"Is your son with you?"
"Yes, your Highness."
"Is he still determined to enter the army?"
"He is anxious to do so."
"I like the noble-looking youth, and will take care that the ladies do not spoil him; they would like to make a plaything of him. Has he already applied for admission?"
"Not yet, your Highness. I wished to have the application made in the name that your Highness is pleased to confer upon me."
"Quite right," answered the Prince. On his writing-table were two telegraphic knobs, a white and a black one; he pressed the white one; the old valet entered, and the Prince said,—
"I desire that there shall be no one in the ante-chamber."
The attendant withdrew. Sonnenkamp gazed questioningly at the Prince, who said:—
"Your elevation to rank has been a difficult matter for me. You have many enemies, of course."
Sonnenkamp's eyes closed for a moment, as if some one were brandishing a dagger before them; and then he gazed at the picture; it was no creation of his fancy, it was hanging there behind the Prince. Why did the Prince have it in his cabinet?
"You are a man of noble ideas," began the Prince anew; "you have shaped your life yourself, I respect you for that; such men deserve the highest honors. I am glad that I can confer them on you, as I can."
Sonnenkamp wanted to say that he was well aware of the opinion of the Count of Wolfsgarten, but that he did not question the absolute power of the Prince; but it seemed better to be silent. Why should he embark in a discussion which would only lengthen out the scene? And besides, the Cabinetsrath had strongly urged upon him the necessity of discretion.
The Prince now went over once more all the noble and good things which Sonnenkamp had done. The latter listened modestly with downcast eyes; he really found it very trying to hear it all now in his present position; the Prince might defer it until a party, or a hunt, or some other occasion would offer a favorable opportunity. Sonnenkamp was of the opinion that the whole court, as well as himself, looked upon all these stories about nobility as nothing more than an excellent necessary humbug; he was astonished to find the Prince so solemn and earnest in a tête-à-tête. Or was this part of the humbug?
But the Prince was going through with what was before him as became a man moved by duty, however unpleasant the duty might be; he evidently considered it proper to declare his motives, in order to exhort the man to strive after things still more noble. He seemed to himself at this moment a kind of priest, who, concealed from the whole world in the inner sanctuary of the temple, is consecrating a novice; he was much moved himself. The first chamberlain had not been wrong; the Prince had returned to the palace some time before the hour appointed, but he had been quietly preparing himself beforehand for this solemn ceremony.
Since Herr von Endlich's elevation to the nobility, the Prince had been in the habit of using certain set phrases; no one knew who had originated them, but he often repeated, like a lesson learned by heart, the words—"Yes, yes, it is an established rule, an excellent rule, that the monumental should not be treated lightly. One should not carve in stone, or cast in bronze, a momentary jest or whim, to look awkward and out of place as time goes on; such things are only fit to enliven the passing moment. The transient should not be transformed into an enduring monument."
He did not show distinctly what was in his mind, but it was easy to see what he meant. He had not done well in making a pun with the name he had conferred upon Herr Ton Endlich, for what is more monumental than elevation to rank? The present occasion, therefore, he wished to make a thoroughly solemn one.
Patiently, and like a child bending forward to receive confirmation, Sonnenkamp bowed his head. Several times the Prince stretched out one hand, several times the other, several times both together, while he was speaking of the blessings which men strongly armed with the knowledge of the higher duties spread around them. Sonnenkamp expected every minute that he would lay both hands upon his head and bless him, and although the Prince was younger than himself, he would have received the blessing with modesty and humility, for this man had been consecrated by the custom of ages for the dispensation of honor.
At this moment Sonnenkamp tried to be right monarchically inclined; if it had been demanded of him, he would, with every prescribed formula, have solemnly foresworn republic, constitution, and whatever was firmly fixed by the power of law.
In the midst of his remarks the Prince took up a roll, covered with blue velvet, that was lying on his table; he took off the covering and drew out a parchment roll that crackled and rustled, and bore a broad glistening seal.
Sonnenkamp took off his right-hand glove; now comes the moment when he must take the oath and receive the parchment that is to make him a new man. He was ready to be made a new man; he tried to be deeply affected, and sought for the only thing in the world that could really affect him deeply and make him tremble. And now in the middle of the Prince's cabinet he saw before him a church-yard covered with snow in a Polish village, and there was his mother's grave; he did not hear what the Prince was saying while he held the parchment in his hand, but his words were undoubtedly very moving.
But now, what does that mean? the Prince laid the parchment down again on the table, and, sitting down, said:—
"I am glad to see, in your eyes, how profoundly you feel this moment. Pray be seated." Sonnenkamp sat down, and the Prince continued:—
"Let us discuss one more subject, in a quiet way. You have held many slaves, have you any still?"
"No, your Highness."
"Was it only a longing for Germany that induced you to return to the Old World, or was it also your finding the condition of affairs in the vaunted Republic unbearable?"
"The latter, your Highness, although the former had something to do with it. I see trouble brewing in the United States, which—I say this only to your Highness—cannot be settled except by the establishment of a monarchy in the New World."
"Good, you must explain the matter to me more fully some other time. I am glad to learn—very glad. It is our duty to receive instruction from those who understand a particular subject thoroughly. What do you think of slavery in general?"
"That is a very extensive subject, your Highness; I have put my views upon it in writing; I shall have the honor-—-"
"No, just tell me concisely the kernel, the principle of the thing."
"Your Highness, the niggers are an inferior race, that is an established physiological fact; it is idle dreaming—though honestly maintained by many—which leads directly to the ruin of the nigger himself, to set him down as entitled to the same rights with other men."
"And would you—" asked the Prince, "No, I will put another question to you. How do you regard a man who traffics in beings of this inferior race?"
Sonnenkamp started up immediately from his chair, but he sat down again quickly, and said:—
"Creatures, your Highness, who cannot help themselves, and who never will be able to, are protected as they would not otherwise be by being considered as property; that so called generosity, without profit, without material regard either for property or for honor, is like a soul without a body; one can conceive it, but it does not exist, at least in the world we see before us."
"Very fine—very good. You are a thinker. I myself believe that the negro is better off with a master. But how is it when you see with your own eyes the child sold away from the mother, and in that way every tie of family forcibly torn asunder?"
"But, your Highness, that happens very seldom, or rather hardly ever," replied Sonnenkamp with great composure, "for it would be a material disadvantage, and would make the slaves less inclined to work; but should it happen, any sentimental feeling about the matter would be only narrowing the sentimentalism from a wider sphere to a special case. A brute that has outgrown the care of its parents knows the parents no more, mates do not know each other after the brooding time is past. I will not say-—-"
"What is it?" said the Prince, interrupting him suddenly.
The white-haired valet entered.
"Why am I interrupted?"
"His Excellency the Minister begs your Highness to open this immediately."
The Prince opened the letter, and took out a printed sheet; a red line ran along the margin of it like a streak of blood. The Prince began to read, he looked up from the page towards Sonnenkamp: he read on farther, the paper cracked and trembled in his hand; he laid it down on the table and said:—
"Confounded audacity!" Sonnenkamp was standing at the table, and it seemed to him as if the two telegraphic knobs had changed into eyes, one white and one black, and from the green table a fabulous creature of strange form was shaping itself,—a queer monster with a white and a black eye, and that it was emerging from the deep, moving along sluggishly, and staggering from side to side. As if in the frenzy of fever he sat there collecting all his strength. The Prince, looking now at the paper, now at Sonnenkamp, at last walked up to him and held out the paper; the rustle of it was like the stab of a knife as he said:—
"Here, read it—read it."
Printed in large letters on it were these words marked with red ink:—
"A humble suggestion for a coat-of-arms and escutcheon for the ennobled slave-trader and slave-killer, James Heinrich Sonnenkamp, formerly Banfield, from Louisiana—"
Sonnenkamp read only these words, and then stared up at the Prince, on whose face was a distorted smile.
"Give me your hand," said the Prince, "give me your hand and tell me, on your word of honor, that it is a lie. Give me your hand, and we will then crush the impudent scoundrels."
Sonnenkamp staggered back, as if a shot had struck him. What was all that he had enjoyed in life compared with the anguish of this moment?
He stretched out his hand doubled up, as if he wished to say: I can break you like a slender twig. But he opened his hand, and held it on high with the forefinger pointing to heaven.
Then suddenly there appeared in front of him a large powerful negro, rolling his eyes and showing his teeth.
With a cry more like that of a wild beast than of a human being, Sonnenkamp fell backwards upon his chair.
The figure in front of him gave a yell, and behind him yelled another—it was Adams, who had rushed in.
"Prince! master!" cried the negro, "this is the man who took me, who carried me off as a slave, and pitched me into the water. Let him only show his finger, it still bears the mark of my teeth. Let me have him, let me have him! I'll suck his blood for him, I'll choke him! Only let me have him a minute—let me have him! then kill me!"
Adams caught hold of Sonnenkamp's hand from behind, and clutched it as if he would crush it.
Sonnenkamp struggled with all his might to throw off the powerful hold, wrestling with the negro clinging fast to him; and his anguish was doubled, for he was not only wrestling, but, as he thought, he could see in the mirror opposite two beings, one was himself—was it really he?—the other a devil, a demon.
Is it all only a fever-fancy, or is it reality?
The Prince's finger constantly plied the telegraphic bell on his table; servants began to pour in, in great numbers.
The Prince cried:—
"Take Adams out. See that he keeps quiet; and the rest of you show this man out of the palace."
Adams was torn away from Sonnenkamp; he roared like a bull that has received the fatal stroke, and foamed at the mouth.
The Prince took the parchment with the red seal up from the table, and turned away with it.
Then Sonnenkamp rose up; he glanced at the Prince, his eyes almost starting from their sockets, and shrieked out:—
"What would you have? and what then are you? Your ancestors, or connections, or whatever else they were, sold their subjects away into America, and got a fixed price for a shot-off arm, for a lucky corpse. You have trafficked in white men, and sent them across the sea. And what are you now? Secret proprietors of gambling hells at home. Pah! I bought my slaves from a prince, bought them honorably, but what did you do? You sold off your subjects, and on Sundays those who were left behind had to say amen in the church, when the Lord of lords was supplicated for your welfare. Are you ashamed of this kinship? But I tell you he was a man, and deserved better to reign than-—-"
He was not sure whether the Prince still heard what he was saying; the servants seized him and gave him to understand that he must be quiet, that such loud talking was not permitted there.
Sonnenkamp had fallen; he was raised again, and led down the staircase. He looked about him often, as if he wanted to say, I shall never tread these halls more.
Below, the carriage was waiting. Sonnenkamp leaned on Joseph and said:—
"Joseph, sit beside me in the carriage."
That was all he said.
When they had reached the hotel, and got out, the little fellow was in the midst of the hackmen; they all had courage enough now, and cried out:—
"Long live the Baron! hurra! again hurra!"
Sonnenkamp could not utter a word. Was the world mocking at him?
He could not tell how he got up the steps. In a moment he was sitting in a large chair; he gazed at the mirror, as if in that room too the reflection of the negro must confront him there.
He sat there, staring, without speaking a word.
Sonnenkamp leaned back in the arm-chair and stared before him; then he looked at the chair itself and caught hold of the arms of it, as if he wanted to ask, Does the chair I am sitting on still hold together? Then, as he laid his hand upon his breast, he began to quiver like an aspen; he felt the order, tore it off with vehemence, and cried:—
"So it in, I must struggle with two worlds. I must fight with the old one as I have with the new. Cheer up! the new hunt is beginning. I will not suffer myself to be put down. I must either despise myself, or despise you; we will see who is strongest, who is most worthy."
It breathed new life into him to think that the world so despised him.
"Just so! I can do that too; I despise you all!"
"But the children! the children!" something whispered to him. When he was waging war in America, the children knew nothing of it. He rang and asked:—
"Where is Roland?"
"The young master has not got back yet; he was here at twelve o'clock, and asked for you, but he rode away again with some comrades."
"He should have waited," exclaimed Sonnenkamp. "Well—it is better so," he said, calming himself.
Again he was sitting alone; his mind turned inward on itself, and now the matter was clear to him. So it was that the men outside the printing-office had been reading; it was through mockery that the poor devils in front of the hotel had raised a cheer for him.
He stood up and looked through the window. The hack-drivers were standing together in a group, and the dwarf was reading to them from the newspaper; they may have felt that Sonnenkamp was looking at them, for all at once they turned their gaze upwards, and Sonnenkamp as if struck by a hundred bullets staggered back into the middle of the room; then he sat down and held his open hands together between his knees. He had gazed into an abyss; it had dizzied him, but he was composing himself with courage and decision. He knew how at this moment they were talking about him all over the city, in carpeted hall and plastered stable—they are saying: I wouldn't take all his millions to be in his shoes. Very assiduously did Sonnenkamp picture everything to himself—and what will be in the paper in the morning?
Sonnenkamp sat silent a long time, buried in himself; at length a letter was brought to him, bearing a large seal. Sonnenkamp started; could the Prince have regretted what had happened, and have gone so far as to join with him, and, truly great, thus defy the world? Long he stared at the seal; but it was only that of the newspaper office, and the weighty letter contained several pieces of gold. Crutius, with many thanks, returned what he had received at the time he had gone up to the villa, and explained that he would have sent it back much sooner if he had not desired to pay it with interest.
"Pshaw! how contemptible," cried Sonnenkamp. For sometime he weighed in his hand the gold that had been scornfully returned to him. So it is then! Every one dares to scorn you, and you must be quiet when every one pities you.
He had a revolver with him, he sprang up; he took it up, waved it in the air, turned it over. "Yes, that was the course to take! To the printing-office and shoot down this Professor Crutius like a mad dog! But in this country that cannot go unpunished. And should he, then, shoot himself, be thrown into prison, and have his head cut off?
"No, no! we must work the thing differently," he said to himself. He laid the revolver back again in the case, and rang. Joseph came, he was trembling. Who knows what the man-eater is going to do withhimnow?
"Ah, master!" said Joseph, "I remain with you. The coachman Bertram has taken service here in the house. I do not want double and treble wages, which people say you will have to give now."
"Good! Who was your father, is he still alive?"
"Yes, indeed; my father is in the School of Anatomy, and when the corpses of the suicides came to the dissecting-house, my father often used to say: Yes, yes, when one has done that most frightful thing in the world, he must be dissected into the bargain. Excuse me, Sir, I too am quite confused. But the Professorin told me once, that every one has done something in his life out of the way, and so we should stand by and be true to one another."
A peculiar smile flitted over Sonnenkamp's countenance; the poor rogue was playing the kind-hearted, and bestowing forgiveness upon him.
"So? the Professorin?" said he. In a moment his thoughts were in the villa, in the park, in the hot-houses, in the greenhouse. He wanted to ask Joseph whether the Professorin had said anything more definite, and whether she knew all about him. But he kept back the words, and simply said that he wanted to send some messengers.
"And do you see to it too, let Roland be hunted up and brought here at once. Let Herr von Pranken be sent for, too," he cried out after Joseph.
Roland was hard to find, but Pranken was not to be found at all, for he was in a place where no one would ever have thought of looking for the life-enjoying Baron.
The head waiter entered and said that dinner was ready, and asked when it should be served up. Sonnenkamp looked hard at the questioner. The creature surely knew that he would eat nothing, and had only come to spy upon him; perhaps there were many people down below who would like to hear how Herr Sonnenkamp bore himself just now. Sonnenkamp rose proudly, looked at the head waiter with a repelling glance, and told him that he need not ask, he would let him know when he wanted what he had ordered; and at the same time he charged him to see to it, that no one should be allowed to enter his room without having been announced.
One thing after another passed in confusion through his brain; Joseph had told him about the suicides who are dissected in the dissecting-room. Sonnenkamp contemplated himself from head to foot, and then opened his mouth as if he must utter the thought that was now running through his soul. He is being dissected, not bodily, but spiritually, by every stinging, scandal-loving tongue.
At the very time that Sonnenkamp was entering the palace, Pranken was going into the deanery; he was detained a few minutes by the passing soldiery, he had to salute many a comrade covered with dust, on foot and on horseback. He was going to that quarter of the city wherein resounded no clang of military music; here all was still, as if everything were holding its breath, except that in the church the organ notes were still swelling. He went in, he saw the Dean, a large powerful man, just returning into the sacristy. Pranken sat awhile in a pew, until he felt sure that the Dean had reached his house; then he left the church. The servant was standing in the open door; he said that the reverend gentleman requested Pranken to walk in and wait a few moments. He was shown up the staircase; it was a fine large staircase of the old chapter house. At the top, a young priest who was just coming out was shutting the door very quietly, even reverently; the young priest came down the left staircase while Pranken went up the right.
Pranken had to wait awhile in the large room where an open book lay on the table. He looked into it; it was a scheme of ecclesiastical preferments; he smiled. Good, the priests, like the military, have a printed list, too. This simile gave him new courage.
The Dean entered; he had a book in his hand, between the leaves of which he had inserted his forefinger. He saluted Pranken, making a gesture with the book, and begged him to sit down; he offered him a seat on the sofa, and seated himself opposite him in a chair on casters.
"What do you bring, Herr Baron?"
With a peculiar smile, Pranken answered that he brought nothing, but on the other hand came to get something. The priest nodded, looked into the book once more at the place where he had his finger inserted, and laying it aside said:—
"I am ready."
Pranken began to explain, that he had chosen the Dean in preference to any one else, to be his confessor in an affair which only a man of noble birth could properly appreciate and give advice about. The Dean grasped his chin with his left hand, and said with great decision, that after ordination and the new birth there was no longer any nobility; he had no different power from that of the son of the poorest day-laborer.
Pranken felt that he had made a mistake at the outset, and went on to say in a very humble way, that above all things he regarded the priestly dignity as the highest, but that still it was well known that the very worthy Dean knew something about the circumstances of life which he wished to lay before him. Then he gave a concise account of his past life; it was that of a son of a noble family until his acquaintance with Sonnenkamp. At this point he went somewhat into detail, and confessed that his thinking of Manna as his wife. Manna the daughter of the millionaire, was at first nothing more than a jest, a pastime. He related how Manna had unexpectedly entered the convent; and with great earnestness he declared that it was Manna that had wakened in him the knowledge of the higher life. He dwelt particularly on his momentary determination to become a priest; but he was now of another way of thinking; he was still too worldly in his views, but he hoped, however, in union with Manna, to lead a life devoted to the highest of ail interests.
With quiet attention, frequently closing his eyes, and again opening them quickly, the Dean listened to the story.
At last Pranken paused, and the reverend father said:—
"That, I suppose, is the introduction. I must now tell you on my part that I know this Herr Sonnenkamp and his daughter. I was staying not long ago with a brother priest in the town which is part of the same parish with Villa Eden—is not the place so called? I have seen the maiden; it was then reported that she was going to become a nun. I have also seen the park and the house; everything is very stately, very beautiful. And now I beg of you, proceed and tell me, without any further digression, what you wish from me."
Pranken went on to say rapidly, that in conjunction with the Cabinetsrath he had brought matters to such a point that Sonnenkamp was at this very hour receiving a patent of nobility.
Again he paused, but the Reverend father asked no more questions, but simply looked at him inquiringly.
Fastening his gaze upon the table-cover, Pranken now went on to tell what he knew of Sonnenkamp's past life; he had, up to this moment, believed that he might regard it with indifference, but at the present time—just since yesterday—when Sonnenkamp and his family were to be made of equal rank with himself, it let him rest no longer.
"I don't understand you," said the Dean. "Do you find yourself overburdened in your conscience, because you, although you knew what the man is, still endeavored successfully to procure for him an honorable and distinguished preferment? in a word, his elevation to the rank of noble?"
"Yes and no," replied Pranken, "I am not clear on that point. I could say that I am innocent, for I have never been asked my opinion on the matter, and still-—-"
"Go on, I think you are on the right path; 'and still'—you were going to say."
Pranken resumed his speech like a pupil in examination, and collecting his thoughts said:—
"Thank Heaven that there are living beings sent into the world; to whom we can and must tell what we do not acknowledge to ourselves. I must still, however, confess that my open and undisguised relation to Herr Sonnenkamp is perhaps something more than an expression of an opinion."
"Right, quite right! You have come to me then, to learn, at the very last hour, what you ought to do?"
"To tell the honest truth, no. I simply wished to have you give me something, an injunction of some sort to ease this constant torment and fear of discovery."
"Wonderful world!" rejoined the Priest. "Wonderful world! You would like to live in sinful enjoyment, and still, at the same time receive an 'absolving benediction.'"
Pranken's thoughts wandered involuntarily to Nelly's house near by, but with a powerful effort he called back his thoughts.
Both men said nothing for a short time; then the Dean asked:—
"Does this Herr Sonnenkamp know that you are acquainted with his past life?"
"O no, and he must never know it."
Again there was a long pause.
From the cathedral near by came the stroke of noon; the bells rang out the Angelus, the Priest rose and said a low prayer; Pranken did the same. They seated themselves again, but neither spoke. Pranken was becoming indignant; he was angry with himself for having come here; however, there was no help for it now; with repressed anger he said at last:—
"Very Reverend sir, I have confessed everything to you now; I beg of you to advise me."
"Should I advise you to forsake Herr Sonnenkamp and your bride?"
Pranken shrank back.
The Dean proceeded, rising, and walking up and down the parlor:—"That is the way with you. You will have advice, you children of worldly pleasure, but only such advice as enjoins no privation upon you; you will have such counsel only as enables you to accomplish your purpose, whatever it may be, with a pacified conscience. You want mustard for the digestion of heavy dinners, do you not?" said he, turning round suddenly.
His eyes sparkled.
"Reverend sir," said Pranken, in a tremor, "bid me forsake Herr Sonnenkamp and Manna, and I promise you that I will do it forthwith. Only think what will become of the maiden, and shall not what has been so earned be used for higher-—-"
"Stop!" said the Dean, interrupting him, and extending his hand with a gesture of rebuke, knitting his brows and pressing his lips tight together. "You think that you can bribe us with these millions? You are another of those, who, with outward veneration, still believe within themselves the clergy want nothing but money, nothing but power. No, we want none of your money, so won by marriage or inheritance!"
The Priest was standing at the window, looking up at the sky, in which dark clouds were gathering; he seemed to have quite forgotten that Pranken was there, and the latter finally said to him,—
"Reverend sir, do you wish me to withdraw?"
The Priest turned round quickly and said, motioning with his left hand,—
"Sit down—sit down."
Pranken obeyed.
"Now I will tell you something. What you have done to the nobility, for you have done it, and not simply allowed it to happen, is your concern and that of the nobility; for us, your grades of honor are matters of no moment. Whether a man is a commoner or a noble, it is all the same to us. But I tell you this"—the Priest hesitated, and resting his elbow in the hollow of his right hand took hold of his chin with his left; he seemed to be arranging his words with quiet deliberation—"I tell you this: you must be true now, you must not forsake this man and his daughter. You must share everything with them, whatever the worldly honors may bring; you must consider yourself as linked to them, and thank God in humbleness of heart that you have an opportunity of devoting yourself, and leading your new family to the pure and noble sacrifice of self."
Pranken started up, kissed the Priest's hand, and exclaimed,—
"I will, I promise you. Keep your eye on me; you shall see that I will go through with whatever you enjoin upon me."
"Go then, and God be with you; you have a heavier burden to carry than you now think for. Go, and God be with you."
He laid his hand on the Baron's head; Pranken turned away, and full of humility descended the staircase; at the bottom he gave the soldier a brotherly shake of the hand.
After Pranken had gone, the soldier kept looking at his hand, and then, searching on the floor; he could not imagine that the free and easy Pranken had not given him a gold piece. No, that would have made a ringing; he must surely have given him paper money; but he could not find it on the clean stone-floor.
As if he had anticipated the soldier's thoughts, Pranken returned, and departed after putting a gold piece into his hand.
He came by Nelly's house, where yesterday—it seemed to him a dream—no, it cannot be!—he had waited an hour. He glanced up, and thought he saw some one leaning at the open window, whose eyes followed him; he fixed his look upon the ground, and passed on.
He came to the parade-ground, listened to the music, saw the officers standing in a group, and—who can calculate the sinuous course of thought?—he thought that the watchword was now being given out to the officers; and he had a watchword too, which no one else was to know, given to him by the man behind the cathedral, who had dashed him down as if he would break every one of his bones. A smile went over Pranken's features.
"Thou hast played well, but thou hast only played," he said, recalling to mind the Dean. "You shall see that I can play well too; I know my part, and I will yet show you a little of my skill in playing."
Pride again rose within him, and he could not comprehend that he, Otto von Pranken, had been such a mortified piece of humility. But it is very well to have been so once.
He came to the Hotel Victoria in a half-humble, half-conceited mood, and he now felt a real training-day hunger. Such mental emotions have this advantage, that they make one hungry.
Pranken anticipated with a feeling of satisfaction his dinner with the Baron, his father-in-law.
As he stood at Sonnenkamp's door and was about to ring, he heard some one inside saying in a loud tone:—
"But Where's Herr von Pranken?"
"Here!" cried he, as he went in.
Sonnenkamp's decoration was lying at Pranken's feet as he entered, and the first thing he did was to stoop down and pick it up. Joseph left the room. Pranken balanced the decoration as if it were a heavy weight. Sonnenkamp seemed to be waiting for Pranken to speak first, and when the latter said, "I congratulate you," broke in:—
"No, no—do not. I thank you for coming to me again. I thank you sincerely—very sincerely. You meant well by me."
"What's this? Meant well? I don't comprehend."
Sonnenkamp stared at him; the whole city, the coachmen on the streets knew it, and can this man be ignorant? Does he want to gull him?
"Have you read the Journal?" inquired Sonnenkamp.
"The Journal! No; what's in that?"
Sonnenkamp reached him the paper.
"Here—my diploma of nobility," he said, turning round and looking out of the window while Pranken was reading. He did not want to look at the man's countenance.
There was a long-continued silence in the room, and then Sonnenkamp felt a hand upon his shoulder. He turned round quickly. What's the meaning of this? will the haughty young nobleman have a personal struggle with him?
"Herr Sonnenkamp," said Pranken, "I am a nobleman-—-"
"I know—I know. Take your hand off of me, you'll soil it."
"And I am your friend," proceeded Pranken calmly. "I cannot approve of what you have done to provoke such a publication."
"Be brief, I've already heard sermonizing enough to-day."
"Herr Sonnenkamp, I always go counter to the public sentiment; I respect you, notwithstanding, and I love your daughter. I am almost glad that I can show you by a sacrifice how my intention-—-"
"Herr von Pranken, you do not know what you are doing. Your friends, your family-—-"
"I know the whole. Pooh! the virtuous people may let the stones alone which they would willingly throw at us. Whoever merely winks with the eye shall receive my challenge."
"I admire your courage, but I cannot take advantage of it."
"Not take advantage of it! You have no right to decline it. I am your son as well as Roland; I stand by you, and now it shall be shown who has genuine nobility and bravery. I admire you—but we'll drop this now. Has Roland got back yet?"
"No."
"Then he has gone with the Ensign to the dinner. I will go for him."
Sonnenkamp looked at him in amazement as he drove off; he could not comprehend it. He was now alone again. He mentally accompanied the messengers he had sent round the city, and out to the pleasure-grounds. His thought went out in search of Roland, but did not find him, any more than the messengers did. Roland had gone with the Cabinetsrath's son, as Pranken had conjectured, to the military club-house, where a number of the garrison officers, after the laborious review of the forenoon, had ordered a dinner. There was a great deal of merriment and drinking, and they drank the young American's health. Roland was one of the liveliest among them. There came in a straggling guest, and cried, out in the midst of the uproar,—
"Have you heard? The slave-trader has been caught with a paper lasso."
"What's to pay?" was, called out.
The new-comer read out of the paper:—
"A proposal, with all due deference, for a coat of arms and a device for the ennobled slave-trader and slave-murderer, James Henry Sonnenkamp, alias Banfield, of Louisiana.
"It would give us peculiar satisfaction to run a parallel between the young nobility in the two hemispheres; to live on the labor of others is their motto; 'thou art born to do nothing,' say the young nobility of the Old as well as of the New World. The Americans have also a superstitious belief that there is some peculiar honor in being ennobled. Not because we share in this belief, but rather in order to do something towards removing it, we have written to America for information about a certain Herr Sonnenkamp. We have hitherto been silent, and we should have been silent longer and forever, out of regard for the children of this outcast, for they do not deserve to bear the load of guilt. We are no friends of the nobility: we regard this institution as of the past and as dead; but the nobles are our German fellow-citizens, also, and a part of our nation. As citizens, merely, we have no power to thrust out a man from our community, and we should have felt obliged to let this man alone; but now, we are ready to furnish the evidence that the man who calls himself Sonnenkamp, and lives at Villa Eden, has been one of the most merciless slave-traders and slave-murderers. Then proceed, O German nobles, and ennoble him,—give him a coat-of-arms. The heralds of our editorial office recommend as a device-—-"
"Stop!" screamed out the Ensign, for Roland had fallen senseless from his chair.
He was carried out of the room, and restored to consciousness. Fortunately, a carriage now drove up, from which Pranken got out. Roland was lifted into it, and they drove to the hotel.
Shaking with a fever fit, and wrapped up in a soldier's cloak, Roland sat in one corner of the carriage. He would occasionally open his eyes, and then close them again.
Pranken told him that he ought to despise the world, but Roland was silent; once only he heaved a deep sigh and exclaimed,—
"O Eric!" They reached the hotel. Joseph was waiting before the door. The first word that Roland spoke was a request to be left alone. He went up the steps with Joseph.
"You are to go to your father," said Joseph.
Roland nodded, but when he had gone up-stairs he hastened to his room and locked the door.
Joseph went to Sonnenkamp and told him that Roland had returned.
"He is to come to me," he said.
"He has locked himself in."
"Has he his pistols with him?"
"No, I have them with me."
Sonnenkamp went to Roland's room and knocked; but there was no answer. He begged and entreated Roland to answer him, but Roland made no sound.
"If you do not open immediately, I will shoot myself before your door!" cried Sonnenkamp.
Pranken, who was with him, said:—
"Roland! Roland! will you be guilty of the death of your father?"
"Open! open!" moaned Sonnenkamp before the door.
The bolt was drawn back, and Roland stood rigid, looking at his father, who stretched out his arms toward him; but Roland remained motionless, with lips pressed together, and eyes glaring like one insane.
"My son!" cried Sonnenkamp. "My only son! my beloved son! my child! forgive me! forgive me!"
Roland rushed toward his father, grasped his hand, and wept over it.
"Oh, my child, your tears on my hand! Look,—this wound, this scar,—look, the tears of my child heal it, the tears of my child alone!"
Throwing himself upon Roland's breast, he exclaimed:—
"You, my son, you will not despise your father!"
While he spoke, his heart throbbed violently, and, for the first time in his life, Roland saw his father weep. He embraced him and wept with him.
Father and son then sat opposite each other speechless and motionless, until at last Roland said:—
"Father, there is one way of salvation—only one way of salvation!"
"I am ready, speak, my son."
"I know it, father—I know it! That sublimest One said to the youth, 'Go and give away all that thou hast, and follow me.' And Parker has said that this disgrace must be wiped out; and Benjamin Franklin would say: 'Thou art free, be not a slave to thyself!' Cast all away from you, father, let us be poor—poor! Will you?"
"I thank you, my son," replied Sonnenkamp; he was easier when he saw that Roland had relieved his feelings. "You have a stout heart, a bold spirit, you have noble courage; Herr Eric has taught you well—grand—brave—I thank him—I thank you—that is fine—that is right—the best!"
"Then you agree to it, father?"
"My son, I do not wish to make any pledges—not any; but I promise you, that you shall be satisfied with what I shall do; just in this moment I cannot determine anything."
"No, now; this very moment! it is the grandest, the only moment! It must be done now! After this moment is death, night, damnation, distraction, misery! Oh, father, you must be strong! I will work for you, for my mother, for Manna, for myself! And Eric will be with us! I know not what can be done, but it will-—-do cast everything away from you!"
"My son, whatever I have of unrighteous possessions, so called, those I will put away. I consider you, my son, no longer in your minority, you are more, you are my brother, you are a man, you are judge of my actions, you are to give your directions—everything with you, through you, out of your pure, your blessed heart, out of your unbroken—yes, your friend Eric, our friend Eric, shall also determine—but let us not come to the final determination at this moment."
And again father and son sat opposite to each other in silence, until Roland began:—
"Father, let us go home to-day."
"No, not to-day. We must both, first of all, get some strength."
Pranken had withdrawn into the adjoining room; he now sent Joseph to say that it was time for dinner. Roland was shocked at the idea of eating anything now; but Sonnenkamp swore that he would not put a morsel into his mouth, although he was almost famishing, if Roland did not sit with them at table, and eat at least a few mouthfuls. Roland yielded.
The Cabinetsrath's place was empty, showing what henceforth would be wanting to their table-enjoyment. Pranken beckoned to Joseph, who understood what he meant and quickly removed the plate.
Sonnenkamp now said that he expected the Cabinetsrath would probably give up the Villa he had received; and Roland now learned how bribery had been employed, and how corrupt and selfish men were. Sonnenkamp took particular notice what an impression this made upon Roland, and a triumphant expression passed over his countenance. It's well so! Roland is to become acquainted with the whole baseness of human beings, to find out that all people are more or less abject, and then what his father has done will gradually seem to him of less account, and be painted in fainter colors.
A choice table was set, but the three ate as if they were at a funeral repast, with the corpse lying in the next room—the mortal remains of worldly honor. Neither gave expression to the feeling which each of them had; they ate and drank, for the body must have nourishment, in order to bear up under this new heart-ache.
Father and son slept in the same chamber, but neither spoke, for neither of them wanted to keep the other from sleep, which would alone wrap them in oblivion.
"Don't give up!" said Sonnenkamp at last, as he fell asleep. Roland slept also, but after an hour he awoke and tossed about restlessly. The darkness seemed to stand like a black wall before him, and he sat up as if in delirium.
To lose one's senses, one's reason—yes, to lose them! they are suddenly gone, you know not when, you know not where; you only know they are not here, and they are no longer in your power. But if you could only find them! Your thoughts are no longer under your own control; they come and go, they combine and disperse according to their own pleasure; and yet you inwardly feel that this will not last, it cannot last; that the time must come when you will once more have the mastery.
"If it were not night! if it were only not night!" groaned Roland to himself, as he awakened in a wandering mood from a short hour's sleep. For the first time in his life, he awoke in the night distressed and sad at heart, with the whole world dark and impenetrable before him.
"Oh, if it were not night! if it only were not night!" he said to himself again. He thought of what Eric's mother had once said: "In the night-time everything is more terrible; day comes, and with the daylight all sufferings, both of the body as well as those of the mind, are less formidable; the eye then looks upon the things of the world, and the sunlight illumines and enlivens everything."
"It will be day again!" he comforted himself at last, and sank away into sleep out of all his brooding fancies.
Early in the morning they started with Pranken for the Villa.