A flash of lightning in the night-sky makes us fully conscious of the darkness, and our eyes are blinded. So it was after the departure of the Prince and Princess; every one sought to avoid the eye of another, every one went his own way, but no one spoke out his vexation and disappointment more frankly than the valet Joseph, and the steward agreed with him; the latter could not say much, because his mouth was full of the delicacies which had been removed from the table, but he nodded silently, and became very red in the face. Joseph said:—
"Not to leave a single gratuity behind them! What is there left of the whole show? Nothing; and at Court there isn't a table better laid and served, or more handsomely provided. They ought to be ashamed of themselves! Not to leave a single penny for the servants!"
Such was the fact.
No one, except Aunt Claudine, of whom nobody had thought, could find any good reason for satisfaction.
Sonnenkamp pondered and speculated how he could have brought about the change in the Prince's gracious mood. His inmost soul rebelled against being so dependent on the whim or the glance of another—he, the man who had ruled so absolutely over all that came in his way. He tormented himself till his head burned, to think over the whole course of the visit, and at last he thought he had found out the trouble; it was only a hitch at a glove which had shown it, but that was doubtless the sign of annoyance. He had told the Prince how delighted he should be to drink new health from the same spring as his gracious highness, and, when the Prince looked at him inquiringly, he had added that he also was going to Carlsbad, where he should have the happiness of beholding his Prince's face every day. Yes, that was it; the Prince had cast a hasty glance of astonishment upon him, and given his glove a twitch.
Sonnenkamp acknowledged to himself that he had made a decided blunder in not using more reserve; for nothing of the Prince's journey to the Baths was yet officially announced, and his mentioning it had been premature, and showed some private source of information. He was more vexed at the caution and self-restraint that one was compelled to observe, than at his own want of tact. Could not the Prince have taken it pleasantly? Had not a good, and, as he himself thought, a most graceful turn been given to his allusion?
The thoughts of the self-tormentor went further, and new tokens appeared. Had not the Prince said to Aunt Claudine:—
"Everything seems so thoroughly pleasant here; here I find nothing disturbed from its usual course."
The Prince was evidently offended that any secret preparations had been made for his reception; it probably seemed to him that he was surrounded by spies.
And now Sonnenkamp's wrath broke out anew, not against himself, but against the Prince, who ought to remember how long he had lived in a foreign land; and the Professorin ought to have managed matters better, for she had been a lady-in-waiting at Court; and Pranken ought to have managed better, too, for was he not a chamberlain?
Sonnenkamp fumed with rage over the whole business, and now, for the first time, it struck him how strange it was that these people should treat all this humbug of rank so seriously; they knew that it was humbug, but its very existence depended on their vying with each other to keep up the appearance of entertaining religious veneration for the humbug.
For a little while Sonnenkamp thought of giving up the whole scheme. Why should he be ennobled; why should he enter the Court circle, and put himself under a lasting obligation? He was proud of possessing an independent nature, and now was he to allow himself to be put in uniform, and to measure every step, every movement, and every word, according to the court etiquette? He would rather remain as he was, proud of his own position, and show openly the contempt which he felt for the whole body of nobles.
Then he felt with pain that he had already gone too far; a retreat would be a mere disgrace. And how long he had consoled Frau Ceres with this hope, how far he was bound for Pranken's sake, and, more than all, for Roland's! What was to become of the latter, if he was not raised to the nobility? Were Roland and his descendants to be impoverished again? No, rank must be won. On the boldly earned property an entail should be laid, so that generation after generation of his descendants should never be stripped of rank and wealth; the villa and the castle should remain an inalienable possession in the family.
Something of his own past life rose in Sonnenkamp's memory, and he said to himself aloud,—
"You owe it to your child to turn aside from him what has brought you to this pass."
Calm and resolved he went back to the house, and appeared to all highly gratified with the visit. Indeed, when Joseph told him that the Princess' party had not left a single present for the servants, he gave him a handsome sum, saying that it had been entrusted to Pranken; the servants would spread the report far and wide, that the Prince had been at the villa and left large gratuities for them; this would rouse the envy of the neighbors, and the envy would carry the report still farther, and the best of it was that they would all be deceived.
Sonnenkamp whistled softly, a sure sign that he was particularly cheerful and contented. He devoted himself with special attention to the Aunt, praised her modesty and the Prince's insight in knowing how to value her as she deserved. It seemed really to delight him to see people decline praise which really tickled them excessively.
On the next evening but one, when the Aunt and Manna went out upon the flat roof to look at the stars, they found an excellent telescope placed on a movable stand. When they thanked Sonnenkamp for this surprise, he asked in return only one favor, that Fräulein Dournay would accompany the family to Carlsbad; but she declined positively, as the Professorin also did.
Pranken had come back; he thought it absurd to appear offended, and to do this tutor the honor of looking upon him as a rival. He was made happy by the unconstrained and cordial greeting he received from Manna, who treated him with more familiarity than ever before.
"I am glad," he said to her, "that you have something of the sphinx in you, like other women. I was mistaken in you, and am rejoiced that I was mistaken. What is puzzling and constantly offering new problems, keeps life fresh."
Manna did not understand him, but she asked for no explanation; she only told him with regret that the Aunt and the Professorin were not going with them to Carlsbad. Pranken thought this very proper, and Manna looked at him in surprise when he spoke of the pretensions of these Huguenots.
"And Herr Dournay," he added, "will he stay behind also, declining as firmly and decidedly as he did to go to Vichy last year?"
"I don't know," answered Manna. "Papa," she called out to her father, who came up just then, "is Herr Captain Dournay going with us to the Baths?"
"Certainly. He belongs to the family, and understands that he does; he has not objected for a moment."
Pranken was in some embarrassment; he took this compliance quite as a matter of course, and added that perhaps Herr Captain Dournay—emphasizing the title, would find his friend, the negro Adams, the Prince's footman, at Carlsbad, and would be able to perfect the intimacy which he had begun here. Pranken hoped, perhaps, to bring out some cutting remark about Eric, but, to his surprise, neither Sonnenkamp nor Manna answered a word; he was forced to wind up the subject, by saying that these atheists and democrats must of course disorganize all social arrangements, and fraternize with a negro; it was only praiseworthy in Herr Dournay to act consistently with his principles.
Bella and Clodwig only just made a passing call, to say that they were going to Carlsbad and should be very glad to meet their friends there.
Bella was especially animated in her expressions of pleasure at the idea of meeting them constantly for weeks together; she promised herself and her friends great enjoyment, and was enough at her ease to say jokingly to Eric, that if a charity-concert was given, at which she played, he must sing.
Eric assented, without the least embarrassment.
The season at Carlsbad was unusually brilliant. Seldom had so many of the nobility and so many adventurers assembled at the Baths. To the second class, but perhaps also to the first, belonged Sonnenkamp, who arrived with a great retinue, wife and daughter, son, tutor, gouvèrnante, and a number of servants, the latter, however, not dressed in livery, but modestly, in plain citizens' clothes.
The Count, as well as Clodwig and Bella, had been at the Baths a week when Sonnenkamp's household arrived. Clodwig took his young friend, with some solemnity, to the spring, and told how he himself had once been brought thereby the philosopher, Schelling, who said to him,—
"Behold! this spring is the pride of our planet."
All conventional distinctions must cease before such a fountain of health as this, Clodwig added, for it says to us,—You must leave your lofty and your lowly dwellings; in my presence, all are alike high-born and low-born. Clodwig had already caught the liberal tone.
On the very day of Sonnenkamp's arrival, a guest was departing whose modesty was equal to the consideration in which he was held; it was Weidmann. Eric met him just as he was drinking his last draught from the spring. The relations between the Sovereign and this President of the representatives, an unyielding opposer of the Court policy, long furnished matter of conversation among the guests; the Sovereign had twice invited him to his table, and addressed him several times when they had met upon the morning walk. Statisticians differed somewhat in regard to the latter point, some maintaining that these morning conversations had taken place twice, others that they had occurred as often as thrice, or even four times.
Again Eric's meeting with Weidmann was short and unsatisfactory, and he disliked to be always reiterating his intention of visiting him.
Clodwig also presented Eric at once to an old friend of his, a well-known banker of liberal education from the great business capital, whom he met every year at some baths, either at Gastein or Ostend, if not here, and with whom, on such occasions, he always spent many hours of the day. The two men were both seventy years old, but the Banker had all the restlessness of youth; he was as eager for knowledge as a German student, and as talkative as a Frenchman in a railway carriage. Clodwig, on the other hand, preserved always a great repose of manner, hardly ever speaking when in motion, but always stopping if he had anything to say, or any reply to make to the remarks of a friend.
The Banker took pains to tell Eric, early in their acquaintance, that he was a Jew.
Owing, doubtless, to the warm commendations that Clodwig had bestowed upon his young friend, the old man took advantage of every opportunity of being in his company, a complaisance which Eric did not reciprocate, he not being accustomed to play the part of listener rather than of speaker, and feeling moreover jealous of the banker, who engrossed so much of Clodwig's time, when he had depended on enjoying the Count's society himself every day during their visit here.
At the breakfast-table, the Prince and Countess Bella were as usual a frequent subject of conversation; they were served up with the favorite dish of delicate pastry. A more interesting topic than even the Countess's toilette were the frequent, almost daily walks, which the Prince took in her company, apparently much to the enjoyment of both parties, as the Prince was often heard laughing at her ready sallies. Clodwig also could congratulate himself on having received many marks of favor.
Bella established a little court of her own. She breakfasted with a company of chosen friends in the open air, where every one could see her, and her table was always adorned with the choicest flowers. It was even said that the bands played a waltz of her composition.
The Wine-Cavalier also spent a few days at the Baths, and the painter Potiphar, as Bella called him, because he had the misfortune to be surnamed Tailor. This was the fourth watering-place that the Cavalier had honored this summer with his studied elegance, his private album, and his neat little anecdotes. His only object in coming to Carlsbad was, as he often repeated, to pay his respects to his highly esteemed neighbors. Bella received him coldly, and Clodwig pleaded business as an excuse for seeing but little of him, so that after playing a few games with a famous chess-player who was among the visitors, he departed.
The painter Potiphar zealously instructed Eric in the private histories of all the men and women who were drinking the waters, and his companion's ignorance and innocence in these interesting matters were a marvel to him.
When Sonnenkamp met Bella and the Prince walking together, as he did every day, Bella nodded graciously, and the Prince also bowed silently, but in spite of the frequency of their meeting never addressed him.
The Cabinetsrath was present as one of the Court, and with him and an experienced officer of police, who always hovered about the sovereign at a distance, Sonnenkamp usually took his morning walk.
Pranken, who had his own independent lodging, but joined himself to the Sonnenkamp party, was soon initiated into the life of the various groups.
A beautiful Wallachian, who always went about dressed in deep mourning, with a black veil upon her head, and spoke to no one, contested with Sonnenkamp the glory of being the most remarkable object of the season. It was said that the handsome stranger had had the misfortune to discover, soon after her marriage, that her husband had another wife.
Manna took no part in the morning gaieties at the spring; after holy mass, she remained in the house, spending a great portion of her time in practising on the harp, for which purpose she had chosen a room out of hearing of the other visitors.
Frau Ceres awakened general excitement, by being taken to the spring every morning in a chair on wheels. In her lap she always held a little dog, and in her hand a fresh rose.
Pranken was assiduous in his attention to her, and Fräulein Perini never failed to walk by her side. At noon, Frau Ceres appeared beautifully dressed among the promenaders.
All the visitors at the spring were astonished at this, and every morning all eyes followed her, in wonder at her allowing herself to be wheeled through the crowd, though she was in perfect health. But the lady was unconscious of the anger she excited, and only rejoiced in what seemed to her the general admiration.
After the first three days, Eric forbade his pupil to go to the spring in the morning, a regulation which Sonnenkamp remonstrated against, feeling a pride in the universal admiration the handsome boy received. But Eric declared that it was impossible to attend to studies after hearing music in the morning, and the two therefore remained by themselves. Whenever they appeared abroad, however, men and women alike agreed that they had never seen a handsomer boy, or a man of more attractive appearance.
Pranken often complained that the extraordinary favor shown him by the Sovereign obliged him often to spend whole days away from his friends.
Sonnenkamp could boast of being received into the most select society, thanks to the influence of Bella. It was no matter to him that the aristocracy said among themselves that a bath-acquaintance did not necessitate any subsequent relation with a man. He hoped, nay, he was almost sure, that during his stay here at Carlsbad, the first step would be taken that should put him on an equality with the best; in the meanwhile he conducted himself in the most free and easy manner, as a peer among peers.
Already his relations to Bella had assumed a character which added a fresh interest to his life here. They had always been secretly attracted together, chiefly by admiration of a certain heroic power which each saw to exist in the other, and which each held to be the one mark of distinction from the masses. This daily intercourse now revealed more distinctly to them what they had only glimpses of during the winter in the capital.
Both agreed perfectly in looking upon all communities, all human society, as nothing but a tacit agreement to tell lies: no one believes his neighbor, no one honors his neighbor; all that is valued is a certain outside show, a humbug, which must be kept up as long as it can; no one, except a few idiots of teachers or idealists, actually believes in the idols of his own constructing.
Sonnenkamp admired Bella extremely, and maintained that she was the only woman of spirit and intellect he had ever met, a declaration which both knew to be true, in spite of their agreeing that all fair words were nothing but lying conventionalities. Bella knew that she had spirit, and acknowledged Sonnenkamp's right to bear witness to it.
He repeatedly gave her to understand that he alone appreciated the greatness, of her nature.
"The man who should have a wife like you," he once said openly to her, "and were himself a man—a dominant nature with a wife like you would establish a new throne in the world. I consider it a privilege to have been allowed to know a nature so born to rule as yours."
He said it half in a tone of gallantry, but she knew he meant it in earnest, and she took it in earnest, being full of contempt for the pettinesses of the world, where half the people found pleasure in intrigue, and the other half in what they call humanity, which is really nothing but sentimentality.
Their mutual salutations, therefore, if they only met and passed, were significant, and implied a secret understanding. Their glance said: We alone are strong, and we are great enough to scorn all trifling.
One beautiful July morning Bella gave a great breakfast, to which the Sonnenkamp family was invited, and Manna came with her mother; there were also present the Cabinetsräthin, the Adjutant-general, besides several others of the highest nobility, both gentlemen and ladies, from different countries.
The rich and tasteful arrangement of the flowers on the breakfast-table excited the admiration of the guests. Bella presented Herr Sonnenkamp as the generous and skilful giver, and, with great tact, called the attention of the guests to the admirable taste in arranging flowers possessed by this famous garden-artist, whom she even proclaimed the true high priest of flowers.
Sonnenkamp was delighted at the impression produced.
Manna timidly remarked that her taste was offended by the profusion of flowers displayed here on all occasions; she thought that massing them together, and tying them into close bunches, destroyed the whole character of the flowers, of roses especially; their tender nature suffered from such treatment.
Eric replied that, without these flowers, life here would lose an important element of brilliancy and cheerfulness; that the purest and best things were not safe from abuse and exaggeration, but that we should not therefore lose sight of the beautiful underlying principle.
Pranken observed the impression which these words made, and gave a more lively turn to the conversation, by saying that he too did not like bouquets; flowers, birds, and women were the ornaments of life, and should be dealt tenderly with and left unconfined.
Jest and merriment now reigned supreme. All were in that happy frame of mind which is induced by the drinking of the waters and the fresh morning air. There was not wanting an object on which to exercise their wit, in the person of a long lieutenant from Schwarzburg-Sondershausen, or Schwarzhausen-Sonderburg, as Bella always called it. The long lieutenant had openly confessed that his object in coming to the Baths was to bless the daughter of some rich commoner with his title. He had made Bella his confidante, and she amused herself now by bringing him into all manner of ridiculous positions.
The tall lieutenant took it all in good part; his standing joke was that he regretted, on his honor, Roland's not being Sonnenkamp's daughter, that he might marry her.
Manna blushed, for this plainly implied that she was considered betrothed to Pranken.
There was a good deal of gossip about some of the guests at the Baths, their loose and frivolous lives, all of which Manna listened to with the rest, secretly thinking all the while: It is well to know all the discord and confusion of the wicked world before leaving it forever.
Eric divined that some such thought was in her mind, and said in a low tone:—
"In the Bible God says that he will spare Sodom, if a few righteous persons are found in it. And so it is now. The sun shines, the birds sing, the flowers bloom, and the world is better than it seems."
"So you are a believer too?" asked Manna softly.
"Yes; but in a different way from yours."
On rising from table, Clodwig, Sonnenkamp, Eric, Roland, and the Banker, started on a long walk in the woods, while Bella kept Manna by her. Pranken also staid behind with the ladies, being excused today from attendance on the Prince.
Bella had succeeded in getting invitations for Sonnenkamp and his family to the next assembly, at which only the first nobility of Europe were to be present, and began to talk over with Manna the dress she should wear on the occasion. Manna had begged to be allowed to stay at home, but this was declared impossible, and she had been obliged to consent to appear.
Meanwhile the men were taking their walk through the woods. Eric had joined Clodwig at once, and made him smile by saying that he had never before participated in the gaieties of a watering-place, and that the life here almost bewildered him. He wondered whether it would be possible to induce men to go, for a few weeks of every year, to some place for the cure of their souls. In this care for the bodily health was exhibited a selfishness which the world usually took pains to conceal. Clodwig had remained standing, while Eric thus spoke.
"You will never feel quite at home in the world," he answered, continuing his walk.
At a turn in the road, Eric fell back and allowed Sonnenkamp to go in front with Clodwig. There was something at once attractive and repulsive to Clodwig in the society of Sonnenkamp. He had never seen such a man before, and was chiefly impressed by the sort of courage he possessed in assuming no foreign disguise.
Sonnenkamp made another attempt to induce the Count to use his influence in procuring him a title, but was treated as he never before had been in his life, by receiving a most crushing answer couched in words of courtesy.
"I am amazed at your courage and forbearance," he said; but the idea conveyed by the words was: I detest your insolence and importunity.
"You are indefatigable, and may stand on an equality with the rulers," were the words, but the meaning was: You are a shameless tyrant.
Sonnenkamp had experienced many strange things in his life, but, never this lashing a man to madness with courteous words. He kept a smiling countenance, however, not daring to show any sense of injury, while Clodwig maintained a calm superiority, tapping occasionally on his golden snuff-box, as if saying to all the tickling spirits within: Have patience; the man is getting a strong dose. Finally he opened the box and offered Sonnenkamp a pinch, which the latter accepted with thanks.
Eric meanwhile was walking with the Banker. There was one point of common interest between them, their admiration of Clodwig. The Banker maintained that scarce any one but a man of rank could be so independent and thoroughly human.
Roland cast a glance at Eric which seemed to say: You see this man says the same thing.
Eric zealously opposed this idea, and the Banker, who assumed a rather patronizing tone in conversing with the young scholar, was easily converted, and broke out into enthusiastic praise of Eric.
A great pleasure was awaiting Eric on his return from his morning walk, in the arrival of his friend and teacher, Professor Einsiedel.
The poor man of science felt himself quite lost and helpless in such a place as Carlsbad, whither he had been ordered by his fellow-professor, the first physician of the University. Eric made the necessary arrangements for his board and lodging, and whatever else he needed, feeling it a privilege to serve him in every way in his power.
While standing with his teacher, Eric perceived Sonnenkamp in the distance talking with Professor Crutius, who had just arrived. Crutius seemed unwilling to accept Sonnenkamp's friendly advances, and yet could find no way of avoiding them. When Sonnenkamp offered his hand at parting, however, he did not take it, but raised his hat instead with a formal salute. Eric was so fortunate as to find a room for his teacher in the same house with his own party.
Beautifully dressed, with flowers in her hair, Manna walked to and fro in the great drawing-room. The sight of her uncovered neck and shoulders in the long mirror seemed to shock her, and she drew more closely about her the encircling cloud of tulle. Roland and Eric entered. Eric stood motionless.
"How late you are!" said Manna.
Eric explained that he had been introducing his teacher to the routine of watering-place life, and expressed the hope that Manna would enjoy the society of the delicate-minded old man.
"Your teacher?" said Manna, and again Eric noticed the tears in her voice. "Introduce me to him to-morrow. But now make haste, or you will be late to the assembly."
"I am not invited," replied Eric.
"No! he is not invited, and so I am not going either," cried Roland.
The father and mother appeared, but their persuasions had no effect upon the boy. He would not even yield to Eric's urgent entreaty, but persisted in remaining behind. After the family had actually driven off to the Hall, Roland appeared to regret not having gone with them, and insisted on Eric's taking him to the gallery, whence they could see the dancing.
Pranken was manager of the assembly, and Manna shared the distinction with him. Her cheeks glowed, and she seemed in great spirits, but to Roland's vexation, she did not once look up to the gallery. Manna, in fact, hardly knew herself. In the midst of the gaiety, she said to Pranken:—
"Did you know that Captain Dournay's teacher had arrived?"
Pranken knit his brows. So she was thinking of him in the midst of this gaiety! He was silent for awhile, not knowing what to reply; at last he said in a light tone:—
"Ah, teacher! Don't you get tired of this whole pack of teachers? Here we have pleasing music, dancing,—come!"
He whirled her swiftly among the circle of dancers, and she felt as if she were no longer upon the ground, but were floating in the air.
"Let us go!" said Roland to Eric in the gallery. They left the hall, and took by moonlight the same beautiful walk through the forest that they had enjoyed in the morning.
"Is there no way in which I may relieve myself of a secret that has been confided to me?" asked Roland. "I should so like to talk it over with you! May I not tell it you?"
"No, you must not under any circumstances break your word. If you did, you would lose all hold upon yourself."
Roland sighed; he sorely wanted to tell Eric that his family was to receive a title.
When they came out upon the clearing, and saw the town and the whole valley lying in the moonlight, and heard a few broken strains of music from the ball-room rising through the night air, Roland returned to the subject:—
"I have an idea that this evening Manna is to be openly acknowledged as Pranken's bride. My mother thinks that that will help forward the accomplishment of the other secret. Can you not guess what it is?"
Eric replied with great self-control, that it was not honorable of Roland to speak of any family matters that had been confided to him.
He spoke with a trembling voice. This thing, which had been so long decided, suddenly came upon him as something new, unheard of, improbable. With rapture and yet with fear, he perceived that he had allowed Manna to become dearer to him than he ought. He buried the point of his cane deep in the ground, and pressed upon it so violently that it broke to pieces in his hand. He told Roland it was time they went home.
The carriage drove up to the door just as they reached the house, and out of it came Sonnenkamp, followed by Frau Ceres and Manna.
"Are you betrothed to Pranken?" asked Roland.
"You silly child!" returned Manna, as she ran quickly up the steps.
Sonnenkamp sent Roland to bed, and asked Eric to go with him into his room.
"Here is a mild brand of cigar," he said, throwing himself back in his arm-chair, "light one. Captain Dournay, I look upon you as one of the family; you are ours, and must ever remain so."
Eric trembled. Had the father's suspicions been roused by Roland's awkward question, and was he about to tell him that he must give up all thought of Manna? Or was he about to offer him his daughter's hand? He had time enough to entertain these opposing thoughts, for Sonnenkamp made a long pause, in the evident expectation of receiving some answer to his friendly address. But as his companion remained silent, he got up, and after taking several turns up and down the room, suddenly stopped before Eric and said:—
"I give you to-day the most indubitable proof that I consider you one of ourselves. Give me your hand."
Eric did so, and shuddered as he touched the iron ring on the man's thumb.
Sonnenkamp continued:—
"I recognize and honor your reserve."
Eric's eyes wandered uneasily. What did all this mean?
After several hasty puffs at his cigar, Sonnenkamp continued:—
"You have never, in any way, alluded to what has been going on among us, though you cannot have failed to be aware of it."
Eric still trembled. Sonnenkamp kept making such unusual pauses.
At last, bringing the words out with an effort, he said:—
"You know that I am about to receive a title?"
"No, I did not know it."
"You did not? Is it possible? Did Roland give you no hint?"
"A hint indeed of some secret, but I strictly forbade him to relate, even by a breath, any confidence that had been reposed in him."
"Good. You're a good teacher. I am grateful to you, sincerely grateful. I will be yet more so. You shall have proof of it. To be open with you, Captain Dournay—you can give me substantial help by furthering this plan of mine."
"I?"
"Yes, you. You are the friend of our noble Count Wolfsgarten. He is already one of our family, but he always declines to discuss this matter, when I, or any of my friends, address him upon the subject. You know me, my dear Captain; you have watched my life, and your eye is keen; I have a right to expect that, with all my faults, of which, unhappily, I have my share, you will judge of me justly and charitably. You are a man who will act as he thinks. You understand me?"
"Not entirely, I confess."
"Plainly, then, in a few days I shall give a rural fête at Heilingthal. I will take the Jew with me, and you can go with your friend Wolfsgarten, and can easily discover what sort of opinion he will give of me, or has already given."
"Would not Herr von Pranken, or the Countess, or the Cabinetsräthin, be better suited for such an office?"
"No; in that case I should not trouble you with it. Count Wolfsgarten has declined expressing any opinion, saying always in his pedantic—I mean in his strictly honorable manner, that a judgment which is to be expressed in confidence, to the Prince should be made known to no one else. In a few days the Prince will depart; he is favorably disposed. You will therefore discover this for me, dear Dournay, will you not? It will be so easy for you!"
"Herr Sonnenkamp," replied Eric, "you had the kindness to say a few moments ago that I did right in forbidding Roland to betray a secret. How shall I-—-"
"Ah, my dear Dournay," interrupted Sonnenkamp, "we may reasonably allow ourselves many things that we should forbid a young person to do. I respect, I honor your truthfulness. I acknowledge the great sacrifice you would make in rendering me this service fully, thoroughly, but you will make the sacrifice, will you not?"
Eric tried to decline the task. Sonnenkamp threw his head back, and whistled softly to himself, while Eric maintained with great earnestness that he was not good at sounding others' opinions, and that he should consider it a betrayal of friendship to repeat anything which was said to him confidentially. "Besides," he concluded, "I do not think that Count Wolfsgarten would express his opinion any more fully to me."
Sonnenkamp was inwardly angry, but summoned all his powers of self-control to his aid. He praised Eric's conscientiousness; spoke with enthusiasm of his delicate tact, his moral purity, and the loftiness of his ideal; he went so far as to apologize for having fancied, even for a moment, that Eric was more than a friend to Bella; his unhappy experience among men, he said, must serve as his excuse for the injustice; he considered it as the greatest of privileges to have been once allowed the acquaintance of a thoroughly pure and noble man.
Eric had never supposed that this man knew him so well; this Sonnenkamp must have a nobler mind than he had given him credit for, to be able to read so well the noble struggles of others.
The impression he had made was not lost upon Sonnenkamp. He laid his hand on Eric's shoulder, and said with a trembling, almost a tearful voice,—
"My dear young friend! Yes, my friend—I call you so, for you are such—even if I have not myself the right to claim so close an intimacy with you as I should like, consider what a great, what a necessary influence indeed you may exert—not for me; of what consequence am I?—but for our Roland. For our Roland!" he repeated significantly. The mention of Roland's name suddenly roused Eric as from a dream. He answered by asking why Herr Sonnenkamp desired a title for Roland.
"Oh, my friend!" Sonnenkamp continued with increasing affection, "that is the last, the only object of all my efforts in the Old World and in the New. Oh, my friend! Who is able to tell how soon I may die? You will remain the friend, the support of my son. Give me your hand upon it. Promise me you will so continue. I shall die without a fear, knowing he is under your protection. Alas, no one suspects how ill, how shaken I am. I force myself to appear firm and erect, but I am inwardly broken. The labors and struggles of life have sapped my strength. Any moment may end my life, and I would gladly leave my son in an assured position. You, my friend, love our beautiful, glorious Germany; you will be glad to secure to her a strong and faithful son. Should Roland continue as he is, should he preserve his present name, he will always consider himself a citizen of the world across the ocean, not a true son of our noble Germany, where alone a man of mind and of means can find a sphere for his usefulness. Forgive me if I do not express myself as warmly as I feel, and as I ought, to a friend like you. I only ask you to add to your other benefits to Roland that of making him a son of Germany; if not for our sakes, yet for the sake of our dear country."
Sonnenkamp well knew what a responsive strain he touched in Eric, by those tender words from the anxious heart of a father, and by this broad, reverent outlook, not only beyond his own death, but beyond all thought of self. Eric was touched, and said:
"I would give my life for Roland-—-"
Sonnenkamp would have embraced him, but Eric begged him to listen further.
"My life I can give up, but not my principles. I am willing to adopt your views of the matter in a moment, if you can convince me I am mistaken. Do you really believe that it would add to Roland's happiness to have a title?"
"It would make his happiness; without that he would have no happiness. I am sure you will not misunderstand me, my very dear, noble friend. I frankly confess to you that I prize money highly; I have worked hard for it, and should like to keep it; I should like to convert my personal property into real estate, at least in a great measure: I want my son freely to enjoy what I have toiled with unremitting industry to obtain. Oh, my friend, you do not know—it is better you should not know what blows my life has borne, because I—but no more of that; it would agitate me too much to-day. I had a tutor—a shrewd man, but unhappily not of such moral purity as yourself—who, I remember, often said to me: He only is free who is not bound to the same level with others, but is entitled to be judged by a loftier standard. A genius, a man like yourself, my dear friend, is by nature so entitled; but all are not geniuses. Genius is unattainable, therefore do men seek a title of nobility that posterity may judge them by that higher standard. I express myself clumsily, do I not?"
"No! the thought is subtilely developed."
"Ah, let us leave all subtleties. But I have after all omitted the chief point; it is well I remember it. It was you who first directed my thoughts and my efforts towards this aim."
"I? How so?"
"Let me remind you. On the first day of your coming among us you told me, and you have often repeated it since, that Roland had no special talent that would lead him to the choice of a profession. The remark offended me at the time, but I see now that it was perfectly true. For the very reason that Roland is not gifted with genius, he must take rank among the nobility, have a title, which of itself gives position and dignity to persons of average capacity, who are not able to carve out their own career. A nobleman is not sensitive; that is his great advantage. A baron or an earl is somebody at the start, and is not obliged to make himself somebody; if, besides that, he has any gifts, they are all clear gain, and the world is grateful for them. We commoners must begin by making ourselves something; we are nothing at the start except sensitive, thin-skinned. Ah, my dear friend, I speak very confusedly."
"By no means."
"I will say but one thing more. Roland will at some time, and it may be soon, enter on the possession of millions; if he is a noble, he will not only stand in the circle of the select, but he will have all the obligations of honor, of benevolence, of usefulness, and will have them in a higher degree, because he will be one newly raised to rank. I open my whole heart to you, my friend—I conceal nothing. Almost the whole inhabited world is known to me, and shall I tell you what I have found in it?"
"I should be glad to know."
"Know, then," here Sonnenkamp laid both hands upon Eric's shoulder, "you are a philosopher, a deep thinker—learn something from me."
"Willingly."
"Let me tell you then, my friend, there are three classes among mankind, each bound so closely together that no member stands alone. A man must belong to one of these in this degenerate world."
He paused awhile, and then, in answer to Eric's questioning glance, continued:—
"Yes, my friend, in this world a man must be either a Jew, a Jesuit, or a noble. You smile? The idea surprises you? Let me explain. If you survey the whole world you will find that each one of these three classes, and only these, forms a firm, lasting, indissoluble union among its members. My son cannot be a Jew, a Jesuit he shall not be, therefore he must be a noble."
Eric was fairly bewildered by Sonnenkamp's arguments. He strove to exercise his own freedom of thought, but he saw how immovably Sonnenkamp's mind was made up, and looking over the past, he perceived how everything had been tending towards this one aim. And after all, might it not be an advantage for Roland to enter the ranks of the nobility? Might not this be the only means of establishing a home for him in Germany?
The interview lasted till far into the night, Sonnenkamp constantly endeavoring to prove the necessity of making Roland a noble, and Eric at last, almost from sheer weariness, promised to use his influence with Clodwig. He got no rest as he lay in bed; he seemed to himself a traitor, but the voice of the tempter said:—
"After all, it is not you who can bring it about, nor he, but the Prince. Whether you lend your aid or not, the thing is sure to be done. Why should you be disobliging and ungrateful?"