Read the book: «Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine», page 80

BOOK XIII

CHAPTER I.
OBLITERATED TRACES

The gardeners raked smooth the footpaths: they bound up the down-trodden shrubs again, removing the broken ones. Even the grooms assisted to-day in the garden, while up in the house the glaziers were already busy, putting in new squares of plate-glass. When the gentlemen and ladies wake up, they shall see as little as possible of last night's tumult.

No one in the whole house awoke until the morning was far spent. Even Manna was not visible. Perhaps this was the first time in her life that she had omitted going to church. The night's experience had been hard for her to bear; for when, after the riot, she came to her mother, the latter kept crying out, —

"They will tar and feather him! They will tar and feather him! Oh! why did he go among our enemies?"

Her mother put her fingers in her ears; and when Manna tried to describe how the Professorin had appeared as a rescuing angel, Frau Ceres broke into loud laughter.

"Yes, indeed! Europeans allow old women to tame them!"

Manna was silent, and buried her face in her hands. She had heard this not long beforehand in spirit; and, as she stood on the steps, she had felt that all this had previously been made known to her in dreams, and that it would vanish like a dream.

Then, remembering her love, she realized that life cannot be sacrificed to another as an expiation, but that it can be exalted for another's sake. Once again horror seized upon her soul. She heard the voices of hell, and a hell opened within her. Hast thou sinned in proving faithless? Would every thing have been better, would the dreadful thing not have happened, if thou hadst remained true? Who knows whether, through some secret working, every thing did not become publicly known in the capital in the very hour of thy perfidy?

She wished to make her thoughts like those of the martyrs, who endured stoning with bowed heads; but, in the midst of this violent soul-torment, she only saw Eric's image again; and rising, as though he had called her, she felt as if his hand were laid upon her head.

Thus had Manna returned to her room, full of fear, and yet rising again as upon a wave of happiness: and thus she slept far into the day, hearing nothing of the voice of the bell which called her, and with no suspicion of what was now being said about her; for not far from the church stood Pranken with Fräulein Perini.

Ever since his return from town, Pranken had felt a fresh irritation, which directed itself more and more against Eric; and, at the arrival of Prince Valerian, he was highly incensed on observing how every one went instantly to Eric's chamber, as though Eric were the centre of the house. "This shall be changed," he said to himself "This teacher must find out who he is." By reason of the riot, however, this teacher's, family had again become conspicuous; the pitiful canaille having allowed themselves to be soothed by an old woman.

Pranken had walked furiously through the park, and finally took the road leading to the church. Here on this road, now, on this morning, he would bring Manna to a decision; then he would have his own way with the house, and discharge the teacher's family. He waited long; but Manna did not come. At last, seeing Fräulein Perini alone, he greeted her, and asked where Manna was, and whether she was well.

"Why don't you ask after my health?" replied she somewhat tartly. "I have something of great importance to impart to you; but you do not seem to think it worth while to trouble yourself about me."

"Indeed I do; but you should reflect" —

"I do reflect that you ought to reflect that I too have an existence. However, I have something of great importance to impart to you."

"Oh! please, you were always so kind" —

"Yes, yes, only too kind; but you forget me too quickly. Well, then, what would you do if you were told that that arrogant tutor aspired to win the hand of your betrothed?"

Fräulein Perini laughed, and Pranken was frightened, terrified. He had never heard her laugh so; and now she laughed in exactly the same tone, and made precisely the same bending of the neck, as little Nelly. How ridiculous, how inconceivable, that she should occur to his mind at this juncture!

"You seem in a very good humor after the riot," said he, trying to appear jocose. "You must tell me the rest after church: the third bell is just ringing."

"Oh, no! I can neglect church for this matter. A work of mercy absolves" —

"A work of mercy?"

"Yes."

And now Fräulein Perini told how she had seen Manna coming out of Eric's room; and how every thing had evidently been arranged in the green cottage, and was now settled; also how the maid-servant of the green cottage had even said that Manna had taken with her the marriage-contract, which had been drawn up in the library.

Pranken shook his head incredulously. Fräulein Perini, however, stung him again by asking whether he would promise, in case he came into possession of Manna and of all her property, to consecrate the Villa as a convent. He shrugged his shoulders; and the look came again into Fräulein Perini's eyes, which she had once given to Bella after she had turned away. She stung and irritated Pranken; for she saw that he still despised her, and she wished to ruin him. He must promise her, that, if the affair proved inevitable, he would challenge this Herr Dournay, and shoot him if possible.

Pranken looked bewildered. Again an old memory arose within him; at the time that he had travelled with Eric to Wolfsgarten, he had seen this as in a vision. Must it then take place? He demurred, he hung back; he said that then he should certainly lose Manna. If he fell, then all would naturally be over. If he killed Eric, Manna would never become the wife of a man who had killed another on her account.

Fräulein Perini cast down her eyes, in order to hide her malicious smile. Things were now taking exactly the turn she had wished; Manna should lose them both, and find in the convent her only refuge.

They had talked so long that church was over, and as the clergyman came out, Fräulein Perini went with him, and Pranken turned back towards the Villa. He met the Doctor and Eric, walking together and engaged in earnest conversation.

The Doctor was in as good spirits as ever, and was expounding to Eric how the fresh must, which is so joyously drunk and which tastes so deliciously, is, according to the assertion of old people, a real cure, building the whole body anew, so that it is taken both for enjoyment and for the health. "Thus the crisis caused by the intoxication of the new wine is really good. So it is with this riot. It has been beneficial in many ways. The anger of the inhabitants of the neighborhood has exceeded all reasonable bounds, and has thus lost all pretension of justice. On this side there is nothing more to be feared. But even in the house itself it is clear that life will henceforth be more vigorous. That they are all sleeping is a good sign."

They met the Cooper, and the Doctor would hear the whole story over again, growing very merry over the account of the effect produced in the park by the fire-engine and the water-works. The Cooper narrated how the engine had been quickly made ready, as Herr Sonnenkamp had presented it with the very best hose.

They soon met a group of men, delegates sent by the different communities to assure Herr Sonnenkamp of their readiness to protect him in any emergency, if he would only abstain from bringing an action for what had occurred.

The Doctor begged the men to come back on Sunday, saying that he would previously inform Herr Sonnenkamp.

He turned back with Eric, and they were not a little surprised at finding the Professorin already on the terrace with Manna. The Doctor joked very merrily over the genius of accident, which could accomplish more than all science. He declared the Professorin to be entirely cured. The Professorin had recovered the best part of herself, namely, her calmness, her courage, and the steadfast firmness of her character, and she said, —

"There is a wonderful power of healing in being at one with the great common heart. That which all men know is no longer so heavy and horrible; the hardest part of a criminal's fate must be the feeling of isolation, of separation; in the midst of all society he must feel like a secluded prisoner, for he has something locked and hidden within himself, which no one else must know of."

As soon as the Professorin could transpose an event and its consequences into the sphere of abstract thought, it seemed no longer to weigh upon her. Above all she exhorted her son not to take it for granted that something must be instantly done, saying that it was of the first importance to keep still.

The Doctor, on inquiring whether the Countess Bella had not been there as yet, was told that she had spoken with none of the inhabitants of the Villa, except Herr Sonnenkamp.

"If I am not much mistaken," said the doctor, "Countess Bella will henceforth feel an especial sympathy with the bold Herr Sonnenkamp. It corresponds with her nature, which defies the world and inclines to whatever is exceptional and extreme."

The Professorin, although Bella had deeply wounded her, endeavored to correct the doctor's opinion.

Eric was silent; he was amazed at the persistency with which the physician pursued and explained the Countess's peculiar nature.

The Doctor sent to ask Sonnenkamp whether he wished to speak with him. The reply was, that he would like to have him first visit Frau Ceres.

"How do I look?"

Sonnenkamp had put this question to Joseph, his valet, before rising; indeed, on first awaking.

"As usual, sir."

He asked for a hand-glass, then giving it again to the servant, lay back among the pillows with closed eyes. He must have had the strange idea that the emotions of the past night could be read upon his features. It was long ere he left his chamber. He had told Joseph that he wished to be alone. He heard the raking of the paths, outside, and the steps of men going to and fro. He would wait until the traces of devastation without were removed, as far as possible; he would wait until he was able to obliterate the traces left within him by this experience. He sat long alone; only his favorite dog was with him. His heavy head weighed him down like a cannon ball; yet he repeated to himself, —

"I must recover my composure; for I alone can help myself."

"Thou alone?" he asked again, and his thoughts passed to Bella. There is a woman such as he has never found before. There is courage, power, genius. But in what can even she help him? Nothing. No one.

Then, laying his hand on the dog's head, he thought: "Two bugbears are the worst enemies we have in the world, – fear before the deed, and repentance after it. With these quackeries we squander our existence. He alone is free who fears no future and rues no past."

"I will be free!" cried he.

"I am so within myself; but where will freedom be allowed me? I must go back to America. No, to Italy, to Paris, to new surroundings.

"But the children, the children! They are filled with thoughts which take from them home and parents. Thy best course, after all, is to remain here, to despise mankind, whose hatred will gradually be blunted. Perhaps, too, there may be found some means of appeasing their wrath, which will have a penitent aspect. Was it the Professorin, or I myself, who spoke yesterday of a jury? That's the thing! Come on, World! I am myself again, and nothing else."

High above all these recent occurrences arose again in him the hatred of Crutius.

"How he is now rubbing his hands in his editorial office, where the little gas-jet burns! How he will rejoice at the signal-rocket which has roused the masses! How the riot will figure in the newspapers!"

He now rang, and, sending for Eric, reminded him how he had formerly publicly exalted the gratitude and good manners of the people. Now, he said with a laugh, he must also properly expose their misbehavior; he must, anticipating all other reports, describe the whole thing naturally as an extravagance inspired by the new and effervescent wine. At the close, he must add that Herr Sonnenkamp (for that was his name, lawfully derived from the maternal side of the house) would do something which should correct and satisfy public opinion.

He thought Eric pedantic, for wishing to know at once whether any thing was to be done.

What's the use?

We show the public something prospective; but it is not necessary that this should be brought to pass; men forget what has been promised them.

This he wished to say to Eric, but withheld it, merely telling him that he might let the whole thing alone if he chose.

Just as Eric had left the room, came the dog-keeper, exclaiming, —

"Oh, sir, she is poisoned!"

"Who is poisoned?"

"The good beastie, Nora; in the night, during the riot, the shameful men gave her something, apparently a toadstool roasted in grease. She is dying now."

"Where is she?"

"Before the kennel."

Sonnenkamp went with the keeper to the enclosure where the dogs were. There lay Nora, with her loosened chain beside her.

"Nora!" he cried.

The dog wagged its tail once more, raised its head, and blinked. Then the head fell, and she was dead.

The glance of the beast was piteous. Sonnenkamp seemed to wish to torture himself with gazing at her.

"Bury the dog before Roland sees her, he said at last.

"Where shall we bury her?"

Yonder, by the ash. But first skin her: the hide is worth something.

"No, sir, I cannot: I loved the dog too well to skin it."

"Very well. Then bury it skin and all."

He turned away and wandered about the garden; yet he could not refrain from returning to the spot where the dog was being buried.

"Yes," he said aloud to himself: "that's the way. The world gives us a toadstool roasted in fat. The world is a toadstool roasted in fat – palatable, but poisonous!"

He returned to the house.

The other dogs were howling quite frightfully, as though they knew that one of their comrades had departed.

CHAPTER II.
TWELVE MEN

Pranken, who remained true to Sonnenkamp, was often full of solicitude. At times he looked very strangely at his friends, but did not give utterance to his projects. Sonnenkamp knew that something was going on. He knew through Lootz that Pranken had several times received letters with large seals, one bearing the seal of the Court-Marshal's office, another that of the Ministry of State. He would have liked to ask him whether negotiations were pending, with a view to the attainment of the longed-for dignity. He looked at him inquiringly; but Pranken remained reticent. Sonnenkamp even pressed him not to disdain his assistance, saying that he was wise in some things, even though he had acted imprudently.

Pranken said that there were things which he must decide for himself, and which he hoped to put through successfully. He hinted that the world, even the little world of the city, was made up of different factions.

As he condescended to say no more, Sonnenkamp resolved to have recourse to an old method, and one which could here be very easily employed. He would obtain by theft, through the agency of Lootz, the letters which Pranken had received. He rejected this course, however. Yet once, when Pranken had ridden in haste to the railway station, just after he had received another large letter, he went toward his room. He would have no go-between. He could surely get possession of the letters, and Pranken was no doubt careless enough to render unnecessary breaking open any locks or picking them.

In a sudden attack of loyalty, however, he turned away from the threshold.

Pranken returned, bringing the news that he was in danger; but earnestly begged to be excused from giving any particulars.

Sonnenkamp embraced the excited young man, and made him promise not to engage in any duel without his knowledge.

Reluctantly Pranken gave him his hand upon this, and departed.

While Eric was yet at his mother's, Sonnenkamp came thither with a letter in his hand. He first expressed his joy at seeing the Professorin so full of new life; then, saying that he had a letter from her friend, he handed her one written by Professor Einsiedel, and added with a smile:

"These learned gentlemen have very good memories. I had forgotten having invited the man."

The Professorin read Einsiedel's letter, in which he said that he should not be lecturing next winter, and was ready to accept Sonnenkamp's invitation, and to take up his abode for some time at Villa Eden.

As the Professorin smilingly gave back the letter, a gleam of furtive triumph shot from Sonnenkamp's eyes. Then this new specimen of humanity, this puritanic infidel, has her own private affinity. Perhaps she felt the malicious glance; for she said, in a very decided manner, —

"I should be very glad to have the noble man come to us. His visit would be a great deal to me, and, perhaps, to others also. In the first place, I know of nothing better for Roland; for you, Eric, are so entirely accustomed to him, that you do not now offer him that support which he, perhaps, may need for a long time yet."

Sonnenkamp's countenance relaxed. It was nothing after all. This woman seemed in truth noble and pure; for she was not so prudent, no one could be so prudent, as to assume forthwith such a mask of virtue. He was not a little astonished, however, when Eric, with all sorts of excuses and pretexts, gave it as his opinion that it was not wise to transport the Professor's delicately organized nature at this time into their stormy life.

Just because Eric sought so earnestly to defend himself against such a suspicion, it became clearer to Sonnenkamp that he did not feel justified in bringing any new person into close relations with his family.

Inwardly chafing, but yet smiling with an excess of friendliness, he said that he would invite the Professor, and would leave him free to stay either at the green cottage or at the villa.

The mother gave her voice for the former.

Sonnenkamp nodded very approvingly. He summoned a servant, and ordered that no one should interrupt them. Then, addressing both, he said that he had something momentous to discuss with them; that it was a step which concerned his inmost soul, and which alone could make him wholly free.

Eric and his mother trembled. Did Sonnenkamp already know? He, meanwhile, seated himself calmly and began:

"Noble lady, you have done a great thing for me, and now I commit into your hands, and your keeping, my fate and that of those who belong to me."

He made a pause and then proceeded:

"From out of the midst of the riot one thought has remained with me. It was of sudden birth; and now the question is, how to carry it out. Already on Sunday, when I was going to church, where the beggar insulted me, it was my intention" —

"Pray, do not forget what you were going to say," interposed the Professorin. "Permit me to interrupt you with a question."

"Go on. I am ready."

"Does the source of all your wealth lie in that?"

"No, not a sixth of it. Even my enemies know that."

"Then please proceed. You had begun, 'as you were going to church'" —

"Yes, then it was my intention, in spite of my unbelief, to confess to a priest. I acknowledge, Herr von Pranken was not without influence in this matter; but it originated, nevertheless, with me. This institution of the confession in our church is a grand thing. Offences for which no earthly judge can punish, for which no clause is to be found in the law, are blotted out; we are absolved from them by a man filled with the divine grace by consecration, sympathetic, considerate, who neither knows nor sees the penitent, yet who hears the breath of his quivering confession; who is so far from him, and yet so near!"

The Mother looked down.

"Wonderful and ever new, how the man can speak of such acts!" she thought.

Sonnenkamp felt what the lady thought of him, and exclaimed, —

"Look me in the face! Yes, noble lady, you hindered the execution of my purpose."

"I?"

"Yes, you; for, thinking better of it, I said to myself that I would tell you all, gazing at your open face, and that you had the power to absolve and to blot out; but no, you, too, have it not."

The Professorin breathed more freely.

Sonnenkamp continued, —

"You once let fall the word – I know not whether you spoke it or I – but it was uttered, and so it stands. 'In the new world, where the laws are not yet so firmly established, they summon a jury of neighbors.' I wish to summon a jury of free men, before whom I will stand openly. They shall judge me freely. I wish to unite trial by jury with confession, and I vow to fulfil what these men shall enjoin upon me as a means of expiation. Having returned to Europe, I owe the European world either a deed of atonement, or else the endeavor to convert it. Do you comprehend my meaning?"

"Perfectly. Here must be something redeeming, in submission to the verdict of an assemblage of free men."

"I see that you understand me fully," said Sonnenkamp with great serenity. "And now give me your advice. Whom do you propose as members of this moral jury, as we may call it? In the first place, I must refuse Herr von Pranken. He is my son, and cannot be my judge."

"I should not be able to name any one without reflection. Please – I am yet too weak. This deliberation, this seeking, this thought-travelling, causes me physical pain."

"Then calm yourself. Herr Dournay, you have heard all – Have you, though?" he repeated, on observing Eric's abstracted glance.

"Yes, indeed, every thing."

"And now, whom would you propose?"

"First of all, the most sensible of men has to-day himself announced his arrival."

"Well, well, I accept him. And then?"

"Herr Weidmann."

"Weidmann? He is the uncle of my most bitter enemy."

"But on that very account he will be just."

"He was an abettor in the production of Herr Crutius' newspaper article."

"From that imputation he is cleared. He charged Prince Valerian expressly to tell you that he disapproved of Herr Crutius' conduct throughout."

"And even if Herr Weidmann were your enemy," put in the Professorin: "it is just your enemies whom you must seek to conciliate."

"You are a wonderful woman: you shall have your way. You shall see how thoroughly in earnest I am. So, then, Herr Weidmann; and who else?"

"Count Wolfsgarten."

"Accepted without opposition. Go on!"

"The Justice."

"Also accepted."

"Then I should like to plead for a man whom you, perhaps" —

"Only speak out plainly. Who is it?" cried Sonnenkamp impatiently.

"The field-guard."

"The field-guard?" laughed Sonnenkamp. "For all I care! And I give you the Doctor at once, into the bargain. But now, Herr Dournay, set about it at once: the business must be begun immediately."

"Who will remain with Roland meanwhile?" Eric would have asked, but restrained himself, in obedience to a sign from his mother, who seemed to have divined the question he would fain have asked. She nodded. "You can leave Roland and Manna to me," she seemed to say.

"You have entirely forgotten our good Major," she said aloud, in a cheerful tone.

"Because he is understood as a matter of course, and also the Priest," replied Sonnenkamp.

Eric named, besides, Prince Valerian, the Banker, and Knopf. The number was full.

Sonnenkamp urged that not an hour should be lost, and Eric ordered a horse saddled.