Roland arrived, and Herr Weidmann with him. He had heard of his father's flight, but not of Bella's. A great change had come over the boy in these four days, especially in the lines about his mouth: its childish expression had changed into one of pride and sadness, and his whole character had gained in firmness. He went directly to his mother, who had not once paused in her cry of, "Henry, Henry, come back! Henry, I will give you my ornaments: come back!"
She appeared not to have noticed Roland's absence, and showed no surprise now at seeing him. She only said,—
"Your father will soon come back: he is only gone for a vessel, a great vessel; he sits at the helm, he guides"—
For the first time in his life, Roland was friendly and affectionate to Fräulein Perini, and thanked her warmly for her fidelity to his mother.
Fräulein Perini replied, that she was sure the young master would treat her kindly, and not forget her services. Roland hardly understood her meaning.
He went to Manna, he went to the Professorin, and had for every one a word of encouragement.
The notary came, and, on being asked if he had received any further news, answered hesitatingly, and fell back upon his power of attorney.
Roland, Manna, Eric, and Weidmann were summoned into the great hall; and, as they entered the room which his father had left, Roland for the first time shed tears, and threw himself on his sister's neck. But he quickly recovered his composure.
The lawyer told them that he knew the secret of opening the great fire-proof safe that was built into the wall on one side of the room. The keys lay in the writing-desk, and the mysterious word which the letters must be made to spell before the keys would turn the locks, was Manna.
"My name!" cried Manna, more touched than she could tell at her father's thus opening the rich treasures of his wealth with her name. To the notary's amazement, she grasped Eric's hand.
A strange chill spread through the room as the great safe was opened.
On the top lay a little box labelled, "My last will and testament." They opened it. A sealed paper lay in it on which was written, "To be opened immediately after my death." These words, however, had been erased, and beneath them was written, "To be opened six months after my disappearance."
Every thing was in perfect order. In different compartments lay the notes of hand, state bonds of all the countries in Europe, and more still of America, deeds of mining companies and of various banking-houses; there were papers of every sort and color: all the shades of the rainbow were represented.
Roland and Manna hardly heard the great sums that were named. They fixed their eyes with the curiosity of children upon separate valuable documents as they were taken out. That is money then—
Manna turned to Eric, with a timid entreaty that he would do and say in her place all that was necessary: she felt her head growing dizzy.
Eric replied, that he hoped she would not have the affectation of those persons who receive thoughtlessly the burden of great wealth without being willing to learn their own position in the world.
"I do not understand," said Manna. In view of all these great possessions she addressed him for the first time by the familiar German "Thou" in the presence of others.
"You will soon learn to understand it. We are children of the actual world; and, if we cannot preserve our ideality in the midst of the actual world, we have no ideality. We will learn together to use aright this immense wealth. This is the first time, too, that I ever saw such a vast amount."
"It is a great thought that the whole world is made up of debtors and creditors," exclaimed Roland.
Still greater was the amazement of the children when the lower drawer was opened, which, being on casters, was easily drawn out in spite of its great weight.
Here lay piles of gold from the mint, and gold in bars.
Roland and Manna involuntarily knelt down, like little children, and felt of it. After the notary had sat down to his writing in the adjoining room, and Eric and Weidmann had been called away, they remained still upon the floor, gazing wonderingly at the gold and then in one another's faces. Manna was the first to recover her voice.
"Are we not like the children who lost their way in the wood, and stumbled upon hidden treasure? But"—
She could not finish her sentence; for what she wanted to say was, "an evil spirit guards the gold."
"Come," said Roland, "lay your hand here on mine and on the gold. This gold shall do good, only good, and always good, and shall make amends for the past. We swear it."
"Yes, we swear it," repeated Manna. "Ah! if only our father may not have to be suffering want out in the world, while we here have all things in abundance. Perhaps he is seeking a shelter, while these luxurious rooms are his own. Oh! why do men strive for riches, and sell their own brothers? O God, why dost thou suffer it? Take all that we have, and drive the iniquity out of the world."
The girl's tears fell upon the gleaming gold. Roland soothed her, and laid her head on his breast; and so the two children knelt in silence before the glittering gold.
"Now we have had enough of this," said Roland at last. "We must be strong: we have great duties before us."
Almost with an angry hand, he pushed in the heavy drawer; and as they rose to their feet, while the boy still had hold of the door of the great safe to shut it, the Major, Knopf, and the negro Adams, entered.
For a moment, Roland and Manna stood motionless: then Roland ran up to the black man, embraced him, and exclaimed with a loud cry,—
"Let this make atonement to your whole race, to all your brothers! Come, Manna; give him your hand, embrace him: we owe it to him."
Manna approached, but with difficulty held out her hand to him; she trembled as she did it.
Adams held her hand long and firmly; and a shiver, a shudder, which made her blood stand still, shot through her whole frame.
With a great effort she controlled herself, and said in English, she hardly knew why,—
"We welcome you as a brother."
"Yes," cried Roland, "you shall counsel us, you shall help us, we will do every thing through you."
Manna whispered to Roland that they would give Adams at once a handsome sum of money; but Roland explained, that, although they must undoubtedly provide generously for Adams, it would be better first to find out if he understood the proper use of money.
Manna looked at her brother in wonder.
The notary now came from the adjoining room. Eric and Weidmann returned, and signed a receipt for the whole amount.
Eric now learned for the first time that Roland had insisted on Adams being brought. Knopf said in an aside to Eric, that he might be proud of the boy: there was great strength of character in him. He had repeatedly said that he must show he felt no hatred towards the innocent cause of this great calamity, and that, instead of persecuting the negro, he was bound to show him kindness.
Weidmann urged Adams's immediate departure from the Villa, fearing the effect that a chance meeting with him might have upon Frau Ceres, associated as his appearance would be with recollections of her home. He advised the man's going with him to Mattenheim: but Roland bogged that Adams might be allowed to remain till he himself went back to Mattenheim; and the Major joyfully agreed to take him home with him.
Eric was incensed that Knopf should have brought Adams at all; but Knopf told how he had met the negro on the way to the Villa, and, with an air of triumph, went on to tell what a model of knavery the fellow was. He had devised a plan for going to Sonnenkamp, openly expressing repentance for his deed, and offering to appear as a false witness, on condition of being handsomely paid for it. He was beside himself, therefore, when he learned that Sonnenkamp had fled, and his false testimony was of no value.
An important consultation took place in Sonnenkamp's room, upon the subject of a new enterprise which Weidmann had in contemplation. He was about to purchase a large estate three leagues from Mattenheim, in the direction of the mountains, and asked Roland and Eric if they would not invest a considerable sum in the land. He wanted to make the attempt to settle a new village there, in combination with an old design of his, of attracting artisans by establishing them on small pieces of land of their own.
Eric questioned whether they would have a right to use this money in a foreign land for the benefit of foreigners; and, besides, at present they were only stewards of the property.
Weidmann praised his caution, but convinced him that this was a safe investment, and one that would be of benefit to many. He promised not to act alone, but to take the advice of the Banker in the matter. Security should be given that the amount of capital invested, should be set free again in a certain number of years.
That evening, Weidmann departed for Mattenheim with a great chest of gold.
Eric was to bring the papers to the city, and then deliver them into the Banker's keeping.
On no one of the persons interested in Villa Eden, had the startling events that had taken place produced a greater impression than on the Major. He could find no rest at home, and, since hearing Sonnenkamp's statement, he had lost the best possession he had,—his sound, healthful sleep. He wandered about restlessly all day, often talking with Laadi, throwing the dog sometimes a mushroom fried in fat, and then punishing her severely when she tried to eat it. At night, his inward excitement was so great, that he kept talking in a low voice to himself, and occasionally even roused Fräulein Milch in the hope that she would dispel the disturbing thoughts. Sonnenkamp's flight, and now the news that Bella had gone with him, increased the distemper of his mind.
He summoned all his strength when Knopf brought in the negro, received him most cordially, and insisted upon his staying in his house first. Adams consented; and the Major took him at once to the castle, where the work was still going on.
Fräulein Milch confessed to Herr Knopf that she was oppressed by a fear she could not control, and begged him to stay with them; but he regretted that his duties to Prince Valerian made his stay impossible. So far from allaying Fräulein Milch's anxieties, he rather increased them by the satisfaction with which he dwelt upon the consummate knavery of this Adams.
"I take delight," he repeated, "in observing what a savage the fellow is. A savage nature is not soft, not good-natured, but sly as a tiger-cat. After all, how can you expect a slave to be a model of virtue, and an example of all that is good?"
The good-natured, soft-hearted Knopf took a real pleasure in knowing consummate rascals like Sonnenkamp and Adams. When he had discovered evil in a man, he carried it to extremes at once, like all idealists: the man must instantly be a consummate villain. The royal descent that Adams boasted of, was, according to him, nothing but a lie: he was usurping the character of some man of princely blood who had been drowned. "For," added Knopf, with great satisfaction, "he could not have taken the stamped sailing papers from him before he was launched on the sea of eternity."
He declared to Fräulein Milch that he had caught Adams in the lie; for the man had made a mistake in the dates: and Knopf was not a teacher of history, with all the dates at his tongue's end, for nothing.
On the Major's return with Adams, his disease fairly broke out, and he was obliged to take to his bed.
The Doctor came, and administered soothing remedies, which relieved the Major; but he had no soothing remedies for Fräulein Milch. She was to receive these from a man who had no knowledge of medicine. When the Professorin could not be with Fräulein Milch to relieve her loneliness, and keep up her courage, she sent Professor Einsiedel; and to him the poor woman confided all her uneasiness with regard to Adams. The man would engage in no occupation; he could drink and smoke all day; but that was all. He had worked only while he was a slave, and driven to it; and as lackey he had had nothing to do but to sit in fantastic livery upon the box of the royal coach. So there he remained in the house with Fräulein Milch, doing nothing but inspire her with an unconquerable terror. The greater her fear became, the more pains she took to preserve a friendly manner towards him.
Only to Professor Einsiedel did she complain of the presence of the negro.
"I must take care," she said, "not to let this one black man give me a prejudice against the whole race."
"What do you mean by that?"
Fräulein Milch blushed as she replied,—
"If we do not know a foreign nation, or a foreign race, and our preconceived notions of it are unfavorable, we are very apt to consider the solitary individual who may come under our observation as a representative of the whole, and to charge upon the whole his peculiar characteristics and faults. This Adams, now, is a man who will neither learn nor labor. As a slave, he was used to being taken care of, and as a lackey the same: it would be very unjust to let him prejudice me against the whole race, and to conclude that all negroes have these peculiarities."
"Very good, very reasonable," was the Professor's verdict. "But I should like to know how you come to be so carefully on your guard against prejudices. I know very little about women, to be sure; but I had supposed this quality was not common among them."
Fräulein Milch bit her lip. This acknowledgment of the claim of every individual to be judged by his own merits had had a peculiar origin in herself; but she could not tell it. She felt the Professor's keen glance fixed upon her face, and fancied he must have discovered her secret. She waited, expecting to hear it from his lips, but he was silent: after a pause, she continued,—
"Do you not think with me that the blacks will never be free until they free themselves, until a Moses appears from among their own number, and leads them out of bondage? And do you not think, also, that this generation which has been in bondage must perish in the wilderness, and that the new generation, that has grown up in freedom, will be the one to enter the promised land of freedom?"
"You seem very familiar with the Old Testament," said the Professor.
Fräulein Milch colored up to the border of her white cap.
"But you have the right idea," continued Professor Einsiedel. "I hope you understand me. The black race has developed nothing original: as far as we can yet see, it contributes nothing to the intellectual possessions of the human family. Certainly no outsider can free them; but our new age, the only redeemer which we acknowledge, culture, will reach and deliver them. Are you acquainted with the recent investigations into the Japhetic races?"
"Alas! no."
"Certainly; I forgot myself. But you must know that the sons of Ham, this, of course, you have learned from the Bible, are without a history: they bring nothing of their own conquest, acquisition, creation, into the great Pantheon. It is the Semitic, Japhetic races that must free the descendants of Ham."
The Professor was about to lay before Fräulein Milch the result of the latest investigations; to tell her what extraordinary discoveries had been made among the Egyptian papyri; how it was proved that the author or the compiler of the Bible had not understood Egyptian; in fact, that the contents of the Bible had existed before in Egyptian writings, and the deliverance of the slaves was the only one great act of the mythical Moses in the whole ancient world. In his delight at finding so good a listener, he was about to deliver himself at great length, when Claus came in, having been sent by the Doctor to take Adams home with him. Fräulein Milch whispered in his ear that he would have difficulty in making Adams work, at which he cried with a smile,—
"Yes, yes: slaves and rich men are alike in that. The slave does nothing because his master feeds him, and the rich man does nothing because his money feeds him."
Fräulein Milch impressed upon Claus that he must treat the black man kindly, and remember that he did not represent the black race. The field-guard laughed heartily, and carried Adams off to his house.
The dogs barked fiercely, and the women screamed in terror, when the negro appeared. The screams soon ceased; but, whenever Adams went out of the house, the dogs set up a fresh chorus of barks.
When the Doctor came with the Professorin, he was highly rejoiced that Adams had left the house, and still more that the Major was able to sit up in bed, and smoke his long pipe. After enjoining upon him great quiet, he went with the two women into the sitting-room, and there informed them that he had reason to be proud; for Bella had written to him from Antwerp, and to no one else. He read the letter to them which was as follows,—
"You alone are no puppet; you never made a pretence of friendship for me, and therefore you shall have a keepsake. I give you my parrot. The parrot is the masterpiece of creation: he says nothing but what he is taught. Adieu!
"BELLA."
The ladies exchanged glances of surprise; and Fräulein Milch rejoiced the Doctor by saying, for once in her life, an unkind word; for she could not help expressing pleasure that Frau Bella had come to such an end. The Doctor, on the other hand, said, in a tone of complaint,—
"I feel a want now that she is gone. I miss in her a sort of barometer of thought and an interesting object of study. Strange! now that this woman is gone we see, for the first time, how widely her influence was extended,—more widely perhaps than was her due. But still the story pleases me, as a proof that there still exist persons of courage and strong will."
"You like eccentricity," suggested the Professorin.
"Oh, no! What seems eccentric to others appears to me the only natural and consistent course, Bella could not have acted otherwise than she has: this very step was a part of her heroism. Your son can tell you that I suspected something of this sort before it happened. There is much in common between Bella and Sonnenkamp. Both are quick and clear in judgment where others are concerned; but, when self is touched, they are tyrannical, malicious, and self-asserting. And, now that she is fairly gone, I may say that she has fled a murderess: to be sure, she did not kill Clodwig with poison or dagger, but she smote him to the heart with killing words and thoughts. He confessed to me that it was so, and now I may repeat it."
"I am confounded," said the Professorin. "With all her culture, how were such things possible?"
"That was just it," broke in the Doctor delighted. "All this intellectual life was nothing to Frau Bella: she found herself in it, she knew not how. She had to destroy something, or what would she have done with all this culture? Formerly there was hypocrisy only in religion; now there is hypocrisy in education. But, no: Frau Bella was no hypocrite, neither was she really ill-natured; she was simply crude."
"Crude?"
"Yes. Thought of others educates at once the heart and the mind; Frau Bella thought only and always of herself; of what she had to say and to feel."
"Do you think," asked the Professorin with some hesitation, "that these two persons can be happy together for a single hour?"
"Certainly not, according to our ideas of happiness. They have no real affection for each other: pride and disappointment, and a desire to shock the world, have induced them to make their escape together. There is one other motive which persons like us cannot enter into. I tried for a long time to discover it, and believe at last that I have succeeded: it is the consciousness of beauty. I am a beauty: that is a principle on which a whole system is founded. Other people are only made for the purpose of seeing and admiring the beauty. Bella committed an act of treason against herself when she married Clodwig: she could not have done it except in a moment of forgetfulness of this great principle. But how can we judge such people aright? The longer I live, the more clearly I see that human beings are not alike: they are of different species."
"You want to provoke us by heresies."
"By no means: that is the reason why this anti-slavery fever is distasteful to me. This claiming equality for all men is a wrong."
"A wrong?"
"Yes. Men are not all the same kind of beings; one is a nightingale that sings on a tree; another is a frog that croaks in the marsh. Now, to require of the frog that he should sing up in a tree is a wrong, a perversion of Nature. Let the frog alone in his marsh, he is very well off there, and to him and his wife his song sounds as sweet as that of the bird to his mate. Men are of different kinds."
The Major called from his room to know what the Doctor was talking so loudly and excitedly about. Fräulein Milch soothed him by telling him it was nothing for a sick man to hear, though she confessed that they had been talking of Bella. As she re-entered the sitting-room, a messenger arrived from Villa Eden with intelligence which summoned the Doctor and the Professorin thither instantly: Frau Ceres was dangerously ill.
The Doctor and the Professorin made all haste back to the Villa.
"Henry, come! Henry, come back! these are your trees, and your house. Come back! I will dance with you. Henry, Henry!"
Such was Frau Ceres' incessant cry.
She refused all nourishment; she insisted on waiting till her husband said "Dear child, do take something." Only after the most urgent entreaties of Fräulein Perini, did she at last consent to eat something. She wanted to embroider, and took up her work; but the next moment she laid it down again.
Weeping and lamenting, she went through the gardens and greenhouses.
Fräulein Perini had the greatest difficulty in soothing her.
Then Frau Ceres reprimanded the gardener for raking over the paths. The marks of her husband's feet were in the gravel, and they must not be removed, or he would die.
At other times, she would sit at the window for hours together, looking out upon the hills and the clouds, and the river where the boats were sailing up and down; and all the while she would be grieving in a low voice to herself,—
"Henry, I grieved you sorely, I wounded you; you may whip me as you would your slaves; only let me be with you, forgive me. Do you remember that day when you came out to me, and Cæsar played the harp, and I danced in my blue frock and my gold-colored shoes? Do you remember?"—"Manna," she suddenly cried; "Manna, bring your harp and play for me. I want to dance; I am still pretty. Come, Henry!"
Suddenly she turned to Fräulein Perini, and asked, "He is coming back, is he not?" Her tone was so quiet and natural as for the moment to re-assure them.
"Tell him he shall marry Frau Bella when I die," she suddenly began again, her great eyes gazing vacantly before her. "Frau Bella is a handsome widow, very handsome; and he shall give her my ornaments, they will look so well on her."
"Pray, do not speak so."
"Come, we must see that his heaths are well taken care of. He taught me all about them. We will have some good bog-earth dried and pounded and sifted. Then, when he comes home, he will say, 'That was very clever of you, Ceres: you did that well.'"
She went with Fräulein Perini to the hot-house, and gave intelligent directions to the head gardener that he should be careful to keep the heaths very moist, and not in too high a temperature.
Fräulein Perini sent one of the boys who was working in the garden to fetch Eric. Her anxiety was so great, she could not bear to be left longer alone with Frau Ceres.
Frau Ceres appeared very composed. After examining all the heaths, and lifting each one up to see that the saucers were kept properly damp, she left the hot-house, saying as she went,—
"It is quite time that Captain Dournay should learn the care of plants. These scholars fancy there is nothing they can learn from us: I can assure them they can learn a great deal from my husband. There are more than two hundred heaths at the Cape. Yes, you may take my word for it; he told me so. Now let us go back into the house."
On their way, they came to an open space, where was a pond, and a little fountain playing.
Suddenly Frau Ceres uttered a piercing cry. Down the broad path towards them came the black man Adams, with Roland on one arm, and Manna on the other.
"You are changed into a negro! Who did that to you? Henry! Fie, Henry! Take off the black skin!" With piercing cries, she threw herself upon Adams, and tore the clothes from his body; then sank lifeless on the ground before him. They were just bearing her into the house, when Doctor Richard and the Professorin arrived.
Frau Ceres never woke.
Her body was laid in the great music room; and the flowers that Sonnenkamp had so tenderly cared for were set about his wife's corpse. Here in the music room, where the young people had so often sung and danced—would there ever be dancing and music here again?
The friends came, and kissed and embraced Roland; Lina also appeared, and embraced Manna in silence. By a pressure of the hand, a silent embrace, each one expressed to the mourners his sympathy, his desire to help them.
Pranken appeared also among the mourners, and, with Fräulein Perini, knelt beside the body.
After a blessing had been pronounced in the church, the funeral-train moved towards the burial-ground.
The members of the music-club had been gathered together by Knopf and Fassbender, and sang at the open grave. Roland stood leaning on Eric, while the Mother and aunt Claudine supported Manna.
Eric's thoughts reverted to that day in spring when he had sat over his wine with Pranken, and had looked out at the churchyard where the nightingale was singing. Who could have foretold then that he would be standing here a mourner at the grave of the mother of his betrothed, and of his pupil?
The music ceased, and the Priest advanced to the edge of the grave. There was a hush for a while over the whole assembly. The chattering of the magpies, and the screaming of the nut-peckers, was heard in the trees.
After repeating a prayer in a low tone, the Priest raised his voice, and cried,—
"Thou poor rich child from the New World! Now thou art in the new world indeed. Thou hast gone hence with thy sins unforgiven, in delusion, in frenzy. Thou hast left thy children behind to atone, to suffer, to sacrifice, for thee. They will do it: they must do it. Children, God is your father; the church is your mother. Hearken unto me. Here we stand beside an open grave. Ye can live without us, without the church; but, when ye come to die, ye must call upon us: and, though ye have scorned us, we shall come full of grace and compassion; for God so commandeth us. O thou departed one! now thou art ennobled; for death gives nobility: thou art decked with ornaments fairer than thy diamonds; for, with all thy worldliness, thou didst have a believing spirit. Grief set her crown of thorns upon thee: thou hast suffered much, and thou wilt be forgiven. But I call upon ye who stand here this day alive: Ye can build country houses, and furnish them sumptuously; but the prince of all life, which is death, shall come and mow you down, and ye shall moulder in the ground. A house of boards, that is the country house which is decreed to every one, deep in the bosom of the earth. But woe to those men whose holy ark is the fire-proof safe! The men of so-called philosophy and natural science come and flatter the believers in the fire-proof safe, and when the bolt from heaven falls, they say, 'There is a lightening-rod on our house, we have nothing to fear.' And if death comes, what say ye then? Ye have no answer. O ye poor, rich children! Turn unto us! The arms of mercy are open to receive you; they alone can defend you. To that rich young man the answer was:—I speak not of how the wealth was won from which the young soul will not part; I only call—no, it is not I who call—my passing breath but bears the eternal word. Leave all that thou hast and follow me. Wilt thou too, go hence weeping, because thou canst not give up the riches of the world? Oh! I call thee—no, He who has brought this day upon us, who looks down from the height of heaven into this grave—He calls to thee: Rend asunder the bonds of slavery! Thou art thyself a slave: be free! And thou, noble maiden, who hast the highest in thyself, look down into this grave, and forward to the time when such a grave shall open for thee. Save thyself! Despise not the hand that will save thee. Days of sorrow, nights of desolation will come upon thee. In the day thou wilt ask, 'Where am I?' and for what is my life on the earth? And thou wilt send forth thy voice weeping into the night, and wilt shudder at the night of death? Thou knowest what is salvation; thou bearest it in thyself. And now? Faithless—thrice faithless! Faithless to thyself, to thy friends, to thy God!" Beating himself upon the breast, he cried in a voice broken by tears,—
"How willingly, how joyfully would I die, I who am speaking to ye now, if I could say, I have saved them. And yet, not I, but the Spirit through the breath of my mouth. Come, leave all that holds ye back, all on which ye lean—come to me, ye children of sorrow; to me, ye children of misery, of pain, of riches, and of helpless poverty!"
There was a pause in which no one stirred, and the Priest resumed,—
"I have spoken, I have warned, I have called as I was forced to, and because I was forced. I appeal to thee whose mortal frame we are here consigning to the earth, speak to thy children, 'Children, the three handfuls of earth which you were to throw upon my grave, ye shall throw them when this hand resigns what is called the riches of this world, but which is nothing but the ransom of a lost soul.' If ye do it not, we shall still pray for ye who are dead in the living body, as we do for thee whose dead body we are sinking into the grave, but whose soul is risen into eternity. Grant that thy, children may receive eternal life, only the life eternal!"—
The Priest's whole body trembled, and Roland trembled as he stood by Eric. Weidmann approached the boy on the other side, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said in a low voice, "Be calm."
The grave was filled up with earth; the Priest hurried from the church-yard and Pranken with him: the mourners took their way back to the Villa.
"Who would have believed that the Priest would dare to speak so at the grave? But it is well. What more can come? Is not all accomplished now? It is best that she should have died when she did. The poor rich children!"
"What will the children do now?" Such were the words that might have been heard on all sides, as the people dispersed after the burial of Frau Ceres.
The children returned from their mother's grave to the Villa.
Roland was the first to recover his self-command.
"I will not let myself be broken down," he cried. "The black horror shall not frighten me. Give me something to do, Eric. Herr Weidmann, now for the first time, I am yours: I will work, and not let myself give way."
Manna, too, began to be herself again.
Their mother's death, and the painful scene at her grave, had given added firmness to the character of both.
The day after the funeral, Roland was first applied to upon a question of money: Fräulein Perini asked for her discharge. With the approval of Eric and Weidmann, she was abundantly provided for, besides receiving Frau Ceres' entire wardrobe. She packed the clothes in great trunks, and had them taken to the parsonage; but she herself soon departed for Italy, where she joined the young widow, the daughter of Herr von Endlich.
Villa Eden stood now entirely at the disposal of Eric and Roland.
Once more, the Professorin became the one point of attraction; and all assembled in her cottage. She had now a good helper in Professor Einsiedel, who had obtained leave of absence, and promised to spend the winter at the Villa.
After the shocks that Roland and Manna had experienced, their mourning for their mother was almost a relief. That her death should have been caused as it was by terror at the sight of Adams, by a diseased imagination, and that the Priest at the grave had made his last, desperate attempt upon them,—these things were almost a comfort to them. Roland gratefully clasped his sister's hand as she said,—
"Let us not have any feeling of hatred or bitterness towards the negro for having been the innocent cause of our mother's death."
"If there were only something else in prospect for you, if you could only find such an active interest as I have at Mattenheim," said Roland, in whose mind the idea became uppermost, that he must return to Mattenheim. But with a sad smile, like a sunbeam breaking through heavy clouds, he soon added,—
"I forgot: there is something else for you, and something so beautiful! You will be Eric's wife."
Manna was silent.
"What are you reading so earnestly?" she asked Roland one day, after he had been sitting for hours without looking up from his book. He showed her what it was, a book treating of forests. That subject was the only one which now fascinated him, he told her; and, as she spoke, it seemed almost as if it must be Eric talking, so entirely had the boy entered into the spirit of his teacher.
He felt refreshed by the study of this perpetual and permanent growth, and the voluntary protection of it by men. With a real enthusiasm he added,—
"I could not be interested in raising flowers, as my father was; but I get from him the love with which I can devote myself to the trees and woods."
In accordance with a wish of Weidmann's, Eric accompanied Roland and Joseph to the city, in order to deposit the valuable papers in a place of safety.
The first house they visited on arriving in the city was the Banker's, which, situated in a garden outside the gates, combined the repose of the country with the animation of the city. The business life of the owner was in the heart of the city: here he was his own master. Everywhere throughout the richly furnished house were marks of refinement and elegance.
To Eric's surprise, he found the Banker in the great library where were several beautiful statues. The man, who, at Wolfsgarten, at the time of Clodwig's death, had kept so modestly in the background, here in his domestic life presided over a rich and solid establishment.
After a short explanation of the object of their visit, the Banker took his guests to his office. Here, in his business activity, he seemed another man, or rather two men. He had, so to speak, an office nature and a home nature: in his own house friendly, amiable, generous, and communicative; at his office chary of words, curt, decided, and cautious.
He declined receiving all these valuable papers himself, but advised their being taken to the city bank for deposit: as an additional precaution, the coupons should be separated from the bonds, and kept by themselves.
The Banker advised that Roland should acquire some insight of his own into business and money matters. As he would one day have the management of such a large property, it would be desirable for him to enter some business house for a while; otherwise he would always be in a measure dependent upon others. He offered to make an exception in Roland's favor, and, contrary to his custom, receive the young man into his own office.
Eric assented, seeing what an advantage this would be; but Roland looked embarrassed. The Banker now produced Weidmann's letter in which the same desire was expressed.
Roland cast a timid look about the room, where several young men were standing at desks writing, or were walking to and fro. Should he be standing there too? What did these strangers mean by disposing of him so, and wishing to give him a career?
All this passed rapidly through his mind, and, when he was asked his opinion, he replied,—
"I am grateful not only for the kindness, but for the frankness, of Herr Weidmann and yourself in speaking so openly with me."
The Banker sent word through a speaking-tube, that he desired Herr Rudolph Weidmann to come up to his room.
Weidmann's youngest son, who was a clerk in the banking house, soon entered.
There was a general introduction: the young man bowed to Eric, and shook hands with Roland. The Banker told young Weidmann that he should be excused from work as long as Roland remained; but the young man replied, that there was so much work going on as to make that impossible. The Banker dismissed him with an invitation to come that evening to his house; and, after a few friendly words with Roland, the boy departed.
The Banker considered whether it would not be well to sell some of Sonnenkamp's American paper, owing to the unsettled state of the times; but, on the other hand, he could hardly take upon himself the responsibility. He received with a cordial smile Roland's suggestion, that they were bound to keep his money as it was till there should be some new developments.
Roland and Eric next accompanied the Banker to the house. It was just at the time, when, owing to the election of Lincoln, American paper was falling from day to day in value, occasioning great excitement in business circles. Roland and Eric were greatly impressed by the fact; and the question arose in their minds. How could men take a purely moral and disinterested view of great public events, when the rise and fall which they occasioned affected so immediately their own profit and loss?
Bewildered by the noise and the contradictory emotions that the scene aroused in them, they left the Exchange, and became the Banker's guests in his own house.
Here the Banker assumed the part of teacher, and explained to his two guests that the laws of economics and those of humanity were hard to reconcile, almost as hard as the conflict between the freedom of the will and the limitations of nature in the department of philosophy. They are parallel lines that rarely meet, and then only to part again at once. After all, what was one man's loss was another man's gain, so that none of the world's property was really lost.
Eric showed how these contrasts had been recognized, though in a different way, in the most ancient times. The rod of Hermes is at once the wand of divination and the symbol of that instantaneous flash—the introduction into life and the dismissal from it—by which the old myths represented human life and death.
The Banker, who was always ready to receive information, listened to Eric's explanation of the myths and sagas, and their similarity in all the different nations. He was always eager to penetrate any new realm of knowledge, and grateful for instruction.
While the company were at table, several telegrams were brought to the Banker, who read them tranquilly, and then handed them to his two sons, who were sitting at table with him.
Here, at this table, Eric was for the first time conscious of a change in himself. The Banker liked to have every finished result of science served up for him, and he brought intelligence and relish to the enjoyment of it, as he did at the same time to a perfectly ripe pine-apple; but Eric was not so communicative as he used to be, and no longer felt called upon to give himself out at every demand. He kept silence, and left the talking to others. As soon as he had finished his comparisons of the different mythologies, the Banker, in his turn, spoke of the effect that was produced by the rise or fall of this or that paper; the exchange also he described as an organic existence.
Eric was a ready listener, he wanted now to be instructed by others.
The Banker's daughter-in-law, a lady of noble bearing, treated Eric and Roland with marked cordiality, and expressed a great desire to become acquainted with the Professorin and Manna.
Eric was surprised at being reminded of an incident that had almost passed from his memory. This lady had heard him sing at the festival, and said how much pleasure it would give her to hear him again, as she sang a little herself: upon his saying, however, that he was not at that moment at all in the mood for singing, she at once ceased from her request, in the hope that it might, by and by, at some happier time be granted her.
As the company were rising from table, young Weidmann and the cashier Fassbender were announced. The host made them come in, and sit down with the party at dessert. The young men were evidently embarrassed, and felt it a great favor to be thus admitted into the private life of their chief.
The gentlemen repaired to the billiard room. And the young men, as a special favor, were allowed to smoke a cigar in the house of the chief, even in his presence.
As Roland showed ho inclination to take part in the game, the Banker told him to consider himself at perfect liberty to go to his room, or to take a walk with Weidmann and Fassbender. He preferred going with the young men to his room. He returned presently, when the gentlemen, having finished their game, were sitting in familiar chat about the open fire, and with many thanks announced his resolution of entering the office for a while; only stipulating that he should not be charged with fickleness of purpose, if he did not stay long in the employ.
Far into the night, Roland talked with Eric, telling him how strange it seemed to have so much guidance and protection offered him, although he acknowledged the advantage it was to him, and the gratitude he felt towards these gentlemen for it.
The next morning, the box of papers was taken to the vaults of the bank. Eric and Roland stood as in a fairy tale before all this hidden treasure. Some old recollection must have been stirred in Roland; for he suddenly said to Eric,—
"What would Claus say if he could see all this?"
He looked in amazement at Eric, standing there so tranquil and indifferent.
"Does it not impress you strongly too?" he said.
"Not at all; for what is all this treasure? From the top of a mountain, you see things of much more value than this stamped metal. Houses, fields, trees, are much more, much greater."
Roland looked disheartened. For a long time to come, he would have nothing to do but cast accounts, and watch the money market. The full life at the Villa, the mountains, the river, the drives, and Mattenheim, all seemed removed to an immeasurable distance. Nevertheless, he remained firm.
Eric took Roland to the counting-house, where the latter was assigned a place at young Weidmann's desk.
Eric staid several days; for he wished to become acquainted with Roland's associates. He was especially pleased with the cashier, Fassbender's son, a young man of much discernment and youthful freshness, active in body, and vivacious in mind. He was president of the mercantileturnverein, and assiduously cultivated the love of learning in himself and his companions.
Eric could resign the guidance of Roland to this young man with entire confidence.
He talked much with the Banker about Clodwig. The Banker was very lenient in his judgment of Bella, and could not refrain from reproaching Clodwig with having married again: he had deceived himself, and allowed Bella to be deceived; for the latter had really believed that she could find pleasure in a quiet life, and relinquish all the privileges of youth; and it was the smothered passion for adventure which had driven her to this extreme.
Eric listened, but said little. He even felt it his duty to tell the Banker that he had got over his old zeal for imparting knowledge, and was no longer in a condition to give the total results of his thoughts and study.
The Banker considered this perfectly natural. The knowledge which constituted a man's calling, he said, was a man's capital, and ought not to be drawn upon: every man held a kind of trust fund, and the interest only should be risked and freely employed in trade.
He thought it eminently proper that Eric should now learn to be economical of himself.
On the third day, Eric returned alone to Villa Eden, promising to forward all necessary aids for Roland.
He came, as it were, out of another world; but his heart was lightened: he rejoiced at Roland's sudden resolve, and even began to consider himself no longer as a mere scholar, but as one to whom a great treasure has been intrusted which he is to care for next to truth.
The announcement of Roland's decision created great astonishment at Villa Eden.
Eric found Professor Einsiedel and Fräulein Milch at his mother's; and all gazed wonderingly at the latter when she suddenly exclaimed,—
"Roland enter the house of a Jew!" But to the inquiry what there was strange about this, she made no reply, only looking round as if bewildered.
Eric told the Professor he should now make great allowance for the rich, to whom full aspiration could scarcely be possible with their vast possessions ever in their thoughts. The safe-key in the breast pocket must, he thought, lock up something in the heart.
Manna, alone, comprehended the true grounds of Roland's strange resolve; for she said that it would not merely prove the youth's salvation to learn the management of wealth, which, after all, was only a kind of military drill, but that he evidently considered it a fortunate opportunity to be transplanted into an entirely new sphere of life.
And so it was.
Manna almost envied her brother the opportunity of doing and becoming something new. She, too, would gladly have engaged in some occupation. A trait of Sonnenkamp's strange nature asserted itself within her. She wanted to go forth into the world. She was more with the Aunt than with the Professorin, who desired, if possible, to effect a speedy and fundamental cure; while the Aunt preferred to begin by a tender fostering care.
Eric and his mother pondered much upon how best to deal with Manna's restless mood, and to satisfy her longing aspirations.
So much had come upon her at once; and her love for Eric did not seem quite to compensate her for what she had lost, since at heart she still yearned for a firm support in the Church.
Weidmann came, and with him they discussed the question of waiving all ordinary considerations, and celebrating Manna's and Eric's marriage at once.
He declared that one ought never to have recourse to marriage as a remedy, but should enter into a new phase of existence with a tranquil heart, and a new joy in existence itself.
This coincided with Eric's own secret feeling, and he said to Manna,—
"Your desire to travel, to find something outside yourself, is a perfectly natural one. You miss that great other home of yours, the church, which you could visit at any time, and come back in an altered frame of mind. You want some other human being to proffer you out of his own thought and soul, and upon constituted authority, something distinct from yourself,—something which you yourself have lost. Instead of this, you have now to find your all at home and in yourself. It is hard, I know; but so it must be. So long as you seek any thing without, you are not at home with yourself. Here in this place, in these rooms where such horror overwhelmed us, we must learn to compose and control ourselves. 'Stand to your post!' is the military command; and it has also a moral significance."
With such words, and more to the same effect, did Eric lighten Manna's perplexities: she embraced and thanked him for thus entering into her very soul, and freeing her from every yoke.
Quietly and serenely the days glided by, until an invitation arrived from the Justice's wife. The Professorin accepted at once; but Manna said she could not accompany her: she was not yet chastened and calm enough to mingle with the world and submit to being received with compassion.
Eric made a sign to his mother not to urge Manna; and she was left to do as she liked.