Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine

Does Pranken know it? He must know it, and then it remains to be seen whether he will extend his hand to the daughter of this house. Hatred and bitterness that Manna should belong to this house penetrated his whole being, made his hair stand on end, and clenched his fists; he would dash the whole lying structure to pieces. But Manna – how would she take it? He stood still, upbraiding himself that he had ever thought himself capable of cherishing one noble thought within his soul. He stood still and stared at the rocks as if he would have dashed them down into the valley, crushing everything beneath. A physical pain, a pang through his heart, almost took away his breath. Beaming out from the surrounding darkness it stood before him – he loved Manna; and without being aware of it, he laughed aloud.

"The daughter of this man thy wife, the mother of thy children? The world is a masquerade."

The words of Fräulein Milch came back to him, and he added to them, —

"And I am not called to tear off the mask from the faces of the maskers?"

Inwardly composed he went to the villa.

CHAPTER VII.

A MILLION OF POUNDS IN HAND, AND A UNIFORM TO BACK IT

When Roland came to the Villa, he was at once summoned to his father; and as he approached him, Sonnenkamp exclaimed: —

"My son! my son! it is thou indeed! everything for thee; thou art forever secure, and elevated forever. My beloved son! Everything for thee!"

The strong man now raised up the youth like a child, and exclaimed: – "Roland, it is accomplished; forget not this moment, the crowning moment of my whole life, crowded as it has been with dangers and wanderings. My son, from this day forth, you are to be called Roland von Lichtenburg."

Roland stood once more on the floor, and trembled as he cast an involuntary glance into the large mirror.

"Yes," laughed the father, "look at yourself; so does the young baron appear. Ah! my child, you will know after a while what has been done for you. But let it remain concealed between ourselves how we have been affected by this, for I cannot show the world, and you must not, that I laid so much stress on the matter. I shall appear indifferent; we must both appear so. Above all, do not let Herr Dournay know anything of it. You came quick to-day; where did you meet my messenger?" Roland said that he knew nothing of any messenger. He now heard that his father, in the night, had sent a messenger to Mattenheim, with word to come back at once; and also that the son of the Cabinetsrath, the ensign, had been on a visit to the house with many companions, who were again coming at noon to see Roland.

"And where is Herr Dournay?" again asked Sonnenkamp.

Roland replied that he had remained behind with Fräulein Milch. Sonnenkamp laughed, and impressed his son with the necessity of continuing his customary deportment towards Eric; he must always be grateful to him, and he should be especially careful to be right modest.

"You must also learn to treat our elevation of rank as unimportant before the world. Now go to your mother – no, wait. You must still have something more that will make you strong, that will make you proud, that will make you feel safe. Stand here, I will show you how highly I esteem you, how I look upon you as a grown man."

He fumbled hurriedly in his pocket finally he brought out the ring of keys, went to the fire-proof safe built in the wall, rattled back the knobs on it, and at once opened both the folding-doors.

"See here," said he, "all this will, one day, be yours, yours and your sister's. Come here, hold out your hands – so." He took a large package out of the safe, and said: —

"Attend to what I say; here I put a million pounds sterling – so – hold tight. Do you know what that is, a million pounds? more than six millions of thalers are contained in these papers, and, beside that, I have something to spare. Does your head whirl? it must not; you must know what you possess, what will make you master of the world, superior to everything. Now give it to me. See, here it lies in this place; close by it are the other papers; underneath them is gold, coined gold; a good deal of it; I like coined gold; uncoined, too; that lies here. I may die. I often feel that a vertigo might suddenly seize me, and carry me off. Over here, see here – here lies my will. When I die, you are of age. Now, my full-grown son, you are a man, give me your hand. How does the hand feel that held in it millions of your own? That gives strength, does it not? Be not faint-hearted; I trust you, you and I alone know it. Now go, my son, be proud within yourself and modest before the world; you are more, you have more, than all the nobility of this land, more perhaps than the Prince himself. There, my child, there! this moment makes me happy – very happy. If I die, you know already – you know all now. There, go now. Come and let me kiss you once. Now go."

Roland could not utter a word; he went, he stood outside the door, he stared at his hands, – these hands had held millions of his own; everything that, he had ever thought and heard of the joy and woe of riches, everything was in utter confusion in his mind; inwardly, however, he experienced a sensation of joy, of proud enthusiasm, that had almost made him shout aloud. If he had only been permitted to tell it all to Eric! He felt as if he could not keep it to himself; but then he was not allowed to communicate it to any one. His father had put his trust in him; he dared not betray the trust.

He went to his mother. Frau Ceres, handsomely dressed, was walking up and down in the great hall; she gave Roland a haughty nod, and gazed at him a long while without saying a word; at length she said: —

"How am I to be saluted simply with 'Good-morning, mamma?' It ought to be, 'Good-morning, Frau mamma, good-morning, Frau Baroness. You are very gracious, Frau Baroness – I commend myself to your grace, Frau Baroness – you look extremely well, Frau Baroness.' Ha, ha, ha!"

Roland felt a painful shudder thrill through him; it seemed to him as if his mother had suddenly become insane. But in a moment she was standing before a mirror, and saying: —

"Your father is right – quite right; we have all been born to-day for the first time, we have come into the world anew, and we are all noble. Now come, kiss your mother, your gracious mother."

She kissed Roland passionately, and then said, that if she could only have all the malicious tale-bearers there, they would be smothered with envy at beholding the good fortune that had befallen her.

"But where is Manna?" asked Roland.

"She is silly, she has been spoiled in the convent, and will not hear a word about anything; she has shut herself up in her room, and will not let any one see her. Go try if she will not speak to you, and get her to smile. The Professorin has always told me that I was sensible; yes, now I will be sensible; I will show that I am. The big Frau von Endlich, and the Countess Wolfsgarten, proud as a peacock – we are noble too, now – will burst with indignation. Go, dear child, go to your sister, bring her here; we will rejoice together, and dress up finely, and to-morrow you shall go with your father and Herr von Pranken to the capital."

Roland went to Manna's room, he knocked and called; she answered finally that she would see him in an hour's time, but now she must be left alone.

As Roland was going to his own room, Pranken met him; he embraced him warmly, called him brother, and accompanied him with congratulations to his room. Here lay the uniform, which had been ordered for Roland. Pranken urged him to put it on at once; but Roland did not want to, before he had passed his examination.

"Pah!" laughed Pranken, "examination! that is a scare-crow for poor devils of commoners. My young friend, you are now a Baron, and by that means you have passed the best part of the examination: what is now to come is only form."

It required no great persuasion to induce Roland to put on the uniform. Pranken helped him. The uniform became him admirably; he looked both lithe and strong; he had broad shoulders, and the pliancy of his form did not disguise his manly strength of muscle.

"Really, I had rather have gone into the navy," said he, "but there doesn't happen to be any."

Once more, accompanied by Pranken, he went to Manna's room, and cried out, that she ought to see him in his uniform, but Manna returned no answer whatever.

Pranken now went with Roland to his father, and both conducted him to his mother; she was ravished at his appearance. Roland did not know what to do with himself from excitement; he went into the park, he saluted the trees; he showed his uniform to the sky and to the plants; but his salutations met with no response. He showed himself to the servants, and they all congratulated him. While he was standing, his left hand upon his sword, near the porter, who was saluting him in military fashion like a veteran, Eric came up. He did not recognize Roland at first, and seemed to wake up only when his pupil began to speak. Roland's cheek was glowing with excitement, and he exclaimed in a loud voice: —

"Ah, if I were only able to tell you all, Eric! I feel as if I were intoxicated, and metamorphosed. Tell me, am I awake or dreaming? Ah, Eric, I can't say anything more now."

Roland went with Eric to his room, and questioned him eagerly whether he had not also been as happy the first time he had put on his uniform.

Eric could not give him an answer; he tried to remember how he felt the first time he had donned his uniform, but he recollected much better how he felt the last time he had doffed it. A remembrance did come to him, however, a long forgotten remembrance. The Doctor had once said that Roland never took any pleasure in a new suit, but now he was in raptures over the gay-colored soldier's coat; all ideals seemed to have disappeared, or at least to have concentrated in this coat. Eric gazed at him sadly; he came near saying that the two most beautiful moments in the soldier's life were, when he put on the uniform, and when he took it off forever. But he could not now make this reply, for there are things which every one must experience for himself, and cannot learn from others; and what would anything amount to on this present occasion?

Joseph came and said that Eric must repair to Herr Sonnenkamp.

With the ground reeling under him, with everything swimming before his eyes, like one in a dream, Eric went across the court and up the steps; he stood in the antechamber. Now is the decisive moment.

CHAPTER VIII.

RESERVATIONS

Eric entered; he did not venture to look at Sonnenkamp; he dreaded every word he might have to say to him; for every thought that Sonnenkamp expressed to him, everything which his thoughts had touched on, seemed to him polluted. But now as he fixed his gaze upon him, Sonnenkamp seemed to be transformed, as if he had by some charm contracted his powerful frame. He looked so modest, so humble, so childlike, smiling there before him. He informed Eric, in a quiet tone, that the Prince had seen fit in his graciousness to invest him with a title of nobility, and was soon to deliver him the patent confirming it with his own hand.

Eric breathed with still greater difficulty, and could not utter a word.

"You are surprised?" asked Sonnenkamp. "I know the Jewish banker has been refused, – and I even think – the gentlemen are very shrewd – I even think – however, it doesn't make any difference; every one works his own way. I know also that a certain Doctor Fritz has been at the philanthropist Weidmann's, and that he has spoken a good deal of slander about a man whom I unfortunately resemble – isn't it so? I see it in your countenance. I hope, however, that you will not – no, be quite at ease, my dear, good friend; rejoice with me and for our Roland."

Eric looked up now freely. There is certainly some mistake here, for the man could not be so composed, if he had anything to dread.

Sonnenkamp continued: —

"You will remain our friends, you and your noble mother."

He held out his hand; now again Eric shuddered all over. The ring on his thumb – is that too a mystery, a deception? Sonnenkamp could not but feel that there was something wrong; he suddenly drew back the outstretched hand, as if a wild beast had extended its claw towards it, but said with great composure: —

"I know you are an opposer of election to the nobility."

"No; more than that, I wanted to say something," interposed Eric; but Sonnenkamp interrupted him hastily.

"Excuse me if I do not wish to hear any more."

Suddenly shifting the conversation, he continued in an earnest tone, saying that Eric had now only the finishing stroke to put to his work, by guiding and fortifying Roland into a true appreciation of his new position and his new name.

"It would be a fine thing if you should take the Professorship; I would then let Roland, until we ourselves moved into town, and perhaps even then, occupy the same residence with you; you would remain his friend and instructor, and everything would go on excellently."

With great frankness, he added, that he desired, since he, as a father, was not in the position to see to it himself, that Roland should be wisely and discreetly led to a personal knowledge of that thing which men call vice; this alone would preserve him from excess.

Eric remained silent; he had come with warnings, and full of anxiety; now the whole affair was ended, now nothing remained to be done; yes, through Sonnenkamp's own acknowledgment that he was mistaken for Herr Banfield, every objection seemed to be put at rest. For the sake of saying something, Eric asked where the Major was. With great satisfaction, Sonnenkamp replied that the building of the castle had fortunately so far progressed, that they would be able on their return from the capital to open it; the Major had just gone to the castle to make the necessary arrangements.

"Have you seen your mother yet?"

"No."

"She has, I am sorry to say, sent word to me that she is a little unwell, and will not be able to partake in our rejoicing."

Eric hastened to his mother. He had never yet seen her ill; now she lay exhausted on the sofa, and was delighted at his returning so immediately upon the reception of her letter. Eric knew nothing of any letter, and heard now, also for the first time, that Sonnenkamp had sent a messenger, to whom his mother had also given a letter.

His mother, who was feverish, said that she felt as if a severe sickness was threatening her; it seemed to her as if the house in which she was, was floating on the waves nearer and nearer to the sea; she had to force herself to keep awake, for as soon as she closed her eyes, this sensation returned to her more frightful than ever. She sat up and said: —

"Now you have come back, everything will be well once more. I felt timid alone here in this perverse world."

Eric felt that it was impossible to tell his mother anything of what he had learned at Weidmann's.

His mother complained: —

"Ah, I wish it may not be with you as it is with me; the older I become, the more mysterious and complicated are many things to me. You men are fortunate; individual things do not vex you so much, because you can see a united whole."

As the mother gazed confusedly about her she looked upon her son, and her eye sank; she would willingly have imparted her trouble to him; but why burden him when he could do no good? She kept it to herself.

Eric told her of the interesting life he had seen at Mattenheim, and how fortunate he had been in gaining there a fatherly friend. In the way in which he described the energetic activity of the family, it seemed as if he were bringing a fresh breeze into the room; and the mother said: —

"Yes, we forget in our troubles that there are still beautiful, harmonious existences in the world for a maiden like Manna." And just as she mentioned her name, a messenger from Manna came with the request, that the Professorin would come to her.

Eric wanted to say to the messenger in reply, that his mother was unwell, and to ask Fräulein Manna therefore to have the goodness to come to her; but his mother sat erect, and said: —

"No, she requires my assistance; I must be well, and I am well. It is best that my duty saves me from yielding to this weakness."

She got up quickly, and said to the messenger: —

"I will come."

She dressed hurriedly, and went with her son to the villa.

CHAPTER IX.

HERO ROLAND'S MOTTO

The Professor's wife announced herself at Manna's door; Manna opened it. With a bloodless countenance, she stood, before the Mother and languidly-held out her hand.

"I have wrestled with myself all alone," she said; "I cannot find the outlet; I must tell you all."

And now Manna related how she had grown up in most reverent respect for her father, and how she had often painfully lamented that her mother was so harsh and cold to him; but once – she had never learned what had transpired previously – her mother had said in the presence of her father: —

"'Know then who your father is, who your father is.' Don't look at me, I beg of you; I beg you, let me speak it softly in your ear."

She whispered the words softly in the ear of the Professorin. The latter sat there and held her hands in her lap, and shut her eyes; not a sound was heard in the room: it seemed as if the whole world was dead, and the two human beings that sat there opposite to each other, dead as well. Manna went on to say that she did not at first understand what this meant, but gradually it had come to her, and she had persuaded her, parents to let her go to the convent. On the way thither the thought was continually present to her, how, in old times, Iphigenia had offered herself up as a propitiatory sacrifice, and so she longed to offer herself up a willing and a hopeful victim, to wash away all the guilt of those who were dear to her.

"I felt then as if something had been cleft within me, as if a vein had burst in my heart. I looked upon myself as a victim on the altar. I had the courage then, I wanted to act decisively before that courage deserted me, for I was afraid of my own cowardice, and for that reason was anxious to bind myself at once."

Again, after a longer pause – the Professorin did not interrupt with a single word – Manna said that she did not understand what her father was doing, and she, she herself must be made noble, and become Pranken's bride, of equal rank with him. She had honored and esteemed Pranken; he was a man of the world, but of a profoundly generous and religious character.

Sobbing bitterly, she threw herself upon the mother's neck, and exclaimed: —

"I cannot! I cannot be his wife. Ah! I am too weak. You have told me that I should have to experience trying conflicts, but I had never thought, never dreamt of such a thing as this. No; no, indeed."

"What more?" asked the Mother.

Manna hid her face in her hands, then threw herself upon the Mother's neck and wept.

"The Mother entreated her to let her know the rest, but Manna remained silent; finally she uttered the words: —

"No, I shall take it with me into the grave; it is mine alone."

The Professorin spoke words of hope and comfort to her, and asked her whether she had ever mentioned in confession what she now confessed to her. Manna said no, and then threw herself upon her knees before the Mother, and besought her to tell no one what she had related of her father. But she started up suddenly as if bitten by a serpent, when the Professorin told her that she had known it all a long while, that it had been a heavy burden to her, but that it was the duty of the innocent not to withdraw themselves from one who seeks to efface a wretched past.

A strange agitation swept over Manna's countenance.

"Who else knows it? Tell me."

"Why should I, my child? Why do you so torment your soul, and make it wander from house to house, from man to man, crushed, begging, and imploring forgiveness?"

"My prayer, my sacrifice is rejected; I am cast out, we are all cast out. No, I am free; the holy ones in heaven have not been willing to accept my sacrifice. It shall live within my own bosom only, within myself, within my crushed and shattered heart. I am free – free."

"Your laugh makes me feel uneasy," said the Professorin, who was observing closely the play of Manna's features. Manna moaned that her sorrow was sevenfold.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have spoken with my brother only once about slavery, and then I felt as if something was whirling around me, when he said, Beings who are admitted to religious life are our equals. He is right; whoever enters the sanctuary of the knowledge of God is a free child of God; and I shuddered when I thought for the first time how it could be possible for a man to be praying in church, and have near by, separated from him only by a railing, men who were slaves. Is not his every word of prayer, is not his offering, a lie? It was a frightful pathway upon which I had entered, and all the powers of evil were pushing me on further and further. How is it then? how can a priest receive the child of a man, how could he receive us into the church, while our father still-"

As if a weight lay on her heart. Manna placed her hand there, and seemed unable to go on.

The Professorin consoled her.

"My child," she said, "do not lay the blame on Religion; cast no stone at those who cannot accomplish everything, who cannot equalize all the inequalities that have come into the world from sin. The temple is great, pure, and sublime, even though cares, sloth, and base submission have found hiding-places in it."

From the bottom of her heart, the Professorin sought to keep Manna from losing her hold upon religion; she spoke with enthusiasm of those who devote their whole existence to the Most High, who restlessly work and strive, without reward, to fashion the earth into a dwelling-place of love and virtue.

Manna looked up astonished at the woman who thus counselled her; her lips parted, but she could not utter the words that lay upon her tongue; she wanted to ask. "But are you not a Huguenot?" But she kept back the words, for it seemed to her at this moment as if every difference in form of religious belief had been blotted out; here was indeed nothing but a heart simple in its purpose, gentle, patient, suffering, and devoted to good. Now she felt that she had fully and entirely devoted herself to the noble woman; she flung herself into her arms; with tears in her eyes she kissed the Mother's cheeks, forehead, and hands, and asked her to lay her hands upon her head, and save her from dying of grief.

Silent and locked in each other's arms sat the two women, when a knock was heard at the door.

Sonnenkamp called out that he must speak with his daughter.

"You must speak to him," said the Professorin.

Manna rose, and pushed back the bolts of the door.

Sonnenkamp entered.

"I am glad you are well again," said he in a clear voice to the Professor's wife.

He did not dream with what eyes the Professorin and his child regarded him.

"I thank you," he continued, making a gesture which was intended to signify that he desired to be alone with Manna.

Manna perceived it, and she begged – she could not express her agony, but she begged earnestly – that her father would permit the Professorin to be present at the conversation; she had no secrets from the noble woman.

Sonnenkamp shrugged his shoulders.

Was it possible? No, it could not be, his own child could not have betrayed him.

He now said plainly that he would rather speak with Manna alone.

The Professorin rose to go, and Sonnenkamp begged her in a kindly tone to keep his wife company during his absence, and give her all the instruction and advice necessary to enable her to enter upon her new sphere of life with becoming repose and dignity.

The Professorin bowed and left them.

Manna had to sit down; she felt as if her limbs would never again support her; Sonnenkamp said to her that she had doubtless long ago forgotten the bitter epithet that her mother had applied to him; she might now go to her mother, who would assure her, that she had only made use of the words in anger.

Manna nodded, without saying a word; and then Sonnenkamp spoke of her marriage with Pranken, in regard to which he took a pride in feeling that he had never laid any constraint upon his child. Manna implored him not to press the matter upon her then.