Sonnenkamp felt himself set aside by the Court, or rather completely overlooked; but he could not demean himself by allowing any feeling of wounded pride to appear, therefore he omitted none of the customary salutations of respect, even when the Sovereign looked ungraciously at him. That was the regular court service, to which he was determined to accustom himself.
The day was fixed for the departure of the Prince and his retinue. Sonnenkamp stood among the other distinguished visitors, making the last salutations beside the royal coach, and received his share of the Sovereign's gracious, parting glance. The Cabinetsräthin said to him, as he was about to take his place in the second carriage,—
"Your cause stands well, in spite of the very learned and honorable Court Wolfsgarten."
The departure of the court was, to a large circle of the visitors, like the withdrawal of the bride from the marriage dance; the dancing goes on, there is an exaggerated assumption of gaiety, but the main point of interest is wanting.
Crowds of people came and went; the lively circle, of which Bella formed the centre, lost every day one or another of its members; Sonnenkamp was often obliged, against his will, to grace a departure with his offering of flowers. Bella, and Clodwig too, now prepared to depart. Eric had the satisfaction of seeing that a close attachment had been formed between Clodwig and his friend and teacher, Professor Einsiedel.
The last few days were a pleasant relief to Eric and Roland, after the life of excitement that had gone before. They took even the loss of Clodwig and Bella lightly, for they still had Professor Einsiedel. Sonnenkamp and Frau Ceres, on the contrary, were sorely out of spirits; they felt like persons who have outlived their day.
Sonnenkamp compared himself to a bouquet that has not found a purchaser. What is it at evening? It is put in water through the night; the withered flowers are pulled off the next morning, and it is again exposed for sale. Will the success be any better this time? It must be tried.
The men and women, who, as long as Bella was present had been their constant associates, now saluted them formally, and joined themselves to new comers. They often met Professor Crutius in company with a number of Americans who were at the Baths, and who almost always looked curiously at Sonnenkamp. Crutius himself hardly acknowledged his friendly greetings.
The morning fixed for departure came at last; Sonnenkamp and his retinue set off in three carriages. There were fewer friends to bid them good-bye than they had expected, yet still the carriages were adorned with flowers; there was a wreath upon the roof of Sonnenkamp's coach, and even the spokes of the wheels were twined with garlands; the postilion also wore a wreath. All had the appearance of being done by friends, but was in reality the work of Lootz.
The party breakfasted in the open air, and entered the carriages quietly from the street, without returning to the house.
Professor Einsiedel was among those who came to take leave, and, drawing Manna a little apart, he said to her in a low voice,—
"I told you in my last lecture—I beg your pardon, my dear child; I forgot I was speaking only to you. I have already told you of my desire to enter a convent, but a free convent, now that I have grown weary of life in the world, am solitary, and am inclined to finish in retirement whatever I may still be able to accomplish. But whether you, my dear child, before you have done with life, should withdraw yourself from it, is a question you ought very seriously to consider; there can be no more terrible fate than to feel your soul filled with all manner of unrest when you have taken the vow to consecrate yourself to the noblest thoughts. Consider it seriously, dear child; I speak only from my interest in your welfare, my heartfelt interest," said the little man, in a voice, broken with emotion.
"I know it, and I believe you," answered Manna. The tears stood in her eyes, and two big drops fell upon the flowers she held in her hand.
Roland came up to them and took off his hat to the Professor, who, laying his hand on the boy's head, said,—
"Keep on well, and remember that you too have a friend in me."
Roland was too much moved to speak; he could only kiss the old man's delicate childlike hand. The people at a distance looked on in amazement. The postilion blew his horn till he started the echoes in mountain and valley. With no decisive point gained, they left the place where they had experienced so much that was painful and pleasant.
The carriage rolled on for a long time without a word being spoken; at last Roland said softly to Eric:—
"Now I have a grandfather too."
Eric remained silent. Roland's attention was attracted by the flowers that strewed the road; not only withered flowers, but fresh bunches also that had been thrown after the departing guests, and now lay in the street to be crushed under the carriage wheels. He was reminded of Manna's complaint at the waste of flowers here, and thought how just it was.
Manna sat buried in thought. She had come to the Baths only for the sake of being with her family, yet in no one of the party had such a vital change been effected. But she did not own it yet even to herself. She silently folded her hands and prayed.
They reached the station.
"Hear the whistle of the engine!" said Roland. "I feel that we are already at home, now I hear that whistle, don't you? We seem to have been in a different world where that sound never reaches. I hope we shall find all right at home."
Eric rejoiced in Roland's animation, and told him they must keep up good courage if they did find some things changed. They would not let anything spoil the pleasure of their getting home again.
"You will see the effects by-and-by," the Doctor had said to Sonnenkamp and his wife at their departure. "You will see the effect by-and-by," had been the point of the Cabinetsrath's parting words.
The Sonnenkamps returned to the Rhine, full of fresh expectations.
They arrived at the villa and found everything in excellent condition. The great corridor, connecting the green-houses with the stables, a graceful structure of cast iron which Sonnenkamp had planned before his departure, was completed, and its iron pillars already so hung with climbing plants, that no trace of its being a recent addition appeared. Sonnenkamp expressed the satisfaction he felt.
Every one felt himself animated with fresh cheerfulness. The pleasant home feeling was enhanced by the recent excitements of the journey.
Sonnenkamp asked if many strangers had visited the house and garden during his absence, for he allowed the servants every year the privilege of exhibiting to visitors, while he was at the Baths, the lower story of the villa, the hot-houses, fruit-garden, and stables.
The butler replied that there had never been so many visitors as this year, and that he had pointed out to every one the place where the Prince and Princess had sat.
Sonnenkamp ordered the man to bring him the visitor's book, which was kept in the billiard-room, a great hall adjoining the hot-houses. Strict orders were given that only names should be inscribed in the book. In an excited tone he asked, after reading a long list of names:—
"Who wrote that?"
At first no one confessed to any knowledge of the names, but finally the second gardener, the 'squirrel,' said that two gentlemen had come together, one of whom wanted once to be Roland's tutor; and the other was a tall, stately man who spoke Westphalian German. The tall man, with the light curling hair, did not write anything, but the other, whom he addressed as Professor, wrote all these names. The man remembered being struck by it at the time.
Sonnenkamp at once concluded that the man who had written the names could be no other than Professor Crutius. The names were those of the leaders of the slave party in the Southern States. It was out of the question that these men had been there themselves; but what meant this reminder of them?
The matter disturbed Sonnenkamp for a while, but he finally succeeded in dismissing it from his mind.
"Your old enemy," he said almost aloud to himself, "has come back, and that is nothing but your unhappy brooding imagination."
Eric himself had no greater pleasure in embracing his mother again, than Roland and Manna felt.
"You and Aunt Claudine," cried Roland, "are dearer to me than all the trees in the park, the house, and everything else. You too have been staying here faithfully, waiting for us to come home. How good it is to have you here, that we may have some one to receive us when we come back!"
The boy's whole heart swelled with inward happiness.
Manna said nothing, but her look showed how deeply she felt the peaceful influence of the two ladies. She found in this little home some of the rest she had found in the convent, and yet here no outward vows had been taken; these two women were completely free. By little and little, she told the mother about Professor Einsiedel, and rejoiced her by showing her appreciation of the deep consecration of spirit to which this student of science had attained.
Sonnenkamp was more thoughtful than ever. This striving after a title seemed to him a loss of independence, a loss that he was voluntarily incurring. He returned from the Baths with the impression, that he should be always treated by the nobles themselves as a stranger and an interloper, and would always have to be on his guard against misconstruction of his smallest actions. The words of the Banker rang in his ears: Every one should hold fast to the distinction of being a self-made man.
Was it not better that a man should be the source of his own honor, than that he should allow it to be conferred upon him by another?
Here he was brought up before an insurmountable wall. He was vexed at having to worry and brood so over the matter, yet he could not dismiss it from his mind. He had just come to the resolution of begging the Cabinetsrath to give it all up, when he received a letter from him, saying that the matter might be considered as in a fair way of being satisfactorily concluded.
Sonnenkamp looked about him when he had read the words. Now he had it in his grasp, and he would throw it from him. There would be more greatness, more satisfaction, in that than accepting it. But then what would become of Frau Ceres, Manna, and Roland? How could he draw back? For a moment the thought passed through his mind that he would sell all his property here and remove to Switzerland, France, or Italy. But he imagined the longing he would feel to be back here again; he felt that the social position and consideration to which he had grown accustomed here, had become a necessity to him. He walked among the trees which he had planted, which he had trained and cared for, and felt that they had grown to be a part of himself; he looked towards the Rhine, and was conscious of that magic power of attraction which takes possession of every one who has once made his home beside it.
Forward! he cried to himself. The ball has been set rolling and must reach its goal!
He read the letter again, and perceived that the Jewish banker had applied for a title at the same time with himself, but, strange to say, had withdrawn his name. The letter also said that an expression of opinion from Herr Weidmann was expected, and as it was not sure how he would view the case, it would be desirable for Herr Sonnenkamp to cultivate a closer acquaintance with him.
Another point in the letter gave Sonnenkamp cause for wonder; the Cabinetsrath, with many charges of secresy, wrote that the opinion of Count Wolfsgarten had been most plainly spoken, but that a remark of his had decided the case in Herr Sonnenkamp's favor.
Here were too many riddles. Sonnenkamp resolved to do nothing for the present. He had been kept waiting so long that others might as well take their turn at it.
The Doctor came and reviewed the family. He thought that all had been benefited by the Baths, but that Herr Sonnenkamp was still feeling too much the exciting effects of the life there.
The Doctor had felt the pulse of each one, and reviewed them all, but that did not tell him the changes that had taken place in their souls.
Frau Ceres was as tired and bored as ever, and thought it terrible to come back to having nothing to hear of but the beauties of nature.
Manna could hardly believe that she had been through so much noise and excitement.
The most opposite effects, however, had been produced upon Roland and Eric.
Eric had to acknowledge that Professor Einsiedel's warnings had been just. In this life of dissipation, of constant devotion to others, his own self was getting lost. He wished now to hedge in a certain enclosure about himself that he could devote to study, and in which he could build up his own life anew. He set Roland solitary tasks, and in reply to his questions often gave evasive and unsatisfactory answers, telling him that he wanted to leave him to work out as many questions as he could by himself.
Roland for the first time felt deserted by Eric, and at a time, too, when he needed him more than ever. The idle life at the Baths, the excitement, the gaieties, the constant intercourse with men and women who openly expressed their admiration for him, all this left in his heart, as soon as the first feeling of delight in getting home had passed away, a void, a restless craving, which made the quiet of the house, the regular routine of study, an intolerable burden to him. He wanted to be away among people again, among his comrades.
The Cadet told him that he had been made an ensign, and should soon make him a visit, with some of his comrades.
Roland kept impatiently looking out for some diversion, some excitement. A remark of the long lieutenant, that he ought no longer to be under the rule of a tutor, rose to his mind, and made him fret under his want of freedom.
In this frame of mind he sought his father, and asked if the title of nobility had not been received yet. Sonnenkamp comforted him as well as he could from day to day, but, happening to tell him once that Eric knew of what was in anticipation, Roland was filled with anger. Why had Eric never said a word to him about it?
Eric's mother became conscious of the change in Roland long before Eric himself did, but he perceived it at last, and laid aside his own work. But his efforts to regain his old influence over his pupil seemed for a time quite fruitless. An unexpected event was to come to his assistance.
The Major came one day with a request, that Sonnenkamp would allow the Free Masons to have an entertainment in the newly finished armory of the castle, as Herr Weidmann was desirous of having the fête come off there. Sonnenkamp's first impulse was to consent, feeling some surprise at the extraordinary coincidence that should lead Weidmann to enter into communication with him just at this time. Unwilling to appear too eager to oblige, however, he asked why Herr Weidmann had not made the request himself.
This seemed to embarrass the Major somewhat, for he could not explain that the suggestion had originated with himself, and that Weidmann had sharply refused to have any dealings with Sonnenkamp.
Sonnenkamp asked if he might be informed of the names of the persons in the neighborhood who belonged to the body, and found, upon looking over the list the Major handed him, that there were not enough names of consideration among them; even Herr von Endlich having withdrawn his, since his elevation to the ranks of the nobility. Sonnenkamp therefore declined, but requested the Major to bring about, in some way, a nearer acquaintance between himself and Weidmann.
"I know an excellent Way," said the Major. "Herr Weidmann is very desirous of receiving a visit from Roland and Eric. Send them to him."
This, too, Sonnenkamp declined, thinking it not his place to make advances towards a man who kept aloof as Weidmann did. The following day, as he was riding, he almost dropped the bridle from his hand, on meeting a carriage in which sat Weidmann, and, beside him, a man who ought to be on the other side of the ocean.
The man was remarkably tall, and had a strikingly fresh and youthful appearance. As Sonnenkamp rode by, Weidmann bowed. His companion seemed surprised, but raised his hat also, and in so doing showed a head which could not be mistaken. The thick, wavy hair, the high forehead, the kindly expression, in the glance of the blue eyes, were all unmistakable. Sonnenkamp could not help looking back, to make sure that he had not been deceived. The stranger in the wagon also had risen and was looking back, and Sonnenkamp's eye detected something like a nod, such as a man might make who found his suspicions confirmed.
Sonnenkamp reined in his horse, feeling weak and paralyzed, as if he could no longer keep his seat in the saddle. Yes, 'tis he! 'Tis his deadly enemy, his most violent antagonist! How happens he here now? He listened until he no longer heard the rattling of the wheels, and then turned and walked his horse towards home. But shortly after, gathering up the reins, and whipping and spurring his black steed, he rode toward the Major's.
He did not find him at home. Fräulein Milch, whom he always disliked, was there, and told him that the Major was at the castle.
He rode to the castle, and in a very natural way spoke of a visitor at Weidmann's. The Major stated that Weidmann's nephew, Doctor Fritz had been there now for a short time, having come to take away his child, who had been at Mattenheim under Knopf's instruction.
"Was this visitor at the villa while I was away?" asked Sonnenkamp.
"Yes, indeed, he and Professor Crutius. Both of 'em were highly delighted with the beauty of your house, and your skill in gardening. The seeds I bought of the head-gardener are for Dr. Fritz, who'll take them to America. Send Eric and Roland to Mattenheim; 'twill be delightful to both of 'em to know the excellent Doctor Fritz, but you must do it speedily, for I hear he's going away very soon."
Eric and Roland, fortunately, came just at this moment to the castle, and the Major took great satisfaction in spurring them up to make at last the visit to Weidmann. Roland was highly delighted that there was some diversion in prospect, that he was to make a journey and break in upon the humdrum life; and Eric hoped that Roland would receive a new impulse from observing a life of active usefulness.
This time, Sonnenkamp laid his plans more prudently. With Clodwig, Eric had brought nothing to pass, although he had had a direct commission; but now he gave Eric instructions which appeared very natural under the circumstances, but which would enable him to gain a knowledge of everything which it was important for himself to know. Eric was to send a message after several days, and then Sonnenkamp would come for him at Mattenheim. In the mean time he wanted to make a carriage-journey to another part of the country.
In the morning, when Eric and Roland were setting out for Mattenheim, Manna concluded to make her long delayed call upon the Priest. Fräulein Perini had said in direct terms, that the Priest had expressed his surprise at her not having been to see him since her return home. Fräulein Perini wanted Manna to hear from herself, that she had been at the Priest's; but of course, she did not inform her that she had given to the Priest a very circumstantial account of their residence at Carlsbad.
Manna had no sooner entered the Priest's house, than she wanted to turn back again immediately, for she learned from the housekeeper that the Dean from the capital was on a visit to the Priest. But the latter must have heard her when she arrived, for he came out and led her by the hand into the study. He introduced her to the Dean as a postulant.
Manna did not know what he meant; and the Dean, perceiving this, explained to her that he knew of her pure purpose to take the veil.
Manna cast down her eyes timidly and humbly, while she was obliged to listen to her praises from both of the men. She could not help herself, and yet she experienced a deep internal conflict.
The Dean asked if there had been any high dignitary of the Church at the springs, and Manna said that there had not.
When the Priest now asked if she had become acquainted with any men of distinguished attainments. Manna considered it her duty to mention particularly Professor Einsiedel.
"Then you have made the acquaintance of that incarnate, shrivelled up darkness—that miserable mannikin, who is fond of being styled an ancient Greek?"
Both of the men laughed, and Manna was amazed to see how the Professor, so highly venerated by her, was made a complete laughing stock. She did not feel adequate to defend him here, and kept silence. "We will accompany you home," said the Priest at last. "You, my honored fellow laborer, must see for once the beautiful villa."
Escorted by the two ecclesiastics Manna went home, appearing to herself like a captured criminal, and yet the men were very friendly and confiding.
They met Sonnenkamp in the courtyard. He was very complaisant and respectful; and he took especial satisfaction in showing to the highly venerated men the park, the orchard, the hot-houses, and, finally, the villa.
The Dean exhibited a fine appreciation of everything, and when Sonnenkamp dwelt upon the fact, with a certain degree of pride, that every fire-place had its own separate flue, he all at once noticed that the Dean exchanged a passing glance with the Priest, at the same time wearing a satisfied smile.
Ho, ho! thought Sonnenkamp. You think that, do you? These men are taking a view of the villa, in order already to make their dispositions how to turn this house into a convent, when Manna has carried out her plan? Ho, ho! I would rather burn up the house and everything in it!
The two ecclesiastics could not understand why the expression of Sonnenkamp's countenance was so suddenly changed and so exultant; he was delighted to penetrate the deception of other people. He bore the men company as far as the gate, and begged them to visit his modest house very frequently.
Eric and Roland walked inland over the hills, keeping step together.
There is no better time for a pedestrian journey, than some bright day of the early autumn; the cows are pasturing in the meadows, the vegetable products are being harvested in the fields, the foliage assumes variegated colors on the trees, and all day there is a dewy, morning, or rather, evening freshness in the air, for the evening of summer is now coming on. All nature appears sated, and like one who has accomplished his work.
Eric and Roland wandered on, as if they must so wander on forever, with no rest, no goal, always keeping step. And yet they had a goal, Eric especially. Roland had never yet seen a life of active endeavor, and now he was to be made acquainted with one.
Eric related to him, as they were going along, his own life-history, but in a wholly different way from his narration to Clodwig, and afterwards to Sonnenkamp, dwelling principally upon the failure of his military career. This must have its influence upon Roland.
Eric had the feeling that this was the last journey he should make with Roland; and the latter confirmed this feeling when he related that Pranken had already bespoken a uniform for him; late in the autumn he would enter the military school.
Roland also spoke particularly, for the first time, of Knopf, the teacher at Mattenheim. He frankly said that before he entered a different course of life, he should like to become reconciled with him. And Eric now learned how deeply Roland had wounded his former tutor. He and a former valet, who had been the instigator, had cut off the beard on one side of Knopf's face, while he was asleep; he sincerely regretted this now, and wanted to acknowledge it to Herr Knopf.
And so this journey had a variety of ends in view.
They were all the time going farther away from the Rhine, and the country had a poorer look. They now met cows decked with gay ribbons; hogs and sheep, and also choice products of the fields, were carried along, arranged in excellent order.
"What's going on?"
"It's the District Agricultural Fair at Mattenheim."
They reached the village at a short distance from Weidmann's property; it was adorned with flags, and peasants stood in their wagons decorated with garlands, and imitated in sport their different occupations.
Here was one wagon with threshers, another with reapers, and others with weavers, vine-dressers, shinglers, and woodcutters; every sort of heavy work had been turned for once into play. The horses and oxen that were harnessed to the wagons wore garlands and ribbons, and everybody was shouting, rejoicing, and welcoming the fresh arrivals.
They entered the village.
Flags were streaming from the Rathhaus; they said that Weidmann was there delivering a discourse.
They went in.
In the great hall Weidmann was standing behind a table, and giving to the people a scientific and at the same time a perfectly comprehensible and directly practical essay on the best method of "making flesh;" for such was the term he continually used in speaking of feeding. "Making flesh" was his constantly recurring theme; and he pointed out the different kinds and quantities of food, how roots and oil-cakes must be alternated and supplied so as to give the most nourishment, laying a special emphasis upon the necessity of accurate calculation in order to receive the proper returns.
He had a thermometer in his stable, and the heat there was never allowed to be above 63 1-2° Fahrenheit; he had also a telegraphic clock which communicated from the stable to his study, so that he could know, to a minute, whether the servants foddered the cattle at the proper time.
He represented to the people how much better off they were with a small amount of landed property, for they could have it all under their own eye, while he had to be at the mercy of hired laborers; and one could know very well when Monday came, for on Sunday there was always bad foddering. Each cow has its own name, and a register is kept of the amount of milk from each, and any one that does not come up to the requisite standard to yield a profit is got rid of.
He repeated to his hearers often, how, within the circuit of a few miles, more than a million was thrown away by cutting the grass too late, and not getting it in until it had become dead ripe. And he succeeded in setting all this off in a humorous way.
If he had occasion to show that his method was profitable pecuniarily, he would strike his hand upon his pantaloons' pocket, and say:—
"Then there's something goes in here."
There was much merriment when he illustrated with his hand the remark:—
"Profit—profit is the whole Story. Just look at this! The human hand moves its fingers inward towards us, not outwards to give away."
He was strongly opposed to pasturing in common; and everything went to show that people were foolish and wasteful, since they would not understand how to procure good food for themselves by means of their cattle.
Roland listened with astonishment, wondering at this man's sphere of influence, who showed such zeal in teaching people how to feed themselves well.
Eric also had something to think about; for when Weidmann declared that the particular breed was not of so much account, that the food of animals was a far more vital matter than what blood they were of, Eric cast down his eyes. Perhaps he made a particular application of the remark.
When the address was over, Eric and Roland were warmly welcomed by Herr Weidmann; and on Eric's expressing his satisfaction at the address, Weidmann said:
"I was intended once for a parson, and the son of a parson still sticks to me."
Eric replied, smiling:—
"There are so many who preach about spirit, that it is well for you, for once, to preach about flesh."
Weidmann answered very seriously:—"But I do not at all deny the spirit; it is even incomprehensible to me how people can manage not to believe in a God. I find traces of him everywhere. But we will speak of this by and by. Let us go."
The audience went out into the street, where the procession was now passing along. First came the fire-companies of that and the neighboring villages, fine fresh-looking young fellows in drab linen clothes, with gleaming, yellow helmets on their heads.
"This is a new order of things," Eric said to Weidmann.
Weidmann rejoined, nodding:—"Yes, no age before ours has had the like, and who knows what will come of it!"
Now the wagons came along with their merry occupants, and occasionally the female hemp-dressers would scatter chopped straw upon the gazing crowd. New wine was handed out from the wagon, and a joyous hilarity was everywhere seen. Weidmann again welcomed his guests, saying that he would take them home with him at evening, and that Herr Knopf would be particularly delighted. He introduced them also to his nephew, Dr. Fritz, adding that Herr Knopf held himself back for the dance.
They next proceeded to the fair-grounds, where the prizes were being awarded, and Weidmann took his guests to the exhibition of agricultural implements. He pointed out that there was no perfect shovel and no perfect plough, and commended the plan of distributing the improved implements by lot among the people.
"It is difficult," he declared, "to get the peasant to adopt any new invention; the husbandman cannot be an innovator, he must not be; he is to be the representative of the conservative element, and yet he must keep pace with the progress of the new age. This is difficult, and great patience is needed."
He spoke of a long cherished plan he had entertained of sending out agricultural missionaries, or rather, of making missionaries out of some of the peasants themselves; for the peasantry always had a prejudice against a man who made use of learned words.
Roland went into the exhibition, and round among the multitude, as if he were suddenly transported into a wholly new world. Here was a man, living only a few hours' distance from Villa Eden, who was laboring with such zeal and such devotion, in order to supply good nourishment to his fellow human beings. And what are we trying to do? Something of this was apparent when he said to Eric:—
"Herr Weidmann has a noble calling, even if he does speak a great deal about manure."
Among all those who were shouting and rejoicing, there was not one so happy as Eric was, when he heard his pupil say this. This acknowledgment,—that none of the material substances on which human activity was employed were impure, if one considered the real thought thereby unfolded,—this was a result far beyond his expectation. He congratulated himself on having come here; here must Roland find his true vocation, he must devote himself to agriculture, for in that there is a direct means of benefiting the many.
"You must see my pigs," urged Weidmann, "Yorkshire pigs, six weeks old, splendid creatures! Have you too an antipathy to pigs? I can very easily imagine it. But, my young friend, of the meat that goes for food in our country, seventy per cent. is pork, twenty per cent. beef and veal, and only ten per cent. mutton, lamb, fowl, game, etc., is eaten."
The Yorkshire pigs were, in fact, very pretty-looking animals.
Roland did not go to see them, but remained a long time looking at the so-called Hercules' Clubs, or the Serpent's Gourds, as they are also termed, a huge growth, half as long as a man, and double the thickness of his arm.
The prizes were awarded, the rejoicing of the people became tumultuous, and it was a continual delight to Eric to point out to his pupil, that this was a festival got up by the people themselves, and was established neither by Church nor State. Weidmann, who heard something of this, added smiling:—
"Yes, this is our new self-government in all matters, high and low. We have no overseers, neither consecrated nor unconsecrated."
The sun shone down brightly upon the lively scene of joyous festivity, and Roland, standing upon the now empty platform, said to Eric:—
"If my father were only here! Suppose now that to each one of the multitude here, all of them,—how many do you think there are?"
"At least a thousand."
"A thousand persons," he repeated. "Then, if one should give this very minute a thousand gulden to each one of them?"
"This would be very well for a day, a year, or even several years, but not for life. You have been told that the way to help people is, to put good tools into their hands, and good tools into their souls, so that they may get their own living—that's the thing."
"Yes, yes, it was only a dream," said Roland, and his countenance fell.
Why had Eric not shared with him in the joy of this dream?
It was time for them to go to the dance; they heard the sound of music. They entered the Raven Inn, where a green garland was hanging outside, and inside, peasants and peasant girls were dancing merrily. On a little platform among the musicians there was a man playing the flute, who nodded to them as they came in; it was Knopf. Roland seized Eric's hand, trembling, and pointing to a table covered with a red cloth where several well-dressed people were sitting, he cried:—
"There she is! There she is!"
A child of slender form, and of a blooming, rosy countenance, with long, flowing hair, was standing on the knee of a handsome, powerfully built man, with a massive head, who was addressed as Doctor Fritz.
Knopf gave a signal to the trumpeter near him, and the dance ceased. He came down, and shook Eric and Roland by the hand. Tears stood in his eyes under his huge spectacles, and fell upon the glasses, so that he had to doff his spectacles, and look at the new-comers with blinking eyes.
"You come at a good time, at the best. We are celebrating the District Fair."
"Forgive me," exclaimed Roland.
"I did that a long while ago. Dear—you have grown very tall. Come with me."
He conducted them to the large table, and introduced Eric to Frau Weidmann. And another person, who was sitting behind the table, shook Eric and Roland by the hand; it was the Russian, who was now living with Weidmann as a pupil. Weidmann's two sons, Dr. Fritz, from America, and his child, were also introduced. Roland and the maiden gazed at each other as if they were in a dream.
"Father, this is the Forest-prince whom I saw," said the maiden to the handsome, strongly-built man.
Her voice made Roland look round; so would the lilies of the valley have rung out their soft tones, if their little bells could have emitted any sound.
The adventure in the wood was now gaily narrated, and Knopf was especially delighted.
"Miracles still take place! Miracles still take place!" he kept exclaiming, flourishing at the same time his flute. "But now, children, follow me; do not speak—not a single word. Roland can dance, and you can dance too, Lilian. I beg you would be quiet!" he cried aloud to the assembly. "Our children are going to dance—our children are going to dance by themselves."
He stationed himself again on the platform, and played a waltz on his flute; the children danced, and all eyes were fixed upon them, as if it were a fairy spectacle.
Roland and Lilian had not yet spoken a word, and they had so much to say to each other; but they were dancing together. Who knows how long Knopf would have kept on playing, had not Dr. Fritz called out:—
"That'll do for the present, Herr Candidate!" Knopf flinched; the word candidate, in the midst of this fairy tale, seemed to annoy him, it sounded so horribly prosaic.
Roland and Lilian took their seat with the others at the table. Knopf exhorted Lilian to give her partner something to drink, but Frau Weidmann insisted upon the children's waiting awhile before they drank. They sat quietly, looking at each other without speaking.
Eric begged that his coming should make no interruption in their plans, but Weidmann declared that he wanted to leave, at any rate; he had already been obliged to answer hundreds of questions. Frau Weidmann regretted that the best rooms in the house were already occupied, and that Eric and Roland would have to put up with such poor accommodations.
"Don't be uneasy," interposed Weidmann; "all women, even the best, make apologies for their housekeeping, however good it may be."
The whole company adjourned from the table to the courtyard. Dr. Fritz leading his little daughter by the hand; and now it was learned that he and his child were going to start the next day for America.
Knopf took Roland's arm, and Eric walked between Weidmann and his wife; the Russian had gone out into the fields with a son of Weidmann, while the second accompanied Dr. Fritz. Frau Weidmann could not forbear letting Eric know why her husband was so taciturn; that he devoted himself too much to other people, and then he came home all fagged out. Who knows whether he would not have taken his violin and played for the people, if Eric had not come?
Weidmann declared that he had done this, and was not at all ashamed of it.
Eric replied that it was exceedingly painful to see how often it was that one was almost ashamed of manifesting any good feeling in the world, because so many merely pretended to possess it, and only used it as a means of acquiring popularity.
Weidmann made mention of Eric's office in the House of Correction, adding that the man who played the key-bugle had been a convict formerly, and had conducted himself well for years.
Frau Weidmann, who was of the opinion that talking was too much of an exertion for her husband at present, now resumed the thread of conversation, and asked Eric whether it was a settled matter that Pranken was to marry the rich Sonnenkamp's daughter.
Eric could not keep saying yes, and Frau Weidmann was exceedingly vexed.
"It always puts me out," she said, "when a healthy and wealthy girl of the middle class marries a nobleman; our good, solid, industrial acquisitions are alienated. I do not wish to say that the noble is not our friend; but he does not belong to us, he considers himself something different from us, and the fruit of our toil goes to him. A girl of the middle class, who buys a title by marriage, betrays her ancestors, and betrays us in her posterity."
Frau Weidmann spoke so excitedly and angrily, that her husband tried in vain to pacify her; he took, however, the wrong means, informing her that Herr Sonnenkamp himself wanted to receive a title.
Eric was startled to hear this matter, which had been regarded as a great secret, here spoken of so openly.
Frau Weidmann had a special dislike towards Pranken; she disliked him because he induced so many people to place good breeding, as it was termed, above plain uprightness. You could hear hundreds of persons, women as well as men, speak well of him in spite of his vicious life, because he was so well bred, as they called it.
"Suppose Manna had come here?" thought Eric to himself.
Weidmann turned to Eric with the explanation that his wife was pretty severe against Pranken, as two years ago, about the time that Eric had taken the position at Sonnenkamp's, Pranken had spent a few days at Mattenheim, and in that short time had introduced a disorderly state of things at the farm, which was not without its effects even at the present time.