Manna was extremely gracious towards everybody, and no one would have suspected that this graciousness had pride for its basis. Every one appeared to her so poor, so forlorn, so trammelled! Whenever she was spoken to, her thought of the speaker was, "You, who say this, are but a child of the world;" and whenever she took part in any pleasure excursion, there was the perpetually recurring suggestion, "You yourself are not here, you only seem to be here, you are in a wholly different world, yonder, far above."
Every one was charmed with her friendliness, her gentleness, her attentive listening, and yet only a part of herself was really taken up with all this; she was elsewhere, and occupied with other interests.
No one ventured to exert any influence over her; but the Doctor agreed with Pranken and her father, that she must again ride on horseback.
A new world seemed to be disclosed; inside the house, there was singing, dancing, playing, and outside, too, all went merry as a marriage-bell. Manna took pleasant rides on horseback with Pranken, Eric, and Roland in the country round. Sonnenkamp also, mounted on his great black horse, frequently joined the party. Their ride was full of enjoyment, and they received on all sides marks of respect, not only from those who had been the recipients of benefits through the Professorin and Fräulein Milch, but also from those who were well off and independent in their circumstances. Wherever they alighted, and wherever they reined up, there was always some fresh proof of the pride which the whole region felt in such a man as Sonnenkamp.
One day Manna, Pranken, and Roland, Eric and Sonnenkamp, were riding along the road bordered with nut-trees.
"Herr Dournay is right," exclaimed Manna, who was riding in advance with Pranken and her father.
Manna said that Eric had made the remark, that nut-trees were much more beautiful, and that it was a stupid and prosaic innovation to set out lindens and other common trees along the roads; that the nut-tree belonged to the Rhine, was beautiful and productive, and at least gave to the irrepressible boys a fine harvest time.
As she rode along she tore off a leaf of a nut-tree.
For some time her voice had been different; it was no longer as if veiled with tears. Turning to her father, she continued:—
"You can bring this about. Set out a nursery of nut-trees, and give to all the villages round as many nurslings as they can make use of."
Sonnenkamp promised to carry out the idea, and unfolded a plan which he had much at heart, of establishing general benevolent institutions, the first of which should be a fund for the widows and orphans of boatmen.
Manna stroked her beautiful white pony, to which she had given the name Snowdrop.
Pranken was happy that the horse proved itself worthy of its mistress, and voluntarily extending her hand, she thanked him for his care.
"Now trot. Snow-drop!" she cried, chirruping; and with Pranken on one side, and her father on the other, she rode boldly, rising in the saddle.
They now came in sight, of an advancing procession. Manna reined in so suddenly that she would have been thrown over her horse's head, had not Sonnenkamp held her by her riding-habit. They dismounted, and Roland and Eric were also obliged to dismount. The grooms led the horses, and Manna walked with the procession. Holding up her long riding-dress, not proudly, but humbly, she sang aloud with the pilgrims, and Pranken also. Eric was silent.
At a chapel by the way-side Manna knelt down, and Pranken also knelt by her side. When she arose, she was amazed to see that the rest had gone, leaving Pranken and her together. They were waiting in a pathway through the field, not far off, with the grooms who were holding the horses. The procession moved on, and Pranken and Manna were left alone. The murmur of the pilgrims was heard in the distance. Pranken held his hands folded together, and looked at Manna as if praying.
"Manna," he began, he had never called her Manna before. "Manna, such is to be our life. We acknowledge the grace of heaven, that we, possessed of wealth and inheriting noble names, can occupy a lofty position, but are ready every moment to unite ourselves with our brothers and sisters who walk the holy paths in coarse shoes and barefoot, and to put ourselves on a level with them. Manna, thus will we live!"
He took her hand, which she allowed him to hold an instant, and then drew it away. He continued:—
"I have never yet told you that I too have wrestled with the holy resolution to renounce the world, and to assume the priestly vow. You also, elevated and pious, have struggled, and have returned to the world. I place my heart, my soul, my soul's salvation in your hand. Here, on this consecrated spot, come with me into the chapel." He seized her hand, and at the same moment, Eric cried:—
"Fräulein Manna!"
"What's the matter? What do you want?" exclaimed Pranken.
"Fräulein Manna, your father wants me to tell you that yonder is a boundary-stone convenient for you to mount your horse."
"I shall not ride again, I shall walk back to the house," replied Manna; and turning round, whether she knew that Pranken was not following her, or did not know it, she went on with Eric. After they had gone some distance, turning round she saw Pranken still standing motionless in the place, and she called to him to come with them.
In spite of all urging, she would not mount her horse, but walked the whole distance in her heavy riding-dress.
She said nothing; there was a strange look of defiance in her countenance.
She locked herself in her room, and wept and prayed for a long time.
The struggle had come sooner than she thought, and she seemed to herself all unarmed. Pranken had a right to address her in that way. And would it not be better that she should enter into life? At this thought she looked around, as if she must ask Eric what he thought of this conclusion, what opinion he would form of this fickleness. Again she looked around, and it seemed to her that Eric had come into the room with her, and still she was alone.
It was a severe conflict, and only this one point was gained, that she would no longer allow herself to be robbed of herself by such distractions.
A boat-sail upon the Rhine had been appointed for the evening. Manna, who had promised to go, now positively declined. She stood at the window of her silent chamber without opening it, and she wished that it was grated. She saw the gentlemen and the ladies go down to the river, and heard Lina singing a beautiful song accompanied by a fine manly voice.
Who is that?
It is not Pranken, nor Roland; it can be no other than Eric.
On the boat, Lina requested Eric to sing the "Harper's Song," set to music by Schubert. Eric considered it entirely inappropriate to sing aloud here, in a joyous company upon the Rhine, the plaint of a sorely burdened soul breathed out to the lonely night.
But Lina persisted, and Eric sang,—
"He that with tears did never eat his bread."
The rowers stopped rowing, and Eric's voice thrilled the inmost soul. He paused, and then sang the words,—
"Ye lead us onward into life. Ye leave The wretch to fall; then yield him up, in woe, Remorse, and pain, unceasingly to grieve; For every sin is punished here below."
Schubert's air closes without any musical cadence, just as Goethe's words give no final solution. The strain, "For every sin is punished here below," filled the air as the boat glided past the villa. Manna heard the words, sank down, and covered her face with both hands.
Hour after hour passed away, and then some one knocked at the door. Manna waked from the sleep into which she had fallen in the midst of her anguish. It was quite dark. Roland and Lina were calling her name. Overcome by weariness of body and soul, Manna had not been able to keep from falling asleep, and now she joined the rest of the family, as if in a dream. It seemed to her as if it were morning, and yet it was night. She had a feeling of oppression in the society of those around her, all of whom looked upon her with loving eyes.
In order, as it were, to recover self-possession, she proposed another sail upon the Rhine by moonlight, and she asked Lina to sing.
Lina rejoined that she could not sing so beautifully as Eric, and that he ought to sing.
"Do sing," Manna said to him. "I cannot sing now," Eric replied.
The first request she had ever made of him he positively refused to grant. Manna was vexed at first, and then she was glad of this lack of friendliness. It is better thus; there is no reason why he should interest you in any way; you must again take the proper position in regard to him. And in order to show that she did not feel hurt by the refusal, she was more animated than she had ever been before.
When they returned from the excursion, Sonnenkamp met them as they were getting out of the boat, and told them that Sevenpiper had informed him, lest they should be taken by surprise, or be away—but no one was to know anything about it—that he was to be waited upon by the boatmen to-morrow evening, to thank him for the benevolent institution he had established.
"A house without a daughter is like a meadow without flowers," said the Major, who was watching, with Sonnenkamp and the Professorin, the young people playing graces in the lawn between the villa and the green cottage.
Lina had induced Manna to be present, and she was there in a bright summer suit. And Lina, together with the maid, had prevailed upon Manna to wear a deep red velvet ribbon in her black hair, and that her rich dark hair should be shown to the best advantage.
The young people formed a large circle, sending differently colored hoops swiftly through the air, and catching them upon the pretty sticks.
The Architect was present, too, having been invited at Manna's special request. No one except herself and Lina knew why this had been done.
Roland had requested Eric to join in the play; at first he declined, but Lina cried,—
"Whoever doesn't play wears a wig and is afraid of its being found out."
He made one of the circle. Pranken gave him a sort of military salute with his stick, as if it were a sword. They laughed merrily as they sprang about on the lawn, and it was a delight to the eye to witness Roland's, and, still more, Manna's graceful movements. When she looked up and reached out an arm, with her lithe and ethereal form, it appeared as if her eyes were fixed upon something else than the play; as if she were in an ecstasy, and were expecting not a hoop, but some heavenly vision. Pranken stood on her right, and Eric on her left; Pranken threw so skilfully that she always caught the hoop from him, while Eric sent it too high or too low, so that she was obliged to stoop and pick it up from the ground. It almost seemed as if he did it purposely, for in this movement Manna's grace was always displayed afresh.
Roland and Lina made fun of his clumsy play.
Lina and Roland kept up a constant running fight; she struggled with the boy as if she were a boy herself, and they tried to throw each other down in the endeavor to catch a hoop tossed beyond the circle. But Roland was not thrown down, and escaped from all her clutches as smoothly as a weasel. The Architect smiled as he looked at Lina's fawn-colored gaiter-boots. As Eric was leaping forward to catch a hoop which Manna had thrown on one side, he fell his whole length on the lawn.
Manna laughed outright.
As soon as Lina heard it she clapped her hands, exclaiming,—
"The princess is set free! Manna has, heretofore, been the princess who couldn't laugh. Captain, you've broken the spell! What name shall we give to the knight who has set our Manna free?" Lina was overflowing with merriment, and she might indeed take pride in having been the means of enlivening the whole house, and, more than all, Manna.
Eric succeeded in turning his fall into a joke, and he was at a loss, when he looked at his mother, to know why she shook her head so strangely. He had entirely forgotten how she reminded him with pride during those sad days when Bella was visiting the villa, that his father had said he had never had a fall.
Manna's cheeks had never before glowed so brightly as they did to-day; the spell upon her seemed broken; one deep, hearty, childlike burst of laughter had given her new life. She was sorely vexed, but she could make no suitable response when Lina said to Herr Sonnenkamp:—
"Your Highness! The king was obliged to give the princess in marriage to the knight who made her laugh, and public proclamation was made of it from the tower of the castle throughout all lands. Now say what you will give to Herr Dournay."
"I grant him a kiss," answered Sonnenkamp.
"Herr Dournay, you are authorized to kiss Manna, her father grants permission," Lina called out to the company.
They all stood amazed, and Sonnenkamp cried:—
"No, child, that was not my meaning. He can give you a kiss."
"I don't need your permission for that," replied Lina.
She was now entirely in her element; wherever there was any fun, any teasing, she seemed a different being, quick, inventive, excessively merry, full of fanciful suggestions; as soon, however, as the conversation took a serious turn, she always sat very quiet and attentive, but her look said:—
"All this is no doubt very fine, but I've no relish for it; I've never yet seen that people were any better off or any merrier for all their smart speeches."
They returned to the villa.
Lina had hung her hat upon a bush. The Architect carried it to her, stroking the brown ribbons, and regarding fondly the brown straw braid, and the artificial vine-leaves, of a brown autumnal tint. He handed the hat to Lina, and while doing it they pressed each other's hands, as the Architect said that he must go to the castle again, in order to make some arrangements for the next day. For an instant only, Lina looked thoughtfully after him, and then, giving her head a toss, she bounded up the steps and went into the music saloon. Placing herself at the piano, she played a dancing tune, for the day must be wound off with a dance; the release of the princess who had not been able to laugh must be celebrated with a dance, and Lina was so self-denying as to be willing herself to play. When Pranken now came up to Manna and jestingly invited her to dance, Lina jumped up from the piano.
"No, that won't do! The knight of philosophy gone to grass; he who freed the princess, he must come first."
Lina would not have it otherwise. Manna had first to dance with Eric, and the Aunt was obliging enough to play for them, so that Lina could dance too. With a very roguish, saucy courtesy, she challenged Herr von Pranken, who took her arm without any hesitation, and danced with her behind Eric and Manna.
"I can't realize that I am dancing," said Manna, as she floated rather than danced round the great hall.
"Nor can I," replied Eric.
Manna broke the pause which ensued, by saying:—
"Lina sets us all crazy."
Pranken now came and asked her to dance; she was still somewhat out of breath. He held her hand until he began to whirl with her in the dance. Roland was delighted that Lina was free, and the Aunt must still keep playing for him to dance with Lina, as he was unwilling to stop.
Sonnenkamp was quite happy as he stood there in the music-saloon; and he said to the Professorin that this was all so pleasant, and he had never thought that he should see his children dancing in this hall. He had sent to Frau Ceres, who would like to be a looker on, too. She came, and Pranken and Manna must dance again in her presence.
Sonnenkamp praised the happy suggestion of his wife, that she should give a grand ball in honor of Manna; but Manna decidedly opposed this, and the wise Lina, happy in her triumph, begged the parents in a low tone not to urge Manna any further to-day, and she would bring everything about in good season.
After tea, Lina wanted to have another dance; she would like to keep up all night, and that Sonnenkamp should telegraph to the garrison to have the military band sent by an extra train.
She was to-day so full of buoyant sprightliness, and so overflowing with cheerfulness, that even Eric, who had heretofore regarded her with indifference, approached her in a very friendly mood.
"Yes," she said, "do you remember that time? Would you have believed that you should ever have danced with your winged apparition? Isn't she a heavenly creature? Ah, and if you ever know her as she used to be, so full of glee! Ah, I am delighted to think that you will fall so deeply in love with Manna,—oh, so deeply in love,—so dead in love. Will you promise me something?"
"What, for instance?"
"That you will tell me the very first day when you fall in love."
"But if I should fall in love with you, what then?"
"Come, don't talk so. I am much too stupid for you. I should have been smart enough for Herr von Pranken, but I am engaged, and out of the question. Hasn't Manna told you anything about me?"
Eric said she had not, and Lina continued:—
"Yes, do this, do it out of regard for me, and snatch Manna away from Baron von Pranken. I beg of you, do it for my sake."
"What are you laughing at so merrily?" said Manna, coming up to them. "I have begun to laugh to-day, and now I should like to keep you company."
"Tell her," said Lina with a nod. As Eric was silent, she continued:—
"He can tell you, but he is awfully reserved and profound. Don't let him have any peace, Manna, until he has told you. Herr Captain, if you don't tell at once, then I'll tell."
"I have that confidence in your sense of propriety," said Eric very seriously, "that I do not believe you would wantonly turn a joke into sober earnest."
Lina's whole mien changed, and she said:
"Ah, Manna, he is so awfully learned! My father says so too, and he sees people through and through. Don't you sometimes feel afraid of him?"
Without making any reply, Manna took Lina's arm and went with her through the garden, Lina chatting, joking, and singing incessantly, like a nightingale in the shrubbery.
After Manna had gone to her room, it seemed to her there that the pictures on the wall looked at her and asked: Who can this be? She shut out the dumb pictures by closing her eyes, threw herself upon her knees, and a voice within her seemed to say: It must be thus; thou art to become acquainted with the world, and all the vain delights of life, in order to gain the victory over them. Yet she felt down-hearted, for in the midst of her contrite prayer she seemed to hear the lively waltzes sounding in her ears, and she heard a burst of laughter. Could it have been she herself who had so laughed?
The next day she had to enter into fresh gaieties.
In the afternoon they drove to the castle, and there the Architect contrived a new delight. He was a genuine priest of the May-bowl, and with a sort of solemnity he mixed the various ingredients of the fragrant beverage. The whole company sat upon a projecting wall of the castle, and looked out upon the broadly-extending landscape, while Lina, in her exuberant joyousness, sang and caroled without intermission. She sang in the open air, as a general thing, better than in a room; and she had a good accompaniment, for she sang a duett with the Architect.
Eric was again asked to sing, and again he declined.
Lina induced Manna to drink a whole glass of May-wine, and said, in joke, that if she could only get Manna once a little intoxicated, the old Manna, or, more properly, the young Manna, would again show herself. She seemed ready to make her appearance, but Manna had strength enough to hold herself in restraint, though she laughed to-day at Lina's most trifling jokes.
Roland nodded to Eric, but he whispered to him that he must not call attention to Manna's cheerfulness, as that would put an end to it.
Wreaths were woven, and Lina recalled the time when Eric first came to Wolfsgarten; with wreaths on their heads they all drove from the castle back to the villa.
At the last declivity. Manna bounded lightly down the hill and Lina after her; at the foot the latter embraced her old schoolmate, saying to her:—
"You are released! You have done the three best things in the world; you have laughed, danced, and drunk—no, this is not the best; the best is yet to come."
And again Manna burst into a ringing laugh.
When a person is to be surprised in the evening by a demonstration of respect, what does he do in the morning?
Sonnenkamp must pretend not to notice anything, but nevertheless, he watched the barometer very closely. It had been raining, and now the mercury was rising; it is clearing off, and the proposed demonstration will come off beautifully. If one only knew beforehand the address which would be made this evening, one could get ready a suitable response. Princes have the advantage of receiving beforehand any address that is to be presented. Sonnenkamp, however, was confident that the occasion would suggest to him a suitable reply. He had never regarded the honor that comes from men; he had honored himself, so far as there is any need of honor at all. Should he now feel any concern about it? And by what was this respect obtained?
By money!
Had he not a superfluity of that? it was very evident that their eyes would not be turned upon him.
He rode out at the usual hour, but he did not follow his usual route, and without being aware of it, he cast amiable glances upon all the people he met; he had a new accession of benevolent feeling. He rode to the castle, and looked smilingly around, involuntarily fancying to himself with what delight the knights formerly returned home from their raids; they were strong, fierce, courageous men.
Not far from the ruins he turned aside into the wood, for he saw that a large flag was floating over the battlements of the only completed tower, and there were no men visible. He wandered about in the wood, leading his horse by the bridle. He himself could not have told what there passed through his mind. Here walks a man in the wood, silent, alone, lost in thought, and this evening hundreds and hundreds of men will honor him with cheers.
The Major lay in wait for him as he was returning, and insisted upon his going home with him. The Major had the air of a groomsman, who has made every preparation for the wedding, and now, confident that all the requisite arrangements have been made, retires with the bridegroom into the quiet apartment until he shall be summoned by the full band.
The dinner to-day was not so well served as usual, but Sonnenkamp took no notice of it, not wanting to show that he knew of the preparations for the evening celebration.
In the afternoon there were present the neighbouring families of the Cabinetsrath, the Justice and his wife, the Doctor, and the Major, who had absented himself for a brief period and now appeared with all his decorations. Many others came also; even the young widow, the daughter of Herr von Endlich, was there, in her widow's weeds, having come to spend a few weeks in the summer with her parents in the country. Pranken had invited the best society in the vicinity, for he knew that this public recognition of his renown was very agreeable to Herr Sonnenkamp. All were present, however, as if by accident, and Sonnenkamp allowed this tacitly understood lie to pass.
Pranken was particularly attentive to the beautiful young widow, and made the most of his position as son of the house. He was glad, as he once caught Manna's glance, that she had an opportunity of perceiving what temptations and charms were offered to him; and the words which he made use of in introducing Manna to the young widow seemed to him very well chosen. He said,—
"You, gracious lady, and Fräulein Sonnenkamp are just fitted to be friends; for Fräulein Sonnenkamp has also a maturity of mind far beyond her years."
The young widow was very gracious to Manna, and Pranken left them by themselves, for he had a great deal to attend to as son of the house.
He had given orders to the cook to have in readiness an ample provision of roast meats and common wines, and he had looked out also for the cigars. Sonnenkamp knew everything that was going on, but pretended to see and hear nothing.
When evening came, Pranken, in presence of all, requested the father—such was the word he made use of emphatically—to remain in his room until he should be sent for. Very modestly, bashfully, and indulgently, Sonnenkamp betook himself to his room.
Long tables were now set in the courtyard, and food and drink were spread upon them, for the boats fastened together and gondolas were already coming down from the upper Rhine, and music was heard in the distance. The boats arranged themselves in front of the villa.
When it was dark, torches and parti-colored lamps, like a garland of fire, were hung upon the vessels.
Sonnenkamp was alone in his room, and he was continually trying to imagine what sort of an address would be made to him, and he repeated half aloud to himself his reply.
Approaching footsteps were now heard, and the Major and the Justice made their appearance. The Major said that they would bear him company for a while, and the Justice added that it must certainly touch him very deeply, for he would be obliged to be an actual witness of the gratitude which the hearts of so many people, struggling for the means of living, felt towards him. Sonnenkamp expressed his thanks, and smoked away quietly, holding his cigar very tenderly, as if he felt bashful even in its presence.
He begged his friends to excuse him for not being able to entertain them; that he had lived so many years abroad, and now it almost overwhelmed him to have found a home in so many staunch hearts; and he did not deserve it, for he had given nothing but a little wretched money. The Justice wanted to make a reply, but the Major nodded to him to omit it. In such moments, he whispered to him, a man must be expected to make some extravagant speeches, and it is sufficient to listen quietly to what he says; and besides, he saw that Sonnenkamp was conning over the speech which he was soon to get off.
Several heavy footsteps were now heard, and Pranken said, opening the door,—
"This way, my men."
A deputation of boatmen entered, headed by Sevenpiper, and he begged Sonnenkamp to be so kind as to allow them to present to him a tribute of their grateful respect. With eyes cast down, and as if weighed down by the burden of honor heaped upon him, amidst the boatmen dressed in their light-colored clothes, Sonnenkamp went down the steps into the park.
Here a beautiful scene presented itself to his view. The boatmen were standing in the boats illuminated by differently colored lights, and singing in chorus a song which sounded on the distant air. Sonnenkamp stood there with folded hands, looking straight before him; and then he separated his hands, and rubbed the ring on the thumb of his right hand, which pained him. The song ended, and a cheer was called for in honor of the great benefactor. The cannons roared, and the reports were echoed and re-echoed from the mountains, so that it was proclaimed through the land as with a voice of thunder up the river and down.
Sonnenkamp returned his thanks in a brief but hearty speech; Roland stood at his right hand and Manna at his left. He placed his right hand upon the shoulder of his son, by this means hiding the thumb, and with the other hand he took Manna's; he concluded with the request that the good neighbors would be pleased to extend their kindness also to his children.
A lad, who was standing at the helm, wearing the clothes which Roland had sent him on his birthday, now called for a cheer for Roland; again the cannons fired. Roland said to the Major: I cannot make a speech. He went down, and got on board the boat and shook hands with the men; and he now perceived, for the first time, that Eric was on the boat. He sat behind the others and had assisted them in singing; the school-teacher, Fassbender, was sitting with him.
They all now came on shore. The boatmen, with a band of music, marched through the park to the tables that had been spread for their entertainment. Sonnenkamp immediately gave orders, and in a sharp tone, that the chairs should be removed.
"It isn't necessary for them to sit down," said he to Pranken; "I had imagined you would have thought of that. Have them out of the way soon. You can't trust these common people, they soon get out of order. Let the wine be taken on board the boats, and there they may get as crazy as they please."
At the first glass Sevenpiper proposed the health of Frau Sonnenkamp, and Sonnenkamp returned thanks in her behalf from the outside steps, and expressed his regret that his wife, on account of illness, could not be present. He begged them to be as quiet as possible, for she was very sensitive. A damper was thus put upon the merriment, and Eric led the men back to the boats. They took their departure, the cannons roared, the music struck up, and then all was again still at the villa.
They sat in a friendly circle in the grand saloon, and Sonnenkamp looked more used up than he had ever been before; his features lighted up, however, when the Major, who had a happy thought, said,—
"This must all be reported by a good hand in the newspaper! You, Comrade," turning to Eric, "you will certainly do it up finely. Not a word; you must."
Eric explained that he had no intention of refusing; he had only wanted to do of his own accord what the Major had suggested. The Major gave him a violent grip of the hand, and did not drop it until Eric said,—
"If you squeeze my hand any longer, I shall not be able to write to-morrow."
The Major went to Eric's mother, and commended him for having sung with the people; he only regretted that Fräulein Milch had not been a spectator of the beautiful celebration, but she was stiff-necked in regard to everything connected with the Sonnenkamp house. He could not imagine why it was; she was in every other respect so kind towards everybody.
The Professorin knew why Fräulein Milch stayed away, and it gave her a severe twinge, that she herself had to be present, and that her son was to proclaim the fame of this man, who, in all that he did, had an entirely different end in view from what Eric imagined. She looked at the man, at his children, and at the whole company, and could not help thinking how it would be, if, instead of these salutes of cannon in his honor that now echoed in the night, a wholly different report should be heard over mountain and valley.
The company at last departed. Roland and Eric accompanied the Mother home. Roland was brimful of joy over this tribute of universal respect, and Eric took care to impress upon him again how great a happiness it was, to be able so to make other people happy. Roland spoke of the intention of his father to set out walnut trees throughout the whole region, and complained that he himself seemed to be like Alexander of Macedon, who found fault with his father, Philip, for leaving nothing for him to do. The Mother and Eric rejoiced at this awakened zeal of the youth, and when he took leave, the Mother shed tears as she kissed him.
"What was the matter with your mother, that she was so sad all the evening?" said Roland, as they were returning home.
"She has lost the key-note of joy," replied Eric.
That very night he wrote a spirited account of the benevolent Institution, and the cheerful festivities, and sent it to Professor Crutius at the capital. The next day but one, the journal came to the villa. Sonnenkamp thanked Eric for his well-written communication, and Roland begged,—
"Give me the paper; I will keep it for a perpetual remembrance. I am so glad that I am going to be a soldier. If I win battles, it will be published in the papers, and the scholars will be obliged to hear of my name, and of my deeds, just like those of Miltiades, and Washington, and Napoleon."
There was another communication published in the official gazette, and Pranken did not deny that he was the author of it. What Eric had written was every way fine, but this communication came to the eyes of the Prince, and so was of far greater importance, and soon showed its results.
The Cabinetsräthin proved herself to be grateful and well informed; she showed to Sonnenkamp a letter from her husband, in which he stated that the Prince had read with great satisfaction the account of the Institution and the popular celebration. But a much more important point was, that the Prince expressed the intention of paying a visit in person to the famous green-houses and fruit-plantations of Sonnenkamp. This must be kept a profound secret, but it was very proper that Sonnenkamp should be informed of it. He sent back the request that the visit of the Prince should be announced by a telegram.
He seemed to himself now a prisoner in his own domains. He had had no idea of leaving the villa until it was time for him to set out for the Baths, but now it seemed to him that he might be called suddenly away, and the Prince would be sure to come during his absence.
He gave precise orders, and promised a special remuneration for the speediest forwarding of any telegram from the capital; but day after day passed, and none came. Everything had resumed its quiet routine, but Sonnenkamp was constantly in a state of feverish excitement. Pranken wanted to go away, but remained at Sonnenkamp's request, who imparted to him, in the strictest confidence, what distinguished visitors he was expecting.
Pranken endured very patiently Manna's aversion to any decided advances towards intimacy; he was glad to perceive that she treated Eric with special coolness, for after those days of harmless and merry enjoyment, she had withdrawn into her life of strict penitential seclusion; and if she chanced to meet Eric, her countenance at once became darkened.
Sonnenkamp went through the park, the orchard and the green-houses, and would have been glad to beseech all the plants to be in a beautiful and a fresh condition when their Highnesses arrived; and his old predilection for grubbing in the earth with his sack-like garment was indulged with great circumspection.
He was sitting in the hot-house, and saying to himself how very quiet he would be, if the Prince, as was scarcely to be doubted, should bring into the house his diploma of nobility. And as he thus sat meditating with himself, there was a strange rustling in the air; a gentle, scarcely perceptible crackling was noticed, and Sonnenkamp cried out,—
"It has burst open!"
The Victoria Regia had bloomed. He saw the flower, he took delight in it, and yet he shook his head in vexation. Why couldst thou not wait, and open at the very instant when the Prince was standing here? One ought to be able to compel nature! That would be the thing!
He sent a carriage immediately for the Cabinetsräthin, and she came. She found the whole family, Frau Ceres included, in amazement at the sight of the wonderful flower; and she too was enraptured.
Sonnenkamp explained to her that the Victoria Regia was white when it first bloomed, and closed its flower at night; that during the second night it opened again, and was then of a rose-color. For four days a new flower appeared each day, and the former flower sank down under water.
He took the Cabinetsräthin aside; she must immediately inform the Court of the event. Now there was a special inducement for the Prince to come.
At evening, the tidings were sent that the Prince and the Princess were coming the next day; but they would take it very ill, if any one should give it to be understood that this was anything more than a mere casual visit.
Sonnenkamp heaved a deep sigh; if all was to appear accidental, then the Prince would not bring with him the patent of a nobility, for that required previous preparation, many formalities, and sessions of the Commission on Orders. But perhaps all that was a matter of secrecy, which the Cabinetsräthin was not allowed to disclose.
The well-posted neighbor did not consider this probable, and so Sonnenkamp's peculiar satisfaction in all this was utterly destroyed. Then one must keep doing forever some new thing, must wait, and use fresh exertions. He was so vexed, that he feared he should be uncivil to the Prince. He impressed upon himself the necessity of the greatest self-control that no vexation and impatience should appear.
In the morning, after an almost sleepless night, Sonnenkamp issued directions that no one should leave the house on that day, and in a measure commanded Frau Ceres not to be sick. He went to the Professorin and begged her to do the honors of the house, confessing to her whom he was expecting, and saying that he could have no secrets with her.
The Professorin shuddered all over, and her look said:—
"You dare to tell me that, when I know-—-"
But she restrained herself, and placed herself at the disposal of Herr Sonnenkamp.
He waited in the garden in front of the green cottage until the Professorin had changed her dress; and she wore to-day, for the first time, a miniature in pastel of her deceased husband. She accompanied Sonnenkamp to the villa, and Frau Ceres was exceedingly surprised to see her at so unusual an hour.
The Professorin had obtained permission to inform Frau Ceres of the expected visit, and the lady wished to deck herself with all her jewels. It was very hard to convince her that she ought to be dressed with great simplicity.
A telegram from the Cabinetsräthin at the capital informed them that the royal party had set out.
It was now a matter of certainty. Eric, Roland, and Manna were also informed, and Eric wished to remain in his room.
"Perhaps you expect to be summoned?" said Pranken sharply.
"I expect nothing but civility, where I am not aware of having done anything to offend," replied Eric, courteously.
Pranken tossed his head slightly; he had, in fact, fully made up his mind: This person must be off; the man is becoming a nuisance; but this tutor's family have nestled themselves in here, like caterpillars in a bee-hive, and there's nothing to be done but smoke them out.
Pranken was the only one who was composed and self-possessed; he was the chamberlain and the Baron von Pranken, and all the rest were nothing but wretched underlings.
Manna especially was restless; and today, for the first time, she was confidential towards Pranken.
She expressed her satisfaction that the whole household had such a noble support to lean upon.
Pranken was freshly inspirited by these words,
"You will like being at Court," he said to Manna.
And Sonnenkamp, who was standing not far off, added immediately:—
"Yes, my child, you will receive delight and honor at the side of the most honored and most beloved nobleman."
Manna cast down her eyes. Then Roland came up, dressed completely in white.
"Just see how handsome he is," said Manna to Pranken.
Roland was full of confidence, and exhorted Manna not to be so timid: their royal Highnesses were very gracious, and after the first words, one had the feeling that he was with his own comrades.
Lootz was stationed on the flat roof of the house to look out, and now he came hurriedly down, exclaiming:—
"They are coming!" They separated as if no one was expected.
Two carriages drove into the courtyard. Sonnenkamp hastened down the outside steps, but stumbled on the lowest one, and had to hold on by the railing.
What is the meaning of this?
A black face!
Where does this come from?
"Come! Come!" cried Pranken, who was hurrying after him. "Their royal Highnesses are already getting up."
He reached the carriage at just the right moment, and had the honor of being able to take the hand of the Prince as he was getting out of the carriage. The Princess got out at the other side, with Pranken's assistance, and expressed in gracious words how much satisfaction she took in being able for once to see the place, and the man in his own house, whence proceeded so much that was excellent and beneficent to the people.
The Princess, who cherished a special zeal for the benevolent institutions of the land, considered herself bound to express her thanks for Sonnenkamp's generous expenditures. She would have preferred that he should have devoted his munificent outlays to institutions already established by her, instead of founding new ones. It was a decided oversight of Pranken's not to have taken that into consideration.
There was a slight tone of dissatisfaction in the remark of the Princess, that she was always glad when new institutions were founded.
Frau Ceres had approached, accompanied by Manna.
The Princess addressed a few words to Frau Ceres, and then said to Manna that she looked wholly different from her brother, except that her eyes were like his.
"But where is Roland?"
He was now seen coming down the steps; he was urgently requesting Eric to go with him, while Eric and the Mother bade him go alone.
He obeyed, and was welcomed by their royal Highnesses in a very cordial manner.
The Prince went towards the house, where the Professorin was standing on the steps with Eric; he went up to her with quick step, holding out both hands, and saying how glad he was to see her again; then, pointing to the miniature, he added that he cherished a most grateful remembrance of its subject, and wore his image not on but in his breast. Eric seemed to be hardly noticed, till a glance from his mother said, "Speak to my son," and the Prince turned to him with the words:—
"I hope, dear Dournay, that you have a better pupil than your excellent father had in me."
Eric found nothing to say in reply, but bowed in silence. Pranken approached, and asked:—
"Will your Highness see the Park and the Victoria Regia in bloom first, or the house?"
"Ask the Princess," was the answer.
Pranken moved with great deference towards the other group, catching Manna's bright glance, which followed him everywhere. Where was Eric now? There stood the poor fellow, and it was laughable to think of his daring to aspire to an equality with a Pranken.
The Princess said that, after her drive, she would prefer to go into the house first.
They repaired to the balcony room, where a breakfast stood ready, and Sonnenkamp had the audacity to beg their Highnesses to accept with favor such a simple and extempore repast as a commoner could offer them.
Frau Ceres was favored with a seat at the Prince's right hand, and the Professorin was seated at his left; the Princess sat between Sonnenkamp and Roland.
Eric was fortunate enough to find, among the gentlemen in attendance, a former comrade to converse with.
"You must enter the military school soon," said the Prince, addressing Roland.
Sonnenkamp looked fixedly at him; the Prince knew very well when Roland was to enter, and every moment Sonnenkamp expected to see a sign given to one of the chamberlains to hand him his patent of nobility, but it did not come. The Prince talked very earnestly with the Professorin, expressing his regret that a lady of such rare spiritual and mental endowments should have withdrawn from Court.
They soon rose from the table, and Sonnenkamp was made happy by the Prince's praise of his green-house and park, and his skilful fruit culture. Suddenly, in the orchard, the Prince asked the Professorin:—
"Where is your sister-in-law, the beautiful Claudine?"
"She is close by; she lives with me in the house in which Herr Sonnenkamp has established us."
"We will call upon her," said the Prince, abruptly; and they went through the new gate, across the meadows, to the green cottage.
The Aunt was very much surprised, but retained her quiet self-possession. The Prince told her that he could never think of harp-playing without at the same time thinking of Fräulein Claudine; one of the pleasantest recollections of his youth was of seeing and hearing her, as she sat with her long curls, on a tabouret in his mother's room; it was the prettiest bit of romance among his childish memories. Then again he expressed his gratitude to the sister of his teacher, and extolled Herr Sonnenkamp's good fortune in having two such noble ladies as neighbors.
The Prince sincerely desired to make people happy, and he believed that he could do so with his porcelain flowers of speech; he was perfectly convinced that from this day forth Aunt Claudine would feel an unexampled satisfaction and happiness.
He remained a long time at the cottage, and gave orders that the carriages should follow him, that they might start from there on their return.
Eric, who had not been asked to join the party, remained behind at the villa, and talked with a tall coal-black negro, named Adams.
The negro, who wore a fantastic livery, soon became confidential, and said that he had been a member of a circus company, and was much applauded for his bold leaps, and his extraordinary strength; the brother of the Prince, when travelling in America, had bought his freedom, and he was now the Prince's favorite footman. His only trouble was that his wife, a white woman who had loved him dearly, and his child were dead, and he should never get another wife.
Eric had never before spoken to a man who had been a slave, and he could not help saying how much it moved him to do so.
While Eric was talking with the negro, he little thought that he was being talked of in the green cottage; his aunt resolutely turned the conversation upon him, and told the Prince what a man he had become. As the guests were about to enter their carriage, the Prince said, in quite a loud voice, to the Professorin:—
"Where is your son? Tell him that I should be very glad to prove to him how well I remember our boyish companionship."
The Princess' party drove off. The tall negro, who was sitting behind the carriage, gazed back for a long time. Sonnenkamp was much out of temper, and said to Pranken that this visit from the Prince had taken an incomprehensible turn, which he could not understand; he was unused to such things. It was clear that it had left him in most decided ill-humor.
When they returned to the villa. Manna went to Eric and said,—
"The Prince left a special message for you with your mother, and you are to remember that you were his comrade in boyhood."
Eric answered with frank cordiality:—
"The only gratifying circumstance about the Prince's gracious message, Fräulein Manna, is, that you bring it to me."
All looked surprised at this friendly dialogue between Eric and Manna. Pranken ground his teeth, and clenched his fists at the ready audacity of the tutor.
"Where have you been?" asked Sonnenkamp, in a tone of reproof.
"I have been talking with the Prince's servant."
Sonnenkamp gave him a peculiar look, and then went to his green-house.
Pranken announced that he must now take his departure; he evidently expected Manna to raise some opposition, but she said nothing. So he rode off, leaving a strange feeling of disturbance behind him at the villa.