Otto von Pranken walked with his sister Bella up and down the garden. Otto informed her that he had recommended Eric to Herr Sonnenkamp, but that he was already very sorry for it.
Bella, who was always out of humor after she had made herself a victim to the collation, turned now her ill humor against her brother, who had introduced to her as a fitting guest one who was, or wished to be, a menial, and above all, a menial of that Herr Sonnenkamp. With mischievous satisfaction she added thereto, that Otto must take delight in boldly leaping over difficulties, since he had recommended into the family such an attractive person as this doctor—she made use of that title as being inferior to that of captain. The natural consequence would be that the daughter of the house would fall in love with her brother's tutor.
"This Herr Dournay," she ended by saying, "is a very attractive person, not merely because he is extraordinarily handsome, but yet more because he possesses a romantic open-heartedness and honesty. Whether it is genuine or assumed, at any rate, it tells, and particularly with a girl of seventeen just out of a convent."
Otto answered good naturedly, that he had given his sister credit for a less commonplace imagination; moreover, that Eric was an acknowledged woman-hater, who would never love a real woman of flesh and blood. Yet Pranken declared his intention of calling the next morning at the villa, and telling Herr Sonnenkamp in confidence how very reluctant he was to give the recommendation; that he should beseech him to dismiss the applicant politely, for he might with propriety and justice say that Eric would inoculate the boy with radical ideas; yes, that it might further be said to Herr Sonnenkamp, that to receive Eric would be displeasing at court. This last reason, he thought, would carry all before it. Pranken had worked himself into the belief that to have a secure position in the court-circle was the highest that Herr Sonnenkamp could aim at.
Bella rejected this plan; she took pleasure in inciting her brother to gain the victory over such an opponent; that would inspire him with fresh animation. Moreover, that it might be well to offset the Lady Perini, whose ecclesiastical tendencies no one had thoroughly fathomed, by a man who was a representative of the world, and under obligations of gratitude to them. And further it was not to be doubted that a perpetual, secret war would exist between Donna Perini and this over-confident Dournay, so that, whatever might happen, they would have the regulation and disposal of matters in their own hands.
Bella forgot all her vexation, for a whole web of intrigue unfolded itself clearly to her sight, agreeable in the prosecution, and tending to one result. She was the confidante of Fräulein Perini, but she herself did not wholly trust her, and Otto must remain intimate with Eric; and in this way, they would hold the Sonnenkamp family in their hands, for Eric would undoubtedly acquire great influence.
Otto strenuously resisted the carrying out of the part assigned to him, but he was not let off. A cat sitting quiet and breathless before a mouse-hole will not be enticed away, for she knows that the mouse will come out; it is nibbling already; and then there is a successful spring. Bella had one means of inducing her brother to do as she wished; she need only repeat to him how irresistible he was, and how necessary it was for him to gain that self-confidence which had hitherto stood him in such good part. Otto was not fully convinced, but he was persuaded that he soon would be. And, moreover, this Dournay was a poor man whom one must help; he had taken today the sudden revelation of his position in life with a good grace, and behaved very well.
Whilst brother and sister promenaded in the garden, Eric sat in the study of Count Clodwig, that was lighted by a branching lamp. They sat opposite, in arm-chairs, at the long writing-table. "I regret," Clodwig began, "that the physician came so late; he has a rough rind, but a sound heart. I think that you and he will be good friends."
Eric said nothing, and Clodwig continued: "I cannot understand why my brother-in-law, in his peculiar manner, informed the company so suddenly of your intention. Now it is a common topic of conversation, and your excellent project loses its first naïve charm."
Eric replied with great decision, that we must allow the deed resolved upon in meditation to come into the cold sharp air of the critical understanding.
Clodwig again gazed at him fixedly, apparently surprised that this man should be so well armed at all points; and placing his small hand upon a portfolio before him as if he were writing down something new, he resumed:—
"I have, to-day, been confirmed anew in an old opinion. People generally regard private employment as a degradation, regardless of the consideration that the important thing is, in what spirit one serves, and not whom he serves. 'I serve,' is the motto of my maternal ancestors."
The old man paused, and Eric did not know whether he was going on, or waited for a reply; but Clodwig continued: "It is regarded as highly honorable when a general officer, or a state official undertakes the education of a prince; but is it any the less honorable to engage in the work of educating thirty peasant lads, or to devote one's self, as you do, to the bringing up of this wealthy youth? And now I have one request to make of you."
"My only desire is to grant it."
"Will you tell me as exactly as possible how, you have so—I mean, how you have become what you are?"
"Most willingly; and I will deserve the honor of being allowed to speak so unreservedly, by not being too modest. I will speak to you as to myself."
Clodwig rang a bell that stood upon the table, and a servant entered. "Robert, what room is assigned to the doctor?" "The brown one directly over the count's chamber." "Let the captain have the balcony chamber." "If the count will pardon me, the luggage of Leonhard, Prince of Saxony, is still in that room." "No matter; and, one thing more, I desire not to be interrupted until I ring."
The servant departed, and Clodwig settled himself in the arm-chair, drawing a plush sofa-blanket over his knees; then he said, "If I shut my eyes, do not think that I am asleep."
In the manner with which Clodwig now bade Eric speak out frankly, there was a trustful kindness, very far removed from all patronizing condescension; it expressed, rather, an intimate sympathy and a most hearty confidence. Eric began.
"I am twenty-eight years old, and when I review my life, it seems to me so far to have been only a search. One occupation leaves so many faculties dormant, and yet the torture of making a choice must come to an end; and in every calling of life the entire manhood may be maintained and called forth into action.
"I am the child of a perfectly happy marriage, and you know what that means. I shared, from my third year, the education of the Prince Leonhard. There was a perpetual opposition between us, the reason of which I did not discover until later, when an open breach occurred. I then saw for the first time, that a sort of dissimulation, which does not agree with good comradeship, had made me outwardly deferential, and inwardly uneasy and irritated. Perhaps nothing is more opposed to the very nature of a child than a perpetual deference and compliant acquiescence.
"I entered the military school, where I received marked respect, because I had been the comrade of the prince. My father was there my special instructor, and there I lived two years with your brother-in-law. I was not distinguished as a scholar.
"One of the happiest days of my life was the one on which I wore my epaulets for the first time; and though the day on which I laid aside my uniform was not less happy, I am not yet free from inconsistency. I cannot to this day, see a battery of artillery pass by without feeling my heart beat quicker.
"I travel backwards and forwards, and I pray you to excuse disconnected narration. I have, to-day, been through such a various experience; but I will now endeavor to tell my story more directly and concisely.
"Soon after I became lieutenant, my parents removed to the university city; I was how left alone. I was, for a whole year, contented with myself and happy, like every one around me. I can remember now the very hour of a beautiful autumn afternoon,—I still see the tree, and hear the magpie in its branches,—when I suddenly reined in my horse, and something within me asked, 'What art thou doing in the world? training thyself and thy recruits to kill thy fellow-men in the most scientific manner?'"
"Allow me to ask one question," Clodwig mildly interrupted. "Did the military school never seem to you a school of men, and part of your profession?"
Eric was confused, and replied in the negative; then collecting his thoughts, he resumed: "I sought to drive away oppressive thoughts, but they would not leave me. I had fallen out with myself and my occupation. I cannot tell you how useless to myself and to the world I seemed to be,—all was empty, bare, desolate. There were days when I was ashamed of my dress, that I, a sound; strong man, should be loafing about so well dressed, my horse perhaps consuming the oats of some poor man."
"That is morbid," Clodwig struck in with vehemence.
"I see it is now; but then it was different in the first stress of feeling. The Crimean war broke out, and I asked for a furlough, in order to become acquainted with actual war. My commander, Prince Leonhard, at the rifle-practice, casually asked me which army I meant to join; and before I could reply, he added, in a caustic tone, 'Would you prefer to enlist with the light French or the heavy Englishman?' My tongue was tied, and I perceived clearly my own want of a clear understanding of my position. How mere a cipher was I, standing there without any knowledge of myself or the world! My outer relations shared in the total ruin of my inner being. Must I relate to you all these petty annoyances? I deserved to have them, for there was in me nothing but contradiction, and my whole life was one single great lie. A uniform had been given me; I was not myself, and I was a poor soldier, for I abandoned myself to the study of philosophy, and wished to solve the riddle of life. I am of a peculiarly companionable, sympathetic nature, and yet the continued life among my fellow-soldiers had become an impossibility.
"I bore it two years, then asked for my discharge; which I received, with the rank of Captain, out of respect to my parents, I think. I was free, at last, and yet, as I said before, it saddened me to break away from my life.
"I was free! It was strange to look out into the world and say. World, what do you want of me? What must I do for you? Here are a thousand employments; which shall I take? I was ready for anything. I had a fine voice, and many people thought that I might become a professional singer, and I received overtures to that effect. But my own inclination led in a very different direction. An earnest longing possessed me to make some sacrifice for my fellow-men. Had I been a devout believer, I think I should have become a monk."
Clodwig opened his eyes and met Eric's beaming glance. After a short pause, Clodwig nodded to Eric, then folded his arms again on his breast, laid his head back, nodded again, and closed his eyes. Eric continued:—
"When I first went through the streets in a civilian's dress, I felt as if I were walking naked before the eyes of men, as one sometimes seems to be in troubled dreams. In such a helpless, forlorn state of feeling, one grows superstitious, and is easily governed by the merest accidents; The first person who met me, and stared at me, as if doubting who I was, was my former captain, who had left the service, and was superintendent of a House of Correction for men. He had seen the notice of my discharge, and remembering some of my former attempts in that direction, asked whether I meant to devote myself entirely to poetry. I answered in the negative, and he told me that he was looking for an assistant. My decision was soon made; I would consecrate myself to the care and elevation of my fallen fellow-men. After entering on my new occupation I wrote to my parents. My father replied to me, that he appreciated my efforts, but foresaw with certainty that my natural love of beauty would make a life among criminals unbearable to me; he was right. I tried with all my might to keep in subjection a longing for the higher luxuries of life, but in vain. I was without that peculiar natural vein, or perhaps had not reached that elevated standpoint, which enables one to look upon and to treat all the aspects of life as so many natural phenomena. In my captain's uniform, I received more respect from the prisoners than in my citizen's dress. This experience was a sort of nightmare to me. Life among the convicts, who were either hardened brutes or cunning hypocrites, became a hell to me, and this hell had one peculiar torment. I fell into a mood of morbid self-criticism, because I could not forget the world, but was constantly trying to guess the thoughts of others. I tormented myself by imagining what men said of my course. In their eyes I seemed to myself now an idealistic vagabond, if you will allow the expression. This I was not, and would not be, and above all, I was determined that my enemies and deriders should not have the triumph of seeing me the wreck of a fickle and purposeless existence.
"Ah, I vexed myself unnecessarily; for who has time or inclination to look for a man who has disappeared! Men bury the dead, and go back to their every-day work, and so they bury the living too. I do not reproach them for it, it must be so.
"It became clear to me that I was not fitted for the calling I had chosen. I lived too much within myself, and tried in every event to study the foundation and growth of character of those around me, not willing to acknowledge that the nature and actions of men do not develope themselves so logically as I had thought. Besides, I was too impassioned, and possessed by a constant longing for the beautiful.
"I thought of emigrating to the New World, but what should I do there? Was it worth while to have borne such varied experiences and struggles in order to turn a bit of the primeval forest into a cornfield? Still, one consideration drew me toward America. My father's only brother, the proprietor of a manufactory of jewelry, lived there, but was quite lost to us. He had loved my mother's sister, but his suit was somewhat harshly rejected, and he left Europe for the New World. He cast off all connection with his home and family, and turned out of his house in New York a friend of my father's who guardedly mentioned us to him. He would hear nothing of us, nor even of Europe. I imagined that I could reconcile my uncle, and you know that a man in desperate circumstances looks for salvation to the most adventurous undertakings.
"My good father helped me. What he had always recognized as my true vocation, from which I had turned blinded by the attractions of army life, I now saw plainly. A thirst for loneliness arose within me; I felt that I must find some spot of earth where no disturbing tone could penetrate the inner life, where I could immerse myself in solitude. This solitude which is inclusive of all true life, study, the world of letters, now offered to me. My father helped me, while showing me that my past life was not wasted, but must give me a new direction and a peculiar success. He brought me a birth-day gift which I had received in my cradle; the senate of the University; in which he had lectured before his appointment as tutor of the prince, had bestowed upon me soon after my birth its certificate of matriculation, as a new-born prince receives a military commission."
Clodwig laughed heartily, rubbed his eyes, leaned forward with both hands on his knees, looked kindly at Eric, and begged him to go on.
"I have little more to tell you. I soon schooled myself, or rather my father schooled me, to live for universal ends, and to put aside all personal aims as much as possible. I devoted myself to the study of ancient literature, and every aspiration for the beautiful, which had idealized the poet's vocation for me, found satisfaction in my introduction to the classic world. 'Every man may glory in his industry,' says the poet. I worked faithfully, and felt only in my father's house the happiness of a child, and in my youth the joy of mental growth. My father hoped that success would be granted me where he had failed; he made me heir of those ideas which he could neither establish as scientific truth, nor impart from his professor's chair, if there ever were a happy home, made holy by lofty aspiration, it was my parents' house. There my younger brother died, now very nearly a year ago; my father, who already was sorely sick at heart, with all his stoic fortitude could not bear this blow. It is two months since he also died. I kept down the anguish of my bereavement, finished my studies, and received my doctor's degree a few days ago. My mother and I formed various plans, but have not yet decided upon any. I made this excursion to the Rhine in compliance with my mother's advice, for I have been working very hard; on my return we meant to come to some decision. I met your brother-in-law, and I feel it my duty not to turn away from the opening which has offered. I am ready to enter into private service, knowing what I undertake, and believing that I am thoroughly equipped for it. There was a time when I thought I could find satisfaction only in working for some great public interest; now I should be content to educate a single human being, still more to co-operate in training to a fitness for his great duties one, who, by his future lordship over vast possessions, represents in himself manifold human interests.
"I have come to the end of my story. I do not wish that any one should think better of me than I deserve, but I also wish to pass for what I believe I am. I am neither modest nor conceited; I may be in dangerous ignorance, for I do not in the least know how I am regarded by others; I have shown only what I find in myself by honest self-examination. I mean to be a teacher. He who would live in the spirit, and has not the artist's creative power, must be a teacher; for the teacher is, so to speak, the artisan of the higher being, and, like every artisan, is so much the better workman, or teacher, the more of the artist spirit he has and uses. A thought is the best gift which man can bestow upon man, and what I give my pupil is no longer my own. But pardon me for having fallen into this vein of preaching. I have shown you my whole life, as well as I can; where I have left any gaps, pray question me."
"Nothing further is needed," said Clodwig, rising, and quietly laying aside the sofa-blanket. "Only one question. Have you never had the desire to marry, or has that not entered into your plans?"
"No, I shall not marry. I have heard so many men say, 'Yes, ideals, I had them too, but now I live in and for my family.' I will not sacrifice everything higher to the caprice of a pretty woman. I know that I am at variance with the world; I cannot dissemble, nor can I change my own way of thinking, nor bring others over to mine. I have set myself a difficult life-task, which can be best carried out alone."
Clodwig stepped quickly towards Eric and said:—
"I give you my hand again. This hand shall never be withdrawn from you, so long as it has life. I had something else in view for you, but now I cannot and need not speak of it; I will subdue my own wishes. Enough; press on quietly and firmly towards your goal; whatever I can do to help you reach it, you have a right to demand. Remember you have a claim upon me in every situation and condition of your life. You cannot yet estimate what you have given, and are still giving me. Good night, my dear young friend."
The count hastily withdrew, as if to avoid any further emotion. Eric stood still, looking at the empty chair and the sofa-blanket as if all were a dream, until a servant came, and, in a very respectful manner, conducted him to his room.
When a man has laid open his whole history to another, he often seems to himself emptied, hollow, and void,—what is left of him? how small and contemptible he appears! But it was quite otherwise with Eric. From a tower below in the valley rang clear a silver-toned midnight bell, hung there in ancient times by a noble lady, to guide the lost wanderer in the forest to a human dwelling. Eric heard it, and saw in fancy the confessional in the church, with its believers bending before it, or passing out into the world again made strong by its blessing. He had confessed to a man whose life was consecrated by a pure spirit, and felt himself not impoverished, but elevated and strengthened, armed with self-knowledge for every relation of life.
He opened the window, and inhaled the cool, fragrant air of night. Over the valley hung a thin mist; the clocks in the villages struck midnight, and the Wolfsgarten clock chimed in sweet and low. Eric resigned himself to the influence of nature's life and power as it presses upward in the tree-trunks, moves in the branches, and refreshes every bud. In the distance rolled a railway train. The nightingales sang loudly, then suddenly ceased as if overpowered by sleep.
In nebulous forms, familiar and strange figures gathered around Eric. How much he had experienced in this one day, though he had not yet crossed the threshold of the house where perhaps his future lot was cast! He had reviewed his past life, and had found a home of which he had not dreamed yesterday. Ah, how great and rich is the world, and true comrades live in it waiting only for our summons and the greeting of friendly eyes!
All the fulness of life in the immortality of nature and the human spirit flooded Eric's being. He felt a blessed elation; he had given up his life, it was taken from him; he was freed from self, and lived and soared in the infinite.
The moon rose over the mountains, a whispering thrill rustled through the wood, the nightingale sang loud again, the mists rose from the valley and vanished, and one broad beam glittered on a glass dome in the distance. There lay Villa Eden.
Only after a vigorous resistance Eric finally yielded to weariness and closed the window. A black trunk marked with the crest of Prince Leonhard first attracted his notice, and he smiled to see how Clodwig had shown his household in what honor he held his guest; this room had been occupied by the Prince a few days before. Eric then gazed long on a bust of Medusa, fascinated by the grand, powerful, beautiful face; on the head with its wildly disordered locks were two wide-spread wings; below the heavy frowning brow gleamed the great death-dealing eyes; the mouth was haughtily curved, and on the lips lay scornful, defiant words; under the chin two snakes were knotted together like a kerchief. The aspect of the head was at once repulsive and fascinating.
Opposite the Medusa stood a cast of the Victory of Rauch, that wonderful countenance recalling the face of Queen Louisa, the noble head with its garland of oak-leaves not raised, but bent as if in thought and self-control. A strange pair were those two busts! but there was no more time to dwell upon them. Eric was overcome by sleep, but woke again after a few hours, when day had scarcely dawned.
There are hours and days of joyous and buoyant feeling, as if we had found the key to all hearts; as if we held in our hands the magic wand which reveals all living springs, and brings us near to every soul as to a friend and a brother. The world is purified, the soul pervaded by the deep feeling of unalloyed blessedness, which is nothing but breathing, living, loving.
Encompassed by such an atmosphere, Eric stood at the window and looked out over the river to the mountains beyond, the castles, the towns, the villages, on the banks and on the heights. Everywhere thou art at home, thou art living in a beautiful world. He went at once into the open air, and strode on not as if he were walking, but as if borne onward by some ineffable power. Drops of rain from the last night's storm hung upon the tender green of the foliage, on the grass and flowers; no breeze stirred the air, and frequent rain-drops, like a sudden shower, pattered down from the overhanging branches. A ray of sunlight now gleams upon every leaf and twig, and awakens an inexpressible movement; the blackbird sings in the copse, and with his clear, shrill tone is heard far above all the intermingling, chorus of melodies.
Eric stood motionless near a covered pavilion on the very ridge of the mountain, and gazed long at a kite hovering with outspread wings over the summit, and then letting itself down into the wood on the other side of the river. What made him think at that moment of Herr Sonnenkamp? Was it envy and dread of the little bird, whom evil tongues called a bird of prey; and has he not the right to live according to his might?
Eric's thoughts were wafted toward the boy, longing to mingle in his dreams, and whisper to him, I am coming to thee. He endeavored for a long time to get sight of the glass dome, but it was nowhere visible. He went away from the river to an elevated plain, from which there was again a view of valleys, heights, and mountains.
He stood in the midst of an extensive field, and for the first time saw a vineyard which was just being planted. The laborers held implements, like augurs, in their hands, and making with them holes in the loose earth, they set out the young shoots in rows.
He saluted the laborers, and they answered him cheerfully, feeling from the sound of his voice that he greeted every stranger as a brother. He inquired how long it would be before the first vintage, and when an old man answered clearly all his questions, he felt a new refreshment.
This conversation brought him back from his state of excitement, back from his wandering into the infinite, again to the earth. He went away expressing his thanks, and realising that he must bring this strain of lofty feeling into subjection to actual life. He met laborers who were going to a limestone quarry. He joined them, and learned that this also belonged to the count, who had leased all his lands, not retaining for himself even the management.
Receiving a friendly greeting from the overseer, he was shown a manufactory of cement near by, and saw paving-tiles from excellent patterns of the time of the Renaissance, which Clodwig had recommended, and which found a ready sale.
Eric returned to the Castle, refreshed by the breath of nature as well as by this glance into actual human life. A servant told him that the count was expecting him. Clodwig, already fully dressed for the day, took his guest by the hand, saying, "I shall ask you by and by many questions, but only one now:—did your father despair at the last, or—how shall I express it?—did he die in the belief of an orderly and progressive unfolding of the social and moral world?" Eric then depicted in vivid language derived from his own recollections, and under the inspiring influence of his morning's exhilaration, how his father, on the last night of his life, congratulated his son that he was born into the new age, which need no longer exhaust itself against opposing forms of violence. "My son," he said, "my heart thrills with joy, when I contemplate how in this century a beauty, a freedom, and a brotherly love unfold themselves which existed to us only in the germ. As one example, my son, see how the State now educates its children, and does it in a way that no Solon, no Socrates, ever could imagine. Thou wilt live in a time when it will hardly be conceived that there were slaves, serfs, bondmen, monopolies, and the whole trumpery of a false world."
Eric added how happy it made him, that his father had departed in such a cheerful mood, and that he, as a son, could so fully enter into his hopes, and carry them out into life. He spoke in such an excitable manner, that Clodwig placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "We will not, in the morning, take such a distant flight." He expressed also his satisfaction that he could enter so fully into the life of the coming generation, for he had always been troubled lest he might lose all hold upon the new time.
"We have had our morning devotions, now let us go to breakfast," he said, turning round easily as he got up from his seat. "Yet one more question: did your father never explain to you what occurred at his sudden—you know what I mean—loss of favor at court?"
"Certainly; my father told me the whole, circumstantially."
"And did he not forbid you to speak of it to any one?"
"To others, but not to you."
"Did he mention me by name?"
"No, but he expressly enjoined it upon me to inform those whom I honored with my whole soul, and so I can tell you."
"Speak rather low," Clodwig enjoined, and Eric went on.
"My father, in that last interview which no one knew anything about, was to have received from the hand of the sovereign a title of nobility, in order that he might be appointed to an office at court. He said to the sovereign, 'Your highness, you make null the blessing of the long years in which I have spent my best strength in the education of my youthful prince, if you think I accept this on my own account, or that I regard it as something belonging to the age in which we live.' 'I do not make a jest of such things,' the prince replied. 'Neither do I,' said my father.
"Years after, his lips trembled as he related this to me, and he said, that that moment, when he stood face to face with his pupil speechless, was the bitterest moment of his life."
A silent pause now ensued between Eric and Clodwig, until the latter said finally, "I understand, I understand; let us go."
They went into the breakfast-room on the ground floor, the doors of which were wide open. Bella soon appeared; she thought that Eric looked at her scrutinisingly, and quickly turning away, she went to a side table to prepare the coffee.
"My wife," said Clodwig, "has already sent a messenger, this morning, to Fräulein Perini, and I have added a message to Herr Sonnenkamp, that you, dear Dournay, would present yourself this evening, or, what would be better, early to-morrow morning."
"And I am to ask you to excuse my brother, who has set out, early this morning, in company with a young man whom they call here the Wine-chevalier, to the horse-market at Mannheim. Will you have coffee or tea?"
"If you please, coffee."
"That is fine, and on the strength of that we are good friends," said Bella, in a lively way. "It is an abominable excess of politeness, when people reply to such a question, 'It makes no difference to me.' If it makes no difference to you, dear polite soul, then give some decided answer, and don't put off the choice upon me."
A merry key was thus struck, and they seated themselves at table. Bella noticed that Eric observed her, and she knew that she looked better in her pretty morning-dress, than in full evening costume. Her movements were very elastic and graceful. She was a tall, noble, well-made person; her soft, dark-auburn hair, now partly loose, was confined by a fine point-lace kerchief, put on with apparent carelessness, as if one had not taken a second look in the mirror, and tied under the chin. Her complexion was fresh, as if she had just bathed her face in milk; and in fact she did wash her face in milk every morning and evening. The expression of her countenance was keen and bright. All was nobly formed, except that she had a thin, compressed upper-lip, which a malicious gentleman at court had once called the lip of a poisoner. It was very vexatious to Bella that her voice was so masculine.
Her personal charms, her cordial and at the same time arch manners, showed to great advantage in the light talk at the breakfast table; and when at intervals she keenly watched Eric, she was surprised at his appearance. Yesterday she had seen him first only in the evening twilight, and afterwards by candle-light. He was manifestly a person to be seen in full daylight; and in fact, there was now a brilliant lighting up of his countenance, for the happy excitement of his whole inner being showed itself in his mien, and he looked at Bella, as if he would say, 'I have become almost the son of thy husband; let the same noble union be formed between us.'
Bella was unusually friendly, perhaps because she had already used a little artifice. A note, written in Italian to Fräulein Perini, cautioned her in terms as decided in meaning, as they were carefully worded in expression, of the necessity of subjecting the new-comer to a sharp examination.
When Clodwig told the messenger that Eric would make his appearance in the evening, or the next morning, she felt herself justified and at rest in regard to her previous artifice; for Clodwig had never before detained a guest with such determination of his own, and no one could even boast of having made it appear that he was not sufficient for himself.
Clodwig and Bella had promised each other to live only to themselves, and until now they had faithfully kept the promise.
"I am a weary soul," Clodwig had said to Bella when he offered her his hand, and she had answered, that she would refresh the weary one. She had cut off every relation with the world, for she knew that friendly visits last only for a few hours or days, and make the solitude afterwards more keenly felt.
Bella was very amiable always, and to everybody, provided everybody always did according to her will, and lived to please her. She really had no love for people and no desire for their society; she wanted nothing from others, and wished only to be left alone. The manifold relations which Clodwig had formerly had with men and women were repugnant to her, and he accommodated himself to the wish of his wife, who lived wholly for him, so far as to reduce his extensive correspondence and his personal intercourse to the smallest possible limit. They kept up a periodical connection with only two social circles in the neighborhood: one of these was the so-called middle-class circle who were invited to collation, as it was named, which we made acquaintance with yesterday; the other was a select circle, of the noble families scattered around, who were invited twice a year. Was this renegade captain now to change all this?
In the triumphant thought that she had banished him, Bella became more and more talkative. Eric could not refrain from highly extolling that mirthful excitement, that exuberant humor which pervades the Rhineland, and takes possession of every one who comes within the sphere of its inhabitants. At last he led the conversation again to Sonnenkamp, by remarking that the manner in which the man was spoken about yesterday was very puzzling to him.
Bella in an off-hand manner declared, that she found the man very interesting, although this was going counter to the universal Philistinism; that she regarded him as a conqueror, a bold Berserkir, who had nothing to win for himself in this stock-jobbing age but gold.
There appeared to be a sympathetic attraction between Bella and Sonnenkamp's speculative and daring spirit. Clodwig considerately added,—
"I have often noticed, that so long as a man is accumulating wealth, his prosperity seems to give universal satisfaction; men feel pleased, as if they were accumulating too. But when he has attained his end, they turn round and find fault, where before they had commended. Do you understand anything of horticulture?"
"No."
"Herr Sonnenkamp is a very considerable horticulturist. Is it not strange that in the laying out of parks we have wholly supplanted the formal methods of French gardening, which now turn to the culture of fruit, and find encouragement in the pecuniary profit that governs all such operations? The English excel in swine-raising, their swine being fat sides of bacon with four feet attached; the French, on the other hand, having taken to fruit culture, have succeeded in producing fabulous crops.
"Yes!" he concluded, smiling, "Herr Sonnenkamp is a tree-tutor, and, moreover, a tyrannical tree-trimmer. To-day I can speak out more freely. Sonnenkamp has always been, and will always be, a stranger to me.
"Through all his external polish, and an increasing attention to the cultivation of good manners, a sort of brutishness appears in him, I mean brutishness in its original meaning of an uncultivated state of nature."
"Yes," Bella remarked, "you will have a difficult position, and especially with Roland."
"With Roland?" asked Eric.
"Yes, that is the boy's name. He would like to know much, and learn nothing."
Bella looked round pleased with her clever saying. The parrot in his great cage upon the veranda uttered shrill cries as if scolding. As she rose, Bella said, "There you see my tyrant; a scholar who tyrannises over his teacher in a most shocking manner."
She took the parrot out of his cage, placed him on her shoulder, fondled and caressed him, so that one almost grudged such wasteful prodigality; and her movements were all beautiful, especially the curving of the throat and shoulders.
Clodwig looked down for some time after Bella had gone. He nodded to Eric as if he would greet him anew. But Bella soon returned, bearing the parrot on her hand, and stroking it. She walked up and down the room, lingering when Eric related how he had to-day, tearing himself by force away from the view of the river, gone back into the country, and had conversed with many persons.
Clodwig dwelt at length upon his pet theory, that traces of the Roman Colonists were still preserved in the physiognomy and character of the people.
Bella, apparently unwilling to be obliged to hear this again, interrupted, with good-humored impertinence,—"When one turns himself away from the Rhine, he has the feeling, or at least I have, that some one, it may be Father Rhine himself, looks after me and calls out, 'Do turn round!'"
"We men do not always feel that we are looked at," replied Clodwig, and requested Eric to give his opinion about the earthen vase, a present the day before from the Justice, which was standing on a side-table in the breakfast-room. Eric readily complied, and they went into the adjoining room, filled with a great variety of articles found buried in the ground. Eric, fresh from the study of antiquities, showed himself so familiar with all the related topics, that Bella could not refrain from expressing her astonishment.
"You are a good teacher, and it must be a pleasure to be instructed by you." Eric thanked her, and Bella continued with friendly affability,—"Yes, indeed! many people give instruction in order to make a brilliant appearance, and many deal forth their knowledge reluctantly; but you, Doctor, teach like a beneficent friend who delights in being able to impart, but takes a yet greater pleasure in bestowing a benefit upon the recipient; and you impart in such a way that one is not only convinced you understand the matter, but believes that he himself does."
Clodwig looked up in amazement, for he had said the evening before precisely the same thing of Eric's father, while making mention of the fact that the only little treatise ever published by him had received the disinterested help of Professor Dournay.
Bella withdrew after having thus shown her friendliness and her admiring surprise. The two men sat together for a long time after this, and then went to Eric's room, where Eric handed to the count a copy of his Doctor's thesis; and it then first occurred to him how strangely it had happened that he had there discussed the apocryphal treatise of Plato, "Concerning Riches," and now he was to be called upon to educate one under conditions of wealth. Eric and Clodwig were greatly struck by this coincidence.
Clodwig requested Eric to translate the manuscript from Latin into German. He did so, and it was to them a time of real enjoyment.
When they arose, Clodwig observed to Eric how strange it must appear to him to find the Medusa and Victoria opposite each other; but he confessed to a heresy which met with his own approval, though not in accordance with the received scientific explanation. The Medusa was to him the expression of all-consuming passion, which stiffens with horror the sinning beholder who sees therein the image of himself; and it was very significant that the ancients represented this entire abandonment of all the higher spiritual nature through a womanly form, the unrestrained indulgence of passion being opposite to the truly feminine, and so the more unseemly. The Victoria of Rauch, on the other hand, appeared to him to be the embodiment of an eminently modern spiritual conception.
"This countenance is wonderfully like"—he did not finish the sentence, but, stammeringly beginning another, continued: "This is not that Goddess of Victory who wears proudly and loftily the crown upon her gleaming forehead; this is the representation of victory which is inwardly sad that there is a foe to be conquered. Yes, still further, this Victoria is to me the goddess of victory over self, which is always the grandest victory."
After Clodwig had made this remark, he said, "Now I leave you to yourself; you have already talked too much to-day and yesterday." Eric remained alone, and while he was writing to his mother, Clodwig sat with Bella and said to her:—
"This young man is a genius, and ought not to live in a dependent situation, bound to routine service; he ought to be free like a bird, singing, flying, as he will, without any fixed and unalterable limits of time and occupation, and especially he ought to be by himself. It is a joy to meet with such originality and depth."
"Is he not too well aware of his own worth?" asked Bella, a flash of displeasure gleaming in her eyes.
"Not at all. He does not wish to shine, and yet he is genuine light. I feel as if I stood in the clear sunshine of the spirit; he is a man of pure character, and I am at home with him in the inmost realities, as I am with myself." Bella said nothing, and Clodwig continued:—"I like especially in him, that he lets one who is talking with him complete his sentence; he does not interrupt by any movement or any change of feature; and in such an active and richly endowed mind this is doubly valuable, and something more than mere civility."
Bella still kept silence, bent over her embroidery, on which she was diligently intent. At last she looked up, and with a beaming countenance, said, "I rejoice in your joy."
"And I should like to perpetuate this joy," Clodwig replied.
"He is a handsome man," added Bella.
Clodwig answered, smiling, "Now, since you have called my attention to it, I am reminded how handsome he is. But he does not plume himself upon his good looks, and I thinkthatto be genuine beauty, which, when present has nothing strikingly prominent, all being in harmonious combination, but which, when thought of afterwards, reveals new and beautiful attributes and forms. Most handsome men are forever looking into a mirror visible only to themselves. But why should I give up this man to somebody else, and above all to this Sonnencamp? I am situated so that I can offer him a home with me for years! Why not do it?
"Why not?" said Bella, putting away her embroidery. "I need not assure you that I have no other joy in life than yours. So it is now with this brief happiness of yours, this childlike confidence you place in this noble-looking man. I see also that he has something elevated in his nature; he imparts much and gladly, is stimulating and quickening."
"Why not then?"
"Because we want to be alone! Clodwig, let us be by ourselves! It is my desire that even my brother should soon leave us; every third person, whether related by blood or by the most intimate spiritual ties, causes a separation, so that we do not have exclusive possession of each other."
While she was speaking, she had placed her hand on Clodwig's arm, and now she grasped his hand and stroked it. As Clodwig went away, Bella looked after him, shaking her head.
Bella came to the dinner-table handsomely dressed, and with a single rose in her hair. The men appeared weary, but she was extremely animated. She spoke a great deal of the happiness she had always had in being at the house of Eric's parents, where no ignoble word was ever uttered, for the mother cherished every high thought, like a priestess tending and feeding the smallest flame of the ideal on the household altar. Eric, who thought that he was proof against any further excitement, experienced a new and elevated emotion.
They drove out at noon, and Bella was silent during the ride. They visited a former Roman encampment. Bella sat alone under a tree, upon a covering spread upon the ground, and the men walked about.
When they came together around the evening lamp, Bella seemed like an entirely different person, having for the third time, that day, changed her dress. She was now very lively.
Bella had never been, during her whole life, dissatisfied with herself; she had never repented anything she had done, always saying. You were fully justified, at the moment when you acted. She did not wish at this time to appear in a false light to her husband's favorite, or as a mere trifling appendage; Eric should know who she was, that she was not only Clodwig's wife, but over and above all, Bella von Pranken.
She was ready to play as soon as Clodwig expressed the wish to hear her. The quick and eager haste with which she took off her ringing and rattling bracelets, which Eric at once with marked attentiveness received from her hand and placed upon the marble table under the mirror,—the manner in which she poised her hands like two fluttering pinions, and then brought them down upon the keys, like a swimmer who is in his element,—all served to show how resolved she was to occupy no second place. And never, since she had been Clodwig's wife, had Bella played as she now did in the presence of a third person, reserving hitherto her masterly performance on the piano for Clodwig alone. To-day her execution displayed such zest and skill that Clodwig himself, who knew every peculiar excellence in her method of playing, received a new surprise and delight.
During a pause, Eric seemed to strike the right key by remarking, that, after such elevated enjoyment in the intercourse with noble persons and in the wide survey of unbounded nature, there is nothing for the soul but to let the feelings dissolve and die away in the unlimited and shoreless ethereal atmosphere of music. A realm of waking dreams is then opened to us, a feeling of the infinite is awakened, that creates a something beyond what any word or look can express, and which is never unfolded by any sight or sound of nature from the unfathomed and mysterious depths of the human soul. As in answer to the inquiry, what influence predominated in him before composing, Mozart said, 'nothing but music whichwouldcome out,'—the pure musical impulse without any definite conception, without any limiting idea, only a rhythmic, billowy undulation of tones,—so it is that we, after the tension of thought and observation, through music are admitted into that pure, undefined, yet all-encompassing realm, which is a chaos, but a chaos that is no longer formless and void.
Bella, who sat reclining far back in a large arm-chair, gazed at Eric in such rapt wonder, that he dropt his eyes, unconsciously fixed upon her. To the surprise of both the men she suddenly rose, and bade them good night. She first gave her hand to Clodwig, then to Eric, and then to Clodwig again, and quickly went out.
Clodwig remained only a short time with his guest, and then he also took his leave. Eric went, in a sort of ecstacy, to his chamber. How rich was the world! what a day this had been from the dawn in the dewy wood even until this moment! and human happiness was a reality! Here were two who had attained rest and blessedness, such as could hardly be believed to exist in the actual world.
While he was standing still upon the carpeted stairs, from unconscious thoughts of the rich house he was about to enter, and conscious thoughts of the full and rounded existence of his host and hostess, the question suddenly occurred to him, Is this beautiful life, this perfecting of the soul in an extended view of nature, and its saturation in all that is beautiful in science and art, possible to wealth only, to freedom from care and want, to emancipation from all labor and from common needs?
As, holding the light in his hand, he entered the balcony chamber, he remained standing terrified, as if a ghost had appeared to him, before the bust of the Medusa, which with open mouth fixed upon him its overpowering and paralyzing gaze.
How is this? how has this image so suddenly assumed this likeness? Did Clodwig have any suspicion of it? It was indeed terrible.
Eric turned about, and now, as if it were some trick played upon him by an evil spirit, the contrasted image also, the Victoria, has a likeness to Bella when, silent and quiet, she modestly and humbly bent down her head.
Had Clodwig any suspicion of this wonderful play of opposites, and did he not acknowledge this, this morning when he avowed his heresy to the received opinion?
The pulse in Eric's temples beat violently. He put out the light, looked for a long time out into the dark night, and sought to recall afresh to his recollection the bright plenitude of the day's experience.