"Why did you not look in, for a moment, upon the worthy people?" asked Bella of her brother, after they had both taken their seats in the carriage.
Whenever she came from a company where she had been amiable, this mood continued awhile, and she would look smilingly into the air, then smilingly upon the furniture around; it was so now. There was in her the dying echo of a pleasant and cheerful frame of mind, but her brother came out of an entirely remote world, having spoken to-day with no one,—who would have thought it of him?—but his own soul, or more properly, Manna's soul.
"Ah! don't speak to me of the world," he said; "I wish to forget it, and that it should also forget me. I know it well, all hollow, waste, wilted, mere puppet-show. If you have been helping the puppets dance there awhile, you can lay them away again in the closet of forgetfulness."
"You seem rather low-spirited," said Bella, placing her hand upon her brother's shoulder.
"Low-spirited! that's another catchword! How often have I heard it used, and used it myself! What is meant by low-spirited? nothing. I have been knocked in pieces, and newly put together again. Ah, sister, a miracle has been wrought in me, and all miracles are now clear to me. Ah! I may come back to the words of the world, but I do not see how."
"Excellent! I congratulate you; you seem to have really fallen in love."
"Fallen in love! For God's sake, don't say that; I am consecrated, sanctified. I am yet such a poor, timorous, wretched child of the world, that I am ashamed to make my confession even to you, my only sister. Ah! I could never have believed that I should feel such emotion—I don't know what to call it—exaltation, such rapture thrilling every nerve. O sister, what a maiden!"
"It is not true," said Bella, leaning her head back against the soft lining of the carriage, "it not true that we women are the enigma of the world; you men are far more so. Over you, over Otto von Pranken, the ballet connoisseur, has come such a romantic feeling as this! But beautiful, excellent, the mightiest power, is the power of illusion."
Pranken was silent; he heard Bella's words as if they were uttered in a past state of existence. When, where, did they speak and think of the ballet? And yet, at these words there came dancing before his memory merry, aerial, short-dressed, roguish, smiling forms. His heart thumped like a hammer against the book, the book placed there in his breast-pocket. He was about to tell his sister that for several days he had no longer known who he was; that he was obliged often to recall to mind his own name, what he had wished, and what he still wished; that he went like one intoxicated through the world, which was only a flitting by of passing shadows; here were swiftly darting railway-trains, there towns and castles reflected in the river: all were fleeting shadows which would soon be gone, while only the soul had real being, the soul alone.
Such had been the influence of Thomas à Kempis, so had he read the words on which Manna's dark-brown eye had rested. All this passed through his mind; he could not make his sister comprehend the transformation, he could hardly comprehend it himself. He came to the conclusion to keep it all to himself; and changing his tone, with great self-command, he said smiling:—
"Yes, Bella, love has a sort of sanctifying power, if the word is allowable."
Bella told him in a bantering way, that he uttered this like a Protestant candidate for the ministry, who is making a declaration of love in the parsonage arbor to the minister's blonde little daughter, clad in rose-colored calico. She looked upon it, however, as an excellent, very commendable guaranty of his feelings, that he had declined, in his present state of mind, to enter the Justice's house; she praised his intention of breaking off now his flirtation with Lina.
Otto nodded, with a feeling of shame; and he began now to speak of Manna, in so gentle a tone, and in such serious earnestness, that Bella was more and more amazed. She let him go on without interruption, and, clasping together the fingers of her right and left hand, she said to herself in a low tone:—
"Nut-brown eyes seven times, gazelle three times, glorious beyond all count."
They drove through a little, fragrant pine-wood, and it seemed to Pranken as if this perfumed air from without, and that from the book in his bosom, enveloped him, enwrapped him in its sweet odors, and elevated him above everything. He said, looking fixedly before him:—
"Since our great-uncle, the Archbishop Hubert, no one of our family has entered the service of the church; I shall—"
"You?"
"I shall," continued Pranken, "dedicate my second son to the church."
It appeared exceedingly comical, and yet Pranken said it with the deepest seriousness, while leaning comfortably against the back of the carriage, and puffing thick clouds of smoke in quick succession from the cigar in his mouth.
Bella, who always had some direct reply or some apposite remark to make in continuation, now said nothing, and Otto, who found it very hard to change the tone of conversation, seemed to himself to be under a spell. He, the merry one, he, always so free and easy, was reduced to the level of some intrusive Swaggerer in a convivial company, who had pretended to be a boon-companion, and must drink and drink, whether he relished it or not.
"I should like to give you one piece of advice," said Bella at last.
"I should like to hear it."
"Otto, I believe that your feeling is genuine, and I will also believe that it will last; but, for heaven's sake, don't let anything of it be perceived, for it will be considered hypocrisy, and the abject submission of a suitor, to win by this means this pious, wealthy heiress. Therefore, for the sake of your own honor, for the sake of your position,—I pass by every other consideration,—keep all these extravagances under safe lock and key. Otto, it is not my mouth that speaks, I am but the mouth-piece of the world: lock up all these heavenly sensations. Forgive me if I have not used the right word; I can think now of no other. In short, be the same as you were before you took this journey, at least in presence of the world. Are you offended with me? Your features are so painfully contracted."
"O, no, you are shrewd and kind, and I will do as you say."
As if a new stop had been drawn out, Pranken immediately asked:—
"What's the state of things at the Villa? Is the All-wise, the great World-soul, still there?"
"You mean, perhaps, your friend?" Bella could not refrain from bantering her brother.
"My friend? He never was my friend, and I never called him so. I have allowed myself to be bamboozled only through pity. It is a long-standing trait in our family, that we are not able to see anyone in misfortune, and I, when I help an unfortunate one, come readily into a more intimate relation with him than is natural and proper. If one wishes to rescue a man from drowning, one must grasp him in his arms and to his heart, but this does not make him our bosom-friend."
Here was again the flippant, galloping style of speaking, but there was a depth of thought in the illustration derived from the meditations of the previous days.
Bella handed her brother a note which Fräulein Perini had given her for him. Pranken broke the seal and read it; his countenance became cheerful. He put the letter in his breast-pocket, but as it did not seem to suit the neighborhood of Thomas à Kempis, he took it out again, and put it in another pocket. Then he folded his arms over his breast, and looked peacefully and serenely before him.
"Might I be permitted to read Fräulein Perini's note?" said Bella, extending her hand.
Otto took it out, hastily ran through it again, and handed it to his sister. It contained the information that Eric had gone away, and that he had held a secret interview with Frau Ceres; the details must be given by word of mouth.
Otto said that he wanted, some time or other, an answer to this riddle.
"The riddle is solved for me," said Bella exultingly. "Lina, the Justice's daughter—it just occurs to me that Egmont's Clara had no surname, needed none—well, Lina, the Justice's daughter, has declared to all the world, that the Captain World-soul was with her at the convent where Manna is, and without saying a word about it, he gets himself introduced by you, the next day, to her father. You then, as well as the rest of us, have been taken in by this loftily sublime World-soul."
Pranken drew a long breath, doubled up his fist, and then made a repelling motion with his hand. Bella imparted the further information that she had seen to it, at the coffee-party, that the World-soul—this word seemed to her just the one to designate Eric—should be obliged to seek another abiding place; the Justice would give the finishing stroke to him. Bella perceived, to her amazement, that Otto did not agree with her in this method of proceeding. It was entirely unworthy of the higher life—he did not explain whether he meant the higher social or spiritual life—to intrigue in this way against a poor deceitful wretch; he would much rather go openly to work, and directly enlighten Sonnenkamp.
Bella was in very good spirits, and took it in good part. She began with saying, that it was in the highest degree contemptible to make such a stir about the appointment of a private tutor, a personage that must always play a subordinate part, however fine may be his appearance. She advised her brother, in the mean while, not to let the Justice be beforehand with him if he himself wanted to have credit in the matter.
Otto declared his intent to visit Herr Sonnenkamp the next day, and then to cut off Dournay's secret threads. But he let the next day, and yet another, pass by, without going to the villa. If other tools and other hands did the work of annihilation, so much the better. The Justice should have time to carry out his design. Otto read Thomas à Kempis, to see if there was not some direction given for such a case; he found none.
On the third day after his return, Pranken set out for the villa. He stopped at the Justice's, for he wanted to know what he had done. But the Justice said, modestly as well as wisely, that he did not think it fitting to take any step before speaking with Herr von Pranken, who had recommended his friend to the house; he was ready, however, to drive with Herr von Pranken to Villa Eden.
Pranken bowed his thanks. He must then himself take a part in the affair. He did not decline the offer of the Justice, perhaps the pedantic little man might serve as a reconnoitering party, to find out where, and in what condition, the enemy was.
In his new frame of mind, Pranken was not inclined to enter into any intrigue, and he said to himself that this was nothing of that sort; but strategy was always permissible, even required. One must lay hold of the enemy wherever and howsoever he can. Pranken drew himself up erect, and laid down the precise method of proceeding: he would pretend to apologise for Eric, in order to help the Justice accomplish his object more directly. He was, again, the spirited, confident, captain of the horse-guards leaping the barriers.
The Justice requested that he would see the ladies, while he got ready for the drive. He had not yet shaved. The good Justice lived all the year round in violation of the law; every day his mustaches were liable to fell a sacrifice to the stringent regulation of the Prince, that the officers of the civil service should not wear a moustache. He gave as an excuse for wearing it his suffering from tooth-ache, but the real reason was, that he wanted to hide the loss of his teeth.
Pranken went up stairs. The Justice's wife welcomed him, and could not find words strong enough to describe her rapturous admiration of Bella, and the regret of the whole company that Herr von Pranken had not come in for a moment.
"Might one be allowed to ask where you have been?" enquired the wife of the Justice.
"I have been to see a dear friend on the lower Rhine."
"Might one ask the name of the friend?"
"Herr von Kempen."
She congratulated Pranken on having such intimate friends; if they could be always worthy of his friendship. The conversation might naturally, at this point, have brought in Eric, but Pranken refrained, and asked after Fräulein Lina. The mother said that her child was learning to cook, which every good housewife ought to be able to do; only it was to be regretted that there were no cooks fit to give any instruction. Pranken expressed himself in praise of this proceeding, and spoke of the demoralised condition of service, for which they had to thank the revolutionists, who undermined all fidelity and all belief.
The lady considered this very true, and was again on the point of referring to Eric, when luckily the Justice entered. He had put on his official dress, and his sword, making an almost ridiculous appearance, but Pranken was highly delighted at this respect for the occasion. They drove together to the villa. When Pranken left the Justice's house, he twirled his mustaches, in a most serene state of self-satisfaction and content. He is still honorable in the highest degree, shamefully good would many of his comrades call it, so to spare the girl. With this feeling of exemplary virtue—and it has a fine relish—he was extremely amiable, and full of elasticity, feeling convinced that he was, every instant, a benefactor of the family, and that at no small sacrifice on his own part.
Lina looked at them from the servant's room near the kitchen, as they drove off; she stood behind the flowers in full bloom upon the window-seat, and, as she inhaled the fragrance of a new-blown monthly rose, a fragrance not less sweet breathed through her soul. When she could no longer see the carriage in which her father sat with the baron, she hastened to the best room, opened the piano, and sang, with clear voice and ardent expression, love-songs to the world in general. Her mother came in, with her hair in disorder, and considered it wholly incomprehensible that Lina should be singing, while two pots put there in the kitchen were boiling over.
"You'll never be anything but an ignoramus; except a little bit of language you learned there, the convent has only made you simpler than ever."
Lina went into the kitchen again, and stood before the hearth, lost in reverie. She would like to have heard what her father and Pranken had to say to one another.
Their conversation was very constrained. Pranken praised the Justice for his zeal in keeping his district pure; the Justice complained that he had, in this case, no overt acts to proceed upon, only a supposed dangerous tendency. He understood how to draw Pranken out, and the latter narrated many charges, of course wholly unjust, an appearance of treason among others, which had been brought against Eric. He prayed him, however, to spare the poor, young man to whom the Prince himself had been merciful, and he thanked the Justice for neutralizing the effects of the impulse, by which he himself had been violently carried away. The Justice did not know exactly what course he ought to take, and he was terrified when they came in sight of the villa.
Roland had gone to sleep with anger in his heart, on the evening of the parting, and he awoke in sorrow. It seemed impossible that Eric could have left him, and so strong was his faith in the bond between them, that he wished to go to Eric's room to ask forgiveness for having dreamed such evil things of him. But it was all true. He went to the room; it was empty, with only the doctor's diploma lying upon the table, a sign that it had not been all a dream.
Roland was not to remain long alone; he was summoned to his father.
His father introduced him to a man of gentlemanly bearing, who spoke only in French and somewhat broken German. This agreeable-looking young man, the Chevalier de Canne by name, was from French Switzerland, and came warmly recommended by a banker in the capital, who did not himself know the fountain-head of the stream which had brought the man to him, for it was all Fräulein Perini's work.
Fräulein Perini was never seen to send her letters by post, for they went through the hands of the priest, but her relations with the French clergy were such, that, by safe mediation, a lay-pupil who could be depended on was called to the position in Sonnenkamp's household. Sonnenkamp's prejudices against such a connection were well known, and it was carefully concealed.
By his modest and dignified bearing the Chevalier knew how to win the favor of the whole household, not excepting Herr Sonnenkamp. In contrast with Eric, he had about him something impersonal, so to speak; never obtruding any peculiar expression of his own special views, skilfully agreeing with everything, and succeeding, without flattery, in giving back each person's own words in such a way that they seemed to the speaker remarkably significant and excellent. He was able so to illustrate and interpret even the few words which Frau Ceres uttered, that one would believe he had long known the lady; he was besides especially welcome to Herr Sonnenkamp, from having a thorough knowledge of botany. With Fräulein Perini, he said grace before dinner, with so modest and elegant an air that it only added to the attractiveness of his appearance. Everyone was charmed except Roland, who, without knowing why, was constantly comparing the Chevalier with Eric. For the first time, he begged his father to send him to some school, no matter what one, and promised to be perfectly tractable; his father would not yield to his desire, but declared instead that Roland was very fortunate to have such a tutor found for him.
Roland could not complain that the Chevalier made his studies a burden to him, but he could not put Eric out of his thoughts. He had already thrice written to him directly, letters like the lament of a maiden who tells her lover how she is urged to a loveless marriage, and implores him to come to her. He begged Eric, who knew nothing of his angry mood, to forgive him for having fallen away from his allegiance for a moment; he clung to the hope that his father, who always spoke well of Eric, would still summon him.
So wrote Roland; he did not send the letters, but carelessly left them lying open, and the Chevalier took copies, which Fräulein Perini received.
Eric had in Joseph a firm ally in the family. He asked Roland continually when Eric would return, told him much of his parents and his grandfather, and also of a brother who was just Roland's own age. This gave new intensity to the longing after Eric, for Roland thought he would bring his brother with him, and then he would also have a brother and comrade.
Several days had passed thus; Roland was sitting on a camp-stool, near the road, where there was a fine view of the park, from which the tower of the castle seemed to spring up as a natural growth. Roland was drawing, and the Chevalier, who was a master in the art, sat near him. Roland soon saw that he had heretofore received too much assistance; he was now really painstaking and earnest. The Chevalier drew whatever Roland was drawing, and, from time to time, they compared their work. His teacher had advised him to make drawings of all the views of the castle before it was rebuilt, and Roland had succeeded in doing so. Sometimes he believed that he had done it himself, then it all seemed like a humbug to him, for the teacher had really done most of the work.
Roland heard carriage-wheels, his heart beat, it was certainly Eric coming. He hurried to the road, and saw Pranken sitting by the Justice.
The Chevalier had followed Roland, who stood staring at the carriage. Pranken held out his hand and asked Roland to introduce the gentleman; Roland was obliged to mention his name, and the Chevalier added, in a tone of studied respect, the position he held. Pranken nodded in a very friendly manner, and left the carriage to walk with Roland, telling him that he brought him greetings from his sister, and that he wanted to speak with him alone, by and by, as he had an important message for him. Then he praised the noble bearing of the stranger, and said that such a man was far better than a conceited German doctor.
"Eric has a right to be conceited, but he is not," answered Roland.
Pranken twirled his moustache; he might be easy, and let Eric have due, since he was out of the way.
Roland felt an anxiety for which he could not account; he had a foreboding that something was going on which concerned Eric. At the villa Pranken left Roland to the Chevalier, to whom he nodded graciously; he asked the Justice to go without him to Herr Sonnenkamp, and, while the Justice stared in astonishment, vanished, without waiting for an answer, and went to find Fräulein Perini.
There was a most cordial greeting between the two, who held out both hands to each other. When Pranken asked about the Chevalier, Fräulein Perini pretended to know nothing of him; Pranken spoke strongly of the good impression he had received of the man, and affected not to suspect that she had brought any secret influence to bear in the matter.
Then came an account of the visit to Manna. Not fully, but in some measure, Pranken made known what a change had taken place in himself.
Fräulein Perini listened attentively, holding her pearl cross in her left hand; then she gave the particulars of Eric's secret visit to Frau Ceres, which she had referred to in her note: she showed Pranken a letter, which she had received from the superior in answer to her inquiries about the meeting between Eric and Manna. A copy of a letter from Roland to Manna, in which Eric was mentioned, was also at hand.
But now all the chivalry in Pranken's nature showed itself, increased by a moral and religious impulse. He stretched out his hand, as if he would shelter Manna from every breath, and said firmly and decidedly, that not a syllable more should seem to put her in a doubtful position. The whole thing was nothing but a school-girl fancy of the Justice's silly daughter, Lina. Manna's radiant being should not be dimmed by the least cloud of suspicion, for she was pure, and great, and noble. Pranken felt himself her knight, the defender of innocence, and he was noble enough to extend his defence to Eric, who was blameless in this respect: honorable feeling and elevated sentiment required that he should do him justice. Fräulein Perini watched Pranken's noble ardor with surprise, as he continued:—
"From this moment let us forget Lina's childish fancy; neither you, nor I, nor my sister, nor Herr Sonnenkamp, who fortunately knows nothing of it, you say, will ever cherish a thought of it again."
Fräulein Perini, instead of being hurt, was quite happy at this greatness of mind and acuteness in Pranken; she was modest enough to make a jest at the petty ideas of women. With great tact she declared that this was now the true knight's service, for the ground on which the tournament was held in our days was higher than of old.
Fräulein Perini would, on no consideration, come into collision with Pranken, knowing what power she would thereby put out of her hands. Pranken left her, with calm self-satisfaction, to go to Herr Sonnenkamp: he was almost ready to defend Eric since he was already set aside. With great peace of mind he laid his hand on the book in his breast pocket; the man who spoke in it would be content with him.
Pranken found the Justice and Sonnenkamp engaged in general conversation; the greeting between him and the master of the house was very cordial, and he seated himself astride on a chair.
"I will tell you, honored friend," began Pranken,—he liked to call Sonnenkamp "honored friend" before people,—"I will tell you, by and by, about my journey. Now, let me congratulate you on having apparently found the right man for our Roland."
Herr Sonnenkamp answered that he should hardly keep the Chevalier; he was only in the house on trial. Something seemed to tell him that the highly cultivated Swiss would lead Roland's disposition too much towards the clergy and the church. Eric was exactly the man whom he should like the best.
Pranken looked around, as if to make sure whether the enemy was taking up a new position, and said,—
"We must undoubtedly estimate the true market-value of this man."
Sonnenkamp looked at him sharply, as Pranken rattled out the words "market-value." Did the baron think he must adapt his language to him, the merchant? He could not guess that Pranken prided himself on the expression which he had carefully arranged beforehand; he answered,—
"The market-value of the man is not small, but this Captain Doctor is an eccentric man, and eccentric men are very agreeable, but one can not rely upon them."
With the warmth of a new convert Pranken dwelt on Eric's scepticism, and the necessity of Roland's being trusted to the guidance of a truly religious man, who might, at the same time, know the world and its ways.
Sonnenkamp asked, smiling,—
"Then would you really advise making an ecclesiastic of Roland?"
"If it were his mission-—-"
Pranken played with his moustache, as he noticed Sonnenkamp's watchful look, bit his lips, and quickly corrected himself.
"If it were his true vocation, who would take the responsibility of holding him back? Perhaps it would be the noblest thing for him to renounce the treasures of this world, in order to win eternal treasure."
The Justice played, in an embarrassed manner, with his sword-belt; these words of unction from the Captain of the Guards seemed to him incomprehensibly, and yet they could not be spoken in jest. He avoided meeting the eye of either of his companions. Sonnenkamp looked serious. It only appeared inconceivable to him that the young man could speak so incautiously, if, not satisfied with the prospect of Manna's rich dowry, he wished to appropriate Roland's portion.
In the consciousness of superiority, and in the triumph of playing with men, Sonnenkamp stated that Doctor Richard had spoken to him of Eric so enthusiastically, that it would seem that one could not bring the man back fast enough in a coach and six.
"Ah, the doctor!" exclaimed Pranken, swinging his right hand as if it held an invisible riding-whip. "The doctor! Of course! Atheists and Communists stand by each other. Has the doctor also told you that he had a private conversation with Herr Dournay on Sunday?"
"No; how do you know it?"
"By an accident. I heard—through—through a servant: there was a pretence of going to give medical advice, then a rubbing of hands, and the remark that there was no need of Herr Sonnenkamp's knowing that they were united by old ties."
Sonnenkamp thanked him warmly for this information, but inwardly it grated upon him. A suspicion that one of his servant's was in Pranken's pay, was confirmed. The Pole, to whom Pranken always spoke so pleasantly, must be the man, and he should leave the house.
Sonnenkamp whistled inaudibly, only from the position of his lips could it be seen that he was whistling.
The Justice considered it his duty to permit no attack on the doctor, inasmuch as he was the official district-physician; their positions called for mutual support. After he had defended the doctor from any harsh judgment, while Pranken continually stroked his beard and mustache, he gave the conversation a turn by saying:—
"Herr von Pranken had the best intentions in recommending him, but might I express my opinion of the young man?"
Sonnenkamp replied that he should attach much weight to the opinion of the Justice. This was the moment when the strategic movement ought to be made. Pranken set himself more firmly on his chair, and cheered the Justice on to the charge, crying,—
"Explain yourself clearly. I ought to reproach myself for not having considered that any connection with this young man would be looked upon as a disrespect to the supreme authorities, even as an act of hostility."
"Allow me," answered the Justice, with a tone and manner as if he were in the court-room, remanding the accused into custody, "allow me to keep within the limits which it behooves me to observe."
Pranken was beside himself with this Justice; this little, insignificant, almost impotent mannikin maintained a deportment which was quite incomprehensible. Pranken had expected that he would work Sonnenkamp into a state of great excitement, and would give him an indelible impression of the hatred of the court towards Eric, and what really came? An exceedingly mild, most prudently-weighed, amicable consideration.
The Justice had called Eric a dangerous person considered only as a man, as a member of society. He said he did not know how rightly to express himself; he had meant it only in a moral sense; but he immediately took back the wordmoral, for Eric was known to be a highly moral man. And when he now came to the question whether, through any association with Eric, one would draw upon himself the displeasure of the court, a mild and benignant loyalty beamed from the countenance of the little man.
"The princes of our line," said he, "are not vindictive, but, on the contrary, extremely generous and forgiving; and our present reigning master! Good heavens! he has his peculiarities, but they are quite innocent, and with them he has inexhaustible kindness of heart, and do you think he would persecute the son of his teacher and the comrade of his brother's youth? I would sooner assert that he would show favor to any one who should assist Herr Eric—this Herr Eric, who has made it impossible for him to aid him in person."
Pranken was in despair. He looked at the Justice as if he were a hunting-dog that would not obey. He kept opening and shutting his hand, which seemed to feel a desperate longing for a whip; he made signs to the Justice, but in vain, and at last he smiled bitterly to himself. He looked at the Justice's mouth, thinking that his teeth must have grown again, he spoke fluently and decidedly as he never had done before. Ah, these bureaucrats! thought Pranken, pulling up his top-boots. Yes, these bureaucrats are not to be depended on!
"I am very glad," he cried at last, with a forced smile, "I am delighted that our respected Justice dispels all apprehension. Certainly, these official gentlemen understand their business excellently."
The Justice received his stab, but it did not penetrate the uniform. Sonnenkamp seemed to have played with the two men long enough. With an air of triumph, he went to his writing-table, where several sealed letters lay, tore the cover from one which he selected, and gave them the enclosed sheet, saying,—
"Read that, Herr von Pranken, and you too, Herr Justice, read it aloud."
And the Justice read,—
Villa Eden, May—, 186-.
Respected Herr Captain Doctor Dournay,—You will not take it ill of an old and experienced man, honored sir, if he takes the liberty of questioning from his one-sided, practical point of view, whether you are not committing an injustice in employing your mind, so richly endowed by nature, and furnished with knowledge, upon a single boy, instead of a large community. Allow me to say to you that I regard mind and knowledge as capital, and you make of your capital an investment at far too low a rate of interest. I honor the nobleness of mind and the modesty so manifest in your offer, but feeling assured that you entirely mistake yourself, when you think that you can be satisfied in so limited a sphere. I must, no less decidedly than gratefully, decline your offer to undertake the education of my son.
I desire that you would give me the opportunity, by offering you a situation for a year, with no special employment attached to it, to show to you how truly I am, most respectfully,
Your obedient servant,
Henry Sonnenkamp.
While the Justice was reading, Sonnenkamp whistled to himself, keeping time with one foot thrown over the other, manifestly very well satisfied with the letter.
He received it back with a triumphant glance, put it in a fresh envelope, and addressed it to Eric. While he was writing the address, he said,—
"I should like very much to take the man into my house on a different footing; he should do nothing but sit at the table and converse. Why should not that be had for money? If I were a Prince, I would appoint conversation-councillors. Are not the chamberlains something of this sort?" he asked Herr von Pranken, with a slight touch of sarcasm.
Pranken was disturbed. There was often in this man a height of presumption, which did not spare even the sacred precincts of the court; but Pranken smiled very obsequiously. Lootz was summoned through the speaking-tube, the letter was put into the post-bag, and Lootz departed.
Roland was waiting for Pranken, who now went with him into a retired place of the park, and there gave him an account, of his journey, and delivered to him a second copy of Thomas à Kempis. He pointed out to Roland the place where he was to begin reading that day, and what he was to read every day; but always secretly, whether his tutor should be a believer or an unbeliever.
"Isn't Eric coming back any more?" asked Roland.
"Your father had written to him a decided refusal before I came, and the letter has been put into the post before this."
The boy sat upon the bench in the park, and stared fixedly, the book open in his hand.
At the table, Frau Ceres thought that her son looked very pale; she besought the Chevalier not to tax him so severely, and especially not to let him draw so long out of doors.
The Chevalier entirely coincided with this; it was his plan to have Roland draw from plaster-models, and after that, he would take him out into the free air.
"Taken out into free air?" said Roland to himself; and it seemed to strike him that there was a contradiction in the idea of being taken into the free air.
Sonnenkamp was unusually cheerful at dinner; his contempt for men had to-day received new confirmation, and he had fresh conviction of his ability to play with them. He enjoyed a special sense of freedom in the thought that this Herr Dournay, who undertook to dictate matters for him and for so many other people, was now done with. Yet he must acknowledge to himself, that he could, probably, have made no better choice for his son.
After dinner, Pranken allowed the Justice, who was in a hurry, to be driven to town in Sonnenkamp's carriage; he himself remained in very confidential conversation with Sonnenkamp, who admired the art with which a young man, who was a suitor for a wealthy maiden, worked himself into a state of enthusiasm thereat.
After Pranken had departed, Sonnenkamp went to the conservatory, where Roland soon came to him and said:—
"Father, I have a request."
"I shall be glad, if it is a request that I can grant."
"Father, I promise to learn everyday the names of twenty plants, if you will give me Herr Eric again."
"Very nice of Herr Dournay to teach you to promise me that."
The boy looked at his father, as if confounded, his lips swelled, and gazing timidly around upon the plants, as if he called upon them to bear testimony that he was speaking the truth, he cried:—
"Eric has not said to me anything of the kind, any more than those plants have; he has not taught me to say that; but if he had, I would learn it from him, and from nobody but him."
"Not even from me?" exclaimed Sonnenkamp.
The boy was silent, and his father repeated the question:—
"Not even from me?"
His tone was vehement, and he doubled up his great fist.
"Not even from me?" he asked the third time.
The boy drew back, and cried with a thrilling voice:—
"Father!"
Sonnenkamp's fist unclosed, and with forced composure he said:—
"I didn't mean to punish you, Roland—come here—nearer—nearer yet."
The boy went to him, and his father placed his hand upon his forehead, which, was hot, while the father's hand was cold.
"I love you more than you can understand," said the father. He bent down his head, but the boy stretched out both hands, crying with a voice full of anguish:—
"Ah, father! I beseech you—father, I beseech you, not to kiss me now."
Sonnenkamp turned and went away. He expected that the boy would follow him, and clasp him round the neck, but he did not come.
Sonnenkamp stood in the hot-house near the palms; he felt chilly; then he asked himself: "Why does not the child love you? Is that crack-brained German revolutionist, that Doctor Fritz, in the right, who used the words in a published letter: Thou who extirpatest filial and parental love in thy fellow human beings, how canst thou hope for the love of thine own children?"
He could not comprehend how these words, which were uttered in a contest long gone by, and which he wished to forget, now came into his mind. Suddenly a loud cry made the strong man shudder.
"God bless you, massa! God bless you, massa!" seemed to be uttered by the voice of a spirit.
He searched about, and found his wife's parrot, which had been brought in its cage to the hot-house. The gardener, when summoned, informed him that Frau Ceres had ordered the parrot to be brought here, as the dwelling-house was too cold for it.
"God bless you, massa! God bless you, massa!" cried the parrot behind Sonnenkamp, as he was leaving the palm-house.
Roland, in the meanwhile, stood as if rooted at the spot where his father had left him; the park, the house, everything swam round before his eyes. Joseph then came. Roland was rejoiced that there was yet one human being with whom he could lament over Eric's expulsion. He told him what had happened, and made complaint about his father.
"Don't say anything to me that I cannot repeat to your father," interposed Joseph. He was a prudent and faithful servant, who would have nothing to do with secrets, or with tale-bearing. His father had impressed that upon him, when he went away from his home, and he had resolutely and faithfully kept his counsel.
Roland asked Joseph if he was not going to return soon to his native city; Joseph replied in the negative, but went on to tell, with great animation, how splendid it was the first time he had leave to go home. He described very minutely the road, and whom he met at this place and at that, and how his mother was peeling potatoes when he stepped into the house, and how then his father came in, and all the neighbors, and expected to see him wearing golden clothes, because he was in the service of so rich a man. Joseph laughed at this simplicity, but Roland did not. He went back to the house, and it seemed to him as if the whole house thrust him out. He went into Manna's chamber; he thought it would seem homelike here, but the pictures on the wall, and the flowers in the chimney-place, looked at him so strange and so inquiring. He wished to write to Manna, and tell her of all his troubles, but he could not write.
He left the house and went into the court; here he stood for a while, looking round dreamily. The Chevalier came out and asked him if he did not want to do something; Roland stared at him, as if he did not recognize who he was, and made no reply. He took his cross-bow, but he did not draw the string. The sparrows and doves flew about hither and thither; the handsome dogs crowded up to him and sniffed around him, but Roland was like one bewildered.
He went to the river-bank, followed by his great dog, Devil, and there he sat down under the huge, tall willows, putting his hat on the ground near him, for his head seemed on fire. He bathed his brow with water, but his brow was no cooler. He did not know how long he had been sitting there, gazing fixedly into vacancy without any conscious thought, when he heard some one call him by name. He involuntarily clapped his hand upon the muzzle of the dog lying near him, scarcely breathing himself, in order not to betray his place of concealment. The voice grew fainter, and ceased to be heard. He still sat quiet, and cautioned the dog in a low tone to be still also; the dog seemed to understand him.
Roland took put of his side-pocket the letter he had written to Eric, and read it; his eyes overflowed with tears of longing and grief, and getting up, he hurled the letter into the river.
The night came on. Noiselessly, as a hunter who is stalking a deer, Roland left his lurking-place, and wended his way through the narrow path of the vineyard back from the river. He wanted to go to the huntsman, he wanted to go to the Major, he wanted to go to somebody who would help him. Suddenly he stopped.
"No! to nobody—to nobody!" he breathed low to himself, as if he hardly dared trust the silent night.
"To him! to him!"
He crouched down, so that nobody should see him in the vineyard, although it was dark. He did not stand erect, until he came to the highway above.