Sonnenkamp was still too much shaken not to feel a shudder creep over

him at the sight of this apparition, that seemed to have sprung out

from the world of fable; he said that he had had an idea, of the mere

existence of which he had only been conscious in a shadowy way, but now

it was clear; he was resolved to continue the struggle, to wage open

war, that is, covert but decisive war; he would bring the virtuous

people hereabouts to a different way of thinking, this next would be

his task. He had a plan that was not yet clear to him, but it would

become clear.

Bella said that she did not wish to speak to any one in the house

beside himself; she was going back at once, but she trusted that he

would be firm and stand his ground, for otherwise she would have to

despise all men, and among them the only one who had ever won her

respect by real power.

Sonnenkamp opened the seed-room, accompanied Bella through it, and

opened the door that led to the private stair overrun with climbing

plants. Here he kissed her hand at parting. But while still on the

steps, Bella called after him:--

"And one thing more! The first thing for you to do is to free yourself

from slavery; you must send away this teacher's family."

She made a repellant gesture, and added:--

"This teacher's family should establish their transcendental distillery

in the little University town once more."

When Sonnenkamp returned to his room after Bella's departure, it seemed

to him as if everything had been only a dream; but he still breathed

the odor of the delicate perfumery which Bella's garments had left

behind in his room; he still saw the chair on which she had been

sitting; she had actually been there.

But Bella did not reach home unseen. In the park she met her brother.

She confessed to him frankly that she had been to see Sonnenkamp, to

cheer him up; she praised Otto for his constancy, and for despising the

miserable, weak world.

"I could love this man!" she exclaimed; "he is a conqueror, he has won

for himself a bit of the world. Pshaw! Let them grub for remains from

the Roman world, which was so powerful and despised every one that

spoke of justice for the slaves--and what are they themselves?"

"Sister," said Pranken playfully, "you are still too young and handsome

to dress yourself up with those ingenious whims; you do not need such

cosmetic contrivances."

Bella drew back a step from him, and then said:--

"No, I wanted to say a word to you; but no. Only persevere, and

bring your designs with Manna to a point soon. How does the little

cloister-plant do?"

"I beg of you, Bella----"

"Well, well, I'm going directly, I can do none of you any good."

She turned away quickly, and went back to Wolfsgarten.

Pranken looked after her with astonishment. He composed himself, for

the Priest came up. He reached out his hand to him humbly, and spoke

very gratefully of his having come voluntarily to build up anew the

house of sorrow.

CHAPTER XIII.

COUNTER-POISON.

Prince Valerian, who had met with such a rough rebuff from Sonnenkamp,

had himself announced to Eric. Roland, who was in the next room, heard

him say, the first thing as he entered:--

"Where is Roland?"

"He desires to be left alone," answered Eric; and then the Prince

declared that Eric was best able to form an opinion as to what might be

good for Roland; but for his part, he could not help thinking that

intercourse with men in whose eyes he could behold the love they bore

him, would be of greater assistance than anything else in this

unspeakable sorrow.

Roland rose to his feet in the next room. Would this really be better

than musing by one's self? He kept quiet, and heard the Prince ask how

the daughter and how the wife had received the exposure of the dreadful

secret.

The Prince spoke in a loud, Eric in a low tone, and Roland did not

understand Eric's answer.

The Prince continued in the same loud tone. Herr Weidmann was indignant

at the manner in which Professor Crutius had brought this matter before

the public, and the statement that Doctor Fritz might have had a share

in this malicious publication, was, without doubt, a falsehood. Doctor

Fritz had said again and again, when he came to take away his child,

that he hoped the whole affair would remain concealed, on account of

Sonnenkamp's children.

Roland trembled.

Does Lilian know it over the sea? Or when will she hear of it? How will

she bear it? And will she cry about him? And she told him, that time in

the garden, that he must come home and help to deliver the world from

wrong.

He stretched his arms upwards, as if he must hasten from that spot, and

do something at that very moment.

The Prince, in the neighboring room, went on to say that Herr Weidmann

had seriously considered whether he himself ought not to go over to

Villa Eden, then and there to offer his assistance, but he had, after

thinking the matter over, perceived that this would be of no practical

benefit, and therefore he had counselled the Prince to carry out his

own purpose.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "for the first time in a long while has the high

social position I am permitted to occupy brought me joy, or, rather joy

is not the right word. I thought to myself that, on this account, I

should be able to effect here more than any one else, and particularly

for your pupil Roland, whom I love so dearly, and whose afflictions

give me not a moment's peace."

In the next room, Roland folded his outstretched hands, and the thought

passed through his mind:--

Oh; the world is good; no, it is not so bad as you on the journey

wished to make me believe. Here is one man who feels for me.

The Prince continued:--

"Ah, Captain, what are we, who are set in high places? Our way of

living is just the same as yours is here, only it is historically

superannuated, overgrown with moss. On the way here, I have seen

everything anew. Our serfs were sold with the land and soil. It is the

same thing, or rather, worse, for they were men of the same race. And,

Captain, on my way here I became a terrible heretic. I asked myself

what have those done who were sent into the world to preach, and never

to stop preaching, love and brotherhood. They have looked quietly upon

the fact that there are thousands and thousands of slaves, thousands

and thousands of serfs. And then the thought struck me. Who is freeing

the serfs and the slaves? Pure humanity is unloosing their chains."

Again the thought flashed through Roland's mind: Is not that the same

thing that he himself had already thought of--and Manna too? The

youth's eyes opened wide, as Eric now answered:--

"I am far away from what is called the church, but the doctrine of

Christ is still a root of that humanity which is now fast ripening into

maturity."

"You are like Herr Weidmann, who also----" exclaimed the Prince. He

could not finish the sentence, for the Doctor entered.

"Where is Roland?" he also inquired, after the greeting was over.

He too got the answer that Roland wished to be alone, and the Doctor

said,--

"I approve of that. Is he very much agitated? Mind, days will come when

he will fall into dulness and apathy; let it have its course with him,

and at the same time have the greatest patience with him. The noblest

gift of nature is stupor; it is part of the soul's sleep; the simpleton

and the brute have it constantly; they consequently never reach that

pitch of intense excitement that endangers all existence; and nature,

too, takes pity on the sensitive man, and gives him stupor. In the

first place, when he begins to give way under his grief, then, I beg of

you, give Roland to understand then the affair is not so terrible as it

seems; there is a good deal of depravity right under, our very eyes;

and where is it that this depravity does not exist! Do you remember my

asking you when you came here first, how long since you had been a

believer in depravity?"

Eric said he did.

The Doctor continued in a cheerful tone:--

"Now that evil is here, don't lose heart; you have done nobly so long

as you have put faith in human purity; I hope, now that you have become

a convert to the new faith, you will still remain equally strong. Yes,

Captain, we think we are teachers when we are only pupils. Do you know

what vexed me most in the publication of this story?"

"How could I?"

"I was indignant that the sated, self-sufficient portion of the

community, pluming itself upon its external white-wash of decency,

should now give itself a treat. Each person looks at himself: Ah, I am

a magnificent being, compared with this monster. And still the vileness

of the slave trade is only more notorious than that of a thousand other

occupations. In the Jockey Club the 'Jeunesse doree' are railing at the

monster Sonnenkamp, and what are they themselves? Hundreds of

occupations are constantly hanging on the verge of crime. Yes, the old

theology teaches me that as Sodom might in old times have stood, if

only just so many righteous men were to be found in it, so it is

to-day. The sun shines only for the few just men; and in every human

being there is a complete Sodom; but there is also in him something of

righteousness, and because of that he continues to live."

Eric and the Prince looked in surprise at the Doctor, who in they had

never before really known. Within, in the next room, Roland had seized

hold of his forehead, as if questioning whether he comprehended all

this, and in what it would all end.

The Doctor seemed to enjoy his triumph, or rather the perplexity he had

caused, and he exclaimed in a loud voice, louder even than before,--

"For all that, I have for this Herr Sonnenkamp great respect."

He paused, and then continued:--

"This Herr Sonnenkamp, or, for aught I care, Banfield, has kept pretty

stiff, he has not bowed down before the priesthood; if he had, this

would have been covered up. That he has not done so, shows power; and,

besides, I think I have kept myself free from the sentimental epidemic.

These niggers are not my fellow creatures; human beings of a black

complexion have no high destiny; from their whole physical

conformation, they belong out in the heat of the sun, at hard work.

Slavery is not such a bad thing, after all; we would not find it ill,

if we, too, had slaves for servants. When serving people know that

their place is to serve and that they can not play the master, they are

more faithful in their work, and one can take better care of them.

And I have many a time thought to myself how it would be, if my

men-servants and maid-servants were all at once transformed into

Africans; it would be a surprise, but one would have to get reconciled

to it. I am loth to accept these darkies as my brothers. And can you

think of a negro as a painter? A nigger cannot even see himself in the

looking-glass. And can you picture to yourself a nigger statesman, a

nigger professor?"

Eric was full of indignation at all this, but he had to listen to it;

there was no chance for him to say anything, as the Doctor cried out in

a still louder voice,--

"Don't let Roland fall into sentimentality. You, as philologist, must

know the story of that--wasn't it a Roman emperor?--who had made a

great deal of money by the slave-trade, and whose son took up a piece

of the gold acquired by this means, held it to his nose, and asked:

'num olet?' Roland should not continue to carry on the slave-trade; it

isn't just the thing; it's always unpleasant and dirty; but he mustn't

let what has happened ruin him; he should know that he's the legitimate

owner of the property, and needn't ask how the money was obtained--the

legitimate owner," he repeated once again in a loud voice.

Eric now noticed for the first time that the Doctor was speaking

neither to him nor to the Prince.

The Doctor was aware that Roland was listening to everything, in the

next room, and everything was directed to him. Should he by a protest

interfere with the healing skill of the Doctor, who sought to cure the

effect of the poison by a counter poison?

"Ah! you come in good time," cried the Doctor to the Priest, as he

entered. "I have been fore-stalling you a little in your office, and

now you can give me some assistance."

He repeated hurriedly to the Priest what he had been saying, and he was

surprised when the Priest rejoined:--

"I do not agree with you. Yes, you gentlemen of philosophy and the

self-government of mankind--remember Captain, I told you so the first

time we met--you have nothing but arrogance or dejection; you know no

such thing as equanimity, because the firmly fixed rock of the Positive

is lacking in you."

Eric, who had been holding his breath while the Doctor was holding

forth, was on the point of replying sharply to the Priest, when the

door was thrown open and Roland entered.

"No Doctor," exclaimed he, "you have not converted me. I still know--I

still know--and you, Herr Priest, it does not become me to dispute with

you, but I will not suffer my friend, my brother, my Eric, to be

assailed here. He has given me the Positive, the belief in our duty, in

our activity, in our never-ceasing self-devotion. I will show for his

sake, and for my sake, what I can yet do in life."

The Prince embraced Roland; the Doctor took the Priest outside, and

said to him in a low tone:--

"Don't trouble the young man, a favorable crisis has set in. Come with

me, I beg of you."

He drew the Priest away almost by force.

Eric, Roland, and the Prince still sat a long while together; then they

had the horses saddled, Eric and Roland accompanying the Prince a part

of the way.

After they had ridden a short distance, they saw a strange shape on the

road; Roland cried out suddenly:--

"There's something walking, I think--I think--no, I am not mistaken,

it's our friend Knopf!"

It was no other than Knopf. He was going along quietly in the dark,

quizzing himself sorely why it was he did not understand the world; it

really ought to explain itself to him, for he held the world so dear.

Why is it so reserved and full of secresy? What would now become of

Roland? And amongst the rest entered a lighter and more trifling

sorrow, that the Major had utterly forgotten him. Knopf did not think

ill of him for it, not in the least; for Heaven knows that in such

confusion one had his head full enough; who can think of everything? He

confessed modestly to himself that he, of course, could not have been

of any assistance whatever, he was so awkward; there was Herr Dournay,

and Pranken--he knew nothing at all about Prince Valerian. Thus he was

trudging along in the dark, and questioning himself in every way, and

then looking up at the stars.

"Herr Knopf! Herr Knopf! Herr Magister!" was shouted out by different

voices. Knopf stopped. Roland sprang quickly off his horse, embraced

the old teacher, and exclaimed:--

"Ah, forgive me for what I have done to you; I've been wanting to say

it to you--long ago----" At the words, "long ago," Roland's voice

trembled violently.

"You have already, and it has been forgiven for a long time; but how

does it happen that you are here?"

Everything was soon explained. Knopf rested his hand on Roland's

shoulder all the while, as if he could lend him some of his strength;

and he pressed back the spectacles very close to his eyes, when he

heard and saw how the youth was beginning to bear up manfully under the

terrible event. He pressed Eric's hand as if he would say:--

You can be happy, you have imparted to the boy genuine strength.

When at last they were bidding good-bye, Roland begged Knopf to ride

home on the pony. Knopf assured him repeatedly that it was a pleasure

to him to roam about in the dark on foot; Roland asserted that Puck was

a right gentle beast, so tractable, so easy and intelligent; and he

said to the little horse:--

"I want you to be good now, and make up for all the trouble I gave to

my old teacher; do be well-behaved."

Knopf continued to object, and at last he brought out, in a plaintive

tone, that he had no straps to his pants. Everybody laughed, and Roland

in the midst of his sorrow laughed too. Knopf was extremely happy to

find that Roland could laugh, and now he yielded. Roland helped him

mount, stroking the arm of his former teacher, and stroking the horse;

Knopf and the Prince rode off together. But Eric did not mount again;

leading his horse by the bridle, he went hand in hand with Roland to

the Villa.

And now, in the still night, Eric was incessantly occupied in thinking

of what the Doctor had said; how great was the discord in the whole

modern world, so that the life of states, and even many of the

occupations of private life, were not regulated by ethical principles.

Not in the way prescribed by the Doctor,--besides, it had left no

impression whatever on Roland,--would the youth gain rest and strength,

nor in any way but in the acknowledgment that each one must strive

earnestly to conform to the moral law, and make it an integral part of

his actual life.

Roland listened to him quietly, occasionally clasping the speaker's

hand with a firmer hold.

When they were approaching the Villa, Roland said, sighing deeply:--

"Ah, Eric, now the house is robbed in a very different way from what it

was when we came back from Wolfsgarten."

No change had been wrought in the dejected feelings of Roland by what

the Doctor had said, nor by Eric's utterances; the only effect was to

enable him to express himself freely.

CHAPTER XIV.

A NEW PILLORY AT THE CHURCH DOOR.

The swallows were flocking together and twittering over Villa Eden,

over the jail not far from the house of the Justice, over the military

club-house in the capital, and wherever they flocked, everybody was

talking of Sonnenkamp, of what had happened and of what would happen to

him.

In the basement, in the large room near the kitchen, Sonnenkamp's

domestics were sitting at table. Bertram's chair was vacant. Somebody

was saying that the porter would have to scrape the writing off the

wall, and that he had already given the master notice that he should

leave. The "chief," who spoke German quite fluently when he was in

anger, was cursing the rascality of domestics in leaving their master,

who had no farther to concern themselves than to get their regular pay.

The Cooper contested this, Of course, the honor of the master was the

honor of the servant, but they ought still to remain with Sonnenkamp;

if there was a good deal in him that was bad, there was also much that

was good. Joseph, whose personal opinion did not have its just weight,

on account of his confidential relations with Sonnenkamp, was glad that

the Cooper had hit the right point.

The second coachman, the Englishman, who also wanted to give notice of

leaving, now said that he should not do it; but of course he must

always be ready for a boxing-match.

The Squirrel expressed his fear that some one would set fire to the

place, for the whole neighborhood was possessed by the devil. Lootz was

not there, and nobody knew where the master had sent him. Old Ursel

mourned over the innocent children, at the same time eating away with a

fearful appetite, and uttering loudest lamentations with her mouth

full.

The stuttering gardener made the proposal that they should remain, but

should make a joint demand for higher wages. All agreed to do this,

except Joseph and the Cooper, but were puzzled how it could be brought

about.

The subterraneans were unanimous in their eulogies of Pranken. He was a

nobleman whose like could not be found, who did not desert the master

for a single moment. He had ridden out with him in the broad daylight,

and did not concern himself as to what his noble relatives might say of

him.

Here, underground, they were also glad to know that men were ungrateful

and base. It was even known here that Sonnenkamp had made a present of

the Villa to the Cabinetsrath, for what the latter had given for it was

only a trifling sum; and now the gardener of the Cabinetsrath had

reported that the country-house and the vineyard had just been sold to

the American Consul, as a sort of gibe at Sonnenkamp; for the family of

the Cabinetsrath wished to have no more intercourse with Villa Eden.

In just the same way, although by men of a different position in

society, were Sonnenkamp's circumstances discussed in the military

club-house of the capital, as well as in the beer-houses. For some

time, Adams, the negro servant of the Prince, had everywhere been the

topic of conversation. There were various wonderful stories how five

men were hardly able to restrain the raving negro; that he had tried to

choke Sonnenkamp,--only with the greatest difficulty had they succeeded

in getting him out of the capital, and removing him to a hunting-seat.

Then the conversation would turn upon Sonnenkamp. Everybody asked what

he would do now; no one could understand how it was that Pranken stood

by him, and how the family permitted such a thing. In the military

club-house there was also an Ursel, but here she took the form of a

pensioned lady of high rank, who also ate heartily, and, while eating,

spoke very compassionately of the poor children of the millionaire.

But the conversation took a very peculiar turn in the house of Dr.

Richard, where they were to-day giving a great coffee-party in honor of

Frau Weidmann, who had come on a visit; it had been arranged several

days before, and the Professorin, Aunt Claudine, Frau Ceres, and Manna

had been invited; of course they did not come. Here and there they were

earnestly discussing how they should treat the Sonnenkamp family, if

they had the audacity not to leave the country as soon as possible.

Lina, who had returned from the trip with her betrothed, said that she

would be the same in Sonnenkamp's family that she had always been, and

that she would remain Manna's friend; for wherever the Professorin was,

there any one might maintain social intercourse without detriment to

one's honor.

The tone of the conversation became kindly as Frau Weidmann gave

unreserved support to Lina; she spoke of the noble character of Roland,

who had been on a visit to her house, and of the solid worth of Eric,

whom her husband held in very high esteem.

Thus every one in the house, as well as in the neighborhood, seemed to

be putting himself right, and adopting a moderate, kindly tone towards

the Sonnenkamp family. But the bitter, detestable consequences of the

occurrence manifested themselves in the green cottage on Sunday

morning.

During the hour before mass, the indigent neighbors used to come for

their regular weekly allowance; to-day there came only one solitary

woman, in a sorry plight. She was a drunkard's wife, who was forever

complaining and lamenting; she was constantly fretting about two

children, one of which she held in her arms, and the other she led by

her side.

It was only with some difficulty that the Professorin had brought

herself to furnish assistance to this woman, because she was afraid

that the drunkard would only be made more shiftless by so doing; she

had yielded to the persuasion of Fraeulein Milch, though she generally

cut the talkative woman short. But she had to listen patiently to-day,

now that the woman came alone and no others were there. The Professorin

trembled when the woman said to her:--

"Yes, yes, such is the world! It's a topsy-turvy world. My husband

makes wife and children unhappy because he squanders everything, and

Herr Sonnenkamp makes wife and children unhappy because he has got

everything. Yes, just so! It's a world turned upside down."

She assured the Professorin that she would take none of the gold of the

slave-trader, if she could help herself in any other way.

And out of this gold my son is to enrich himself, said the Professorin,

to herself, sitting there alone soon afterwards, as the bells were

ringing. She sat quiet for a long time. Then Eric came in and said:

"Ah mother, another dreadful thing has happened!"

"Something new? Still another dreadful thing? What has happened?"

"He was bold and defiant; he went to church with Pranken."

"Who did?"

"Herr Sonnenkamp. And when he came out of the church, there stood all

the people in a row, looking at him. He went up to a poor man and

handed him a gold piece; the poor man took the money, and then threw it

away, exclaiming: 'I will have nothing from you!' And they all cried

out: 'We want nothing more from you! Take yourself out of the country.'

Sonnenkamp went away, the piece of gold is still lying there before the

church door, and no one will pick it up. O mother, the people are great

and horrible at the same time."

"Did you see it too? Where did you hear about it? Were you too at the

church?"

"No; Manna and Roland told me, and now they are sitting in the garden

together, and weeping. I have hastened to you, for you only can help

us. Comfort them, strengthen them."

"I have done all I can," said the Mother; "I am too weak, and I am

afraid I shall be ill."

Eric called his aunt to remain with his mother, and returned to Roland

and Manna.

The Doctor was sent for that very afternoon. The Professorin was sick.

CHAPTER XV.

A WHOLESOME ILLNESS.

She whom all depended upon, to whom every one repaired, sure of care

and assistance,--she was now unexpectedly in want of assistance

herself, and was in a dangerous condition. The remarkable events and

vicissitudes some had begun to overcome by means of their youthful

strength, by stern defiance, and others by indifference; the

Professorin alone felt a constant gnawing at her heart day and night.

Eric had remarked several days before, although he ascribed it to the

sudden shock she had received, that his mother, when he was walking

before her hand in hand with Manna, took everything cordially and

kindly, but still dully, and as if weighed down by some feeling of

depression. His mother was in the habit of seeking help from no one,

she had always the power of assisting others, and in this doing for

others she always found renewed strength.

From the day on which Fraeulein Milch made that communication to her, it

had been different; she performed only mechanically the duties which

had previously been executed with such freedom and animation.

From that day forth, she had determined to keep clear of every

luxurious indulgence which this ostentatious man might feel like

putting in her way, and this she would do in a modest and retiring

manner; from that day forth she looked upon herself as a traveller

receiving temporary hospitalities, for all the home feeling of comfort

had been taken away from her. She was prepared at any hour to pack up

all that she possessed, and all that was arranged in such a quiet way

about her, and remove to some other place.

She had never in her life been troubled by regret, she had done nothing

for which she could reproach herself, or the memory of which was to be

effaced; but now she was beset by a constant feeling of regret.

Why had she been so thoughtless as to connect herself with such a

mysterious and disintegrated family?

Joy and grief affected her by turns, like one suffering under the

delirium of fever.

Eric's happiness in loving Manna and being so deeply loved, which

before had excited within her such a blissful pleasure, she now

listened to and looked upon with an almost forced interest; and when

Bella had so deeply mortified her, she could scarcely make any

resistance, for it seemed to her as if it concerned someone else, and

had no relation to herself. Thus she lived estranged from herself, but

made no complaint, hoping that everything would right itself. She had

no idea that there was an inward disturbance and distraction which

would show itself on the first favorable opportunity. Now, when the

needy declined charity at her hands, that inexpressible sadness, so

long hidden and repressed, broke forth. It seemed to her inexplicable

that her only son, her all in this world, was to be engrafted into this

family.

The Doctor had found the Mother in a state of febrile excitement; he

gave her a composing draught; but the opinion which he expressed before

Eric, Manna, and Roland, had a still more quieting effect. The Mother

complained that she had never known how much people could be at

variance with themselves and with others. The Doctor replied, with a

smile, that people were not generally so nice in their housekeeping as

she was, and, referring to Sonnenkamp, said that there is such a thing

as a zone of mind, or whatever else you may choose to call it, which

furnishes organizations entirely exotic, but which nevertheless have

their natural conditions, as our customary, everyday ones have. The

constant solitary speculation and refining of thought, the recurring to

her life with her husband, there thoroughly deep-seated melancholy of

the noble woman showed itself in an increased sensitiveness and

irritability; and it had reached such a point that fears were

entertained for her life; something might occur which would be the

occasion of suddenly extinguishing this flickering flame of life.

Eric, Manna, and Roland, trembling and apprehensive, surrounded the

Mother with constant care, and in this anxiety for another, there was a

great deliverance for themselves. The Doctor once said in the library

to Eric:--

"If your mother had become sick on purpose, it would have been one of

the wisest things she could have done; for it helps you all to get

possession of yourselves."

Sonnenkamp also expressed profound sympathy, but he felt provoked; it

is not now the time for sickness, every one must now stand erect so as

to bear up under the storm. After some days, however, he found the

Professorin's illness very opportune; it took some time to get

accustomed to the new order of things; he even admitted to himself

directly, that he would not regret it much if the Professorin should

die; that would produce a change of feeling, and in the mean while

everything was getting better very fast.

Fraeulein Milch did not suffer Manna to devote herself entirely to the

Professorin as she wished to do, and she herself was the best of

nurses.

The Major went about in utter desolation. More than any one else, not

even excepting the children, he was the most deeply affected, perhaps,

by the disclosure of Sonnenkamp's past life.

"The world is right; that is, Fraeulein Milch is right," he was all the

time saying. "She has told me all along that I don't know men, and

she's right."

In the mean while, he found a good place of refuge; he went to see

Weidmann, at Mattenheim, for a couple of days.

CHAPTER XVI.

A BLACK WAVE.

On Sunday evening a bustling crowd was streaming along the white road,

up and down the banks of the river, and to and fro between the

vineyards, all seeming to have one end in view.

Sonnenkamp, wrapped in his cloak, was sitting on the flat roof of his

house, gazing with a sensation of dizziness upon the surrounding

landscape. Once he walked to the eaves. His brain reeled, and he wanted

to throw himself off.

So then it was all over, the hard thinking and everything! Nevertheless

he stepped back again, and sat upon the flat roof until nightfall.

Suddenly his ear was struck by howls, cat-calls, hootings, rattling and

clashing, as though hell itself had been let loose.

He sprang to his feet. Are these sounds within him? Is this all

imagination? He hears them distinctly; the noise comes from beneath. It

rises from the road, and he descries by the torchlight fantastic

figures with black faces. Is that, too, only imagination? Have they

come hither from the other world, those creatures with human forms?

"You must leave the country!"

"Begone to your blacks!"

"We'll fetch him out, and paint him black too!"

"And we'll tie him on his black nag, and lead him through the country,

shouting: 'Look at him!'"

Then followed more whistling, bawling, crashing, rattling, and a sharp,

jangling sound, produced by banging pots and kettles together. It was a

most infernal din.

Then arose in Sonnenkamp's memory a vision of the past,--the image of a

man accused of having incited slaves to revolt, driven through the

streets, naked, tarred and feathered, pelted with rotten apples and

cabbage stumps. The scene changed, and on the gallows hung John Brown.

The report of a gun was heard, and the voice of Pranken, crying:--

"Shoot the dogs down! I'll take the responsibility!"

Only one more shot resounded; then the raging mob came surging against

the gate, which gave way with a crash, and in rushed the frantic

rabble, all with black faces, and the cry arose:--

"We'll choke the whole of 'em!"

"Where is he?"

"Give him up, or we'll smash everything to pieces!" Sonnenkamp hastened

down from the roof through the house, and, standing on the open

balcony, heard Eric's voice, warning the crowd in powerful tones:--

"Are you men? Are you Germans? Who has made judges of you? Speak! I

will answer you. You are bringing misery upon yourselves. You will be

recognized and detected, in spite of your blackened faces. To-morrow

will come the appointed judge; for we live in a well-governed country,

and you are all of you amenable to the law."

"We don't want to touch the Captain!" cried a voice from the crowd.

Eric continued,--

"If there is one among you who can tell what you want, let him come

forward."

A man with blackened face, whom Eric did not recognize, stepped forth

and said,--

"Captain, it's me, the Screamer; let me speak. The new wine has got

into our folks' heads below there. I'm as sober as a cat," added he,

stammering.

"But what do they want?"

"They wish that Herr Sonnenkamp, or whatever his name is, should leave

our part of the country, and go where he belongs."

"Yes! Let him take himself off!"

"And give me back my meadow!"

"And me my vineyard!"

"And me my house!"

Such were the cries uttered by the mob.

Claus quickly joined Eric on the steps, and called to the rabble,--

"If you go on shouting out such crazy stuff, and speaking all together,

I'll be the first to choke any one who tries to get into the house."

"Let him be off!"

"Let him clear out!" "Hustle him out!" was the general cry.

Just as this was yelled forth, Sonnenkamp appeared on the steps. The

howling, shrieking, and kettle-banging began anew; stones crashed

through the great window-panes.

The Screamer, hastening up the steps, placed himself before Sonnenkamp,

saying.--

"Keep still: I'll protect you."

Then he shouted, yet more violently,--

"If you say one word more, and if every man doesn't hold his neighbor,

so that he can't move his arms, I'll be the first to shoot you down,

without caring whether I hit the innocent or the guilty."

"Men, what have I done to you?" cried Sonnenkamp.

"Cannibal!"

"Kidnapper!"

"Slave dealer!"

"And if I were," exclaimed Sonnenkamp, "what gives you the right to

judge me?"

"You must clear out of this!"

"Make yourself scarce!" was the cry from beneath.

"Herr Sonnenkamp, and you, Captain," said Claus, hastily addressing

them both, "I only joined this savage troop, because I saw it was no

use trying to hold them back, but I've caught them by the halter, and

if you'll just leave everything to me, we'll make a carnival-sport out

of the whole concern. You speak first, Captain, and I beg you to keep

still, Herr Sonnenkamp."

"My men," began Eric, "let the stones alone. Do you know the great

word,--'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone!'

Has not every one of you done something that----"

"We've never sold men! Oh! the ogre!" they cried from below.

Eric could say no more. At this juncture Manna appeared, holding a

branched candlestick with two lighted candles. A cry of astonishment

went through the crowd; then all was still for a second, all eyes being

rivetted on the girl as she stood there, pale, with sparkling eyes and

dishevelled hair.

Roland, placing himself beside Eric, called out in a voice which

resounded far and wide,--

"Stone us! Tear us in pieces! Come on; we are unarmed!"

"We don't want to hurt the children!"

"But the man-seller must begone!"

"Yes, he must clear out!"

"Be off!"

Again the tumult seemed increasing, the rioters pushing one another

forward. All at once they recoiled, even those upon the steps shrinking

back. Beneath the great door-way a white-robed form appeared, and her

hair was gray.

The noisy wretches in the court were struck dumb, gazing upward with

glances of amazement. Those assembled on the steps, turning round, saw

the Professorin, standing there like a being from another world, from

the boundless space of Eternity. Stepping quietly to the balustrade,

she first raised and then lowered her hands as in blessing, as if

calming the stormy waves. Profound silence reigned, and she spoke in

tones which might be heard a great way off:

"No man can expiate his brother's sin by wrong-doing. Do not sin

yourselves. Restrain yourselves, lest to-morrow you weep over to-day."

Her voice grew more powerful, as she said:--

"Conquer yourselves!"

Laying her hand on Sonnenkamp's shoulder, she said, in sonorous

tones:--

"I promise you that this man, who has already done good, shall perform

a deed so great as to reconcile you all to him. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, we believe the Professorin!"

"Hurrah for the Professorin! Huzza! Huzza!"

"Come along home! It's enough!"

A man carrying a drum struck up a march, when, just as the mob was

about to depart, something came rattling along, helmets gleamed, the

fire-engine came up, and a jet of water suddenly spurted over them all.

A like shower came from the other side; for Joseph had hastened to the

head-gardener's, and the hose was now used with effect. The stream from

either side rose high into the air, and they all went off, grumbling,

laughing, and cursing.

The men were still standing on the steps, and Eric was the first to

speak, saying:--

"Mother, you here? And from your sick-bed? This may cause your death."

"No, my son, it has given life to me, to you, to all, and purity to

all. I am ill no longer; a great and beautiful and fortunate deed has

saved me."

Sonnenkamp, taking off his cloak, wrapped the Professorin in it, and

they led the old lady, whose eyes shone wonderfully, into the great

hall, where she sat down, while they all stood around her as about a

saint.

Manna, kneeling before her, took her hands, and wept copious tears upon

them.

"Now I only beg for quiet," said the Professorin. "I am calm; give me

no further excitement now. I heard it, I know not how; I came hither, I

know not how. Something called and impelled me, and it has ended well.

Oh, believe that everything will yet turn out for the best. Herr

Sonnenkamp, give me your hand. I have something to say to you."

"I will fulfil whatever you may command."

"You must do something, although I do not yet know what, in order to

pacify the minds of these people."

"I will. I will summon a jury, in the choice of which you must assist

me. To them I will unfold my life, and into their hands I will leave

the decision of what is to be done."

"That is a happy idea. To-morrow we will carry it out. Now it is

enough," said the Professorin, in a tone soothing to the others and to

herself. "Manna, go to your mother," added she.

Manna left the room.

It was late before those assembled in the Villa separated. The

Professorin must spend the night there. Sonnenkamp would not have it

otherwise. He gave her the best room in the house, and Eric sat by his

mother's bed until she fell asleep.

But without, on the banks of the Rhine, stood a multitude, washing

their black faces clean again, and recovering from the effects of the

new wine. In the night a black wave rolled past the Villa, and down the

river to the sea.

Oh! If the black deed could only be thus wiped off, and sunk in the

ocean of Eternity!

BOOK XIII.

CHAPTER I.

OBLITERATED TRACES.

The gardeners raked smooth the footpaths: they bound up the

down-trodden shrubs again, removing the broken ones. Even the grooms

assisted to-day in the garden, while up in the house the glaziers were

already busy, putting in new squares of plate-glass. When the gentlemen

and ladies wake up, they shall see as little as possible of last

night's tumult.

No one in the whole house awoke until the morning was far spent. Even

Manna was not visible. Perhaps this was the first time in her life that

she had omitted going to church. The night's experience had been hard

for her to bear; for when, after the riot, she came to her mother, the

latter kept crying out,--

"They will tar and feather him! They will tar and feather him! Oh! why

did he go among our enemies?"

Her mother put her fingers in her ears; and when Manna tried to

describe how the Professorin had appeared as a rescuing angel, Frau

Ceres broke into loud laughter.

"Yes, indeed! Europeans allow old women to tame them!"

Manna was silent, and buried her face in her hands. She had heard this

not long beforehand in spirit; and, as she stood on the steps, she had

felt that all this had previously been made known to her in dreams, and

that it would vanish like a dream.

Then, remembering her love, she realized that life cannot be sacrificed

to another as an expiation, but that it can be exalted for another's

sake. Once again horror seized upon her soul. She heard the voices of

hell, and a hell opened within her. Hast thou sinned in proving

faithless? Would every thing have been better, would the dreadful thing

not have happened, if thou hadst remained true? Who knows whether,

through some secret working, every thing did not become publicly known

in the capital in the very hour of thy perfidy?

She wished to make her thoughts like those of the martyrs, who

endured stoning with bowed heads; but, in the midst of this violent

soul-torment, she only saw Eric's image again; and rising, as though he

had called her, she felt as if his hand were laid upon her head.

Thus had Manna returned to her room, full of fear, and yet rising again

as upon a wave of happiness: and thus she slept far into the day,

hearing nothing of the voice of the bell which called her, and with no

suspicion of what was now being said about her; for not far from the

church stood Pranken with Fraeulein Perini.

Ever since his return from town, Pranken had felt a fresh irritation,

which directed itself more and more against Eric; and, at the arrival

of Prince Valerian, he was highly incensed on observing how every one

went instantly to Eric's chamber, as though Eric were the centre of the

house. "This shall be changed," he said to himself "This teacher must

find out who he is." By reason of the riot, however, this teacher's,

family had again become conspicuous; the pitiful canaille having

allowed themselves to be soothed by an old woman.

Pranken had walked furiously through the park, and finally took the

road leading to the church. Here on this road, now, on this morning, he

would bring Manna to a decision; then he would have his own way with

the house, and discharge the teacher's family. He waited long; but

Manna did not come. At last, seeing Fraeulein Perini alone, he greeted

her, and asked where Manna was, and whether she was well.

"Why don't you ask after _my_ health?" replied she somewhat tartly. "I

have something of great importance to impart to you; but you do not

seem to think it worth while to trouble yourself about me."

"Indeed I do; but you should reflect"--

"I do reflect that you ought to reflect that I too have an existence.

However, I have something of great importance to impart to you."

"Oh! please, you were always so kind"--

"Yes, yes, only too kind; but you forget me too quickly. Well, then,

what would you do if you were told that that arrogant tutor aspired to

win the hand of your betrothed?"

Fraeulein Perini laughed, and Pranken was frightened, terrified. He had

never heard her laugh so; and now she laughed in exactly the same tone,

and made precisely the same bending of the neck, as little Nelly. How

ridiculous, how inconceivable, that she should occur to his mind at

this juncture!

"You seem in a very good humor after the riot," said he, trying to

appear jocose. "You must tell me the rest after church: the third bell

is just ringing."

"Oh, no! I can neglect church for this matter. A work of mercy

absolves"--

"A work of mercy?"

"Yes."

And now Fraeulein Perini told how she had seen Manna coming out of

Eric's room; and how every thing had evidently been arranged in the

green cottage, and was now settled; also how the maid-servant of

the green cottage had even said that Manna had taken with her the

marriage-contract, which had been drawn up in the library.

Pranken shook his head incredulously. Fraeulein Perini, however, stung

him again by asking whether he would promise, in case he came into

possession of Manna and of all her property, to consecrate the Villa as

a convent. He shrugged his shoulders; and the look came again into

Fraeulein Perini's eyes, which she had once given to Bella after she had

turned away. She stung and irritated Pranken; for she saw that he still

despised her, and she wished to ruin him. He must promise her, that, if

the affair proved inevitable, he would challenge this Herr Dournay, and

shoot him if possible.

Pranken looked bewildered. Again an old memory arose within him; at the

time that he had travelled with Eric to Wolfsgarten, he had seen this

as in a vision. Must it then take place? He demurred, he hung back; he

said that then he should certainly lose Manna. If he fell, then all

would naturally be over. If he killed Eric, Manna would never become

the wife of a man who had killed another on her account.

Fraeulein Perini cast down her eyes, in order to hide her malicious

smile. Things were now taking exactly the turn she had wished; Manna

should lose them both, and find in the convent her only refuge.

They had talked so long that church was over, and as the clergyman came

out, Fraeulein Perini went with him, and Pranken turned back towards the

Villa. He met the Doctor and Eric, walking together and engaged in

earnest conversation.

The Doctor was in as good spirits as ever, and was expounding to Eric

how the fresh must, which is so joyously drunk and which tastes so

deliciously, is, according to the assertion of old people, a real cure,

building the whole body anew, so that it is taken both for enjoyment

and for the health. "Thus the crisis caused by the intoxication of the

new wine is really good. So it is with this riot. It has been

beneficial in many ways. The anger of the inhabitants of the

neighborhood has exceeded all reasonable bounds, and has thus lost all

pretension of justice. On this side there is nothing more to be feared.

But even in the house itself it is clear that life will henceforth be

more vigorous. That they are all sleeping is a good sign."

They met the Cooper, and the Doctor would hear the whole story over

again, growing very merry over the account of the effect produced in

the park by the fire-engine and the water-works. The Cooper narrated

how the engine had been quickly made ready, as Herr Sonnenkamp had

presented it with the very best hose.

They soon met a group of men, delegates sent by the different

communities to assure Herr Sonnenkamp of their readiness to protect him

in any emergency, if he would only abstain from bringing an action for

what had occurred.

The Doctor begged the men to come back on Sunday, saying that he would

previously inform Herr Sonnenkamp.

He turned back with Eric, and they were not a little surprised at

finding the Professorin already on the terrace with Manna. The Doctor

joked very merrily over the genius of accident, which could accomplish

more than all science. He declared the Professorin to be entirely

cured. The Professorin had recovered the best part of herself, namely,

her calmness, her courage, and the steadfast firmness of her character,

and she said,--

"There is a wonderful power of healing in being at one with the great

common heart. That which all men know is no longer so heavy and

horrible; the hardest part of a criminal's fate must be the feeling of

isolation, of separation; in the midst of all society he must feel like

a secluded prisoner, for he has something locked and hidden within

himself, which no one else must know of."

As soon as the Professorin could transpose an event and its

consequences into the sphere of abstract thought, it seemed no longer

to weigh upon her. Above all she exhorted her son not to take it for

granted that something must be instantly done, saying that it was of

the first importance to keep still.

The Doctor, on inquiring whether the Countess Bella had not been there

as yet, was told that she had spoken with none of the inhabitants of

the Villa, except Herr Sonnenkamp.

"If I am not much mistaken," said the doctor, "Countess Bella will

henceforth feel an especial sympathy with the bold Herr Sonnenkamp. It

corresponds with her nature, which defies the world and inclines to

whatever is exceptional and extreme."

The Professorin, although Bella had deeply wounded her, endeavored to

correct the doctor's opinion.

Eric was silent; he was amazed at the persistency with which the

physician pursued and explained the Countess's peculiar nature.

The Doctor sent to ask Sonnenkamp whether he wished to speak with him.

The reply was, that he would like to have him first visit Frau Ceres.

"How do I look?"

Sonnenkamp had put this question to Joseph, his valet, before rising;

indeed, on first awaking.

"As usual, sir."

He asked for a hand-glass, then giving it again to the servant, lay

back among the pillows with closed eyes. He must have had the strange

idea that the emotions of the past night could be read upon his

features. It was long ere he left his chamber. He had told Joseph that

he wished to be alone. He heard the raking of the paths, outside, and

the steps of men going to and fro. He would wait until the traces of

devastation without were removed, as far as possible; he would wait

until he was able to obliterate the traces left within him by this

experience. He sat long alone; only his favorite dog was with him. His

heavy head weighed him down like a cannon ball; yet he repeated to

himself,--

"I must recover my composure; for I alone can help myself."

"Thou alone?" he asked again, and his thoughts passed to Bella. There

is a woman such as he has never found before. There is courage, power,

genius. But in what can even she help him? Nothing. No one.

Then, laying his hand on the dog's head, he thought: "Two bugbears are

the worst enemies we have in the world,--fear before the deed, and

repentance after it. With these quackeries we squander our existence.

He alone is free who fears no future and rues no past."

"I will be free!" cried he.

"I am so within myself; but where will freedom be allowed me? I must go

back to America. No, to Italy, to Paris, to new surroundings.

"But the children, the children! They are filled with thoughts which

take from them home and parents. Thy best course, after all, is to

remain here, to despise mankind, whose hatred will gradually be

blunted. Perhaps, too, there may be found some means of appeasing their

wrath, which will have a penitent aspect. Was it the Professorin, or I

myself, who spoke yesterday of a jury? That's the thing! Come on,

World! I am myself again, and nothing else."

High above all these recent occurrences arose again in him the hatred

of Crutius.

"How he is now rubbing his hands in his editorial office, where the

little gas-jet burns! How he will rejoice at the signal-rocket which

has roused the masses! How the riot will figure in the newspapers!"

He now rang, and, sending for Eric, reminded him how he had formerly

publicly exalted the gratitude and good manners of the people. Now, he

said with a laugh, he must also properly expose their misbehavior; he

must, anticipating all other reports, describe the whole thing

naturally as an extravagance inspired by the new and effervescent wine.

At the close, he must add that Herr Sonnenkamp (for that was his name,

lawfully derived from the maternal side of the house) would do

something which should correct and satisfy public opinion.

He thought Eric pedantic, for wishing to know at once whether any thing

was to be done.

What's the use?

We show the public something prospective; but it is not necessary that

this should be brought to pass; men forget what has been promised them.

This he wished to say to Eric, but withheld it, merely telling him that

he might let the whole thing alone if he chose.

Just as Eric had left the room, came the dog-keeper, exclaiming,--

"Oh, sir, she is poisoned!"

"Who is poisoned?"

"The good beastie, Nora; in the night, during the riot, the shameful

men gave her something, apparently a toadstool roasted in grease. She

is dying now."

"Where is she?"

"Before the kennel."

Sonnenkamp went with the keeper to the enclosure where the dogs were.

There lay Nora, with her loosened chain beside her.

"Nora!" he cried.

The dog wagged its tail once more, raised its head, and blinked. Then

the head fell, and she was dead.

The glance of the beast was piteous. Sonnenkamp seemed to wish to

torture himself with gazing at her.

"Bury the dog before Roland sees her, he said at last.

"Where shall we bury her?"

Yonder, by the ash. But first skin her: the hide is worth something.

"No, sir, I cannot: I loved the dog too well to skin it."

"Very well. Then bury it skin and all."

He turned away and wandered about the garden; yet he could not refrain

from returning to the spot where the dog was being buried.

"Yes," he said aloud to himself: "that's the way. The world gives

us a toadstool roasted in fat. The world _is_ a toadstool roasted in

fat--palatable, but poisonous!"

He returned to the house.

The other dogs were howling quite frightfully, as though they knew that

one of their comrades had departed.

CHAPTER II.

TWELVE MEN.

Pranken, who remained true to Sonnenkamp, was often full of solicitude.

At times he looked very strangely at his friends, but did not give

utterance to his projects. Sonnenkamp knew that something was going on.

He knew through Lootz that Pranken had several times received letters

with large seals, one bearing the seal of the Court-Marshal's office,

another that of the Ministry of State. He would have liked to ask him

whether negotiations were pending, with a view to the attainment of the

longed-for dignity. He looked at him inquiringly; but Pranken remained

reticent. Sonnenkamp even pressed him not to disdain his assistance,

saying that he was wise in some things, even though he had acted

imprudently.

Pranken said that there were things which he must decide for himself,

and which he hoped to put through successfully. He hinted that the

world, even the little world of the city, was made up of different

factions.

As he condescended to say no more, Sonnenkamp resolved to have recourse

to an old method, and one which could here be very easily employed. He

would obtain by theft, through the agency of Lootz, the letters which

Pranken had received. He rejected this course, however. Yet once, when

Pranken had ridden in haste to the railway station, just after he had

received another large letter, he went toward his room. He would have

no go-between. He could surely get possession of the letters, and

Pranken was no doubt careless enough to render unnecessary breaking

open any locks or picking them.

In a sudden attack of loyalty, however, he turned away from the

threshold.

Pranken returned, bringing the news that he was in danger; but

earnestly begged to be excused from giving any particulars.

Sonnenkamp embraced the excited young man, and made him promise not to

engage in any duel without his knowledge.

Reluctantly Pranken gave him his hand upon this, and departed.

While Eric was yet at his mother's, Sonnenkamp came thither with a

letter in his hand. He first expressed his joy at seeing the

Professorin so full of new life; then, saying that he had a letter from

her friend, he handed her one written by Professor Einsiedel, and added

with a smile:

"These learned gentlemen have very good memories. I had forgotten

having invited the man."

The Professorin read Einsiedel's letter, in which he said that he

should not be lecturing next winter, and was ready to accept

Sonnenkamp's invitation, and to take up his abode for some time at

Villa Eden.

As the Professorin smilingly gave back the letter, a gleam of furtive

triumph shot from Sonnenkamp's eyes. Then this new specimen of

humanity, this puritanic infidel, has her own private affinity. Perhaps

she felt the malicious glance; for she said, in a very decided

manner,--

"I should be very glad to have the noble man come to us. His visit

would be a great deal to me, and, perhaps, to others also. In the first

place, I know of nothing better for Roland; for you, Eric, are so

entirely accustomed to him, that you do not now offer him that support

which he, perhaps, may need for a long time yet."

Sonnenkamp's countenance relaxed. It was nothing after all. This woman

seemed in truth noble and pure; for she was not so prudent, no one

could be so prudent, as to assume forthwith such a mask of virtue. He

was not a little astonished, however, when Eric, with all sorts of

excuses and pretexts, gave it as his opinion that it was not wise to

transport the Professor's delicately organized nature at this time into

their stormy life.

Just because Eric sought so earnestly to defend himself against such a

suspicion, it became clearer to Sonnenkamp that he did not feel

justified in bringing any new person into close relations with his

family.

Inwardly chafing, but yet smiling with an excess of friendliness, he

said that he would invite the Professor, and would leave him free to

stay either at the green cottage or at the villa.

The mother gave her voice for the former.

Sonnenkamp nodded very approvingly. He summoned a servant, and ordered

that no one should interrupt them. Then, addressing both, he said that

he had something momentous to discuss with them; that it was a step

which concerned his inmost soul, and which alone could make him wholly

free.

Eric and his mother trembled. Did Sonnenkamp already know? He,

meanwhile, seated himself calmly and began:

"Noble lady, you have done a great thing for me, and now I commit into

your hands, and your keeping, my fate and that of those who belong to

me."

He made a pause and then proceeded:

"From out of the midst of the riot one thought has remained with me. It

was of sudden birth; and now the question is, how to carry it out.

Already on Sunday, when I was going to church, where the beggar

insulted me, it was my intention"--

"Pray, do not forget what you were going to say," interposed the

Professorin. "Permit me to interrupt you with a question."

"Go on. I am ready."

"Does the source of all your wealth lie in that?"

"No, not a sixth of it. Even my enemies know that."

"Then please proceed. You had begun, 'as you were going to church'"--

"Yes, then it was my intention, in spite of my unbelief, to confess to

a priest. I acknowledge, Herr von Pranken was not without influence in

this matter; but it originated, nevertheless, with me. This institution

of the confession in our church is a grand thing. Offences for which no

earthly judge can punish, for which no clause is to be found in the

law, are blotted out; we are absolved from them by a man filled with

the divine grace by consecration, sympathetic, considerate, who neither

knows nor sees the penitent, yet who hears the breath of his quivering

confession; who is so far from him, and yet so near!"

The Mother looked down.

"Wonderful and ever new, how the man can speak of such acts!" she

thought.

Sonnenkamp felt what the lady thought of him, and exclaimed,--

"Look me in the face! Yes, noble lady, you hindered the execution of my

purpose."

"I?"

"Yes, you; for, thinking better of it, I said to myself that I would

tell you all, gazing at your open face, and that you had the power to

absolve and to blot out; but no, you, too, have it not."

The Professorin breathed more freely.

Sonnenkamp continued,--

"You once let fall the word--I know not whether you spoke it or I--but

it was uttered, and so it stands. 'In the new world, where the laws are

not yet so firmly established, they summon a jury of neighbors.' I wish

to summon a jury of free men, before whom I will stand openly. They

shall judge me freely. I wish to unite trial by jury with confession,

and I vow to fulfil what these men shall enjoin upon me as a means of

expiation. Having returned to Europe, I owe the European world either a

deed of atonement, or else the endeavor to convert it. Do you

comprehend my meaning?"

"Perfectly. Here must be something redeeming, in submission to the

verdict of an assemblage of free men."

"I see that you understand me fully," said Sonnenkamp with great

serenity. "And now give me your advice. Whom do you propose as members

of this moral jury, as we may call it? In the first place, I must

refuse Herr von Pranken. He is my son, and cannot be my judge."

"I should not be able to name any one without reflection. Please--I am

yet too weak. This deliberation, this seeking, this thought-travelling,

causes me physical pain."

"Then calm yourself. Herr Dournay, you have heard all--Have you,

though?" he repeated, on observing Eric's abstracted glance.

"Yes, indeed, every thing."

"And now, whom would you propose?"

"First of all, the most sensible of men has to-day himself announced

his arrival."

"Well, well, I accept him. And then?"

"Herr Weidmann."

"Weidmann? He is the uncle of my most bitter enemy."

"But on that very account he will be just."

"He was an abettor in the production of Herr Crutius' newspaper

article."

"From that imputation he is cleared. He charged Prince Valerian

expressly to tell you that he disapproved of Herr Crutius' conduct

throughout."

"And even if Herr Weidmann were your enemy," put in the Professorin:

"it is just your enemies whom you must seek to conciliate."

"You are a wonderful woman: you shall have your way. You shall see how

thoroughly in earnest I am. So, then, Herr Weidmann; and who else?"

"Count Wolfsgarten."

"Accepted without opposition. Go on!"

"The Justice."

"Also accepted."

"Then I should like to plead for a man whom you, perhaps"--

"Only speak out plainly. Who is it?" cried Sonnenkamp impatiently.

"The field-guard."

"The field-guard?" laughed Sonnenkamp. "For all I care! And I give you

the Doctor at once, into the bargain. But now, Herr Dournay, set about

it at once: the business must be begun immediately."

"Who will remain with Roland meanwhile?" Eric would have asked, but

restrained himself, in obedience to a sign from his mother, who seemed

to have divined the question he would fain have asked. She nodded. "You

can leave Roland and Manna to me," she seemed to say.

"You have entirely forgotten our good Major," she said aloud, in a

cheerful tone.

"Because he is understood as a matter of course, and also the Priest,"

replied Sonnenkamp.

Eric named, besides, Prince Valerian, the Banker, and Knopf. The number

was full.

Sonnenkamp urged that not an hour should be lost, and Eric ordered a

horse saddled.

CHAPTER III.

THE HAND OF RECONCILIATION IS NOT GRASPED.

Before Eric started, Manna came to him, saying that she must

immediately go to the convent; that she thought it her duty, above all,

to confess the truth there, and that she did not wish to postpone any

thing so difficult, but to undertake it at once.

Eric was perplexed. Why should Manna wish to re-enter the convent? He

soon recognized in this desire, however, the impulse to do something,

not to remain in inactivity; and, moreover, the manner in which she

sought to sever the old ties in peace was thoroughly noble: so he

merely said,--

"Only do not forget that you are no longer justified in imposing

castigations and mortifications upon yourself, or in allowing them to

be enjoined upon you by others; for you no longer belong to yourself,

Manna, you are mine: you must neither torture my Manna, nor allow

others to torture her."

Manna looked at him with beaming eyes, and from out of all her

tribulation sounded a serene voice, as she said,--

"It was through you, Eric, that I came to this resolution."

"Through me?"

"Yes. You told me how much good it did you, when one of your comrades,

after you had taken leave of him, came to you and said, 'Do not think

hardly of me if I ignore you. You could not do otherwise; and I neither

can nor dare do otherwise.' I am going to imitate you and your comrade.

The souls of those in the convent shall not be burdened with my

desertion, which they must consider as apostasy."

Manna wished that Aunt Claudine should accompany her; but Eric thought

it more fitting that she should travel with Roland. The brother and

sister would thus be alone together, out in the world; and Roland would

have to protect his sister, to render her services which would lift him

out of his state of dead dejection, out of his heavy, monotonous

sorrow.

"You can scarcely imagine how happy it makes me to let you command me,"

said Manna, as Eric arranged every thing.

Roland agreed at once.

"But you must ask your parents' leave," was the next order; and the

children felt painfully that this was but a form: every thing was torn

asunder and rent to shreds; all obedience and all dependence.

"Manna, now is the time," said Roland, in great agitation.

"For what?"

"You ask father; perhaps he will tell you whether we have no

blood-relations in Europe. Whoever they may be, they ought to come to

us now. It is hard enough that we have never troubled ourselves about

them."

Manna looked imploringly up to Eric, who, rightly discerning in the

youth the instinctive longing for family ties, begged them to abstain

from urging the matter for the present, saying that the time for it

would come by and by.

Manna went to her father, and said that she wished to go to the

convent.

Sonnenkamp was alarmed, but quickly regained his composure on Manna's

adding that she went thither for the last time, in order to bid

farewell forever, as she had decided never to become a nun.

In spite of all its distortion, a gleam of triumphant satisfaction

lighted up Sonnenkamp's face.

"Do you see at last? They knew--I now have certain evidence that they

knew--what money, and in what manner earned, you brought them. Did they

ever say a word to you about being unable to accept it?"

Manna avoided this view of the question. She would gladly have

confessed all to her father at once, but had not yet the courage.

Moreover, she had promised Eric to follow his guidance implicitly.

The weather was foggy and cold, as the brother and sister, and Fraeulein

Perini, went down the river: yet the journey refreshed them, for Roland

said after a short time,--

"Ah! There _is_ a world outside after all!"

Towards noon, the sun pierced through the mist, which melted away, and

every thing became suddenly bright. The vessel steamed down the stream,

shooting rapidly along over the clear water, between the sun-illumined

mountains, on which, here and there, harvests were still being

gathered.

The passengers stood or walked on deck, enjoying the wide prospect; but

below in the cabin, lay Manna, with closed eyes, not heeding Fraeulein

Perini's injunction to come up and refresh herself with the view and

the free air, only begging to be left alone. And so she lay and

thought, half dreaming, half awake, of all that had happened to her and

hers. How utterly different it was when she went up the river, with

Roland, last spring! Eric's warning came into her mind, how wealth, and

the ease with which it enables one to make disposition of external

means and of those who serve, seduce us into healing ourselves with

amusements and outward remedies.

This reproach did not now trouble her: she only wished to part

peacefully from a Past, under obligations contracted in her soul to the

friendly souls there, which she wished to fulfil, even though outwardly

separating herself from them. Her soul lay bound by obligations to the

women yonder: she wanted to take care to be truly comprehended, even

though she was outwardly cutting herself off from them.

The difference of faith between Eric and herself again arose before

her. But what course remained to her? To become untrue there to the

pious sisters, or here to Eric; but no, that was no longer possible.

She hoped that the great soul of the Superior would give her calmness;

and thus she lay, sunk in a half-slumber during the whole trip.

On deck, Fraeulein Perini was glad, on the whole, that Manna had

remained unseen; for here and there among the passengers Sonnenkamp was

mentioned, and the report was, that the Prince's negro had lifted him

up with both hands, and had carried him, struggling, down the

staircase, until he was set at liberty by the servants, who brought him

to the carriage. An agent, whom Fraeulein Perini knew, was already

wondering who would buy the Villa, for it was absolutely certain that

the man would not remain there.

In the forward cabin, where Lootz had ensconced himself, he was obliged

to hear the fruiterers who were carrying to the Lower. Rhine the fruit

which they had brought from Sonnenkamp's head-gardener, saying one to

another, that they would not be willing to take a mouthful of fruit

cultivated by this man. They granted him the merit, however, of having

done much toward the introduction of a species of apples which grew

easily and bore well.

At the last stopping-place but one before the Island Cloister, two

black-robed nuns came on board. Fraeulein Perini, who knew one of them,

went down with them into the cabin where Manna was sleeping. Both nuns

placed themselves opposite to her, took out their prayer-books, and

prayed for the poor soul lying there in the sleep of sorrow.

Manna opened her eyes and gazed around in astonishment. She knew not

where she was. One of the nuns--it was the shy one, who always kept in

the background--welcomed her in the French language, and bade her

comfortingly, resign herself to all that she must endure.

Manna sat up. So, then, the news had already reached even their ears!

She went on deck with Roland and the three ladies. The Island cloister

came into view. Every thing was so clear and bright, that she felt as

though she had now suddenly returned to earth. There was every thing,

just as it used to be, seeming to look at her with the question, "Where

hast thou been this long time?"

They got into the boat, and were rowed toward the island. Every tree,

every bench, every shrub, greeted her like a long-vanished Past.

She cast a melancholy glance at the beautiful round seat on the

landing-place, where she had so often sat with Heimchen. Now wet leaves

lay upon the bench.

They reached the convent.

Manna sent her name at once to the Superior, but received the answer

that she must first remain an hour in the church, and then come to her.

Manna understood what this meant; but did the Superior, then, already

know of her defection? She went towards the church, but remained

standing at the door, without entering. She feared the picture within,

knowing that she could not do otherwise than raise her eyes towards it,

and yet that must not be. She turned round again, and went out towards

the park. She heard the children in the house playing together; she

heard singing in another class; she knew how all were sitting; she knew

every bench; approaching the fir-tree where she had so often sat, she

saw that the seat was no longer there. On the kneeling-stool where

Heimchen used to sit, lay withered leaves. "To Heimchen," said a voice

within her. Turning back, it seemed to her, in passing the convent, as

though she were guilty of rebellion and sin in not having obeyed the

Superior's command. She came into the churchyard. On Heimchen's grave

stood a cross with this inscription in golden letters:--

"The child is not dead, but sleepeth."--Mark v. 39.

"How?" cried Manna. "Why these words here? They are spoken in Scripture

of that child who was re-awakened on its death-bed, but not of a buried

one."

She sank down upon the grave, and her thoughts grew confused: she lost

all consciousness of the passage of time. At last, composing herself,

she turned back toward the convent. Admitted into the reception-room,

she was still obliged to wait alone; the pictures on the wall seeming

to withdraw into the distance if she looked up at them.

At last came the Superior. Manna, hastening toward her, would have

thrown herself upon her neck; but she stood rigid, winding both ends of

her hempen girdle around the forefingers of her right and left hand, so

that the rope cut into the flesh.

Manna sank down at her feet.

"Rise," said the Superior severely. "We suffer no vehemence here. It is

to be hoped you yet remember this. Have you been in the church?"

"No," said Manna, rising.

It was long ere the Superior spoke. She probably-expected Manna to

acknowledge her transgression; but Manna could not utter a sound. Every

thing that she had experienced, and that was now within her, seemed to

crowd upon her at once.

"I came hither," she began at last, "in order to leave no sorrow in

your heart, Reverend mother, at my ingratitude. Your treatment of me

has been most noble: you have"--

"No praise. Nothing about me. Speak of yourself."

"My memory must not be a grief to you. I came to beseech you"--

"Why do you hesitate so long? Speak out! What do you wish?"

"Nothing save your faith in the honorable struggle through which I have

passed. I could not do otherwise. I am betrothed to Eric Dournay."

"How, to whom? Did I rightly understand you? Is Herr von Pranken dead?

You are--But no. Speak!"

Faithfully and openly did Manna acquaint her with all that had

happened, standing erect, and speaking in a firm voice. When she had

ended, the Superior said,--

"So you have not come to do penance?"

"No."

"For what, then?"

Manna, grasping her brow, said,--

"Have I then not clearly confessed that I do not feel myself culpable?

I came in order to offer you thanks, heartfelt thanks, for the good

which you did me in time of need, and my memory must not be a sorrow to

you. You yourself once told me that the battle which I must fight with

life would be a hard one. I have not sustained it, or rather--only, I

implore you, be not wounded. Grant me a peaceful resting-place in your

memory."

"Do you wish that, even now? Yes, that is the way with the children of

this world. Even the suicides demand a consecrated grave. You are dead,

and can have no grave in our holy ground. You stretch out your hand for

reconciliation, but of what sort? Your hand is not clasped."

A lay sister entered, bearing a request from Fraeulein Perini to be

admitted into the presence of the Superior and Manna.

She entered.

"Have you any thing to say?" asked the Superior, turning towards

Fraeulein Perini.

"Yes. Here stands Fraeulein Manna. I remind her before you, worthy

mother, of a sacred promise which Fraeulein Manna obtained from me."

"A promise? From you?

"Yes. You, Fraeulein Manna, extorted from me a promise to hold you fast

with all manner of punishments and of bonds, if the spirit of apostasy

should ever gain a foothold in your soul. Did you not. Manna?"

"I did."

"And now?" asked the Superior.

"Now I belong to myself no longer. I no longer call any thing my own:

no possession, not even myself. I cannot give in expiation what is not

mine."

The three women stood long in silence. Finally the Superior said,--

"Have you confessed to the Priest?"

"No."

The Superior had turned away, and spoke with averted face:--

"We force you not. We bind you not. We could; but we do not wish to.

Go, go! I will see your face no more! Go! Alas, what a hell you bear

within you! The trace of your footsteps here shall disappear. No, I

will hear nothing more. Go! Has she gone? Do not answer me. Dear

Perini, tell me--is she gone?"

"She is going," replied Fraeulein Perini.

"Where is my sister?" they suddenly heard Roland's loud voice saying.

The door was thrown violently open. Roland, quickly perceiving what had

been going on, cried,--

"You have humiliated yourself sufficiently: come with me." He seized

Manna by the hand, and left the convent with her.

When they were in the open air, Roland said he had been unable to

endure the suspense any longer. He had feared lest Manna would allow

herself to be maltreated, enduring unkindness as a penance.

"And that you must not do, even if you could bear it yourself, for

Eric's sake. You must not allow Eric's betrothed to be insulted and

abused."

How Manna's eyes shone as she gazed into Roland's glowing countenance!

"It is over," she said. "A whole world is swallowed up behind me. It is

well that it is over."

Fraeulein Perini remained some time longer with the Superior, then

followed Manna. Sitting beside her in the boat, she said in a peculiar

low whisper,--

"I was obliged to say that. I could not do otherwise."

Manna held out her hand, saying,--

"You only did your duty. I am not angry with you. Forgive me."

Manna knew not how she had left the convent. Only when she embraced

Roland did her tears begin to fall. On their homeward journey she did

not go below, but sat on the deck beside Roland, looking at the

landscape with her great black eyes wide open.

CHAPTER IV.

TRANQUILLITY ON THE ROAD, AND UNREST AT HOME.

On his way to Mattenheim, Eric met the Major. He felt cheerful enough

to tell him that he was scouring the country as if enlisting a corps of

firemen; and, when he explained this meaning of his words, the Major

needed no urging to agree to his part. He looked on the affair in the

light of a court of honor, from which no one should shrink.

"Poor man! Poor man!" he repeated, over and over again, "He was not

open with me; but then, neither was she. I do not take it ill of him.

She was not so either: it was the first time in her life. She"--this

was of course, Fraeulein Milch--"knew that I could not endure it. I can

do much, comrade: you would not believe how much I can do. But there is

one thing of which I am incapable; and that is hypocrisy. I cannot have

friendly intercourse with a man whom I neither love nor esteem. I knew

that the man had been a slaveholder; and I have always said that no one

who associates with poodles can keep off the fleas: and who would

believe that the man could utter so many kindly words? And with you,

comrade, he talked like a sage, like a saint. I, with my dull brains,

cannot make out, and even Herr Weidmann could not help me, why the good

children must suffer all this. But now I will explain it to you. Now I

know the reason. It came into my head on the road. This is how it is. I

have not learned much. I used to be a drummer: I'll tell you my story

some time."

"Yes; but what have you discovered?"

"Just so she always reminds me when I wander off from what I was

saying. This is it. You see, man, as it says in Scripture, is born in

pain, trouble; and the human soul is also born in pain, want, and

misery. We poor fellows know that; and that is why rich and

distinguished people are not fairly in the world. I mean--you know--and

now our Roland is born anew, into true nobility, for the first time.

The Prince can ennoble the name, but not the soul, you understand; so

it is. And our Roland is now the real nobleman. To endure evil and do

good, that is the motto which he has now received; and that is a device

which has yet been engraved upon no knightly shield: but you see it

stands written within, and there it will remain."

The Major pointed to his heart with a trembling hand. Eric listened in

astonishment, as this timid man, so slow of speech, uttered all this,

with many interruptions, it is true, but with great fervor; and now the

Major reminded him how they had tormented themselves with the problem

of what Roland should do with so much money, and said that it was now

decided, once for all, he must do nothing but good with it.

When, at last, Eric was about to separate from the Major, the latter

held him fast once again, saying,--

"Listen only to this one thing more. I was a drummer: I'll tell you the

story some day. I became an officer; and my comrades did not dream how

they honored me, when they used secretly, thinking I did not hear it,

to call me Capt. Drumsticks, or, for shortness, even Sticks. Yes: they

did honor to the Capt. Sticks; for, from that time forward, it became

clear to me. I was unable to explain it so to myself, but she made me

understand: she knows every thing. Yes: so it is. He is only half alive

whom Fortune has made into something. Misfortune is the Holy Spirit,

saying to mankind, 'Arise and walk.' You understand me?"

"Yes," said Eric earnestly, pressing the old man's valiant hand and

riding on.

Looking back, he saw the veteran still standing on the same spot. He

nodded to the horseman, as though he would have said to him, in the

distance. Yes: to you I have given good baggage,--my best. You will not

lose it; and now, if I die, it is in the possession of one who will

keep it, and not give it away. He thanked the Builder of all the

worlds, that he had caused him to pass through so much that was hard,

and yet always to come out of it unharmed.

Meanwhile, Eric was riding cheerfully towards Mattenheim. On the way,

however, he turned round. It seemed to him that he was bound in honor

to summon Clodwig first. That in forming this resolution he was also

influenced by an impulse of curiosity as to how Bella was now behaving,

he frankly acknowledged to himself: nevertheless, he rode first to

Wolfsgarten.

The parrot shrieked from the open window, as though wishing to inform

all the inhabitants of the arrival of so unusual a guest; for it was

long since Eric had been there. He thought he had discerned the form of

Bella in the room adjoining that at whose open window the parrot hung;

but she did not show herself again.

Entering Clodwig's room, he found him, for the first time, in a state

of despondency. He must also have had some bodily ailment; since he did

not rise, as had always been his wont, greeting his young friend with

as much formality as heartiness.

"I knew that you would come to me," said Clodwig, breathing hard, but

speaking in a mild voice.

"If one spirit can influence another at a distance, you and your mother

must have felt most clearly that I was with you at this time. And now,

if you please, let us talk very quietly, as I am somewhat indisposed.

Let us forget, first of all, that we are starved by intercourse with

that man. I think we ought, in this case, to think of him, and not of

ourselves. See,"--taking up a phial,--"look at this. I take a childish

delight in this new chemical stuff, which looks exactly like clear

water, and yet serves to efface a written word without scratching the

paper at all; and now I am thinking, ought we not to be able to find

some moral agency similar to this?"

Eric, seeing the matter which he had in hand immediately referred to,

laid the plan of the jury before Clodwig, and called upon him to bear

his part in it. Clodwig declined, with the remark that Herr Sonnenkamp,

or whatever his name was, must have a court of his peers,--men of

similar rank, or, rather, of a similar profession with himself. He, for

his part, was no peer of Herr Sonnenkamp, or whatever he called

himself.

Eric reminded his friend, with great caution, of his having dwelt on

the equality of privileges at Heilingthal; but Clodwig seemed to give

no heed to these words.

There must have been a great weight on the soul of this man, usually so

attentive; for, without noticing Eric's reminder, he related how much

he had exerted himself in these latter days for the American, some hot

heads at court having wished to summon him before a tribunal on a

charge of high treason. This idea had been very repulsive to the

Prince, who had written Clodwig a letter with his own hand, thanking

him for having given his counsel against any elevation to the ranks of

the nobility. Clodwig had thereupon advised the Prince to desist from

any further proceedings against the man, who, he said, had been allured

and seduced into things with which he should have nothing to do.

Again Eric expressed his wish that Clodwig would assist at the trial.

He merely replied,--

"I will inform the Court that the man summons a tribunal of his own

accord. It will have a good effect there; and to oblige you"--here he

sat upright, and his expression of languor changed to one of

resolution. He passed his hand over his whole face, as though feeling

that he must wipe away its look of distress--"yes, on your account, in

the belief that your connection with that house may be, by this means,

severed, or that light may be thrown upon it, I do not shrink from the

appeal."

It was hard to Eric that this consent should be given for his sake, and

not with a view to serving the cause. He was on the point of announcing

his intention of becoming the man's son, when approaching footsteps

were heard. Clodwig rose hastily, and, seizing Eric's hand, said, in a

low but decided voice,--

"Well, I yield. The man wishes a court of honor: he shall have one."

Clodwig had uttered these words quickly and precipitately, for at that

moment Bella entered.

She greeted Eric with Latin words; and it was with a strange confusion

of sensations that he perceived in her a sudden defiance, utterly out

of keeping with the present state of things, and, above all, with

Clodwig's dejected mood.

"Pray tell me," she asked, "did you ever pass through a phase in which

you admired men of force, like Ezzelin von Romano? There is, after all,

something great in such violent natures, especially when contrasted

with men of petty interests and weak dilettanteism"--,

Eric could not understand what this meant. It did not occur to him that

Bella, screened by the presence of a stranger, was discharging arrows,

none of which missed their mark.

Clodwig gently closed his eyes, nodded, and then opened them again.

"Oh, yes," she continued, more calmly, "I am glad that I remember a

question which I wished to put to you. Tell me, what would Cicero or

Socrates have said, on reading Lord Byron's 'Cain'?" Eric looked at her

with a puzzled air. This question was so extravagantly odd, that he did

not know whether it was intended as a sneer, or whether she was insane.

Bella, however, went on:--

"Has Roland ever yet read Byron's 'Cain'?"

"I believe not."

"Give him the book now. It must have an effect upon him. He, too, is a

son, who has a right to revolt at his father's banishment from Eden. It

is wonderful, the correspondence between the two stories,--is it not?

Do you know that we are all, strictly speaking, children of Cain? Abel

was childless; yes, the pious Abel had no children: we are all

descended from Cain. A grand pedigree! One more question, dear Herr

Doctor, Have you never got out of the _savants_ the form and color of

the mark branded on Cain's brow by God the Father?"

"I do not understand you," Eric answered,

"Neither do I understand myself," laughed Bella, It was a dismal laugh.

She then continued:--

"I began to read Cicero, 'De Summo Bono,' with the help of a

translation, of course; but I did not get far, and took up Byron's

'Cain,' instead: that is the finest thing the modern world has

produced."

Eric still know not what to reply, and only gazed into the faces of

Bella and Clodwig. "What is going on here?" he said to himself.

Bella began again,--

"Were not the female slaves who served the Roman ladies obliged to puff

out their cheeks, when a noble matron wished to strike them in the

face? _A propos_, how is Fraeulein Sonnenkamp?"

"She has gone to the convent," replied Eric with downcast eyes.

It oppressed him to be obliged to answer Bella's questions with regard

to Manna.

"That seems to me very sensible," was the rejoinder.

"Such a cloister is a shelter where the sensitive child will best find

repose until the storm is past. What will Roland now do? What are your

intentions, and those of your mother?"

These questions were put in a manner so superficial, so distant, and so

conventional, that Eric was able to reply with a certain degree of

cheerfulness,--

"In the interim, we have recourse to the great deed which is so

universal."

"The great deed?"

"Yes: in the mean time, we are doing nothing."

In the midst of this conversation, Eric's thoughts were in the convent

with Manna. There she, too, was now confronting people who had once

been such near friends to her. How did they now appear in their new

character of enemies and antagonists? Surely they had not assumed this

cold, indifferent tone. He felt as though he must stretch out his hand

protectingly over Manna, who was now bearing crushing reproaches, and,

perhaps, even allowing a penance to be laid upon herself. He grieved

that he had let her travel alone with Roland and Fraeulein Perini. He

felt that he ought not to have left her.

Such was his absorbing thought; and so he absently took leave, saying

that he must go on to Weidmann's. Again he rode through the wood which

he had traversed on Clodwig's horse the first time that he went to

Villa Eden. How utterly different was the Villa to-day! And here at

Wolfsgarten,--here he felt that there was some mystery which he could

not unravel. How extremely happy had Bella and Clodwig then seemed to

him! and now, what were they? Bella's strange, wandering talk,

jumbling together Cicero and Byron's 'Cain,' showed that she must have

passed hours in dragging herself restlessly through all sorts of

things. Then Clodwig seemed overwhelmed by melancholy from which even

his universal kindness could only temporarily rouse him.

Eric felt that he must forget all this, since he had in view an end

which he must pursue for others and himself,--more than for himself,

for Manna. Only he who is personally free from care can devote himself

fully and freely to the service of others.

CHAPTER V.

ACQUIESCENCE AND RELUCTANCE.

It was already night when Eric reached Mattenheim. The Weidmann family

had entered their winter residence, as they called the beautiful,

bright rooms on the upper story of their house, with pictures on the

walls, and open fires burning on the tasteful hearths.

Frau Weidmann was sitting with her daughter-in-law behind the table on

which stood the lamp, while her son was reading aloud. Herr Weidmann

was in his study.

Eric begged leave to seek him there, and found him among the alembics

and retorts of his laboratory.

"I cannot shake hands," cried he gayly; "but, first of all, turn your

mind from the weight which oppresses you. That will help matters. You

see you find me in a cheerful mood. We are trying to profit by a new

discovery. We have found that a new sort of printer's ink can be

prepared from the skins and grounds of grapes. The matter promises

well, and our friend Knopf is probably already writing a poem on this

subject. He wishes, that, in future, all lyrics, but especially

drinking songs, should be printed only with ink prepared in this

manner. Look, here is the new stuff boiling. But you had better wait in

the next room, where you will find some very interesting newspapers.

Wait a little while, and I will be with you."

Eric, going into the adjoining apartment, found the table strewn with

American newspapers, containing accounts of violent election struggles

between the Republicans and the Democrats. The latter name had been

assumed by those who wished to enforce State rights so far as to be

incompatible with the existing Union; their true and chief object being

the preservation of slavery. On the other hand, the Republican party

was united in the name and spirit of Abraham Lincoln.

"In these days in which we live," thought Eric, "the great cause is

being decided in the New World. In what state of mind is Sonnenkamp

awaiting the result of this struggle?" He read on without knowing what

he read.

Weidmann came in, saying that he had expected Eric, and asked how

Sonnenkamp's children had endured the publicity of this affair. He

declared his readiness to serve, as soon as Eric had explained to him

the plan of the jury. He added, that he could not as yet foresee any

permanent result that could come from it, but that at least a clearer

insight into the matter would be obtained by this means, and, perhaps,

the power of putting the children in the position due to them.

Weidmann was the first person out of the family, with the exception of

the Major, to whom Eric communicated his connection with Manna. He was

not in the least surprised, having looked upon this relationship as

inevitable, from all that he had heard of Manna, in connection with

what he knew of Eric. He even added, that it was on Eric's account that

he had instantly acquiesced in the plan proposed, knowing how nearly

the restoration of the honor of the house, in such measure as was

possible, must concern him, and feeling that it was the duty of his

friends to stand by him.

"Oh, I was so proud of my integrity!" lamented Eric; "and now"--

"You may remain so," interrupted Weidmann; "and I can put your mind at

ease on one point. It is certain that the greater part of the wealth of

this man at Villa Eden was not gained through the slave-trade. That I

know from my nephew."

"Pray, assure our Roland of that, first of all."

"I will. Send him to me as soon as possible."

He asked how it happened that Herr von Pranken continued to consider

himself as the son of the house, clinging to this connection with

inexplicable tenacity.

Eric could only say that he and Manna, in order not to cause more

confusion at this juncture, had kept their affection a secret with the

greatest care.

Weidmann urged that it should be made known before the trial; and Eric

gave him his word that it should.

His friend then returned at once to the preparations for the jury,

saying,--

"One other thing will be hard to arrange. I think that we ought to

include the negro Adams."

Eric doubted whether Sonnenkamp would consent to this; but Weidmann

repeated that the blacks had precisely the same right to judge the

whites, as the latter had to judge them. Eric promised to propose this,

but begged Weidmann, meanwhile, not to make his participation in the

business dependent on this.

While they were sitting cheerfully at the table, came a new guest, the

Doctor. He had been attending a patient in the neighborhood, and was in

high spirits, having just performed a successful operation. Soon

turning to Eric, he said,--

"There you have an example. Oh, if we could only prescribe a sedative

that would quiet for weeks or months!"

He told them about the man whom he had just left, adding,--

"See how much the fine doings of nobility and virtue signify. The man

from whose estate I came is an illegitimate Royal son, and his children

are already allied by marriage with the clan of high society. So, in

twenty years, no one will ask whence came the wealth of our Roland."

When he had heard of the jury, and how his assistance was taken for

granted, and as a fixed fact, he cried,--

"Yes! That is the way with the old tyrants! They love a mock burial.

But you won't see me in the funeral-procession. Do you really believe

that he will submit to your decree? His only object is to compromise

other men. He is deceiving you all; and you, dear Dournay, have

interfered enough on this man's behalf. I advise you to leave matters

as they are. You are trying to help a negro, no, a negro-dealer, to

wash himself white."

The Doctor, as he proclaimed his opinion, gave his jolly laugh, which

no one could hear without laughing too.

"The fellow would be quite to my taste," he went on; "he would have

been a good, healthy scoundrel of the old sort, only that rascals

nowadays, alas! are all so reflective, so self-conscious. They are not

satisfied to act as one of Nature's elementary forces, but they are

constantly making outrageous attempts at logical self-justification. If

this Herr Sonnenkamp really wished to change himself, it would be

despicable cowardice."

"Cowardice?" interrupted Weidmann. "He who has not a good conscience

can easily be overthrown, and has no persevering fortitude. He can be

bold, he can be foolhardy; but temerity is not courage."

"Ho, ho!" interrupted the Doctor. "Have I not already told you that I

have an aversion to all this sentimental fuss on behalf of the negroes?

I have a natural repugnance for negroes. I don't see why my reason

should brand such an innate physiological antipathy as a prejudice. It

shows prejudice, moreover, to say that all prejudices are groundless. I

could wish that we had more of such inborn dislikes, and that we did

not permit so-called civilization to rob us of those which we have. The

slave-trade is not a fine thing, it is true. If I had been a prince, I

should, after all, have ennobled the man. I should have said, 'Good

friend, take a bath; but then be merry, and the Devil take orthodoxy!'

The thing which vexes me most is, that this Professor Crutius has

obliged the nobles by firing off his article beforehand. Could he not

have waited a day longer? Then Sonnenkamp would have been one of the

nobility, and they would have been obliged to swallow it as they could.

Would not that have been much better?"

The Doctor seemed determined not to regard the matter in a serious

light. When they were leaving, however, and he had insisted on Eric's

sitting beside him in the carriage, and tying his horse on behind, he

said,--

"As for the rest of it, I acquiesce, and, to tell you the truth, on

account of your faith. You believe that the past can be atoned for by

an effort of the will; and do you really believe this man will repent?

Well, your faith shall remove me, the mountain of unbelief. We will

see."

Eric told him that he had been at Wolfsgarten, and was not a little

astonished when the Doctor said that the incongruity and want of

harmony between Clodwig and Bella had reached a crisis.

"Bella," he said, "seeks a narcotic. She studies Latin, and, while

smaller natures intoxicate themselves with brandy, she strives to stun

herself with Lord Byron's poetry. I ought not to speak of Byron. I was

once too much inspired by him, and now go to the other extreme. I

consider this sort of writing to be not wine, but--But then, as I said,

I am a heretic, and, indeed, a renegade heretic."

Seeing that Eric shrank back, he added,--

"You are horrified by my heresy; but then, it is only my individual

opinion."

The Doctor was going on to abuse Bella again in his old way. Eric said

involuntarily, how strange it seemed to him that the Doctor should be

so imbittered against her, for whom he had once shown a preference.

"Ah, bravo!" cried the Doctor in a loud voice. "My respects! I admire

that woman. So, then, she told you that I had once paid her my

addresses? Excellent! A stroke of genius! I admire the adroitness with

which she would fain have deprived my opinion of all weight in your

eyes. What bunglers we men are! Shall I make you a solemn protestation?

No. Do you believe me capable of the villany of speaking so of a woman

whom I had loved, even for a minute, or liked even for a second? But I

thank you. I am enriched by a goodly addition to my knowledge of

humanity. I thank you. My conscience is soothed, for I have not judged

this woman too harshly. Recall this day's ride to my mind at, some

future time. I tell you, that woman will yet earn some notoriety.

How--what? That I cannot tell you; but such a wealth of inventive power

will yet bring, something to pass."

All this jarred on Eric's mood. Why must it come at such a time? Was

there not a sufficient weight on his spirits? He scarcely heard the

Doctor, as he went on to relate how hard a struggle Pranken had had

with his noble connections, and to keep his place at court, owing to

his refusal to renounce Sonnenkamp.

When they had reached the valley, Eric took leave of the Doctor,

unfastened his horse, and rode back to the Villa.

In Sonnenkamp's room there was still a light. He sent for Eric, who

informed him that all had agreed to the plan. He said not a word about

Adams being proposed as a juryman.

"I thank you, I thank you heartily," said Sonnenkamp, who was seated in

his armchair. His voice sounded like an old man's. "One thing more," he

said, sitting upright. "Does the Countess Bella know of this?"

"I cannot say; but I do not doubt that the Count will inform her of it.

"Did she say nothing about me?"

"No."

"Nothing at all? Did she speak of no member of this household?"

"Oh! yes. Of the children."

"Indeed! Of the children? Well, I thank you. Pleasant dreams."

Eric went to his chamber. He stood long at the window, gazing out upon

the landscape.

The reign of Nature continues through all human revolutions; and happy

is he, who, in contemplation of this, can forget himself.

It was a dark night. A black, wide-spreading cloud hung over the

mountains. Then a bright streak of light appeared on the edge of the

ridge, and stood between the mountains and the cloud, which grew

lighter. The moon rose, the black cloud ingulfed it, and now the light

shone out on both sides, above and below; but the dark mass was darker

than before, while detached masses of a leaden color floated on the

right and left.

Eric closed his eyes, and lost himself in thought. When he looked up

again, the moon was standing above the dark cloud, and the landscape

was bathed in its light, which quivered on the stream. And again, after

a time, the moon was hidden by another cloud. Eric looked out long and

fixedly, till the cloud had vanished. The whole sky was as clear and

bright as steel undimmed by a breath; and peacefully shone the mild

sphere of light, high in heaven.

Nature, fixed on firm foundations, works on according to eternal laws.

Must it not be so too with human life?

Eric thought of Manna, and with the thought a soft light was spread

over every thing, like the radiance now diffused from on high.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BROKEN-OFF TWIG.

While Sonnenkamp was carrying on the arrangements for the trial by

jury, Pranken returned looking ill; and, on Sonnenkamp's urging him to

tell him what was the matter, he drew forth the letters from his

pocket.

He first laid before him the one in which he had been notified by the

marshal of the Prince's household, that it was impossible for him, as

chamberlain to his Highness, to retain any connection with a man who

had not only forfeited his honor, but had behaved so wrongly towards

the Prince, that the question was still being agitated whether he

should not be openly arraigned on a charge of high treason.

Sonnenkamp trembled, but laughed at the same time, in a way peculiar to

himself.

"Let me see the letter again," said he.

He read it; then, giving it back in silence, asked what the other

letter contained.

Pranken said it was yet more decided; and handed him the document of

the military court of honor, calling upon him to give up all

intercourse with Sonnenkamp.

"And what do you intend to do?" asked Sonnenkamp. "I release you."

"I shall stand by you," replied Pranken.

Sonnenkamp embraced him. There was a pause, a strange silence between

these two men.

"I defy them all," exclaimed Pranken; "but here is another letter. It

is for you," giving him the letter of the Cabinetsrath.

Sonnenkamp read it.

The document was drawn up in very polite terms, and contained the

request that he would travel for a time, until an opportunity should

offer for putting down the party which was now urging his indictment

before a court on a charge of treason.

"Do you know the purport of this letter?" he asked.

"Certainly. The Heir Cabinetsrath chose to give it to me unsealed."

"And what do you advise?"

"I second his request."

A convulsive twitching passed over Sonnenkamp's face.

"Prudent, very prudent," he said to himself. "You wish to banish me,

and retain my estate."

A horror began "to creep over him as he saw a vision of himself seated

in prison; but he drove it off.

"So you are of the same opinion?"

"Yes. But, before you leave for any length of time, allow me to point

out a means by which you may earn new honors for us both."

"Is there such a means?"

"Yes. I have already told you that there is another faction, quiet but

powerful, which is ours, and we, or, rather, you, have the means of

binding it to you yet more closely."

And now Pranken told how he had promised to be present, almost

immediately, at a council held by the nobles of this ecclesiastical

province (which extended beyond the limits of the principality), in the

archiepiscopal palace. The proceedings of this convocation were to be

strictly confidential. Its object was to confer on the ways and means

of rendering the Pope military assistance.

"You do not intend entering the papal army?" asked Sonnenkamp.

"I would, if I were not bound by the ties of duty, of honor, of love,

to remain here at my post."

"That is fine, very fine. Excuse my interruption. And why do you impart

this to me? I am not of the nobility, and have no place in this

council."

"You belong to them, and will be present."

"I belong to them? I shall be present?"

"I will be brief. You will give a sum sufficient for the formation of a

regiment, and I can assure you, I have security for your being not only

unmolested, but crowned with honors."

"And, having given the money, can I remain here in honor?" Sonnenkamp

said with a smile.

"It would be better, if you were absent for a time."

A look of exultation passed over the face of the questioner. This was

better still, he thought. They wished to deprive him at once of a

portion of his property, and to get rid of him, into the bargain. He

looked at Pranken with an expression of great friendliness, and said,--

"Excellent! Does the priest of this parish know of this?"

"No. I have won over the Dean of the cathedral, though?"

"Will you allow me to send for the Priest?"

"Certainly, I will bring him myself."

"No! Remain here."

He gave through the speaking-tube an order that the Priest should be

requested to come to him; then, turning again to Pranken, said,--

"And so you second the request? Most excellent! They sell blacks,

buying whites instead, and the whites become snow-white. They even

become saints."

"I do not understand you."

"Very likely. I am only pleased at the excellent arrangement of this

world. My young friend, I believe that the thing called virtue is

taught by means of a system in the Universities: they have a system of

morality. We, my young friend, will work out a system of criminality.

We will establish a chair in the University: Thousands of auditors will

come flocking around us, whom we alone can instruct in the Truth, the

real Truth. The world is magnificent! It must nominate me for the

professorship of worldly wisdom, which is a science differing widely

from the idea hitherto entertained of it. It is time that this moral

rouge should be rubbed off. I know, thus far, but one human being whom

I shall admit as my colleague into this faculty, and that one, alas! is

a woman; but we must overcome this prejudice also. Magnificent!"

"You have not yet told me whether you accede to the plan"--

"Have I not? My young friend, you cannot yet become a professor. You

are still a school-boy, learning the elements, the rudiments. I would

fain found a new Rome, and, as once the Rome of Antiquity was peopled

with a community of mere vagabonds, so I would fill my city from the

houses of correction. No nation can equal their inhabitants. They are

the really vigorous men."

"I do not understand you."

"You are right," said Sonnenkamp at last in a gentle tone. "We will be

very upright and discreet, very moral and delicate. My young friend, I

have something very different in view. The mouse-trap of your cathedral

dean is too clumsy for me. I shall not snap at this bait cooked in

lard."

Pranken was full of wrath. Sonnenkamp's manner of treating him like a

boy still in his school-jacket roused his indignation.

He stood up very straight, and looked down at himself from head to

foot, to see whether he were indeed a little boy. At last he said,

throwing back his head,--

"Respected father, I beg you to desist from this pleasantry."

"Pleasantry?"

"Yes. I have united myself to you--you cannot deny it--with a loyalty

that--I have wished to make you my equal in--no, I did not mean to say

that at such a time--only I must beseech you not to withhold your

concurrence from this project. We have obligations. We, have great

obligations; and I demand that you should"--

"Why do you hesitate? Obey! Pray say the word. Yes, my noble young

friend, I will obey you. It is fine, very fine. What uniform have you

chosen? Shall we raise a regiment of cavalry or of infantry? Of course,

we will make Roland an officer at once. Better say cavalry: he sits

well on horseback. Look here, revered fanatic, I, too, have my fancy.

We will ride over the Campagna. Ha! That is jolly! And we will have the

best arms of the newest sort. I understand a little of that sort of

thing. I have shipped many to America,--more than any of you know. What

do you think of my raising the whole regiment in America?"

"That would be so much the better."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Sonnenkamp. "A morning dream! They are said to be

the sweetest. Haven't you slept almost enough? Haven't you dreamed out

your dream?"

Pranken felt as though chains were being wound around and around him.

His sensations were those of a man confined in a lion's cave. He must

be gentle, yielding, conciliatory. He dares not rouse the lion. He must

allow the brute to play with him, expecting every instant to be torn to

pieces by his claws. Oh for some means of escape!

Pranken put his hand to his head. What manner of man was this? What did

he want of him?

Sonnenkamp said, with his hand on the young man's shoulder,--

"I have nothing against your piety or your pious acts. It is to me a

matter of indifference; but, my young friend, none of my money shall be

thrown to those cowled fellows. Fine economy, that! Manna builds a

convent; you raise a regiment. And is it for this that I have undergone

so much? No, you were only joking; were you not? And now let us say no

more about it. Be shrewd, and deceive those who think themselves the

most so. You will find that the daintiest morsel. Ah! There is Manna

coming into the court! We will call her here instantly."

He called through the speaking-tube that Manna was to come to him at

once.

Before Pranken had time to say any thing, the door was opened without a

knock, and Manna entered.

"You sent for me, father?"

"Yes. How did you get on at the convent?"

"I have taken leave of it forever."

"Thank you, my child, thank you. You do me good, and you know how much

I need it now. So now let me arrange every thing on the spot. You look

so fresh, so animated! I have never seen you so much so. Herr von

Pranken," turning to him, "you see how Manna has freed herself, and I

have your promise to give up the matter of which we have been speaking;

have I not?"

Pranken made no answer.

"I did not know that you were here, Herr von Pranken," began Manna,

"but now, now it is best that it is so."

"Certainly," said Sonnenkamp decidedly. "You can have nothing to say to

me which our faithful friend may not hear. Sit down."

He took, according to his wont, a little peg of wood, and began to

whittle.

Manna did not sit down: with her hand on the back of a chair, she

said,--

"Herr von Pranken, I wish to prove to you my gratitude for your

faithful"--.

"That you will, that you can," interrupted her father, looking up from

his peg. "It is well. I need joy, I need rest, I need serenity. You are

right. A cordial would now be doubly refreshing. Give our friend your

hand now."

"I give it in farewell."

"In farewell?" cried Sonnenkamp, making a deep cut in the peg. He went

up to Manna, and caught her hand.

"Pray, father," she interrupted. "Herr von Pranken, you are a nobleman

whom I honor and esteem. You have proved yourself loyal to my father:

as his child, I shall value you, and remember you with gratitude;

but"--

"But what?" demanded Sonnenkamp.

"I owe it to you to speak the truth. I cannot become your wife. I love

Herr Dournay, and he loves me. We are one; and no power of earth or

heaven can part us."

"_You_ and the teacher, that Huguenot, that word-huckster, that

hypocrite? I will strangle him with my own hands, the thief"--

"Father," returned Manna, drawing herself up to her full height, while

the heroic courage which shone from her eyes made her appear taller and

stronger than she was in reality,--"father, Herr Dournay is a teacher

and a Huguenot. It is only your anger that speaks the rest."

"My anger shall speak no more. You do not know me yet. I stake my life

on this"--

"That you will not do, father. We children have enough to bear

already."

A cry, horrible as that of some monster, burst from Sonnenkamp's

breast.

Turning to Pranken, he cried,--

"Leave us! Herr von Pranken. Leave me alone with her!"

"No," was the reply. "I will not leave you alone with your daughter. I

have loved her. I have a right to protect her."

Sonnenkamp supported himself by grasping the table. A vertigo seemed to

seize him, and he cried,--

"Do you hear, Manna? Do you hear? And will you reject such a nobleman?

Revoke your decision, my child; I will implore you on my knees. See,

how perverted your mind is! I have enough to bear already. Do not heap

this upon me, too. Look at this man! can you refuse such a one? Manna,

you are a sensible, good child. You have only been playing with us; you

have only wished to test us. See, you are smiling. I thank you, I

thank you for this trial. By means of it, you have obtained a fresh

proof of his nobleness. Manna, there he stands. Take him in your arms.

I will gladly die; I will do whatever the world demands: only fulfil

this one request."

"I cannot, father, I cannot."

"You can, and you will."

"Believe me, father"--

"Believe you?--you, who but lately declared with such firmness, 'I will

become a nun!' The infirm of purpose cannot be trusted."

"Father, it pains me unspeakably to be obliged to wound you and Herr

von Pranken thus."

"Well--it is well: I must bear this too. You can cut my heart out; for,

alas! I have a heart. Fie! And is it for this that I have defied the

world, old and new? is it for this that I am thrust out of both,--to

call a hypocritical rascal my son? Oh these philosophers! these

idealists! these humanitarian fanatics! He smuggles himself into my

house as a tutor, in order to marry millions. Oh, most practical

philosophers, and rascally liars and hypocrites, into the bargain! I

will not bear it!"

He bent his fingers like claws, and moved his hands rapidly, crying,--