, had been the living figures of a marriage procession turned

into stone by spirits from the lower world.

"What can have been the origin of this tradition?" asked Bella, turning

to Eric.

All gave polite attention, as Eric explained that this was one of the

many variations of the Tannhauser tradition, and that nations in the

dawn of civilization gave themselves up to a belief in the old

traditions, which have their root in the ever haunting mystery of the

origin of the earth.

Suddenly a forester's horn was heard, and rocks and valley became

the theatre of a strange spectacle. A band of gipsy musicians,

fantastically dressed, came suddenly to view, playing wild

melodies,--one young fellow in particular, with raven hair, leaping and

dancing as he played upon his fiddle. Great praises were bestowed upon

Sonnenkamp for his ingenuity in always devising some new entertainment,

and his protestations that this was a surprise even to himself, were

taken by some for truth, and by others as modesty. A rapid glance,

exchanged between himself and Lootz, would have proved to any one who

had seen it his sincerity in disclaiming all knowledge of the

exhibition.

Bella encouraged the gipsies to wilder and wilder music, and, on

learning that their camp was pitched in the neighborhood, she went to

visit it, accompanied by Roland and some of the ladies. The absence of

Professor Einsiedel she greatly lamented; as he had told her that the

language of the gipsies bore some connection with the Sanscrit. Eric

was much surprised at being able to say a few words to these strange

people in their own tongue. Bella asked if there was no one in the

company who could draw, and insisted on the long lieutenant beginning a

sketch at once of the gipsy camp, the wretched horse eating a wisp of

hay, the wagon, and the old women sitting about an open fire. A wild,

impudent looking girl, who wore a large crinoline, and smoked a short

pipe in a free and easy fashion, soon became her especial favorite. One

old hag, pointing her skinny hand at Roland, cried out:--

"He shall be our king."

"Can you not tell fortunes?" asked Bella, extending her hand to the old

woman.

"Not yours," said the gipsy. "But I want that one next you to show me

her hand." With great reluctance, Manna consented. The old woman gave a

wild cry, and exclaimed:--

"You have a lover by your side, but you must go across the water to get

him, and water must flow from your handsome black eyes. But then three

sons and two daughters shall you have----"

Here Manna tore her hand away; and walked on apart from the rest of the

party. Much as she despised this criminal sport, and little as the

whole company believed in it, it yet strangely affected her. Could

Pranken have been the originator of it? It almost seemed so, and yet he

was innocent of the whole thing.

"I should like to pronounce a ban," cried Bella.

"What sort of one?" asked all present.

"That for the next fifty years the gipsies should be under its power;

that no poet should dare to sing of them."

Manna went on with the others, but she and all around her seemed as in

a dream. In her heart she felt that all this had happened, in order

that the thought of it might one day serve to recall the world to her

mind, when she had left it forever. It already seemed distant; among

the things of the past. She stood in the life about her as not a part

of it, and she was not of it, for the one thought was ever present to

her of renouncing it altogether. This year in the world was her trial

year, and she rejoiced to think that several months of it were already

gone.

Bella, who prided herself upon her skill in reading character, often

shook her head, and confessed to her brother that she could make

nothing out of Manna; in vain she tried to win her confidence; there

was something at bottom which she could not fathom. Manna never spoke

to Bella of her desire to return to the convent. Bella now put her arm

about Manna's waist, and teased her about the three sons and two

daughters, but the girl only smiled as if the words had been addressed

to some other person.

On the brow of the hill, under the shade of the pine-trees, carpet's

had been spread for the ladies, where they rested, while the gentlemen

still sat at table, and, at the suggestion of the long lieutenant, who

had finished his sketch, passed round the wine.

"Why are you not of the nobility?" asked the long lieutenant of

Sonnenkamp.

"Because Herr Sonnenkamp is a citizen," replied Clodwig.

"Citizens can be made nobles when they have millions----"

At an angry sign from Pranken the young man was here brought to a

sudden pause. The Cabinetsrath, however, thought it his duty to add, in

consideration of Clodwig's being an influential member of the Committee

on Orders, whose good opinion was therefore important:--

"Truly, if nobleness of mind, great powers, beneficence, and worth

of character raise one to the ranks of nobility, our Herr Sonnenkamp

is--will certainly become a nobleman."

The long lieutenant considered himself a great wit, and wits are not

easily suppressed, even when they have not been drinking champagne; he

therefore exclaimed:--

"Excellent--delicious! Count von Wolfsgarten, you are the wisest of us

all; are you also of opinion that a million must have a title? I mean,

of course, not the million, but the man who has the million?"

"It is most amiable of you," replied Clodwig, "to exercise in my favor

your sovereign right to point out the wisest of us all."

"Thanks," cried the long lieutenant, "that blow told. But I pray you

let me have your opinion."

"I think," said a stout retired court-marshal who boasted of having

already lost sixteen pounds at the Baths, "I think that our noble host

has the right to require that this discussion should not be continued

at this time and in this place. Does not your Excellency agree with

me?" he added, turning to Clodwig.

Before the Count had time to answer, Sonnenkamp broke in:--

"On the contrary, I should be most happy if my honored guests would so

far favor me as to continue the discussion, and allow me to be a

listener; I should take it as a proof that they did not regard me as

stranger."

Clodwig, who had broken through his usual strict rule of temperance,

and allowed himself to be persuaded to drink two glasses of champagne,

suddenly assumed a knowing look and said:--

"In that case, Herr Sonnenkamp, let us hear your own opinion upon the

subject."

"Yes, yes," cried the long lieutenant; "the man who has earned

millions, and has got up such a fairy entertainment as this, must----"

"Pray, let Herr Sonnenkamp speak," interrupted Clodwig.

"My honored guests," began Sonnenkamp, "I have visited every part of

the inhabited globe, and have learned that there is and must be

everywhere an aristocracy, one class distinguished above the rest."

"It is so among horses and dogs," broke in the long lieutenant.

"Countess Dingsda of Russia, has two grayhounds descended from the

Empress Katherine---- I mean from the Empress Katherine's dogs."

The Court-marshal who had lost the sixteen pounds of flesh admonished

the long lieutenant in a whisper to hold his tongue, for he was

exposing himself and putting out the whole company. The long

lieutenant, passed his hand over his brow, and softly promised to obey.

"Let us hear you further," urged Clodwig, and Sonnenkamp continued,--

"It is fortunate also for barbarous races, when they possess certain

families who present them, in historical continuation, the various

decisive points in their career, and when new families become

distinguished by courage or wisdom, and form, as it were, a new

dynasty."

Clodwig observed that the sweat stood in great drops on Sonnenkamp's

forehead, and said, with great friendliness,--

"It might be said that the distinctive prerogative of the nobility was

to unite culture and courage; one should never be separated from the

other. I hope you will understand me aright when I say that the titles

of nobility perpetuate the remembrance of the gifts, the acquisitions

of transcendent genius in a former time, and they have now become an

inherited right, or rather involve an inherited duty. The nobleman is

the free human being, uniting in himself the gifts of nature and

fortune, and preserving a certain chain of connection through the ever

changing generations of men. Nobility is a kind of public office to

which a man is born. The nobleman should act out his own nature, but is

bound at the same time by the conditions of history."

"May the wine freeze in my body, if I understand a word of what he is

saying," said the long lieutenant to the Court Marshal, who was trying

hard to fight off the sleep which, contrary to all the rules of the

treatment, was stealing over him. He suddenly woke up and said,--

"Yes, yes; you are perfectly right; but do keep quiet."

"You yourself," said the Marshal, "must reverence an honest pride in

the virtues and bravery of our ancestors. The man who walks through a

gallery, from whose walls the pictures of a long line of progenitors

look down upon and watch his steps, receives a life-long impression;

through his whole life he is followed by the watchful eye of his

ancestors."

"True, true!" cried many voices.

"And what follows from that?" asked Clodwig. "Let us return to our

original question."

"Just what I am doing. Why should not these historical conditions be

constantly reversed?"

"Quite right; that is the proper way to state the question," replied

Clodwig. "Is this an age which can concede any special duties, and with

them any special privileges, to the nobility? This is the day of equal

rights; there are no more members of a privileged class. There are but

two classes of men, men of renown and men without renown. The nobility

which claims to rest upon hereditary honor is effete; it is

incontestably a dying institution. Of what use are coats of arms? Of

none but to be embroidered on fire-screens, sofa cushions, and

travelling-bags. The equal, universal duty of bearing arms furnishes

the reasonable claim to nobility. Science, art, business, are the

factors of our time, which the whole people without distinction is

equally bound to take part in. We stand in opposition to history. The

nobleman was of importance so long as landed property was the

foundation of the nation's power. That time is passed, since those high

chimneys have reared themselves into the air; since the power of

movable property, ideal possessions--for all state securities are but

ideal possessions--has surpassed that of landed estates, those days

have been no more. One advantage of this personal property is, that it

cannot be clutched by the dead hand; the hand of inheritance is a dead

hand. I am not opposed to having the nobleman of the present day give

his name to business transactions; there are better things than titles

and orders by which not only money, but influence, can be gained. I

thank the noble Jacob Grimm for exposing, as he does in his essay on

Schiller, the folly of supposing that Goethe and Schiller can be

ennobled. The nobility of to-day means nothing but a name, a

desolation; we go so far as to bestow it even upon the Jews."

"But you, certainly," interrupted the Banker, "would not deny the equal

rights of the different religions, the moment this equality of rights

knocks at the emblazoned door of nobility?"

"Equal rights!" exclaimed Clodwig. "Quite right, my friend descended

from an ancient race. But is it not an absurd perversion to use equal

rights for the abolishment of equal rights? If anybody can become a

noble, without the necessity of having been born so, of course the Jews

can; but they ought not to desire it, they ought to see the disloyalty

of it. So far as I see, the Jews--I am speaking now with no reference

to their religion--are a living lesson to us not to judge of men by

what they believe, but by their progress in virtue and culture. The

Jews are, according to our way of regarding them, a race made up of

nobles--for who has a longer and purer pedigree?--or they are a people

in a certain degree proud of being descended from slaves. I am indebted

to an old rabbi, whom I once met at the Baths, for a noble thought."

"What was it?" asked the Banker.

"He said to me--we were in Ostend at the time, walking on the sea-shore

and talking of the negro, discussing his capability for freedom and

culture, and this rabbi made a very beautiful remark----"

Clodwig paused for a time as if trying to recall something, then,

laying the finger of his left hand upon the bridge of his nose, he

said,--

"The rabbi declared that the looking back to a past time of slavery was

a great spur to ambition, and that many things which at first sight

appear strange in the Jews, may be accounted for by the important fact

of their tracing their history back to a period of slavery. They have

had implanted in them, by their bondage in Egypt, a pride and a

humility, a steady resistance to oppression, a quick perception of

injustice and of every injury inflicted on others, and hence a

sympathy, which is unparalleled in history."

"Certainly."

"A Jew with a coat of arms," continued Clodwig, "with helmet and shield

and all the gewgaws--the very sight of them should be an offence to

him, for at the time when men wore helmets and shields, his ancestors,

the Jews, were servants of the emperor, and almost outside the

protection of the laws. A Jew may become Christian from conviction,

because, apart from the dogma, he perceives the advance in civilization

and culture which the religion of Jesus has accomplished. Many change

their faith from want of deep principle, not having the courage, or not

feeling it to be their duty, to inflict upon themselves and on their

children a life-long martyrdom. But a Jew with a title is the most

ridiculous anachronism that can be imagined. To become a citizen, to

enter that class which is ever increasing in numbers and importance, is

the right and the duty of a Jew. But shall there be a union of Jewish

noble families, who, like others, shall marry only among themselves?

The more we think of the matter, the more absurd the contradictions

that arise. However, I did not mean to speak of the Jews, and pray the

company to pardon me for having thus strayed from our main point."

"Had we not better put an end to the discussion altogether?" suggested

Pranken.

"I have done; only one word more. A piece of music always leaves a

painful impression if we have not heard the final cadence, and,

therefore, let me say, in a few words, that I consider the raising of a

citizen to the ranks of the nobility a historical absurdity, to use no

harsher term. The man who leaves the ranks of the citizens is a

deserter, an apostate, I will not say a traitor and a fool also, for

forsaking the conquering banner of the people. I understand the

temptation; they want to secure their possessions to their family, to

establish the right of entail; the sons want to be knights; but it is a

stinted race after all, a mongrel stock, from which no good tree can

grow."

Clodwig had several objects in view in speaking thus; he wanted to make

a direct appeal to his companions in rank, and he wanted, once for all,

to divert from their purpose Sonnenkamp and the Banker, who he knew had

also been induced to aspire to a title.

Perceiving a peculiar expression in the countenance of his old friend,

he turned to him, and said:--

"I see you have something on your mind you would like to say."

"Nothing of any consequence," replied the Banker, with a shrug of his

shoulders, offering his gold snuff-box to Clodwig and Sonnenkamp. "Our

host is a perfect example of what is called in America 'a self-made

man,' a term of great distinction. There is no term in our language

which exactly expresses it. To have inherited nothing, but to have won

everything by his own effort, is the greatest pride of an American.

'Self made man' is, so to speak, the motto upon his shield. Their

president elect, Abraham Lincoln, is the best example of this class,

who, from being a rail-splitter and a boatman, has attained the highest

honor. Are you personally acquainted with Lincoln?"

"I have not the honor," replied Sonnenkamp.

Roland here approached the gentlemen, and requested them to join the

rest of the company, as the plan was to have the band play, while all

walked together to the place where they had left the carriages. All

arose from table. The nobles from the various German principalities

stared at one another in amazement, and if any magical change could

have come over them, would certainly have been turned into stone, as

the bridal procession had been. The long lieutenant and the sleepy

Court-marshal would have made most grotesque figures. How was it that a

nobleman, a Count von Wolfsgarten, could use such language? The man

must be drunk!

They joined the ladies. Clodwig and Eric lingered a little behind. Eric

had not spoken a word during the discussion, and Clodwig expressed his

vexation at having inconsiderately opened his whole mind to persons,

who did not want to listen to serious words.

"I am grateful to you for it," replied Eric.

"I will try to think," said Clodwig in conclusion, "that I have been

talking only to you."

The two went together into the woods, where the ladies had now risen

from their carpeted resting-place, and, seating themselves on the

ground, watched the young people dancing on the meadow below.

Sonnenkamp stood leaning against a tall pine-tree, as if turned into

stone, and almost wishing that the whole company might be actually

petrified like the marriage procession. A butterfly, which flew over

Clodwig's head, and fluttered back and forth in the valley before

Sonnenkamp's eyes, might have told him what Clodwig was saying to Eric

on the hill.

"You asked me this morning my opinion on this matter; I think you know

it now. I have declared distinctly, that I shall decidedly oppose all

conferring of titles upon new men. I do not mind telling you, however,

my young friend, that Herr Sonnenkamp's chances are very good, for my

voice is not decisive."

Eric was strangely tempted to go down to where Sonnenkamp was standing

and tell him this. He had witnessed the man's disappointment to-day,

and would have been glad to encourage him, feeling sympathy for one who

desired all things for his son's sake.

He restrained himself, however, being resolved to keep himself aloof

from the whole matter. He told Clodwig how Roland had wished, on the

evening of the ball, to confide to him the secret of their being about

to receive a title, but that it was his intention not to mention the

subject to the boy, although his father had opened the way for him to

do so. Roland had thus far been keeping the matter quietly in his own

mind, and it seemed better now to ignore it altogether, than to have

the son conceive any disapprobation of his father's proceedings.

Clodwig agreed perfectly with his young friend, and repeatedly

expressed his present contentment at Eric's having rejected his

proposal to live with him, for there was a wider and richer field of

usefulness open to him where he was.

Both were refreshed by their quiet intercourse.

The long lieutenant now broke in upon Sonnenkamp's solitary musings.

The butterfly flew up again, and might have told those on the hill what

was passing in the valley below.

"Herr von Sonnenkamp," began the long lieutenant, "have the negroes any

musical talent?"

"The negroes are very fond of a kind of music of their own, which is

nothing but noise," replied Sonnenkamp; "and many wise men consider

that conversation which--" he paused for a word, but seemed to find

none sharp enough, and at the same time sufficiently polite. At last he

said--"which perhaps might pass for such in the little capital."

He joined the gay company, and, while the band played, they all walked

to the place where the carriages were waiting.

It so happened, neither knew how, that Manna and Eric walked together

through the woods. They went on, side by side, in silence, though each

had so much to say to the other.

"I hear," Manna began at last, "that Count Clodwig expressed himself

warmly against rank; did he think that distinction of birth was in any

way opposed to religion?"

"He said nothing of the kind."

Again they went on in silence.

"I wonder where our friend, Professor Einsiedel, has been to-day,"

began Manna again; "I am a pupil of his, too, now."

"It is a great privilege," answered Eric, "to know such a liberal,

devout mind."

They said no more, but both felt that there was a sort of sympathy

established between them by their reverence for the same man. Not only

was their faculty of reverence now the same, but there was a common

object of their reverence.

"Eric! Manna!" suddenly cried a voice, which was repeated by all the

echoes of the forest. They stood startled at hearing their names thus

coupled together, and sent back again, and again, by the stone figures

of the bridal procession.

Roland came back to find them, and, giving his right hand to Manna and

his left to Eric, led them thus to the carriage, in which all took

their seats.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHANGES WROUGHT IN MANY MINDS.

Sonnenkamp felt himself set aside by the Court, or rather completely

overlooked; but he could not demean himself by allowing any feeling of

wounded pride to appear, therefore he omitted none of the customary

salutations of respect, even when the Sovereign looked ungraciously at

him. That was the regular court service, to which he was determined to

accustom himself.

The day was fixed for the departure of the Prince and his retinue.

Sonnenkamp stood among the other distinguished visitors, making the

last salutations beside the royal coach, and received his share of the

Sovereign's gracious, parting glance. The Cabinetsraethin said to him,

as he was about to take his place in the second carriage,--

"Your cause stands well, in spite of the very learned and honorable

Court Wolfsgarten."

The departure of the court was, to a large circle of the visitors, like

the withdrawal of the bride from the marriage dance; the dancing goes

on, there is an exaggerated assumption of gaiety, but the main point of

interest is wanting.

Crowds of people came and went; the lively circle, of which Bella

formed the centre, lost every day one or another of its members;

Sonnenkamp was often obliged, against his will, to grace a departure

with his offering of flowers. Bella, and Clodwig too, now prepared to

depart. Eric had the satisfaction of seeing that a close attachment had

been formed between Clodwig and his friend and teacher, Professor

Einsiedel.

The last few days were a pleasant relief to Eric and Roland, after the

life of excitement that had gone before. They took even the loss of

Clodwig and Bella lightly, for they still had Professor Einsiedel.

Sonnenkamp and Frau Ceres, on the contrary, were sorely out of spirits;

they felt like persons who have outlived their day.

Sonnenkamp compared himself to a bouquet that has not found a

purchaser. What is it at evening? It is put in water through the night;

the withered flowers are pulled off the next morning, and it is again

exposed for sale. Will the success be any better this time? It must be

tried.

The men and women, who, as long as Bella was present had been their

constant associates, now saluted them formally, and joined themselves

to new comers. They often met Professor Crutius in company with a

number of Americans who were at the Baths, and who almost always looked

curiously at Sonnenkamp. Crutius himself hardly acknowledged his

friendly greetings.

The morning fixed for departure came at last; Sonnenkamp and his

retinue set off in three carriages. There were fewer friends to bid

them good-bye than they had expected, yet still the carriages were

adorned with flowers; there was a wreath upon the roof of Sonnenkamp's

coach, and even the spokes of the wheels were twined with garlands; the

postilion also wore a wreath. All had the appearance of being done by

friends, but was in reality the work of Lootz.

The party breakfasted in the open air, and entered the carriages

quietly from the street, without returning to the house.

Professor Einsiedel was among those who came to take leave, and,

drawing Manna a little apart, he said to her in a low voice,--

"I told you in my last lecture--I beg your pardon, my dear child; I

forgot I was speaking only to you. I have already told you of my desire

to enter a convent, but a free convent, now that I have grown weary of

life in the world, am solitary, and am inclined to finish in retirement

whatever I may still be able to accomplish. But whether you, my dear

child, before you have done with life, should withdraw yourself from

it, is a question you ought very seriously to consider; there can be no

more terrible fate than to feel your soul filled with all manner of

unrest when you have taken the vow to consecrate yourself to the

noblest thoughts. Consider it seriously, dear child; I speak only from

my interest in your welfare, my heartfelt interest," said the little

man, in a voice, broken with emotion.

"I know it, and I believe you," answered Manna. The tears stood in her

eyes, and two big drops fell upon the flowers she held in her hand.

Roland came up to them and took off his hat to the Professor, who,

laying his hand on the boy's head, said,--

"Keep on well, and remember that you too have a friend in me."

Roland was too much moved to speak; he could only kiss the old man's

delicate childlike hand. The people at a distance looked on in

amazement. The postilion blew his horn till he started the echoes in

mountain and valley. With no decisive point gained, they left the place

where they had experienced so much that was painful and pleasant.

The carriage rolled on for a long time without a word being spoken; at

last Roland said softly to Eric:--

"Now I have a grandfather too."

Eric remained silent. Roland's attention was attracted by the flowers

that strewed the road; not only withered flowers, but fresh bunches

also that had been thrown after the departing guests, and now lay in

the street to be crushed under the carriage wheels. He was reminded of

Manna's complaint at the waste of flowers here, and thought how just it

was.

Manna sat buried in thought. She had come to the Baths only for the

sake of being with her family, yet in no one of the party had such a

vital change been effected. But she did not own it yet even to herself.

She silently folded her hands and prayed.

They reached the station.

"Hear the whistle of the engine!" said Roland. "I feel that we are

already at home, now I hear that whistle, don't you? We seem to have

been in a different world where that sound never reaches. I hope we

shall find all right at home."

Eric rejoiced in Roland's animation, and told him they must keep up

good courage if they did find some things changed. They would not let

anything spoil the pleasure of their getting home again.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE AFTER-EFFECTS.

"You will see the effects by-and-by," the Doctor had said to Sonnenkamp

and his wife at their departure. "You will see the effect by-and-by,"

had been the point of the Cabinetsrath's parting words.

The Sonnenkamps returned to the Rhine, full of fresh expectations.

They arrived at the villa and found everything in excellent condition.

The great corridor, connecting the green-houses with the stables, a

graceful structure of cast iron which Sonnenkamp had planned before his

departure, was completed, and its iron pillars already so hung with

climbing plants, that no trace of its being a recent addition appeared.

Sonnenkamp expressed the satisfaction he felt.

Every one felt himself animated with fresh cheerfulness. The pleasant

home feeling was enhanced by the recent excitements of the journey.

Sonnenkamp asked if many strangers had visited the house and garden

during his absence, for he allowed the servants every year the

privilege of exhibiting to visitors, while he was at the Baths, the

lower story of the villa, the hot-houses, fruit-garden, and stables.

The butler replied that there had never been so many visitors as this

year, and that he had pointed out to every one the place where the

Prince and Princess had sat.

Sonnenkamp ordered the man to bring him the visitor's book, which was

kept in the billiard-room, a great hall adjoining the hot-houses.

Strict orders were given that only names should be inscribed in the

book. In an excited tone he asked, after reading a long list of

names:--

"Who wrote that?"

At first no one confessed to any knowledge of the names, but finally

the second gardener, the 'squirrel,' said that two gentlemen had come

together, one of whom wanted once to be Roland's tutor; and the other

was a tall, stately man who spoke Westphalian German. The tall man,

with the light curling hair, did not write anything, but the other,

whom he addressed as Professor, wrote all these names. The man

remembered being struck by it at the time.

Sonnenkamp at once concluded that the man who had written the names

could be no other than Professor Crutius. The names were those of the

leaders of the slave party in the Southern States. It was out of the

question that these men had been there themselves; but what meant this

reminder of them?

The matter disturbed Sonnenkamp for a while, but he finally succeeded

in dismissing it from his mind.

"Your old enemy," he said almost aloud to himself, "has come back, and

that is nothing but your unhappy brooding imagination."

Eric himself had no greater pleasure in embracing his mother again,

than Roland and Manna felt.

"You and Aunt Claudine," cried Roland, "are dearer to me than all the

trees in the park, the house, and everything else. You too have been

staying here faithfully, waiting for us to come home. How good it is to

have you here, that we may have some one to receive us when we come

back!"

The boy's whole heart swelled with inward happiness.

Manna said nothing, but her look showed how deeply she felt the

peaceful influence of the two ladies. She found in this little home

some of the rest she had found in the convent, and yet here no outward

vows had been taken; these two women were completely free. By little

and little, she told the mother about Professor Einsiedel, and rejoiced

her by showing her appreciation of the deep consecration of spirit to

which this student of science had attained.

Sonnenkamp was more thoughtful than ever. This striving after a title

seemed to him a loss of independence, a loss that he was voluntarily

incurring. He returned from the Baths with the impression, that he

should be always treated by the nobles themselves as a stranger and an

interloper, and would always have to be on his guard against

misconstruction of his smallest actions. The words of the Banker rang

in his ears: Every one should hold fast to the distinction of being a

self-made man.

Was it not better that a man should be the source of his own honor,

than that he should allow it to be conferred upon him by another?

Here he was brought up before an insurmountable wall. He was vexed at

having to worry and brood so over the matter, yet he could not dismiss

it from his mind. He had just come to the resolution of begging the

Cabinetsrath to give it all up, when he received a letter from him,

saying that the matter might be considered as in a fair way of being

satisfactorily concluded.

Sonnenkamp looked about him when he had read the words. Now he had it

in his grasp, and he would throw it from him. There would be more

greatness, more satisfaction, in that than accepting it. But then what

would become of Frau Ceres, Manna, and Roland? How could he draw back?

For a moment the thought passed through his mind that he would sell all

his property here and remove to Switzerland, France, or Italy. But he

imagined the longing he would feel to be back here again; he felt that

the social position and consideration to which he had grown accustomed

here, had become a necessity to him. He walked among the trees which he

had planted, which he had trained and cared for, and felt that they had

grown to be a part of himself; he looked towards the Rhine, and was

conscious of that magic power of attraction which takes possession of

every one who has once made his home beside it.

Forward! he cried to himself. The ball has been set rolling and must

reach its goal!

He read the letter again, and perceived that the Jewish banker had

applied for a title at the same time with himself, but, strange to say,

had withdrawn his name. The letter also said that an expression of

opinion from Herr Weidmann was expected, and as it was not sure how he

would view the case, it would be desirable for Herr Sonnenkamp to

cultivate a closer acquaintance with him.

Another point in the letter gave Sonnenkamp cause for wonder; the

Cabinetsrath, with many charges of secresy, wrote that the opinion of

Count Wolfsgarten had been most plainly spoken, but that a remark of

his had decided the case in Herr Sonnenkamp's favor.

Here were too many riddles. Sonnenkamp resolved to do nothing for the

present. He had been kept waiting so long that others might as well

take their turn at it.

The Doctor came and reviewed the family. He thought that all had been

benefited by the Baths, but that Herr Sonnenkamp was still feeling too

much the exciting effects of the life there.

The Doctor had felt the pulse of each one, and reviewed them all, but

that did not tell him the changes that had taken place in their souls.

Frau Ceres was as tired and bored as ever, and thought it terrible to

come back to having nothing to hear of but the beauties of nature.

Manna could hardly believe that she had been through so much noise and

excitement.

The most opposite effects, however, had been produced upon Roland and

Eric.

Eric had to acknowledge that Professor Einsiedel's warnings had been

just. In this life of dissipation, of constant devotion to others, his

own self was getting lost. He wished now to hedge in a certain

enclosure about himself that he could devote to study, and in which he

could build up his own life anew. He set Roland solitary tasks, and in

reply to his questions often gave evasive and unsatisfactory answers,

telling him that he wanted to leave him to work out as many questions

as he could by himself.

Roland for the first time felt deserted by Eric, and at a time, too,

when he needed him more than ever. The idle life at the Baths, the

excitement, the gaieties, the constant intercourse with men and women

who openly expressed their admiration for him, all this left in his

heart, as soon as the first feeling of delight in getting home had

passed away, a void, a restless craving, which made the quiet of the

house, the regular routine of study, an intolerable burden to him. He

wanted to be away among people again, among his comrades.

The Cadet told him that he had been made an ensign, and should soon

make him a visit, with some of his comrades.

Roland kept impatiently looking out for some diversion, some

excitement. A remark of the long lieutenant, that he ought no longer to

be under the rule of a tutor, rose to his mind, and made him fret under

his want of freedom.

In this frame of mind he sought his father, and asked if the title of

nobility had not been received yet. Sonnenkamp comforted him as well as

he could from day to day, but, happening to tell him once that Eric

knew of what was in anticipation, Roland was filled with anger. Why had

Eric never said a word to him about it?

Eric's mother became conscious of the change in Roland long before Eric

himself did, but he perceived it at last, and laid aside his own work.

But his efforts to regain his old influence over his pupil seemed for a

time quite fruitless. An unexpected event was to come to his

assistance.

The Major came one day with a request, that Sonnenkamp would allow the

Free Masons to have an entertainment in the newly finished armory of

the castle, as Herr Weidmann was desirous of having the fete come off

there. Sonnenkamp's first impulse was to consent, feeling some surprise

at the extraordinary coincidence that should lead Weidmann to enter

into communication with him just at this time. Unwilling to appear too

eager to oblige, however, he asked why Herr Weidmann had not made the

request himself.

This seemed to embarrass the Major somewhat, for he could not explain

that the suggestion had originated with himself, and that Weidmann had

sharply refused to have any dealings with Sonnenkamp.

Sonnenkamp asked if he might be informed of the names of the persons in

the neighborhood who belonged to the body, and found, upon looking over

the list the Major handed him, that there were not enough names of

consideration among them; even Herr von Endlich having withdrawn his,

since his elevation to the ranks of the nobility. Sonnenkamp therefore

declined, but requested the Major to bring about, in some way, a nearer

acquaintance between himself and Weidmann.

"I know an excellent Way," said the Major. "Herr Weidmann is very

desirous of receiving a visit from Roland and Eric. Send them to him."

This, too, Sonnenkamp declined, thinking it not his place to make

advances towards a man who kept aloof as Weidmann did. The following

day, as he was riding, he almost dropped the bridle from his hand, on

meeting a carriage in which sat Weidmann, and, beside him, a man who

ought to be on the other side of the ocean.

The man was remarkably tall, and had a strikingly fresh and youthful

appearance. As Sonnenkamp rode by, Weidmann bowed. His companion seemed

surprised, but raised his hat also, and in so doing showed a head which

could not be mistaken. The thick, wavy hair, the high forehead, the

kindly expression, in the glance of the blue eyes, were all

unmistakable. Sonnenkamp could not help looking back, to make sure that

he had not been deceived. The stranger in the wagon also had risen and

was looking back, and Sonnenkamp's eye detected something like a nod,

such as a man might make who found his suspicions confirmed.

Sonnenkamp reined in his horse, feeling weak and paralyzed, as if he

could no longer keep his seat in the saddle. Yes, 'tis he! 'Tis his

deadly enemy, his most violent antagonist! How happens he here now? He

listened until he no longer heard the rattling of the wheels, and then

turned and walked his horse towards home. But shortly after, gathering

up the reins, and whipping and spurring his black steed, he rode toward

the Major's.

He did not find him at home. Fraeulein Milch, whom he always disliked,

was there, and told him that the Major was at the castle.

He rode to the castle, and in a very natural way spoke of a visitor at

Weidmann's. The Major stated that Weidmann's nephew, Doctor Fritz had

been there now for a short time, having come to take away his child,

who had been at Mattenheim under Knopf's instruction.

"Was this visitor at the villa while I was away?" asked Sonnenkamp.

"Yes, indeed, he and Professor Crutius. Both of 'em were highly

delighted with the beauty of your house, and your skill in gardening.

The seeds I bought of the head-gardener are for Dr. Fritz, who'll take

them to America. Send Eric and Roland to Mattenheim; 'twill be

delightful to both of 'em to know the excellent Doctor Fritz, but you

must do it speedily, for I hear he's going away very soon."

Eric and Roland, fortunately, came just at this moment to the castle,

and the Major took great satisfaction in spurring them up to make at

last the visit to Weidmann. Roland was highly delighted that there was

some diversion in prospect, that he was to make a journey and break in

upon the humdrum life; and Eric hoped that Roland would receive a new

impulse from observing a life of active usefulness.

This time, Sonnenkamp laid his plans more prudently. With Clodwig, Eric

had brought nothing to pass, although he had had a direct commission;

but now he gave Eric instructions which appeared very natural under the

circumstances, but which would enable him to gain a knowledge of

everything which it was important for himself to know. Eric was to send

a message after several days, and then Sonnenkamp would come for him at

Mattenheim. In the mean time he wanted to make a carriage-journey to

another part of the country.

In the morning, when Eric and Roland were setting out for Mattenheim,

Manna concluded to make her long delayed call upon the Priest. Fraeulein

Perini had said in direct terms, that the Priest had expressed his

surprise at her not having been to see him since her return home.

Fraeulein Perini wanted Manna to hear from herself, that she had been at

the Priest's; but of course, she did not inform her that she had given

to the Priest a very circumstantial account of their residence at

Carlsbad.

Manna had no sooner entered the Priest's house, than she wanted to turn

back again immediately, for she learned from the housekeeper that the

Dean from the capital was on a visit to the Priest. But the latter must

have heard her when she arrived, for he came out and led her by the

hand into the study. He introduced her to the Dean as a postulant.

Manna did not know what he meant; and the Dean, perceiving this,

explained to her that he knew of her pure purpose to take the veil.

Manna cast down her eyes timidly and humbly, while she was obliged to

listen to her praises from both of the men. She could not help herself,

and yet she experienced a deep internal conflict.

The Dean asked if there had been any high dignitary of the Church at

the springs, and Manna said that there had not.

When the Priest now asked if she had become acquainted with any men of

distinguished attainments. Manna considered it her duty to mention

particularly Professor Einsiedel.

"Then you have made the acquaintance of that incarnate, shrivelled up

darkness--that miserable mannikin, who is fond of being styled an

ancient Greek?"

Both of the men laughed, and Manna was amazed to see how the Professor,

so highly venerated by her, was made a complete laughing stock. She did

not feel adequate to defend him here, and kept silence. "We will

accompany you home," said the Priest at last. "You, my honored fellow

laborer, must see for once the beautiful villa."

Escorted by the two ecclesiastics Manna went home, appearing to herself

like a captured criminal, and yet the men were very friendly and

confiding.

They met Sonnenkamp in the courtyard. He was very complaisant and

respectful; and he took especial satisfaction in showing to the highly

venerated men the park, the orchard, the hot-houses, and, finally, the

villa.

The Dean exhibited a fine appreciation of everything, and when

Sonnenkamp dwelt upon the fact, with a certain degree of pride, that

every fire-place had its own separate flue, he all at once noticed that

the Dean exchanged a passing glance with the Priest, at the same time

wearing a satisfied smile.

Ho, ho! thought Sonnenkamp. You think that, do you? These men are

taking a view of the villa, in order already to make their dispositions

how to turn this house into a convent, when Manna has carried out her

plan? Ho, ho! I would rather burn up the house and everything in it!

The two ecclesiastics could not understand why the expression of

Sonnenkamp's countenance was so suddenly changed and so exultant; he

was delighted to penetrate the deception of other people. He bore the

men company as far as the gate, and begged them to visit his modest

house very frequently.

BOOK XI.

CHAPTER I.

A FAIRY STORY AT THE AGRICULTURAL FAIR.

Eric and Roland walked inland over the hills, keeping step together.

There is no better time for a pedestrian journey, than some bright day

of the early autumn; the cows are pasturing in the meadows, the

vegetable products are being harvested in the fields, the foliage

assumes variegated colors on the trees, and all day there is a dewy,

morning, or rather, evening freshness in the air, for the evening of

summer is now coming on. All nature appears sated, and like one who has

accomplished his work.

Eric and Roland wandered on, as if they must so wander on forever, with

no rest, no goal, always keeping step. And yet they had a goal, Eric

especially. Roland had never yet seen a life of active endeavor, and

now he was to be made acquainted with one.

Eric related to him, as they were going along, his own life-history,

but in a wholly different way from his narration to Clodwig, and

afterwards to Sonnenkamp, dwelling principally upon the failure of his

military career. This must have its influence upon Roland.

Eric had the feeling that this was the last journey he should make with

Roland; and the latter confirmed this feeling when he related that

Pranken had already bespoken a uniform for him; late in the autumn he

would enter the military school.

Roland also spoke particularly, for the first time, of Knopf, the

teacher at Mattenheim. He frankly said that before he entered a

different course of life, he should like to become reconciled with him.

And Eric now learned how deeply Roland had wounded his former tutor. He

and a former valet, who had been the instigator, had cut off the beard

on one side of Knopf's face, while he was asleep; he sincerely

regretted this now, and wanted to acknowledge it to Herr Knopf.

And so this journey had a variety of ends in view.

They were all the time going farther away from the Rhine, and the

country had a poorer look. They now met cows decked with gay ribbons;

hogs and sheep, and also choice products of the fields, were carried

along, arranged in excellent order.

"What's going on?"

"It's the District Agricultural Fair at Mattenheim."

They reached the village at a short distance from Weidmann's property;

it was adorned with flags, and peasants stood in their wagons decorated

with garlands, and imitated in sport their different occupations.

Here was one wagon with threshers, another with reapers, and others

with weavers, vine-dressers, shinglers, and woodcutters; every sort of

heavy work had been turned for once into play. The horses and oxen that

were harnessed to the wagons wore garlands and ribbons, and everybody

was shouting, rejoicing, and welcoming the fresh arrivals.

They entered the village.

Flags were streaming from the Rathhaus; they said that Weidmann was

there delivering a discourse.

They went in.

In the great hall Weidmann was standing behind a table, and giving to

the people a scientific and at the same time a perfectly comprehensible

and directly practical essay on the best method of "making flesh;" for

such was the term he continually used in speaking of feeding. "Making

flesh" was his constantly recurring theme; and he pointed out the

different kinds and quantities of food, how roots and oil-cakes must be

alternated and supplied so as to give the most nourishment, laying a

special emphasis upon the necessity of accurate calculation in order to

receive the proper returns.

He had a thermometer in his stable, and the heat there was never

allowed to be above 63 1-2 deg. Fahrenheit; he had also a telegraphic

clock which communicated from the stable to his study, so that he could

know, to a minute, whether the servants foddered the cattle at the

proper time.

He represented to the people how much better off they were with a small

amount of landed property, for they could have it all under their own

eye, while he had to be at the mercy of hired laborers; and one could

know very well when Monday came, for on Sunday there was always bad

foddering. Each cow has its own name, and a register is kept of the

amount of milk from each, and any one that does not come up to the

requisite standard to yield a profit is got rid of.

He repeated to his hearers often, how, within the circuit of a few

miles, more than a million was thrown away by cutting the grass too

late, and not getting it in until it had become dead ripe. And he

succeeded in setting all this off in a humorous way.

If he had occasion to show that his method was profitable pecuniarily,

he would strike his hand upon his pantaloons' pocket, and say:--

"Then there's something goes in here."

There was much merriment when he illustrated with his hand the

remark:--

"Profit--profit is the whole Story. Just look at this! The human hand

moves its fingers inward towards us, not outwards to give away."

He was strongly opposed to pasturing in common; and everything went to

show that people were foolish and wasteful, since they would not

understand how to procure good food for themselves by means of their

cattle.

Roland listened with astonishment, wondering at this man's sphere of

influence, who showed such zeal in teaching people how to feed

themselves well.

Eric also had something to think about; for when Weidmann declared that

the particular breed was not of so much account, that the food of

animals was a far more vital matter than what blood they were of, Eric

cast down his eyes. Perhaps he made a particular application of the

remark.

When the address was over, Eric and Roland were warmly welcomed by Herr

Weidmann; and on Eric's expressing his satisfaction at the address,

Weidmann said:

"I was intended once for a parson, and the son of a parson still sticks

to me."

Eric replied, smiling:--

"There are so many who preach about spirit, that it is well for you,

for once, to preach about flesh."

Weidmann answered very seriously:--"But I do not at all deny the

spirit; it is even incomprehensible to me how people can manage not to

believe in a God. I find traces of him everywhere. But we will speak of

this by and by. Let us go."

The audience went out into the street, where the procession was now

passing along. First came the fire-companies of that and the

neighboring villages, fine fresh-looking young fellows in drab linen

clothes, with gleaming, yellow helmets on their heads.

"This is a new order of things," Eric said to Weidmann.

Weidmann rejoined, nodding:--"Yes, no age before ours has had the like,

and who knows what will come of it!"

Now the wagons came along with their merry occupants, and occasionally

the female hemp-dressers would scatter chopped straw upon the gazing

crowd. New wine was handed out from the wagon, and a joyous hilarity

was everywhere seen. Weidmann again welcomed his guests, saying that he

would take them home with him at evening, and that Herr Knopf would be

particularly delighted. He introduced them also to his nephew, Dr.

Fritz, adding that Herr Knopf held himself back for the dance.

They next proceeded to the fair-grounds, where the prizes were being

awarded, and Weidmann took his guests to the exhibition of agricultural

implements. He pointed out that there was no perfect shovel and no

perfect plough, and commended the plan of distributing the improved

implements by lot among the people.

"It is difficult," he declared, "to get the peasant to adopt any new

invention; the husbandman cannot be an innovator, he must not be; he is

to be the representative of the conservative element, and yet he must

keep pace with the progress of the new age. This is difficult, and

great patience is needed."

He spoke of a long cherished plan he had entertained of sending out

agricultural missionaries, or rather, of making missionaries out of

some of the peasants themselves; for the peasantry always had a

prejudice against a man who made use of learned words.

Roland went into the exhibition, and round among the multitude, as if

he were suddenly transported into a wholly new world. Here was a man,

living only a few hours' distance from Villa Eden, who was laboring

with such zeal and such devotion, in order to supply good nourishment

to his fellow human beings. And what are we trying to do? Something of

this was apparent when he said to Eric:--

"Herr Weidmann has a noble calling, even if he does speak a great deal

about manure."

Among all those who were shouting and rejoicing, there was not one so

happy as Eric was, when he heard his pupil say this. This

acknowledgment,--that none of the material substances on which human

activity was employed were impure, if one considered the real thought

thereby unfolded,--this was a result far beyond his expectation. He

congratulated himself on having come here; here must Roland find his

true vocation, he must devote himself to agriculture, for in that there

is a direct means of benefiting the many.

"You must see my pigs," urged Weidmann, "Yorkshire pigs, six weeks old,

splendid creatures! Have you too an antipathy to pigs? I can very

easily imagine it. But, my young friend, of the meat that goes for food

in our country, seventy per cent. is pork, twenty per cent. beef and

veal, and only ten per cent. mutton, lamb, fowl, game, etc., is eaten."

The Yorkshire pigs were, in fact, very pretty-looking animals.

Roland did not go to see them, but remained a long time looking at the

so-called Hercules' Clubs, or the Serpent's Gourds, as they are also

termed, a huge growth, half as long as a man, and double the thickness

of his arm.

The prizes were awarded, the rejoicing of the people became tumultuous,

and it was a continual delight to Eric to point out to his pupil, that

this was a festival got up by the people themselves, and was

established neither by Church nor State. Weidmann, who heard something

of this, added smiling:--

"Yes, this is our new self-government in all matters, high and low. We

have no overseers, neither consecrated nor unconsecrated."

The sun shone down brightly upon the lively scene of joyous festivity,

and Roland, standing upon the now empty platform, said to Eric:--

"If my father were only here! Suppose now that to each one of the

multitude here, all of them,--how many do you think there are?"

"At least a thousand."

"A thousand persons," he repeated. "Then, if one should give this very

minute a thousand gulden to each one of them?"

"This would be very well for a day, a year, or even several years, but

not for life. You have been told that the way to help people is, to put

good tools into their hands, and good tools into their souls, so that

they may get their own living--that's the thing."

"Yes, yes, it was only a dream," said Roland, and his countenance fell.

Why had Eric not shared with him in the joy of this dream?

It was time for them to go to the dance; they heard the sound of music.

They entered the Raven Inn, where a green garland was hanging outside,

and inside, peasants and peasant girls were dancing merrily. On a

little platform among the musicians there was a man playing the flute,

who nodded to them as they came in; it was Knopf. Roland seized Eric's

hand, trembling, and pointing to a table covered with a red cloth where

several well-dressed people were sitting, he cried:--

"There she is! There she is!"

A child of slender form, and of a blooming, rosy countenance, with

long, flowing hair, was standing on the knee of a handsome, powerfully

built man, with a massive head, who was addressed as Doctor Fritz.

Knopf gave a signal to the trumpeter near him, and the dance ceased. He

came down, and shook Eric and Roland by the hand. Tears stood in his

eyes under his huge spectacles, and fell upon the glasses, so that he

had to doff his spectacles, and look at the new-comers with blinking

eyes.

"You come at a good time, at the best. We are celebrating the District

Fair."

"Forgive me," exclaimed Roland.

"I did that a long while ago. Dear--you have grown very tall. Come with

me."

He conducted them to the large table, and introduced Eric to Frau

Weidmann. And another person, who was sitting behind the table, shook

Eric and Roland by the hand; it was the Russian, who was now living

with Weidmann as a pupil. Weidmann's two sons, Dr. Fritz, from America,

and his child, were also introduced. Roland and the maiden gazed at

each other as if they were in a dream.

"Father, this is the Forest-prince whom I saw," said the maiden to the

handsome, strongly-built man.

Her voice made Roland look round; so would the lilies of the valley

have rung out their soft tones, if their little bells could have

emitted any sound.

The adventure in the wood was now gaily narrated, and Knopf was

especially delighted.

"Miracles still take place! Miracles still take place!" he kept

exclaiming, flourishing at the same time his flute. "But now, children,

follow me; do not speak--not a single word. Roland can dance, and you

can dance too, Lilian. I beg you would be quiet!" he cried aloud to the

assembly. "Our children are going to dance--our children are going to

dance by themselves."

He stationed himself again on the platform, and played a waltz on his

flute; the children danced, and all eyes were fixed upon them, as if it

were a fairy spectacle.

Roland and Lilian had not yet spoken a word, and they had so much to

say to each other; but they were dancing together. Who knows how long

Knopf would have kept on playing, had not Dr. Fritz called out:--

"That'll do for the present, Herr Candidate!" Knopf flinched; the word

candidate, in the midst of this fairy tale, seemed to annoy him, it

sounded so horribly prosaic.

Roland and Lilian took their seat with the others at the table. Knopf

exhorted Lilian to give her partner something to drink, but Frau

Weidmann insisted upon the children's waiting awhile before they drank.

They sat quietly, looking at each other without speaking.

Eric begged that his coming should make no interruption in their plans,

but Weidmann declared that he wanted to leave, at any rate; he had

already been obliged to answer hundreds of questions. Frau Weidmann

regretted that the best rooms in the house were already occupied, and

that Eric and Roland would have to put up with such poor

accommodations.

"Don't be uneasy," interposed Weidmann; "all women, even the best, make

apologies for their housekeeping, however good it may be."

The whole company adjourned from the table to the courtyard. Dr. Fritz

leading his little daughter by the hand; and now it was learned that he

and his child were going to start the next day for America.

Knopf took Roland's arm, and Eric walked between Weidmann and his wife;

the Russian had gone out into the fields with a son of Weidmann, while

the second accompanied Dr. Fritz. Frau Weidmann could not forbear

letting Eric know why her husband was so taciturn; that he devoted

himself too much to other people, and then he came home all fagged out.

Who knows whether he would not have taken his violin and played for the

people, if Eric had not come?

Weidmann declared that he had done this, and was not at all ashamed of

it.

Eric replied that it was exceedingly painful to see how often it was

that one was almost ashamed of manifesting any good feeling in the

world, because so many merely pretended to possess it, and only used it

as a means of acquiring popularity.

Weidmann made mention of Eric's office in the House of Correction,

adding that the man who played the key-bugle had been a convict

formerly, and had conducted himself well for years.

Frau Weidmann, who was of the opinion that talking was too much of an

exertion for her husband at present, now resumed the thread of

conversation, and asked Eric whether it was a settled matter that

Pranken was to marry the rich Sonnenkamp's daughter.

Eric could not keep saying yes, and Frau Weidmann was exceedingly

vexed.

"It always puts me out," she said, "when a healthy and wealthy girl of

the middle class marries a nobleman; our good, solid, industrial

acquisitions are alienated. I do not wish to say that the noble is not

our friend; but he does not belong to us, he considers himself

something different from us, and the fruit of our toil goes to him. A

girl of the middle class, who buys a title by marriage, betrays her

ancestors, and betrays us in her posterity."

Frau Weidmann spoke so excitedly and angrily, that her husband tried in

vain to pacify her; he took, however, the wrong means, informing her

that Herr Sonnenkamp himself wanted to receive a title.

Eric was startled to hear this matter, which had been regarded as a

great secret, here spoken of so openly.

Frau Weidmann had a special dislike towards Pranken; she disliked him

because he induced so many people to place good breeding, as it was

termed, above plain uprightness. You could hear hundreds of persons,

women as well as men, speak well of him in spite of his vicious life,

because he was so well bred, as they called it.

"Suppose Manna had come here?" thought Eric to himself.

Weidmann turned to Eric with the explanation that his wife was pretty

severe against Pranken, as two years ago, about the time that Eric had

taken the position at Sonnenkamp's, Pranken had spent a few days at

Mattenheim, and in that short time had introduced a disorderly state of

things at the farm, which was not without its effects even at the

present time.

CHAPTER II.

A PEBBLE ANSWERS FOR A JEWEL.

Knopf, meanwhile, talked much with Roland, and congratulated him in

having a man like Eric for a teacher. Roland was as inattentive as

ever, asking at last only this question,--

"What is the maiden's name?"

"Lilian. And this is the miraculous part of it! You gave her in the

wood a Mayflower, and the Mayflower is also called Lily of the Valley."

"What's her father?"

"A famous lawyer, a leading opponent of slavery."

Knopf would rather have given himself a slap on the mouth, than to have

uttered what he did. But it couldn't be unsaid. He turned suddenly and

looked sharply at Roland, and, to his satisfaction, he became convinced

that no effect had been produced upon the youth.

During the whole distance they seemed to be hearing the music of the

waltz, and now, as they approached the farm, that ceased, for there

struck upon their ears the rushing and roaring of a mill-stream and the

clattering of a mill. The stream flowed underneath a large part of the

house, and turned the mill constructed there.

"You will not sleep well to-night," said Knopf to Roland.

"Why not?"

"Because you must first get used to the noise of the mill; if one is

accustomed to it, he sleeps the more soundly for it. It was so with my

little pupil."

Not far from the farm buildings, the different individuals, meeting

again, were standing near the palings of an inclosure, where Roland was

delighted with the handsome colts that were frisking about within, and

which all came up to the fence when they sniffed Herr Weidmann's

proximity.

He informed them that this was his "little children's school;" he had

established a "coltgarten" for colts, to which all the breeders of

horses in the district sent the foals. There was good pasture-land,

where they could perform their gymnastic exercises, be well-sheltered

and safely cared for. This helped the whole surrounding country in the

rearing of horses.

Roland was highly pleased with this information, and Eric took fresh

satisfaction in the thought of having brought him here. A man like

Weidmann would exert an influence over Roland such as no other person

could.

"Have you studied chemistry?" Weidmann asked, turning to Roland.

He said no.

Weidmann looked down, then up, and asked,--

"Have you determined yet what you mean to do?"

For the first time, Roland hesitated to give a direct answer.

Weidmann urged the matter no further. Eric could not conceive what made

Roland so timid; but he saw clearly what a great influence this man had

acquired over his pupil. Perhaps also what Roland had heard caused him

to waver, and he was reluctant to speak, before a man of such active

usefulness, of a vocation in which outward show and glory were the ends

in view.

But there was another reason. The child with golden hair let go her

father's hand, went up to Knopf and whispered to him, that now he must

be convinced all was true she had told him; that he had never believed

she had met any one in the wood, but now the witness was before his

eyes.

Roland whispered to Knopf, that Eric had never been disposed to believe

that such a thing had really happened to him.

Knopf, who saw himself placed in the midst of wonder-land, moved his

hand repeatedly over his breast, while his eyes gleamed behind his

spectacles. Yes, in the very midst of chemistry, scientific feeding,

locomotive whistles, and dividend calculations--in the midst of all

this there was still romance left in the world. True, this happens only

to children born on Sunday, and Lilian was a Sunday-child.

He only wished that he could do something towards deepening and making

lasting this gleaming romance of their wonderful meeting.

But that's just it! One can't do anything in this sphere of the

romantic, it always comes of its own accord, unexpected and surprising;

it won't be regulated and reasonably built up. All one can do is, to

keep still and hold his breath, and make no sound; otherwise the charm

is broken. He had to do something to further it, and he did the very

best thing; he went off and left the children by themselves.

They looked at each other, but neither spoke. A handsome red heifer,

with a bell on her neck and a garland over her horns, was led into the

farm-yard. The maiden went up to her, and stroking her, said,--

"Ah, good evening, Brindy! Do you feel proud because you've taken the

prize? Shall you tell your neighbors of it? Will you enjoy yourself now

at home, or don't you know anything about your honors?"

The heifer was led to the barn, and the child, turning to Roland,

cried,--

"Wouldn't you like to know whether the heifer has any notion of what

has happened to her?"

As Roland was still silent, the child continued, very seriously,--

"Don't you want to be a husbandman, and have my uncle teach you? Then

you can have my room. It's beautiful there!"

The maiden found words sooner than Roland, who still did not open his

lips.

She continued,--

"Why haven't you been to see us before?"

"I did not know where you lived, nor who you were."

"Ah! That was why!"

And now they talked of their first meeting, how Lilian was carried away

by her uncle, and how Roland wandered on to find Eric. Then it was

spring, and now it is autumn.

"Just think! In your lilies there were some pretty little flies, which

went along with us in the carriage, and didn't stir."

"Have you kept the flowers?"

"No. I don't like withered flowers, Give me something--give me

something, that doesn't wither."

"I have nothing," replied Roland. "But I will send you my photograph,

taken as a page--no. That's not fit for you. Oh, if I only had my rings

now! I should like to give a ring, but Herr Eric has taken them all off

my fingers."

"I don't want any ring. Well, give me that--give me the pebble that's

now under your foot."

Roland stooped down, and giving her the pebble, begged she would also

give him one.

She did so, saying,--

"Yes, this is dearer to me. I'd rather have that than anything else.

Now I shall take a part of Germany with me over the ocean. Oh, Herr

Knopf is right; it is all one whether you have a pebble or a diamond,

if you only hold it dear; and it's very stupid for people to wear

pearls and think that it's something very fine, because they must be

got away down deep in the sea. Herr Knopf is right; it doesn't make a

thing beautiful or good to cost a great deal."

Roland was silent; his heart beat fast.

"You are the Roland then, of whom the good Herr Knopf is always

talking? You can't think how much he loves you."

"Probably he loves you as much?"

"Yes, he loves me too, and he has promised to come to America to see

us."

"I am from America, too."

"Ah, yes! Welcome, my dear countryman; come with me into the garden,

and help me get a nosegay to take away with me to-morrow."

"But where are you going to-morrow?"

"Very early we start for home."

The children were confronted, as it were, by a riddle. These children

of the New World met each other to welcome the arrival in the Old

World, and now to bid each other farewell.

"We see one another only to say a welcome and a good-bye," said Roland.

"Come into the garden with me," replied Lilian.

CHAPTER III.

AN HOUR IN PARADISE.

The children walked about the garden and gathered flowers, and they

seemed to be in fairy land. They went first into the vegetable garden,

where dwarf pear-trees were set out at regular intervals, and Lilian,

thinking that she must explain everything to the visitor, in a matronly

manner, said:--

"Yes, yes, there's no rose-bush, no little tree, which my aunt has not

budded, and she hates all vermin. Now just think what aunt reckons as

vermin! But you musn't laugh at her for it."

"What? Tell me."

"She considers the birds vermin, too. Oh, you laugh exactly like my

brother Hermann. Laugh once more! Yes, he laughs exactly so. But my

brother has been in business for three years. Come, we'll look for some

flowers now."

They went into the flower garden and gathered many different kinds of

flowers, but Lilian threw a large bunch of them into the brook, and

pleased herself with thinking how the flowers would float down to the

Rhine, and from the Rhine to the sea, and who knows but they would go

straight to New York, even before she got there herself!

"I shall come to America, too, to see you," Roland all at once

exclaimed.

"Give me your hand that you will."

For the first time, the children took each other by the hand.

A shot was heard behind them. Roland trembled.

"Just be quiet. Are you really frightened?" Lilian said, soothingly.

"It's aunt; she's only frightening away the sparrows; she fires every

time she comes into the orchard. A pistol is always lying upon the

table yonder."

Roland now saw Frau Weidmann putting the discharged pistol down on the

table.

"We'll be perfectly quiet, so that she won't hear us," he said to

Lilian.

They sat down on the margin of the brook, and Lilian whispered:--

"The mignonettes I'll keep, they smell so sweet, even after they're

wilted."

"Yes," Roland rejoined, "give me a mignonette too, and as often as we

smell them, we will think of each other. The field-guard Claus, told me

once--he's a real bee-father--that the mignonette yields the most

honey."

Of all his knowledge, nothing else now occurred to him.

"You are very clever!" exclaimed the child. "Now tell me, do you think,

too, that the bees smell the flowers as we do, and that the flowers put

on such pretty colors so that the bees and the insects may come to them

and be friendly with them? Just think! Herr Knopf says so. Oh, what

a tiny little nose a bee must have! And I've often seen that the

humble-bee isn't very smart; it flies up to a flower twice, three

times, and it might know that there was no honey there. The

humble-bee's stupid, but the honey-bees, they are the prettiest

creatures in the world. Don't you love them more than anything else?"

"No, I love horses and hounds more."

"And only think," Lilian went on, "that the bees never hurt me nor

uncle, but aunt has to take care. Have you ever caught a swarm?"

"No."

"If you're ever a great, rich gentleman, you must get some bees too.

But the bees do well only in a family where there's peace; Herr Knopf

told me so. And when we start to-morrow, my father's going to take a

bee-hive with him. Ah, if we can only take it safe to the New World;

'twould be frightful if all the good bees had to die on the way. But

'twill be very nice when they wake up in America, and fly away, and see

wholly different trees there."

"Is it really true that you're going away to-morrow?"

"Yes, my father has said so, and when he's said it, there's nothing can

hinder; you may be just as sure of it as that the sun will rise. My

father, uncle, and Herr Knopf have talked about you a great deal."

"About me?"

"Yes, they've wondered ever so much what you're going to do. Are you

really worth so many hundred millions?"

"Yes, Lilian, all the money in the whole world is mine."

"Ah, what do you say! you must think I'm a goose; I'm not so simple as

all that. But what do you mean to be?"

"A soldier."

"Oh, that's nice; then you'll come over to us, and help kill all the

people dead who keep slaves. My father and uncle say 'twill be done

soon. Ah, if 'twere only now as 'twas in the old times, then we'd go

away together into the great forest, far off into the world, and then

we'd come to a castle where there were only wee-bit, tiny dwarfs, and

there'd be one hermit, a good man with a snow-white beard, whom all

the animals in the wood loved--and Herr Knopf might be just such a

hermit--yes he's to be our hermit, and he'll be named Emil Martin.

Come, we'll call him after this brother Martin."

Thus the children amused each other, and Roland again asked,--

"Why must you go away so soon as to-morrow?"

"And why must you stay here any longer?" answered Lilian.

"I must stay with my parents."

"And I with mine. Ah, you've a beard already," cried the child, pulling

suddenly the down on his lip.

"That hurts; you've pulled out a couple of hairs, and I'm proud of

them."

"You're proud of them then?" And she tenderly stroked his face,

pronouncing at the same time a so-called healing-spell, which she had

learned of Knopf for the healing of a wound.

"Have you the dog still?" asked Lilian.

"Yes, he must have gone with Eric. Where is he, I wonder?"

He whistled, and Griffin came up. Lilian caressed the dog, and kissed

him, and said all kinds of loving words to him.

"I'll give the dog to you," said Roland.

"See," cried the child, "he's looking at you; he knows he's to be

handed over to another master, just as a slave is. But, Roland, I can't

take the dog with me. I mustn't say anything to father about it. Only

think how much trouble we should have before we reached New York; you'd

better keep him."

Roland had been lost in thought; now he asked abruptly,--

"Have you ever seen any slaves?"

"No, when they come to us they aren't slaves any longer. But I've seen

many who've been slaves--one is a friend of father's, and father goes

through the streets with him, arm in arm."

"Come here, Griffin," she said breaking off, "here's something for

you."

She gave the dog a piece of sweet biscuit she had in her pocket, which

he ate, licking his lips as he stood calmly gazing at the distant

landscape.

For some time the children were silent, and then Lilian again asked,---

"Well, what are you going to do with the ever so many millions, when

you're a man?"

"What makes you ask me that?"

"Oh, uncle and Herr Knopf have often talked about what you were going

to do with them--and do you know what they said?"

"No. What would you do, if you had so much money?"

"I? I'd buy ever so many pretty clothes, real gold and silver clothes,

and then--well then--then I'd build a splendid church, and everybody

would have to be beautifully dressed, and when they came home, they'd

have nice things to eat. And you'll do all this, won't you? or you'll

tell me what you mean to do."

"I don't know."

"But you are to be something great. Ah, to be rich, pooh! Uncle says

that's nothing."

"Have you ever seen a million?" asked the child again. "I'd like to see

a million for once. The whole room, clear up to the top, would be full

of rolls of gold--no, I shouldn't like that. Tell me now, have you a

little sister?"

"No, she's a year older than I."

"And is she beautiful too?"

Lilian did not wait for the answer; she beckoned to Roland to keep

quiet, for just then a lady-bug ran over her hand. She placed the

little creature on its back, saying,--

"Look, now it's kicking, it can't help itself--there, now, its little

wings are under its back, and with them it has got up again, all by

itself. Hi! it's off. 'Twill have a long story to tell when it gets

home. Ah, it will say. There was a great animal that had five legs on

its hand--my fingers must appear to it like legs, and when it eats

supper to-night it eats with----"

"Tell me, aren't you hungry too? I'm hungry."

"What are you doing there?" suddenly called out a woman's loud voice.

"Come into the house."

Lilian's aunt had made her appearance behind the children, and they had

to go with her to the house.

Lilian saw Roland's frightened expression, and with the idea that he

must certainly be thinking of the wicked woman in the story, who eats

the children up in the wood, she said in a low tone,--

"Aunt won't do us any harm; instead, we'll get something very nice

to-night, great pancakes and leeks. Don't you see a leek in her hand,

which she has just cut? That's for the pancakes."

Roland and Lilian accompanied Frau Weidmann into the house.

CHAPTER IV.

VOCATION AND FATHER-LAND.

While the children had been dreaming and chattering together in the

garden, the men had gone into the house. They stepped into the large

wainscoted entrance-hall, where a great many withered wreaths were

suspended. Weidmann pointed out to Eric that forty-two of these

belonged to him, for that was the number of harvests he had worked in

here.

The single wreath hanging by itself was the fiftieth one of his

father-in-law, which had been placed upon his grave. Weidmann nodded as

Eric said:--

"This is a decoration which cannot be purchased, which one can acquire

only for himself."

Eric was glad to point this out to Roland.

They entered the sitting-room on the ground-floor. It was spacious and

comfortable, with pleasant seats in the window-recesses, and chairs and

tables scattered about here and there.

"We live on the ground-floor in the summer," said Weidmann to Eric;

"every thing can be overlooked here better: After the leaves have

fallen, we remove to the upper story for the winter."

The great sitting-room opened into another apartment, where the heavy

damask curtain had just been drawn back. The Banker, whom Eric had

become acquainted with at Carlsbad, came out of it, holding in his hand

a bundle of papers, and gave him a friendly greeting, expressing his

pleasure in meeting again here the man who was as intimate a friend of

Clodwig's as he was himself.

A new subject was at once introduced. The Banker said that he had

looked over the papers thoroughly; the public domain did not seem to be

valued at too high a figure, and Weidmann must understand how it was

purposed to divide it; but he believed that it would be hardly possible

to extend to this new undertaking the plan of insurance which Weidmann

had adopted for his laborers; that it was very questionable whether the

income, for years, would be such that the life-insurance premium could

be saved.

Eric learned that Weidmann paid the life-insurance premium of all his

employees after they had been with him four years.

Weidmann gave a statement, in general outline, of the manner in which

the so-called social question struck him as being the same as among the

ancient Romans; the point of consideration was to make free and

independent cultivators of their own lands. And he laid particular

stress upon the remark that this social question, however, was not to

be solved as if it were merely a problem in arithmetic; that there must

be a moral and social enthusiasm, and he must confess, although many

would shrug their shoulders at it, that he himself was of opinion that

the humane principle of Freemasonry, which had too much lost its real

meaning, was to look for, and to find here, a new inspiration and

application.

It was soon evident that the Banker was a brother of the order.

Eric's heart swelled as he felt obliged to say to himself, while his

thoughts were carried away to the grand movements of the world:--

"Everywhere, in our day, there is an active endeavor, a care for the

neighbor, for those in adverse circumstances. This is our religion,

which has no temples and no established days of festive celebration,

but which, everywhere and at all times, struggles for the good."

He entirely forgot where he came from, and why he came, and lived

wholly in the present.

Weidmann postponed, however, the subject to another time, and asked

what Roland was going to do. But before Eric could reply, a man came in

with Dr. Fritz, to whom Eric gave a cordial reception. It was

Weidmann's son-in-law, an infantry officer of high rank. The two men

requested that the conversation might not be interrupted, and Weidmann

repeated his question about Roland.

Eric informed them that his pupil wanted to become a soldier; he

expressed his own opposition to the plan, and his desire that Roland

would devote himself to science or agriculture.

Weidmann answered, smiling, that Eric was a little too hard on this

mode of life, from having been a soldier; that he himself was convinced

it was of essential advantage to a man to have had a soldier's

training. A man became ready, resolute and self-reliant, and at the

same time he was one member of a large body. Nowhere can one be taught

punctuality better, or learn better what it is to command, and what to

obey, than in the military service. Roland must be made to realize,

however, that this soldierly life was only transitional with him,

nothing that was to occupy and fill out his whole existence.

"Then he will be no true soldier," interposed Weidmann's son-in-law.

"Whoever undertakes anything which he does not consider as an active

employment, requiring the full energies of his life, and whoever is

continually looking to some future vocation, does not plant himself

firmly in the present."

"Here you agree with my old teacher, Professor Einsiedel," Eric went

on. "He used to say that the worst ruler is the provisional one. It

would be, therefore, important for Roland to adopt some permanent

calling, and not one merely temporary. With his peculiar

characteristics, it is very hard for another to determine for him; but

you, Herr Weidmann, you, with the powerful impression which you and

your active usefulness have made upon Roland, you would be exceedingly

well adapted to give to him the decisive impulse in one particular

direction which I could not do, because I have not seen clearly what is

best.

"Let us take counsel together," agreed Weidmann. "We here have had a

great deal of experience."

"Do you think," Eric broke in, "that a better result would come from a

consultation of many, than from the quiet meditation of a single

person?"

"Aha! doubt in the efficacy of parliamentarianism," said Weidmann

smiling. "I can imagine it possible. I answer your question with a

simple yes. What the deliberation of many settles upon is suitable for

many, and a person rich like him has in himself the power of many and

for many. Let us consult together."

They sat down, and the Banker began,--

"I believe it is Jean Paul who said,--If you come into a new

dwelling-place, and it does not seem homelike to you, then go to work

and you will begin to feel at home. I should like to extend this

further. One feels at home in the world only through labor; he who does

not work is homeless."

The conversation was again interrupted by the entrance of the Russian

prince, Weidmann's son, and Knopf. The subject was again stated.

"We have a good council of deliberation," said Weidmann, sitting back

in his chair. "You have all seen the noble-looking youth, Herr

Sonnenkamp's son, and Captain Dournay has trained him so that now, we

might say, he is fitted to enter upon whatever calling he may adopt.

What now shall the boy do?"

"Allow me one preliminary question," interposed Knopf. "Must a rich man

produce, accomplish anything himself? Is it not his task to further the

production, the doing of others, whether art, science, industry, or

labor, and to make himself so far familiar with it as to give such

aid?"

"You wanted to answer something." Weidmann pointed to the Banker, whose

features were very expressive, and who seemed to have a remark on his

lips.

"Not exactly answer," responded the Banker. "I wanted, first of all, to

distinguish between vocation and business. There are active pursuits

which are only a business, and again there are positions which are only

a vocation. This is the chief difficulty, that a person so excessively

rich must have only a vocation; there is no necessity of his pursuing

any business. Rich people's children degenerate, because there is no

such necessity."

"What do you understand by vocation?" asked Weidmann.

"I can't at once define it."

"Then allow me to help you," said Eric. "Vocation is a natural gift, or

a necessity, which we turn into a law that acts freely. The brute has

no vocation, because he follows natural instinct alone."

"Very true," nodded the Banker gratefully. "One question more," he

said, turning to Eric. "Hasn't your pupil, as I am sorry to say most

rich men's sons have, the desire to be a cavalier, a young nobleman?"

As Eric made no answer, he continued,--

"Our misfortune is, that the sons of the rich are satisfied with being

heirs, and do not want to find a means of active development for

themselves."

"As we have heard already," began Weidmann's son-in-law, "the young man

wishes to become a soldier, and I believe that he ought to be

encouraged in that purpose. I hope that it won't be attributed to

prejudice in favor of my own calling, but I must repeat our father's

view, that the military profession, more than any other, gives a

certain decision of character. To have to stand ready every day with

bag and baggage, scrip and scrippage, this makes one prompt and

decided; this standing army becomes a fact, as it were, in each

individual soldier."

"Granted," rejoined Weidmann. "But is it not to be feared that a man,

who has been a soldier for the best years of his life, will be able to

take up with great difficulty any other employment? He always regards

himself as on furlough; and the great misfortune--I might call it the

leading tendency of our time--manifests itself especially in the rich,

who look upon themselves as on furlough, always on vacation."

"The best thing about it is, Roland will run through his money, and

then it is scattered among the people," jokingly observed Weidmann's

son, showing those impertinently white teeth that Pranken objected to

so strongly.

"I would like to say one word," the Russian remarked to Knopf, who

cried,--

"The Prince requests to have the floor."

Weidmann bowed to him pleasantly.

"I think that we can furnish an example in Russia. Our wealthy men are

obliged to become agriculturists, whether the inheritance consists in

money or goods. Why should not the young man be simply an

agriculturist?"

"Agriculture has five branches," replied Weidmann, "and they ought to

have their roots in five corresponding inclinations. Agriculture

consists of physics, chemistry, mineralogy, botany, and zoology, and

one of these, that is, the inclination to one of these sciences, and

the activity growing out of it, must have its foundation in the natural

bent or genius, otherwise there is no happiness in one's calling. And

do you know," he turned toward the Prince, smiling, "do you know what

is the first requisite for an agriculturist?"

"Money."

"No, that's the second. The first is a sound human understanding. There

are far more intellectual men than there are men of genuine common

sense."

The Prince nodded to Knopf, and he gave a merry nod in return.

Weidmann opposed, with a warmth that was very different from his

usually composed manner, the view generally entertained of agriculture

as a sort of universal refuge, to which every one could have recourse;

and yet the conclusion was finally arrived at, that it would be the

most suitable thing for Roland to devote himself to agriculture, in

connection with other branches of industry carried out on a large

scale.

The conversation broke up into groups. Knopf said to Eric, that at the

present time there was no longer an Olympus where the fate of human

beings could be decided, and Weidmann added, that the worst thing of

all was, that Roland had nothing to expect, nothing to wish for and to

obtain, and for which he must exert his energies, happy when he

succeeded in his first attempt, and then girding himself immediately

for another; for this is the impelling cause of all movement and

progress, that what is attained becomes the seed of a new effort.

"You were right," he closed, finally turning to Eric, "we cannot

provide for another in advance, least of all here. And no one can be

trained to be a giver of happiness. There must be awakened within the

youth a desire to associate himself with his fellow-men; he must not

merely want to confer happiness, but to create something. Out of

creative activity alone proceeds happiness. He must be educated both

for himself and for others; he must refer everything to others, and at

the same time to himself."

Dr. Fritz had taken no part in the discussion; he sat meditatively with

his brows contracted.

"Why have you had nothing to say?" said Weidmann in a low tone to him,

when the conversation had become general. Dr. Fritz replied in the same

low tone:--

"It is hard enough to know what to do with such an enormous inheritance

righteously acquired; but how much harder, with one to which guilt

adheres."

Weidmann made a significant sign to his nephew, and laid his finger

upon his lips, as if begging silence. Eric had heard nothing of the

conversation between the two, but as he looked at them, he had a

feeling, as if something transpired there which was calculated to

excite alarm. He had an involuntary dread, for which he could not

assign any reason.

Frau Weidmann now came in, and invited them to the table. They got up

at once and proceeded to the dining-room.

Eric sat by the side of Knopf, and said to him:--

"I have a question to ask you, Herr Colleague, which you may take until

tomorrow to answer."

"What is it, pray?"

"What would you do; if you should become the possessor suddenly of many

millions?"

Knopf, who had just put his glass up to his mouth, began to cough and

choke so that he was forced to leave the table. He came back again

after a while; but he ate and drank nothing the whole evening.

The Banker, who read a great many journals, asked Dr. Fritz if the

horrible stories one reads of American life had any foundation in

truth.

"Most certainly," answered Dr. Fritz--Roland looked sharply at

him--"if we fix the gaze upon some individual and separate fact in the

development of life in the New World, we shall often be wounded by

monstrous appearances of deformity; but a very distinguished statesman

once gave me a striking illustration, of which I am glad to make a

wider extension. This gentleman said to me:--'I was at Munich, and

there I first understood aright my fatherland. I was at the foundry

where the gigantic statue of Bavaria was cast, and the different parts

of the figure were lying around, here an arm, a knee, a hand, there the

head and a part of the trunk, all horrible to look at in this separate

condition. But when I saw the whole colossal statue set up in its

place, and in all its beautiful harmony of proportions, then it

occurred to me that America must be looked at in this way. The

separate parts appear monstrous, but if one regards it at as a whole,

it is of an unequalled beauty and grandeur.'"

At these words, Roland looked up at Eric with a bright, triumphant

glance, and smiled.

They rose from the table. Lilian was soon put to bed, and when Dr.

Fritz took leave previous to retiring, Roland retained his hand firmly,

saying:--

"I thank you for having so beautifully extolled my fatherland. I shall

never forget it."

"Shall you not consider Germany as your fatherland?"

"No," was Roland's loud and decided answer.

"Stay here; I have something yet to say to you," said Weidmann in a low

tone to Eric.

Roland walked about with Knopf in the bright starry night, and Knopf

had to promise him that he would wake him up to say good-bye to Dr.

Fritz and his child. Roland then consented to go to bed, but was long

in falling asleep, for the events of the day, the noise of the brook,

and the clattering of the mill kept him awake. But at last weariness

and youth gained the victory, and he slept soundly.

CHAPTER V.

NOCTURNAL INFORMATION, AND A FAREWELL LOST BY SLEEP.

Roland slept; he little thought that over him and his destiny two men

were keeping watch in the deepest anxiety.

Eric had followed his host into the workroom, and here Weidmann asked

him: "Do you know why you are sent here?"

"Sent here?"

"Yes."

"Herr Sonnenkamp wants to establish friendly relations with you, and I

myself have wished for some time----"

"Good. The best spy is often the one who doesn't know that he has to be

a spy, who looks on innocently and reports innocently."

"I don't understand."

"Take my word for it, Herr Sonnenkamp didn't for a moment think of

coming to our house, especially as he does not yet know when Dr. Fritz

leaves; his pretending to you that he was called away was quite

harmless. Send a messenger, and he will send you word with his regrets

that he cannot come himself, but will send the carriage. Ah! my young

friend, there is no pleasure in following up the trail of the beast of

prey in man. But first of all, one question. Do you know how Herr

Sonnenkamp comes on in his endeavors to get a title?"

"No."

"Do you know that I have hit upon means to be relied on of forming an

opinion of Herr Sonnenkamp's deserts?"

Eric expressed his ignorance, and Weidmann continued:----

"I have told you that the groom who blows the trumpet was once a

convict. I have still another convict that I keep on an out of the way

part of the estate, for he doesn't do well, not so much from an evil

disposition, as from a spirit of braggadocio when he is amongst men.

You see then that I do not reject men of criminal antecedents; for

pride in our own virtue is very weak-kneed. It is, at the best, only

good luck if we, by teaching and example, and with the means of

subsistence assured to us, do not burden ourselves with many an

ill deed that we cannot blot out. Of course, a long-continued,

closely-calculating occupation, revolting to every feeling of

humanity--but as I said, I will put no obstacle in Herr Sonnenkamp's

way, only it is incomprehensible to me that he should seek to be

ennobled, and in that way voluntarily challenge inquiry into his

antecedents. If, as my friend Wolfsgarten says, you have great

influence over Herr Sonnenkamp, advise him to give this thing up."

Eric held his hand before his eyes; his eye was burning, he strove to

speak, but could not.

Weidmann, who misapprehended this emotion, said in a mild tone:--

"I admire your power, in having been able, as Herr Knopf informed me,

and as I myself see, to bring an atmosphere of noble feeling into this

family, to hold your pupil in the path of innocence, and to naturalize

him in all that is good. If this boy should one day learn----"

"Learn what? what? I beg of you," Eric was at last able to utter.

"Do you mean to say," answered Weidmann, pressing his head with both

hands, "do you mean to say that you know nothing about it?"

"I know nothing more than this, that Herr Sonnenkamp owned large

plantations with great numbers of slaves, that he grew tired of the

life, and therefore came back to Germany."

"Herr Sonnenkamp--Herr Sonnenkamp!" said Weidmann, "a pretty name! and

it is well for him that his mother bore it. So you have never heard of

a Herr Banfield?"

"Nothing very definite; but the head gardener told me that Herr

Sonnenkamp was very angry on his return from the Baths, when he found

that name registered in the visitors' book. But tell me, what is there

in that?"

"Herr Sonnenkamp, or rather, not Herr Sonnenkamp, but, as his name

really is, Herr Banfield, is in so many words the most notorious

slave-dealer ever known in the Southern States; nay, more. My nephew,

Doctor Fritz, could tell you many a thing he has done; he even went so

far as to defend slavery in the public prints, and he was so shameless

as to set himself up as a proof that all Germans had not degenerated

into sentimental humanity, but that he, a representative of Germany,

supported slavery, maintaining it to be right. He has a ring on his

thumb; if he takes the ring off, you can see the marks of the teeth of

a slave whom he was throttling, and who bit him in that thumb."

A cry of horror was wrung from Eric's heart; he could only gasp out the

words:--

"O Roland! O Mother! O Manna!"

"It grieves me to tell you this, but it is best that you should learn

it through me. You cannot conceive that a man with such antecedents can

at times appear so well, and engage in the discussions of principles.

Yes, this man is a swamp encircled with flowers. The fellow has cost

me many days of my life, for I cannot understand how he can live.

Slave-dealing is murder in cold blood, the annihilation of free

existence for one's own gain; the murderer from passion, and the

murderer from rapacity, stalk over the corpses of their victims to

gratify their desire of establishing their supposed rights. The world

is to them a field of battle and a conflict, an annihilation of their

foes, to find room for themselves. But a slave-dealer--a slave

murderer! And this man is now a fruit-grower, a most excellent, careful

fruit-grower, in mockery of the words: 'By their fruits ye shall know

them.' Oh! my head was fairly crazed with this man, until I brought

myself to the point of being able to forget him!"

Weidmann spoke on uninterruptedly, as if he did not wish these sad

thoughts to settle down upon him.

Soon Eric raised his head and besought him:--

"Tell me all."

"Yes, you shall know all,--ah, what is all? You have heard of the fate

of Captain Brown at Harper's Ferry?"

"Certainly. Was Herr Sonnenkamp there too?"

"He was a ringleader."

Eric related how Roland at one time in his fever dreams shouted, "John

Brown is hanging on the gallows!"

The more he spoke of Roland, the more feelingly his voice trembled, and

at last hot tears burst from his eyes. He apologized for this weakness

before Weidmann, who said:--

"Your tears consecrate you in my eyes forever; you shall find in me a

friend whom you may call upon at any time and in any situation of life.

Whatever is in my power is yours, your deeds shall be mine. You are not

weak, you are strong, you must be; and it is a noble vocation for you

to be placed as you are at the side of such a youth, with such a fatal

inheritance."

Eric Stood up and drew a long deep breath; the two men held fast each

other's hands, and laying his left on his heart, Eric said:--

"I hope that I shall show myself worthy of your appeal."

"I knew this, and it is better, as I said, that you have learned the

thing from me. There's no doubt about the matter, depend upon it."

For a long while not a word was spoken. Eric had called out Manna's

name with Roland's and his mother's. Now, for the first time, in the

deepest sorrow, it broke upon him fully, that he loved Manna; and with

a sense of satisfaction the thought shot through his soul that he had

not yet spoken to her a word of love.

Terrified at this selfishness he started up.

How could he think of himself, and not of her hard fate? He grieved for

her, above all, that she should be the daughter of such a man.

How will she bear it? And did she know it perhaps already? Was this the

cause of her secluded life, of the eagerness to sacrifice herself and

take the veil?

"Don't lose yourself in thoughts and anxious speculations," said

Weidmann admonishingly.

Eric did not dare to speak of Manna; he merely asked Weidmann whether

he thought he ought to communicate this information to his mother; for

it was doubly agonizing to have involved his mother in such a

connection.

Weidmann said that he well knew what a frightful thing it must be to

eat this man's bread, to drink his wine, to receive services at his

hand. But he impressed upon Eric the necessity of sparing his mother

the recital as long as possible, since he needed her sorely as a stay

for Frau Ceres and Manna. Yes, Weidmann called it a rare piece of good

fortune to have at one's side, aiding and supporting, a woman so noble,

and so tried in the battle of life.

It was long after midnight when Eric left his host.

He went to his room; he saw that Roland was asleep, and a silent vow

rose to his lips, as he gazed upon the handsome, sleeping boy.

Eric wandered restless through the house and through the woods; meteors

darted hither and thither through the sky; in the distance glistened

the waves of the Rhine; a dewy atmosphere lay upon the whole earth;

Eric found no rest, nay, he found hardly a moment's meditation. What

should he, what could he do?

Morning began to glimmer; he returned to the courtyard.

Here everything was full of life.

He first fell in with Knopf, who said to him:--

"I haven't slept a wink the whole night on your account. Ah, that

question of yours! Theoretically it cannot be solved, since all the

real relations of life are made up not of whole numbers, but of

fractions only, and can only be expressed in fractions. So the total

also cannot be expressed in one whole number. I can't make out, and it

turns my head to think of what I should do if I were possessed of many

millions. To found benevolent institutions, that is hardly enough; the

whole world shouldn't be a vast almshouse, a piously endowed

establishment. I would have joy and beauty everywhere; men should be

not only fed and clothed, they should also be happy. In the first

place, I would found in every town a good salary for the teacher who

leads the singing-club, and a pint of wine for every member on

Sunday; and I would build a concert-hall in every town, with lofty

summer-saloons, and well-heated rooms in winter, ornamented with

beautiful paintings; and in them should be hung up the prizes gained by

the club.

"I would also erect an institute for poor children, and make myself

director of it; and then I would found a refuge for deserving tutors. I

have even fixed on the name it should go by,--'The Home for Eventide.'

Oh, that will be magnificent; how the old teachers will wrangle and

each extol his system as the best! I have also decided to let the

principal lie, and take a million from it to go travelling with. I

would take with me a dozen or more companions, honest, capable men,

naturalists, painters, sculptors, merchants, politicians, teachers--in

a word, capable men from all callings. I would have them equipped with

everything needful, and we would stop wherever and as long as we chose.

In this way I would learn what are the best social arrangements in the

world, and when I came home I'd establish similar ones. I do not expect

to find it out all at once. Only think what a fine thing such a journey

would be, with a dozen or more right clever men, with our own ship for

the sea, and with mules for the mountains. In a word, it would be

splendid, and useful at the same time. And when Roland comes home he

must turn agriculturist; it is altogether the best life; that is to

say, man has in that life the best basis to stand upon--the most

natural basis. But, as I said, I am counting my chickens before they

are hatched."

Eric hardly heard what Knopf was saying, and for the first time woke up

out of his dreams when Knopf asked him,--

"Where is Roland? I promised to wake him in time for the departure of

Doctor Fritz and his child."

"Just let him sleep."

"On your responsibility?"

"On my responsibility."

"Very well," rejoined Knopf. "Indeed, I had rather not wake him. In

that way Roland will have to suffer a pretty little bit of romantic

pain. I cannot tolerate this sentimental nonsense between children. Now

he has taken his leave, or rather not taken his leave in the night, and

while he was sleeping she disappeared; that is a bit of romantic pain.

This taking leave! In the morning, shivering and shaking on the

steamer-landing, or at the railroad station, you take leave; then the

ship or the train moves off, then you stand there like one who has been

robbed, and then you have got to go back. Ah, it is so absurd! I shiver

a whole day after a farewell. But now if Roland wakes up and the child

has flown away, that may leave a sweet, strong, ecstatic remembrance

behind in the soul; and we too, you, Doctor, and I, are both giants in

this children's story."

At this point Herr and Frau Weidmann came upon the scene, as well as

their sons, the Russian, the Banker, and all the inmates of the house.

All shook hands once more with Doctor Fritz and his child, and Lilian

cried,--

"Herr Knopf, give my compliments to Roland, the sleeper."

Away rolled the carriage, the inmates of the house retired to bed; all

but Eric and Knopf, who still roamed about in the morning twilight; and

Knopf was especially happy to watch so closely once more the universal

awakening of nature.

He said that one always neglected it, unless compelled to observe it;

and that there were doubtless many poets who sang of the dewy twilight

of the morn, who were at the same time frightfully late sleepers.

Eric listened to the good Knopf, but could not conceive how there could

be a man out there in the open air alive to such contemplation; with

him every thought and every act, the very idea that there was still

much to do in life, seemed like a shadowy dream.

On the other hand, Knopf thought that Eric was all attention, and

expressed regret that the child had gone; he still had the Russian

Prince to instruct, indeed, but the child had made the whole house

happy; she was like a living, speaking rose transplanted from the New

World. They were evidently expressions which were to serve as ornaments

to a poem already begun or in contemplation.

Eric listened to it all patiently.

At last he asked Knopf if Doctor Fritz had said much to him about Herr

Sonnenkamp.

Knopf confirmed a part of Weidmann's information; but he did not seem

to know everything.

"I take the holy morn to witness," exclaimed Knopf, "you are a man to

be honored, Herr Dournay. If I had known at the time the antecedents of

Herr Sonnenkamp, I should not have felt so secure when I was teaching

Roland. I should always have felt as if there was a loaded pistol at my

ear, to go off at any moment. Yes, you are a strong man; this is a new

kind of greatness, for I know what it means to control and manage

Roland as you do."

Knopf had seized hold of Eric's hand, and in his excessive enthusiasm

he kissed it.

Eric was calm, and Knopf had a beatific look; his countenance with its

smiles was like the stream, on whose bosom the wind tosses along the

rippling waves. He maintained that they were both happy in being

co-workers in the solution of the most difficult and most sublime

problem of the century; for Eric had Roland to instruct, who would be

obliged to have relations with slavery, and he himself had the Russian

for a pupil, who had now the emancipated serfs to manage.

He represented that the prince wanted him to go home with him, and

establish a school for the liberated serfs; Doctor Fritz, on the other

hand, wanted him to go to America and manage a school for the children

of freed negroes. He reproached himself with not having really a

stronger inclination for the negro children, for as he wished to be

honest, he must confess he would only go to America for the sake of

seeing Lilian once more, and observing how she developed, and what

fortune was in store for her.

As Eric was returning to the courtyard, he saw Weidmann and the Banker

getting into the carriage; they were going to the capital to negotiate

for the domain. Eric bade good-bye to them, and expressed his

determination to return at once to Villa Eden. As he named Villa Eden,

he felt a shiver creep over him. Weidmann stepped out of the carriage

once more, took Eric aside, impressed upon him the necessity of being

circumspect, and from the carriage exclaimed,--

"Dear Dournay, both for your mother and your aunt, my house is always

yours."

Eric went away to waken Roland. As he woke up, he cried,--

"Is it morning already? Are they still here?"

"Who?"

"Lilian and her father."

"No; they have been gone this long while."

"And why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because you needed sleep. In one hour we are going home again."

Roland turned defiantly away; but while Eric was talking to him with

great earnestness, he turned his face towards him at last, and on his

long eyelashes stood big tears.

"What tears will those eyes one day shed?" said Eric to himself.

The carriage in which Doctor Fritz and his child had left came back.

The coachman brought still another greeting from Lilian to Roland. The

horses were not taken out, but fed in harness, and soon Eric and Roland

were journeying homewards.

CHAPTER VI.

THE WORLD A MASQUERADE.

If romantic affliction manifests itself in a pale face, a feeling of

loathing, obstinacy, and hatred of one's neighbor and of everything,

then had Roland experienced a genuine romantic affliction. He sat near

Eric in the carriage, and shut his eyes so as to see nothing but what

was going on in his own imagination; he pressed his lips hard together,

pale and trembling, determined not to say a word.

Am I a child still, he asked himself, that can be knocked about hither

and thither, that must obey and ask for no reason? Why didn't Eric give

a reason for his returning so suddenly? Why did Knopf, with a

triumphant smile, tell me that he didn't wake me on purpose? Then it

flashed upon him that Knopf had taken upon himself the responsibility

that Eric had assumed, and he might have thought that it would be

better for Roland to be angry with an absent one, than with him in

whose hands he had to remain. In the meanwhile Roland glanced over

towards Eric, to see whether he wasn't on the point of beginning to

explain everything to him; but Eric was silent; he had also shut his

eyes.

In the bright day, through a landscape full of life, they both rode on

wrapt in their own reveries.

Overcome with fatigue, Eric sat as if sunk in a half sleep, in which

the rattle of the carriage sounded like a demoniacal rumble. At times,

when they were descending, and the locked wheels squeaked and grated,

he would look up, catch a glimpse of the Rhine in the distance, then

shut his eyes, and in his half dream pierce through the view of water

of mountain; and it seemed to him, as if everything was flooded over,

and in the midst of the waves stood two men on rocks, far from, and

still beckoning to, each other. On one stood Clodwig, speaking of a

Roman relic which he held in his hand, and on the other stood Weidmann,

talking of life insurance, and between whiles they were talking about

Eric and Roland. And just as he woke up he heard quite distinctly, as

if both had shouted out to each other, "Eric and Roland have reached

home safely!"

"Here there are," they had shouted; "here they are," shouted a voice

from without.

The horses stopped; Fraeulein Milch was standing at the garden hedge;

they were at the Major's. Eric greeted her, and taking it for granted

that they had not come to see her, Fraeulein Milch called out:--

"The Major drove over to the Villa more than an hour ago, and left word

with me, that he would not be back to dinner."

Eric got out; he asked Fraeulein Milch about his mother, and whether she

knew what was going on at the villa. He learned that there must be

something unusual, for everything was in happy confusion; to-day,

undoubtedly, the betrothal of Von Pranken and Manna would be

solemnized.

Eric allowed Roland to go home alone; he had to shape his course anew.

"The whole world is a masquerade," said Fraeulein Milch.

Eric, who honored the good old lady sincerely, did not, however, feel

in the mood for discussing generalities about mankind; and when

Fraeulein Milch tried to get out of him what he had learned at

Mattenheim, he approached the limit of impoliteness in answer to her

repeated inquiries. He did not suspect that Fraeulein Milch, who knew

everything already, wished to come to an explanation with him.

He had desired to compose himself here as in a sort of ante-room, and

to think matters over, and now he went away as if frightened. He saw

the handsome villa glistening in the bright sunshine, the blazing panes

of the glass house and cupola; he saw the park, he saw the green

cottage in which his mother lived--and all this was built and planted

from the profits of traffic in human beings.

Does Pranken know it? He must know it, and then it remains to be seen

whether he will extend his hand to the daughter of this house. Hatred

and bitterness that Manna should belong to this house penetrated his

whole being, made his hair stand on end, and clenched his fists; he

would dash the whole lying structure to pieces. But Manna--how would

she take it? He stood still, upbraiding himself that he had ever

thought himself capable of cherishing one noble thought within his

soul. He stood still and stared at the rocks as if he would have dashed

them down into the valley, crushing everything beneath. A physical

pain, a pang through his heart, almost took away his breath. Beaming

out from the surrounding darkness it stood before him--he loved Manna;

and without being aware of it, he laughed aloud.