Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine

"Very well, you need not make up your mind till our return, but promise me to be friendly to him."

Manna could promise this, and Sonnenkamp smiled inwardly at the thought of his keeping Pranken in suspense until everything was finally arranged; if any insurmountable difficulty came up then, it could not change what would be already settled.

"You are now a Freifräulein," said he impressively and smiling to his child, "you shall be free in everything; only, to-day, let everything remain still in suspense. I cannot be dishonorable." He really meant, that he did not so much mind deceiving Pranken, but he added that it would be much more proper to consent or to refuse when they had been for a short time, in the full possession of their new rank. And with that, he took leave of his child with friendly words.

At noon there was great rejoicing at the villa, for the Ensign with a number of his comrades had arrived; they rode out with Roland, who was treated as one of themselves.

In accordance with Pranken's wish, they started that evening for the capital.

When Roland took leave of Eric's mother, she gave him a paper on which was written, —

On the rim of the Hero Roland's helmet was once and is again inscribed, in golden letters, – "The weapons of the whole world must leave me still unstained."

CHAPTER X.

DOWN BELOW

At the servants' table in the basement there was a big gap; the seat at the head, which belonged to Bertram, was not occupied by any one; Joseph and Lootz were also wanting, for they had gone with the old and the young master to the capital. The men and women at the table were whispering in a low tone; at last the head gardener said that the affair was no longer a secret; he maintained that, at the time of the Prince's visit, he had perceived the thing clearly. With a look of modest condescension, that plainly signified his regret at being obliged to exhibit his shrewdness before these people, he let out his words as if such folks could not appreciate what he had to say; Joseph alone, if he had been there, could have bestowed upon him suitable praise. The remaining servants, however, had an ill will against the self-asserting and pretentious head gardener. No one answered him. The big cook, who sat down to table very seldom, for she maintained that she ate hardly anything at all, now ventured to take Bertram's place, so that she could get up at any moment. She said that she had served with the nobility her whole life, and now it was going to be so again. Now the thing was out; and all felt as if a load had been taken off their hearts, since they were at liberty to speak of the matter. The second coachman turned up the skirts of his long waistcoat a little, and contemplated them with a searching look.

"Now then, buttons with coats-of-arms are coming," he said at last; "and our carriage will be new varnished, and a crest will be put on the coach-door; no more of the bare, solitary 'S'. Let Herr von Endlich's coachman say again that the S looks like an interrogation point, for no one really knows who Herr Sonnenkamp is."

One of the grooms was glad that on the horse-blankets a five-pointed coronet would stare everybody in the face.

The laundress complained of the great trouble it would be to mark all the linen anew, and the maid who took care of the silver was glad that she was going to have new spoons and forks, for everything would have to be melted over again and engraved anew.

"And the collars of the hounds will be renewed," exclaimed a hoarse voice.

Everybody laughed at the boy, who had charge of the dogs, who was grinning slyly at the idea of his having said something funny.

The old kitchen maid, who persisted in sitting on her stool and holding her plate in her lap, called over to the second cook: —

"We shall soon have a Frau Lootz. The master will now consent to the marriage."

"Has he given you his consent?"

"God be praised, I don't need it any more. But now he will remain here forever, and never go away any more. Now you can all marry."

The second gardener, the so-called Squirrel, declared with unction: —

"I should not have said a word, but if I were such a rich man I would never have had myself ennobled; no, I had rather be the richest commoner all up and down the Rhine, than the newest noble. I wouldn't flatter the nobility so much. If one has money, he is noble enough."

Everybody sneered at the forward fellow, and the head gardener looked at him with a patronizing air, nodding, his features saying at the same time, "I would never have given the simpleton credit for such an idea."

They now began to discuss what sort of livery the master would adopt, and whether he would have a "von" before his old name, or whether he would take an entirely new name. Finally the conversation turned upon Pranken's marriage. The fat cook reminded them that when Eric first came to the house, the old kitchen maid had prophesied that Eric would be the son of the house; now the reputation she had as a prophetess was gone, for the marriage was a fixed thing, and they were only delaying the announcement of it till the Fräulein was ennobled. Old Ursel made a wry face, looked about her and winked, pressed her apron against her mouth, and nodded triumphantly; at length she began to make her explanation: —

"I don't believe yet, that she will marry the light, twisted moustache. Remember what I say."

The laundress told the fat cook in confidence, that Joseph, the valet – she had observed it the whole winter through – was making love to the daughter of the landlord of the Victoria.

The conference in the basement lasted a long while; it was not broken up until a voice from overhead fell upon their ear with the message, that the horses would have to be harnessed again, night as it was, for the gracious Frau wished to drive out.

Where? No one knew.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FIRST NIGHT OF A BARONESS

"Yes, it's all very nice for him, he goes off on his pleasure, and leaves me here alone! What am I to do now?"

Thus Frau Ceres was complaining to Fräulein Perini, when Sonnenkamp, Pranken, and Roland were gone. With the hurry and restlessness of fever she was walking up and down the room, every now and then asking whether there was nothing to be done, and begging Fräulein Perini to tell her what she ought to do. The latter urged her to be composed, and asked her to sit down by her side, and fill out the ground at the other end of her embroidery.

"Yes," exclaimed Frau Ceres suddenly, "now I have it. I'll do something that will please him too; I'll embroider a sofa-cushion with our coat-of-arms. Besides, I have seen hassocks in the church with coats-of-arms embroidered on them; we'll have those too."

Fräulein Perini nodded.

"And something else yet!" said she.

"Really? Do you know of something else?" exclaimed Frau Ceres.

"Yes, it will be something well befitting your pious mind. You have already thought of it, only you have forgotten about it."

"What? what have I forgotten?"

"You intended, when the title was obtained, to embroider an altar-cloth at once."

"Yes, so we will. Did I ever say so? Ah! I forget everything. Ah, dear madame, stay with me always, advise me in everything. Have you a large, frame? Let us begin at once."

Fräulein Perini had everything ready, silk, worsted, gold-thread and silver-thread, frame and patterns. Frau Ceres actually made a few stitches, but then stopped and said: —

"I am trembling to-day; but I have commenced the altar-cloth, and now we will work on at it. You will help me, will you not?"

Fräulein Perini assented; she knew that she would have to do the whole herself, but Frau Ceres had now become somewhat calmer.

"Will you not send for the Priest, or hadn't we better go and visit him ourselves?"

"As you see fit."

"No, we had better be alone. Where is Manna, I wonder? She ought to come, she ought to be with her mother."

She rang and sent for Manna; but received for answer, that she had just gone to rest; she begged her mother to excuse her, she was very tired.

"But where is the Professorin? Oughtn't she to come and congratulate me?"

"She was with Fräulein Manna, and went home again," answered Fräulein Perini.

"She was in the house, and didn't come to see me?" said Frau Ceres, in an angry tone; "she shall come at once – this very moment. Send for her. I am the Mother, to me is honor first due, then to the daughter. Send for her, she must come at once."

Fräulein Perini had to gratify her, but with great caution, she impressed upon Frau Ceres the necessity of being quite composed and dignified in her manner toward the learned court-lady, who must not suppose that people would have to learn from her, at the outset, how to comport themselves in elevated positions.

"You should be rather quiet in your manner, Frau Baroness."

"Frau Baroness! Am I to expect that the Professorin will address me so?"

"Certainly, she is perfectly well bred."

Frau Ceres began once more to walk restlessly up and down the room. Every once in a while, she would stand still before the large mirror, and make a courtesy before some imaginary personage. The courtesy was very successful; she would lay her left hand upon her heart, her right hanging down naturally, and bend very low. On both sides of the mirror four branched candlesticks stood lighted, and once in a while Frau Ceres would put her hand to her brow.

"He has promised me a five-pointed coronet; it will become me, will it not?"

With an exceedingly gracious smile she bowed once more before the mirror.

Fräulein Perini heard outside the arrival of the Professorin; she went to meet her, and begged her to be very forbearing and circumspect with the much agitated Frau Ceres, and not call her anything but Frau Baroness.

"Why did you send me word that she was ill, and call me out in the middle of the night on that account?"

"I beg your pardon; you know that there are sick people who do not go to bed."

The Professorin understood how matters were.

When she entered, Frau Ceres, with her face still turned to the mirror, exclaimed: —

"Ah, that's good! It was gracious in you to come, my dear Professorin, very friendly – very kind. I am a good friend of yours, too."

She then turned round and held out her hand to the new-comer.

The Professorin did not congratulate her, nor did she call her Frau Baroness.

Frau Ceres now wished to know what her husband – but she corrected herself quickly and said: "I should say the Baron now; well – what has the Baron to do in town; must he pass a Knight's examination, and will he be knighted before the assembled multitude?"

The Professorin replied that there was nothing of the kind now, there would be simply a parchment patent delivered to him.

"Parchment – parchment?" repeated Frau Ceres several times to herself. "What is parchment?"

"It is dressed skin," said the Professorin in explanation.

"Ah, a scalp – a scalp. I understand. On it – will the patent be written with ink just the same as everything else that they write?"

She stared a long while before her, then after first shutting and again opening her eyes, she begged the Professorin to choose one of her finest dresses for herself; angry and astonished, the Professorin rose, but she sat down again hastily, and said that she was sensible of the kindness of Frau Sonnenkamp, but she no longer wore such fine dresses.

"Frau Sonnenkamp doesn't wear them any more either. Frau Sonnenkamp, Frau Sonnenkamp!" rejoined Frau Ceres.

She wished to remind the Professorin that she had not called her Frau Baroness.

"Have you ever known of the elevation of an American to the ranks of the nobility?" she asked all at once.

The Professorin said no.

When it was now mentioned that Herr Sonnenkamp had received the name of Baron von Lichtenburg from the castle which was rebuilding, Frau Ceres exclaimed: —

"Ah, that's it! that's it! Now I know! This very evening, this very moment, I will visit the castle – our castle! Then I shall sleep sound. You shall both accompany me."

She rang forthwith, and ordered the horses to be harnessed; both the ladies looked at each other, terror-stricken. What would come of it? Who knows but that on the road she might suddenly become distracted and break out into a fit of insanity?

The Professorin had sufficient presence of mind to say to Frau Ceres, that it would be much better to make the visit to the castle the next morning in the daytime; that if they went there in the night, it would make a great talk in the neighborhood.

"Why so? Is there a legend about our castle?"

There was indeed such a legend, but the Professorin took care not to tell it to her just then; she said she was ready to drive for an hour in the mild night, out on the high road with Frau Ceres; she was in hopes that it would quiet her.

And so the three women set out together through the darkness of that pleasant night. The Professorin had so arranged matters that there was not only a servant sitting beside the coachman, but also another on the back seat. She sought to provide against all contingencies. But this precaution was not necessary, for as soon as Frau Ceres was well seated in the carriage, she became very quiet, nay, she began to speak of her childhood.

She was at an early age left an orphan, the daughter of a captain on one of Sonnenkamp's ships, who had made long and very perilous voyages – yes, very perilous, she repeated more than once. After the death of her parents, Herr Sonnenkamp had taken her under his sole guardianship, and had her brought up by herself under the care of an old female servant, and of one man servant.

"He didn't let me learn anything, not anything at all," she complained once more; "he told me, 'It is better for you to remain as you are.' I was not quite fifteen years old when he married me."

She wept; but then, a moment after, clapping her hands like a child, she exclaimed, —

"It's all a story. It was another creature entirely that went through all this, that used to lie in her hammock all day long and dream out there, and now in Europe – but it is just as well, just as well, isn't it?" she said, and reached out her hands affectionately to the Professorin and Fräulein Perini.

"Do you think," she said, turning to the Professorin mysteriously, "do you think that our noble rank is altogether safe and sure?"

"After the decree is issued, everything is secure, but no one can say that anything is certain before it comes to pass; unforeseen obstacles may arise at the very last moment."

"What obstacles? what do you mean? what? what do you know? Tell me all."

The Professorin shuddered inwardly. The restlessness and terror, the wilful, overbearing, and weak nature of Frau Ceres were now for the first time made clear to her; here was a woman who sought to torment her husband by revealing to her child the father's past life.

With entreaties and commands Frau Ceres endeavored to get a statement of the possible obstacles, and she was only quieted by the Professorin assuring her that she knew of nothing definite. In spite of the darkness, Fräulein Perini noticed how painfully this untruth fell from the lips of the Professorin; in fact she was just able to let it pass her lips, because she felt herself in the situation of the physician who does not venture to tell his fever-stricken patient the bitter truth.

Frau Ceres lay back in the corner of the carriage; she went to sleep like a child that has cried itself out with temper. Fräulein Perini earnestly begged the Professorin to call Frau Ceres 'Baroness' when she woke up. She told the coachman to turn back; they were on their way home to the Villa.

Frau Ceres was hard to wake; they put her to bed. She thanked the two ladies sincerely, and smiled pleasantly, when the Professorin said at last, —

"I hope you'll sleep well, Frau Baroness."

CHAPTER XII.

AN EMPTY NEST AND A HOME FOR ALL

Toiling hard, and still singing lustily, the bird has built his nest from odds and ends from every quarter; restless in his task, he has fed his young while starving himself, contenting himself with the growth of the young birds; and now they have all flown away, the nest is empty and forsaken, – torn to shreds.

Such was the reflection in Eric's mind, as he stood in the evening by Roland's bedside, and felt his heart trembling with anxiety for the beloved youth. He wandered out across the country; he felt as if he must go to some friend, to some human being, on whose breast he could lay his weary head.

He would have gone to Clodwig, to the Doctor, to Weidmann, once more; but they could not change the unchangeable, and who knows but that in another hour he would be needed here? he must not leave his mother, he must not leave the house, he must not think of himself.

Thus he roamed about like a wandering spirit through the night. He saw the carriage with the three ladies in it coming along the road; he hid himself quickly behind a hedge; he could not understand what it meant; he had recognized his mother, Frau Ceres, and Fräulein Perini. Where are they hurrying to? Or had he only fancied that he saw them? He watched a long while, then the carriage returned, and he himself went homeward. He sat for some time on a bench in the field-path, opposite the green cottage; he saw the light go out; at last he went to the villa.

At Manna's window, in which there was no light burning, he thought he saw her looking out; he would like to have called out to her; but he did not venture to; he had no right to disturb her in her sad meditation.

It seemed to him as if a white hand was stretched out of the window; he passed hurriedly by.

With mute lips he walked up and down his room; it seemed to him so strange not to be talking with Roland as he had done every evening, for so long.

Eric thought that he would seek relief from his own thoughts in some book, but he pushed away the book with the hand he had reached out to take it up. Professor Einsiedel was right, he had cut off his soul from the empire of clear ideas; he cannot easily resume the connection. He had devoted himself to a single human being, and now that he had left him, he was undermined, and without support. And still he said again to himself. If thou hadst not sacrificed thyself for Roland, he would not be so well equipped as he is, and as he will yet prove himself to be, in dangers and temptations. I wonder whether he is thinking of and yearning for me at this moment as I am for him? Not now; now the whirlpool of life is laying hold of him; but moments will come when he will turn towards me, and I will be prepared.

Eric was revolving in his mind what would become of himself now; he could not imagine, but consoled himself with the reflection that each coming day would bring its task with it.

It occurred to him now, for the first time, that he had in his possession some of the property which had been earned in such a way. He was determined not to retain it. Where should he bestow it? To whom could he restore it? He knew not, but there was in his soul a certain fullness of freedom, as he thought, and said aloud to himself, —

"Thou art poor once again, thou hast again nothing but thyself; but thou hast thyself."

What fortunes had he not experienced in these rooms! how his soul, his heart had been swayed to and fro with emotion! and to-morrow, within a few days, is this house to be forsaken, left far behind, a remembrance.

And then?

"Come day, come fate, thou shalt find me ready!"

Eric felt utterly forsaken and robbed of his all; he longed after a being outside of himself, to clasp him in her arms, and say to him: Thou art at home, thou art at home, thou art with me. He trembled when he thought: How would it be if Bella should see me? And his cheeks began to glow, for he thought to himself thus: No, Manna, thou alone thou shalt never know, 'twill be better for thee and for me. And how? Should I call thee mine, and bear with thee the burden of this horrid wealth? Wealth! Thou wouldst not be in my way; I have pride enough. But no, it shall be put to death before it has time to live; never shall it cross these lips.

He held his hand for some time pressed against his mouth. At last, shutting his eyes, he said half aloud: —

"Good-night, Roland."

When he woke up – and his first thought was, "How is Roland this morning?" – he heard the church-bells ringing. He left the house and would have gone to his mother's, but he dreaded meeting her, for the remembrance of what Weidmann had imparted to him was reviving in his breast, as if he were listening to it now for the first time. He raised his eyes to heaven and said to himself: O sun, what bringest thou new today?

And wonderful! In the midst of all his forlornness, in the midst of all his sorrow, there came upon him suddenly, as if he were standing on the threshold of fortune, something unspeakable, something undiscernible, and, no one could tell whence it was sent.

The bells were still ringing. There is yet something calling upon men, upon every one, and every one may listen to and follow after it, wherefore not also thou? He did not like to be wandering about in aimless dissipation of thought. "The walk in the open air," as Knopf had called it, came into his mind.

He went to the church, and on the way the good Knopf's words haunted him: – "Our life is not simply a walk in the open air."

He entered the church just as the organ pealed out. Knopf is right, he continued to himself; there are the seats, the candlesticks, the kneeling-stools, and they are waiting peacefully and quietly for the comers. Who knows what his neighbor cherishes in his heart? But it is a meeting-place where we find each other and we find ourselves.

Eric sat down quietly behind a pillar.

As he looked up, he saw Manna kneeling not far from the altar.

So will she soon kneel when she is married to Pranken.

Terrified, as if some one had seized him from behind, Eric looked round; there was no one there. He would have left the church, but the quiet hour and the quiet service did him good. What further he thought of, he knew not. The organ sounded, Manna passed him by, he heard the rustle of her dress, he did not stir. The lights on the altar were extinguished, he left the church.

"Ah, you too were in the church?" was the question put to him in a woman's voice.

He looked up astonished; Fräulein Milch stood before him. He greeted her pleasantly, and said he was not aware that she also was a Catholic.

"I am not one, but there are times when I cannot pray alone, I must go into another house, into one that has been erected to the Most High; then must I be with my fellow-creatures, who, like me, seek consolation and peace in the Eternal, even if they do call upon him in another way than mine. I do not pray as the others do, but I pray with them."

She looked confidingly into his countenance, as if she meant to say, "Thou canst not be alone either." As Eric did not make any answer, she asked after his mother, and begged him to say to her, that she had not been to visit her because she was afraid of disturbing her; but that she herself would always be found at home.

"And you, Captain, must come and see us whenever you feel like it. We have not a great deal to offer, but there is one thing that can always be had at our house, and that is quiet. And you need not even bid good-day when you come, but you can make yourself at home with us, whenever you happen to feel the need."

She now asked how Eric felt since Roland had left him, and she was the first to whom Eric expressed his great longing for the youth.

"Roland has become more to me than my dead brother was!" he exclaimed.

And just as he was uttering these words in a somewhat loud and trembling voice, Manna passed by; she had come out of the Priest's house. She greeted both quietly, and pressed her prayer-book tightly to her heart.

"I would be glad to have her a happy nun, but she will not be a happy nun," said Fräulein Milch.

"Naturally," said Eric, jokingly; "she will be Frau von Pranken."

"Frau von Pranken! Never."

"And are you earnest in saying so?"

"Yes, for Herr von Pranken is going to marry the young widow, the daughter of Herr von Endlich."

"I don't understand this."