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Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine

by Berthold Auerbach · English · Gutenberg #32902 · 2,548,921 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine

Author: Berthold Auerbach

Translator: Charles C. Shackford


        
Release date: June 19, 2010 [eBook #32902]
                Most recently updated: January 6, 2021

Language: English

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                     BY THE AUTHOR OF "VILLA EDEN."


                            ON THE HEIGHTS.

Revised Edition. In one volume, with Pictorial Title. 16mo. Cloth.
Price, $2.00.


                               EDELWEISS.

One volume. With Pictorial Title. Square 16mo. Neat Cloth. Price,
$1.00.


                             GERMAN TALES.

One volume. Square 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00.

                           *   *   *   *   *

 -->_Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of the price, by the Publishers,_

                                         ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON.






[Illustration: "_Be patient a few minutes longer! There's a man
beckoning to go with us_," _said the boatman to his passengers_.--VILLA
EDEN, Page 1.]






                              VILLA EDEN:


                    THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE.




                         By BERTHOLD AUERBACH.


                  TRANSLATED BY CHARLES C. SHACKFORD.



                                BOSTON:
                           ROBERTS BROTHERS.
                                 1871.






       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
                           ROBERTS BROTHERS,
     in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
                             Massachusetts.





                    THE COUNTRY-HOUSE ON THE RHINE.

                    A ROMANCE, BY BERTHOLD AUERBACH.





                                BOOK I.




                               CHAPTER I.

                            THE APPARITION.


"Be patient a few: minutes longer! There's a man beckoning to go with
us," said the boatman to his passengers, two women and one man. The man
was gray-haired, of slender form, rubicund face, and blue eyes of a
kindly, but absent-minded and weary expression; a heavy moustache,
wholly covering the upper lip, seemed out of keeping with this
inoffensive face. He wore a new summer suit of that fashionable
material which seems be-dashed and be-sprinkled with white, as if the
wearer had purposely rolled himself in a feather bed. He had, moreover,
a pretty wallet attached to a leather belt, and embroidered with blue
and red beads.

Opposite the man sat a tall and stately woman, with restless eyes and
sharp features, that might once have been attractive. She shook her
head, vexed at the delay, like one not accustomed to be kept waiting,
got up, and sat down again. She wore a pale-yellow silk dress, and the
white veil on her gray round hat was wound about the rim like the band
around a turban. Again she threw back her head with a quick movement,
then looked straight down before her, as if not to show any interest in
the stranger, and boring with the point of her large parasol into the
side of the boat.

Near the man sat a smiling, fair maiden, in a blue summer suit, and
holding in her hand, by the elastic string, a small blue hat ornamented
with a bird's wing.  Her head was rather large and heavy, and the broad
forehead was made yet more massive by a rich abundance of braided hair;
a large curl on each side rested upon her shoulder and breast. The
girl's countenance was bright and clear as the clear day which shed its
beams over the landscape. She put on her hat, and the mother gave it a
little touch to adjust it properly. The girl exchanged quickly her
coarse leather gauntlets for delicate, glossy ones which she took out
of her pocket; and while drawing them on with great dexterity, she
looked at the new-comer.

A tall and handsome young man, with a full brown beard, a sinewy frame,
a gray shawl over his shoulder, and upon his head a broad-brimmed gray
hat with black crape, same down the steep and zigzag path with a
vigorous step to the shore. He stepped into the boat, and lifting his
hat while bowing in silence, displayed a noble white forehead shaded by
dark-brown hair. His countenance spoke courage and firmness, and, at
the same time, had an expression that awakened confidence and trust.

The girl cast down her eyes, while her mother once more fastened and
unfastened her hat-string, contriving at the same time, with seeming
carelessness, to place one long curl in front, and the other upon the
shoulder behind, so as to be becoming, and to look easy and natural.

The man in the mottled suit pressed the white head of his cane to his
lips. The stranger, seating himself apart from the others, gazed into
the stream, whilst the boat was moving rapidly through the water. They
landed at an island on which was a large convent, now a boarding-school
for girls.

"Oh, how beautiful! and are the lessons learned there?" asked the girl,
pointing to a group of lofty trees on the shore, clustered so near
together that they seemed to have grown out of one root, and with low
seats inside the grove. "Go on!" said the mother with a reproving look
to the girl, and immediately taking her husband's arm. The girl went on
before, and the stranger followed them.

In the thickets sang the nightingales, the blackbirds, and the finches,
as if they would proclaim, "Here is the peace and the rest of Paradise,
and no one disturbs us." The dark fir-trees with their sheltering
branches, and the long row of light-green larches stood motionless by
the shore, and bees hummed in the blossoming chestnut-trees. They
reached the convent. The building, without any architectural
peculiarity, had an extended prospect of the garden, the meadows on the
island, the river, and the mountains. It was shut up, and no human
being was to be seen. The old gentleman pulled the bell; a portress
opened a small window, and asked what was wanted. Admission was
demanded, but the portress replied that it could not possibly be
granted that evening. "Take in my card, and say to the good mother that
I am here with my wife and daughter," said the old gentleman. "Permit
me to add also my card," said the stranger. The three looked round,
struck by the pleasant tone of his voice. The stranger handed his card,
and added, "Please say to the worthy Lady Superior, that I bring a
message of greeting from my mother."

The portress closed the window quickly, while the four stood at the
entrance. "I took you for a Frenchman," said the old gentleman with a
kindly tone to the young man. "I am a German," he replied. "Have you
then a relative in the convent, and are you acquainted with the good
mother?" "No, I know no one here." The answers of the stranger were so
short and direct, that he gave no opportunity to continue the
conversation, and the old gentleman appeared to be a man of position
and character, who was accustomed to be addressed, and not to make
advances. He walked with the two ladies towards a beautiful flower-bed,
and placed himself with his companions upon a seat. But the girl was
restless, and walking up and down along the edge of the meadow, she
gathered the hidden violets. The young man remained standing as if
rooted to the spot, staring at the stone steps which led up to the
cloister-door, as though he must find out what various destinies had
already gone in and out over them.

Meanwhile, the old gentleman said to his wife, "That elegant young man
appears to me to be a gambler, who has lost all his means at one of the
neighboring baths. Who knows but that he wants to borrow money of the
Lady Superior?" She laughed at her husband for being disposed to see
now, for the third time during this journey, a criminal or a ruined man
in the persons they chanced to meet.

"You may be right," said the old gentleman; "but that's the mischief of
these showy, establishments, that one supposes everybody he meets has
something to do with them. Besides, just as it happened with our
daughter--"

"What happened with me?" asked the girl from the meadow. "Why,"
continued the father, "how often, when walking behind you at the baths,
have I heard people say, 'What beautiful false hair!' no one now thinks
that there is anything genuine."

The girl laughed merrily to herself, and then adding a violet to the
nosegay on her bosom, called out, "And I believe the stranger is a
poet." "Why?" asked the mother. "Because a poet must be handsome like
him." The old gentleman laughed, and the mother said, "Child, you are
manufacturing a poet out of your own imagination; but, silence! let us
go, the portress is beckoning to us."

The convent door opened, and the visitors entered. Behind the second
grated door stood two nuns in black garments with hempen cords about
their waists. The taller nun, an old lady with an extraordinarily large
nose, told them that the Lady Superior was sorry not to be able to
receive any one; that it was the evening before her birth-day, and she
always remained, on that day, alone until sunset; that there was a
further difficulty in admitting strangers to-day, as the children--for
so she called the pupils--had prepared a spectacle with which to greet
the Superior after sun-down; that everything was in disorder to-day, as
a stage had been erected in the great dining-hall; that the Superior,
however, had ordered that they should be shown over the convent.

The two nuns led the way through the main passage. Their step was hard
and noisy, for they wore wooden shoes fastened to the feet by leather
straps over the stockings. The smaller and prettier nun, with her
delicate features pinched up in the close-fitting cap, had kept herself
timidly in the background, allowing the other to do the talking. But
now she addressed the girl in the blue muslin dress, speaking in
French. The mother gave a nod of satisfaction to the father, as much as
to say, "There, now; you see it was worth while to let the child learn
something; that was my doing, and you only reluctantly consented." The
father could not refrain from informing the nun with the big nose that
his daughter, Lina, had returned, only six months before, from the
Convent of the "Sacred Heart" at Aix-la-Chapelle. The stranger also
spoke a few words in French to the pretty nun. But now, and as often as
he addressed her, she drew herself shyly back, apparently not from
timidity, but with a nervous involuntary shrinking into herself.

The breakfast-room, school-room, and music-room, and the large
dormitories were shown to the strangers, and they admired the neatness
and good order everywhere seen. Especially in the sleeping-rooms
everything was arranged as prettily and neatly, as if not real human
beings, much less careless children, inhabited them, but as if
everything had been made ready for fairy visitants. In one little bed
only was there any disturbance. Lina drew back the curtain, and a child
with great brown eyes looked up. The young man had also come to the
bedside. "What is the matter with the child?" asked Lina. "Only
homesickness." "Only homesickness," said the stranger in a low tone to
himself, while the lady asked, "How do you cure homesickness?" "The
housekeeper has a sure method; a child complaining of homesickness is
put on the sick-list, and must stay in bed; when she is allowed to get
up, the homesickness is gone, and she feels at home." "Go away, all of
you! go away! I want Manna, I want Manna," moaned the child. "She will
come soon," said the nun, soothingly, adding in explanation, "No one
but an American girl can pacify the child." "That must be our Manna,"
said Lina to her mother. The twilight was gathering, and through the
galleries, in the golden evening light, strange forms rustled in long
green, blue, and red garments, and then vanished within the cells.

The visitors went into the dining-room, at the farther end of which
there was the representation of a forest scene with a hermitage; and
there lay a doe bound with a red cord. The young creature fixed its
great eyes on the strangers, and tugging at its cord, tried to get
away.

The French nun said that the children, aided by one of the sisters who
had a natural talent that way, had themselves arranged the decorations.
Large choirs had been practicing, and one of the pupils, a very
remarkable child, had composed the piece which represented a scene from
the life of the Superior's patron saint.

The German nun regretted that no stranger could be present. A copy of
the song to be introduced in the play was lying upon a chair. The lady,
taking it up, read it and handed it over to the young man, who ran
through the verses. "It's astonishing that a child should have composed
them," said the lady. The young stranger felt obliged to make some
reply, and observed in a somewhat careless tone, "Our German language,
especially when used in rhyming, is an instrument that can easily be
drummed upon, and thrummed upon, by any child."

"I told you so; he is a poet," said the triumphant look of the girl to
her parents.

As they were leaving the dining-hall, now turned into a temporary
theatre, Lina remarked to the pretty Frenchwoman how sorry she was not
to be able to see her young friend, Hermanna Sonnenkamp; she herself
was obliged to return that very evening with her parents, as they had
been invited to attend, to-morrow afternoon, a reception at the
Countess von Wolfsgarten's.

The girl said this with a proud emphasis, as if assured that every one
must know what was the full significance of a reception at Count von
Wolfsgarten's. The Frenchwoman must have noticed it, for she replied,
"Here, on the contrary, we do not know each other by the names applied
to us in the world outside; we here know only our convent names."

"May I know yours?" "Certainly; I am called sister Seraphia." The girl
seemed now on more intimate terms with the French sister, since she
could call her "sister Seraphia;" and she rejoiced at the thought of
being able to tell at home, in her own little town, about the nun of
high rank, at least a princess, whose acquaintance she had made. They
walked back through the long gallery, and as they went down the steps,
there came up a snow-white form with great wings on its shoulders, and
a glittering diadem on its head, from which long black ringlets
streamed down over bosom and neck. Deep, black eyes, with long lashes
and thick brows, gleamed out of the pale countenance. "Manna!" cried
Lina, and "Manna!" echoed the vaulted ceiling. The winged apparition
grasped the hand of the speaker, and leading her aside down the stairs
said, "Is it you, dear Lina? Ah, I have only been with a poor child
pining with homesickness; to-day I cannot speak a word with any other
living soul."

"O, how wonderful you look! how splendid! To the child you must be a
real live angel! And how glad they will all be at home, when I tell
them."

"Not a word about it. Excuse me to your parents for flitting by them,
and--who, who is the young man here with you?"

The stranger seemed aware that they were talking about him, and looked
from below up to the wonderful vision. He shaded his eyes with his
hand, to take a better look, but he could see none of the features,
nothing but the mysterious shape and the two gleaming eyes.

"We don't know who he is; he joined us first in the boat; but," she
added, smiling at her own suggestion, "you can find out, for he sent a
greeting from his mother to the Superior; ask her by and by. Don't you
think him handsome?"

"O Lina! how you talk! May the Holy St. Genevieve intercede with the
dear God to pardon you for saying that, and me"--covering her face with
her hands--"for hearing it. Farewell, Lina, greet every one for me."

As the winged apparition swept along the corridor, she was unable to
hear Lina calling out that she would, to-morrow, tell them at the
Countess Wolfsgarten's all about her. The vision vanished. They left
the convent, and at the door the old gentleman said to the young man,
"It is a good thing for girls to be educated in a convent on an island,
away from the rest of the world." "Girls at the convent, and boys at
the barracks! fine world that!" answered the young man, in a sharp
tone.

Without a word in reply, the old gentleman, turning away, drew off a
few paces with the ladies as if he wished to have no further
intercourse with a stranger of such revolutionary sentiments. The
stranger hastened to the boat, and was speedily set across. The stream
was like pure, molten gold, and the stranger dipping his fingers into
it bathed his forehead and eyes. He sprang lightly ashore, and looking
over to the island-convent, saw the man, with wife and daughter, just
going down to the boat; he waved a distant farewell with his hat, and
with a rapid step went up the hill behind the ruins of the castle,
overlooking the convent. He continued sitting there for a long time,
gazing fixedly at the convent on the island. He heard songs from maiden
voices, saw the long row of windows brightly lighted up, and at last,
looking up to the stars, he exclaimed, "O mother!" What did that mean?
Perhaps his mother had said to him, that at some time or other a
wonderful experience would come over him. The nightingale in the
thicket sang on unceasingly, and the young man listened to the song,
but would gladly have silenced it in order that he might hear more
plainly the singing of the children in the convent, who with magic
power had conjured up a dream of heaven into their actual life, and for
one hour become choirs of singing angels. "Alone in the spring night,
amidst the Castle-ruins with beating heart! Can it be I?" said the
young man to himself.

He descended the hill, and as he reached the inn, met the man with the
two women just ready to start for the rail-road station. He would have
liked to ask the girl who that wonderful apparition was, but he
restrained himself. What would be the use? Better that thou knowest her
not; then the charm of the vision is pure and undisturbed. He went into
the inn; he sat there and read the bill of fare without knowing what he
was reading, and what he should select. He stared at the card until the
waiter came and asked for it, in order to give it to another guest. He
ordered what happened to meet his eye. "What wine would you like? We
have 'Drachenblut' of a choice vintage." "Bring some Drachenblut."

He ate and drank without knowing what; he only knew that he must eat
and drink something; absently he took up a newspaper lying upon the
table. What are convents? what are ruined castles? what is the
apparition of a girl with wings? Here is the world, the real, the
stirring, the actual world of to-day. You come into an inn, weary after
a wide survey from a mountain top, and involuntarily you lay hold of a
newspaper,--why is this? It may be that the eye and the mind, tired out
by the manifestations of unmoving nature, become refreshed by viewing
what is perpetually changing in the world; you are alone, you need to
hear some word spoken by one to many, and the newspaper tells you about
the world which has kept on its way while you were dreaming, while you
were losing yourself in the boundless prospect, and coming to yourself
again.

Yes, it is so now! How it was in other times, when one could live on in
undisturbed dreaminess, we can hardly imagine. At all times--whether in
the pressure of heavy affliction, when our own life has become a
burden, and the world indifferent, or in exalted feeling, when we are
transported, as it were, out of all actual existence--the newspaper
comes, and demands our attention, and calls to us as if we were to
coöperate everywhere in the various relations of the world.

What has America to do with the young man? and yet he has just read an
account of matters there; the choice of a new President of the Republic
was exciting all minds in the New World, and the name of a man who was
a pattern of uprightness and worldwide views, Abraham Lincoln, seemed
to penetrate everywhere, and to bring with it a great crisis in the
history of humanity. Deeply interested, he looked up smiling, for he
remembered that the Frenchwoman had said that an American girl could
alone console the homesick child, and that she had also composed the
play for the festival. Here a child plays with sacred stories, whilst
all is in commotion in her Fatherland. The thoughts of the young man
were again in the convent, and with the wonderful apparition.

Just as he was laying down the paper, his eye fell upon an
advertisement. He knit his brows, looked around, and read again; then
asking permission to keep the paper, he carried it with him to his
chamber. "A handsome man," said the guests, after he had gone;
"evidently a young widower, who wishes to find distraction from his
grief in a Rhine-journey; he wears a weed on his hat.'"




                              CHAPTER II.

                            "UP THE RIVER."


"Name: Eric Dournay. Title: Doctor of Philosophy, late Army-Captain.
Place of departure: name of a small University city. Destination: ----
Object of Journey: ----"

Such was the entry made by the young man in the register of the inn
early the next morning; and he now first noticed written above his
name, "Justice Vogt, Lady, née Landen, and Daughter, from"--a small
town on the Upper Rhine. That was then the mottled gentleman of
yesterday with the two ladies.

Eric, for so we shall hereafter call him, carrying his small valise,
went down to the steamboat-landing. The morning was fresh and bright,
life and song everywhere, and only one little cloud, like a slight
streak of mist resting half way up the mountainside. Eric walked with a
firm and erect step, taking in full draughts of the fresh morning air.
He stood at the landing, and looked into the water, from which a streak
of mist rose, and became dissolved in the air. Then he gazed long at
the island, where the morning bell was ringing to wake up the children,
who had been transformed the previous evening into legendary beings.
How would that girl with long, black hair and glittering wings open her
bright eyes? As if he must drive away this image, Eric took the paper
out of his pocket, and read again the advertisement. On came the
puffing steam-boat pressing her bow against the stream.

Eric had not noticed that two of the convent nuns, one of whom was the
pretty Frenchwoman, had been also waiting for the approaching boat. He
did not see them until after they had got on board. He gave them a
salutation, but received no response except a look of surprise. They
took their breviary, sat down upon the deck and said their prayers. On
seeing them, Eric thought he would ask who the girl was with the wings;
but he came to the conclusion not to do so, for no result could come
from this occurrence, and he wished to concentrate all his energies
upon the project he had in view. There were but few fellow passengers,
and the morning hour does not encourage sociability, as if the solitude
of sleep has yet an influence over human souls.

Eric stationed himself near the helmsman, who whistled incessantly in a
low tone: and lost in thought he looked at the upheaved water and the
shore. Pressing together his finely cut lips, he seemed determined
silently to take in the full poetic beauty of this river and landscape
that has never been adequately portrayed, and often shook his head as
he heard two persons here and there wasting in so-called conversation
the freshness of the morning and the quiet, inspiring influence of the
scenery. We shall often have occasion as we proceed, to impart
information about this youth. At present we will premise that Eric, the
son of respectable parents, receiving a careful education, entered the
military service, and then, voluntarily resigning his commission,
devoted himself to study. He had just obtained his doctor's degree,
working very hard to hasten this event, for only two months had elapsed
since the death of his father. On the evening of the day he had taken
his degree, his mother urged him to allow himself a few days'
recreation. Stroking his pale, thin face, she said, "You will regain
the fresh color of life; life and work are one's duty; that was always
what your father said and did."

It was to be determined when Eric returned what plan of life they would
adopt. The thought, which she could not keep down, was very painful to
the mother, that they could no longer continue in their former mode of
life without care and responsibility, but must make provision for the
future, a state of things never contemplated by her. And with pain that
she sought to repress, but could not wholly conceal, calling to mind a
saying of Lessing, she saw her son standing in the marketplace and
asking for work. Moreover, she hoped that her son would consent finally
to receive some position through patronage; at any rate he must again
recover his fresh, youthful looks. Had the mother seen him now, she
would have been astonished to see how quickly that had taken place; for
a brightness shone in his eye, and a color in his countenance more
brilliant and glowing than in his best and most tranquil days.

For the sake of giving some special object to his journey, she had
commissioned him to carry her greeting to the Superior of the convent.
He was now on his return, for a simple newspaper advertisement had
given an unexpected direction to his journey and his purposes.

Wonderful! thought Eric to himself, placing his hand upon the breast
pocket containing the newspaper, wonderful, how the calls are given
which send forth here and there the adventurous Ulysses!

Meanwhile he had sufficient youthful elasticity not to neglect, for the
sake of the goal, the pleasures to be enjoyed by the way. He watched
with an intelligent glance the machinery of the boat, and the life on
the river and on the banks. At the second landing the two nuns were to
stop, and the pretty Frenchwoman gave him a backward nod, as she
descended the side ladder. When in the boat she sat looking down with
folded hands; and on landing, she gave no further look behind.

The passengers changed at every landing. At one village came a band of
pilgrims, chiefly women with white kerchiefs on their heads; and when
they disembarked, a troop of Turners came on board, in their light gray
uniform, and immediately struck up a song upon the deck, whilst the
pilgrims sang upon the shore. In all the cities and villages they
passed bells were ringing on that bright spring day full of blossoms
and sweet sounds, and Eric felt all that intoxication which the
Rhine-life brings over the spirit,--that exhilaration of every faculty,
which comes no one knows whence, as no one can say what gives to the
wine of these mountains its flavor and its life. It is the breath of
the stream; it is the fragrance of the mountains; it is the virtue of
the soil; it is the sunlight that glows in man as in the wine, and
excites an ethereal gladness which no one can be free from, and which
no one can explain.

Eric was often spoken to, but he held himself aloof from all
companionship, wishing in the movement around him to be alone with the
delightful landscape. There are words which become poles of thought in
the meditation of the lonely. Eric heard one fellow traveller say to
another,

"I prefer to go up the river, for one can look at everything longer and
more closely, and it is a triumph of the human mind that we can make
headway against the current."

Against the current! That was the word which that day stuck fast to
Eric out of the thousand things he thought of and looked upon. Against
the stream! That was also his life-course. He had left the trodden
highway, and with bold self-determination he had marked out a path of
his own. It is well, for one there learns more perfectly the world
about him, and, above all, learns his own strength.

"Against the current!" said he, smiling to himself. "Let us see what
will come of it." It was high noon when he disembarked at a little
mediæval city.

A young man standing on the shore looked sharply at him, exclaiming,
"Dournay!" "Herr von Pranken!" answered Eric. They grasped each other's
hands.




                              CHAPTER III.

                           DRINKING NEW WINE.


"Before people have fairly done shaking hands, they say, 'Let us
drink.' It must be the river there that makes you long so to quench
your thirst."

So spoke Eric to the tall, fair youth of his own age, sitting opposite,
who had placed his nicely gloved hand upon a brown spaniel whose head
lay in his lap. The dog frequently looked up to Eric, whose deep,
musical voice perhaps produced an impression upon the creature.

"Here is the list of wines. What year and what vintage do you prefer?
Shall we take new wine, still lively and fermenting?" "Yes, new wine,
and from the mountain here upon which the sun lies so cheerily, and
where the cuckoo calls from the wood;--wine native to the soil, and
blood-relation of this beautiful region."

Pranken in sharp, military accent gave the order to the waiter,--"A
bottle of Anslese." The wine came, and was poured out golden into the
sparkling glasses; the two men touched glasses and drank. They sat
among the vines by the shore, where the refreshing landscape stretched
itself out over green islands in the river, over gleaming habitations,
over vineyards and mountains.

The boats by the shore were still, for the swell made by the steamboat
had subsided; here and there the distant rumbling of a railway train
was heard; on the smooth stream, in which the white clouds of heaven
mirrored themselves, beams of the noonday sun sparkled, and in the
foliage of the blossoming elder the nightingale sang.

"This is life!" said Eric, extending his arms. "After a day of
loneliness amidst the confused whirl of thoughts and of people, to meet
thus unexpectedly an old acquaintance is indeed like home; and let me
tell you, moreover, that I look upon this meeting as a good omen."

Otto von Pranken nodded acquiescingly. In the first surprise, he had,
perhaps, given Eric a warmer welcome than their acquaintance warranted;
but now that Eric made no assumption of intimacy he nodded, well
pleased. Eric has the tact to know his place; it's well. Pranken
immediately drew off his glove, and reaching out his hand to Eric,
asked, "Are you taking a pleasure-tour?"

"No, I am not in the situation, nor would this be the fitting time to
do so. You probably do not know that my father died two months ago."
"Indeed, indeed! and I shall be forever grateful to our good Professor;
the little that I learned at the military school--and it is little
enough--I owe altogether to him. Ah! what patience and what unremitting
zeal your good father had! Let us pledge his memory." Their glasses
clinked. "When I am dead,'" said Eric, and his voice had a tone of deep
emotion, "I should like that my son should thus with a companion pledge
my memory in the bright noonday."

"Ah! to die!" Pranken wished to turn the subject. "If I must die,
that's enough, without knowing what is said of me afterwards. It is in
a high degree offensive to me, that they have placed their burying
ground in the midst of the vineyard yonder."

Eric made no reply, looking with fixed gaze before him, and listening
to the cuckoo's voice calling at that moment from the churchyard. "Are
you an agriculturist?" he asked, as if summoning together his scattered
thoughts. "A sort of one; I have taken off, I don't know for how long
it will be, my lieutenant's uniform, and mounted the high jack-boots;
but I am bored by the one as much as by the other." He took his
nail-cleaner out of his pocket, and worked away industriously at his
nails; then with his pocket-brush he smoothed down again his carefully
parted but thin hair, occasionally looking up to his companion
opposite.

The two, sitting there for a little while without speaking, sharply
inspected each other. Two awkward people, who are placed in a position
of helpless antagonism, become mutually embarrassed; two clever people,
who know each other's cleverness, are like two fencers, who, familiar
with each other's ward and pass, will not risk a stroke or thrust.
Pranken bent over his glass, inhaled the bouquet of the wine, and said,
at length, half smiling, "Perhaps you will now abandon your late
Communistic views."

"Communistic! I had no idea that you, like so many others, cover up
everything unpleasant with that convenient formula of excommunication,
'Communism.' I should like to be a Communist. I mean that I should like
to see in Communism a form of organization adapted to the wants of
society, which it is not, and never can be. We must take some other
method than this, to get rid of the existing barbarism which compels
our fellow human beings to be without the most common necessities of
life. It is a bitter drop in my glass, that, while I can here at
leisure drink this mountain-wine, yonder are poor hard-driven laborers
who can never taste of it."

"To-day is a holiday, and no one labors then," said Pranken, with a
laugh. Already, in this first meeting, the contrast of these two young
men was plainly to be seen. Eric also laughed at this unexpected turn
from his comrade; but he was mature enough not to make a personal
matter out of a difference of theory. He therefore came back to neutral
ground, and the conversation flowed on quietly in recollections of the
past, and thoughts of the future.

In their carriage and gait, the military training of the two young men
was plainly to be seen; but in Eric the stiffness was tempered by a
sort of artistic grace. Pranken was elegant, Eric noble and refined;
every tone and movement of Pranken bespoke attention; but his demeanor
had that cool insolence, or--if that is too harsh a word--impertinence,
which regards every one outside of one's circle as non-existent, or at
least as having no right to exist.

Eric had an equally good figure, but he was more easy and dignified.
Eric's voice was a fine, deep baritone, while Pranken's was a tenor.
Their different characters could be seen also in their way of speaking.
Eric pronounced every word and letter distinctly; Pranken, on the other
hand, spoke with a lazy drawl, as if the vowels and consonants were too
much for him, and as if he must avoid all straining of the organs of
speech; the words dropped, as it were, out of his lips, and yet he
liked to talk, and made excellent points. Pranken's remarks were
forcible, and came out in jets, like the short canter peculiar to the
Royal bodyguard. When talking upon the most ordinary occurrence, his
manner was somewhat rattling and noisy, like one handling his
shoulder-belt, and joining or leaving a convivial company. Eric had
thought more than he had talked. A secluded student in the almost
cloister-like retirement of home, this bearing was wholly novel and
strange to him.

"Herr Baron," said the waiter, as he brought in a bottle of native,
sparkling wine, "your coachman wishes to know if he shall unharness the
horses."

"No," he replied; and while he was turning the bottle in the
wine-cooler he added to Eric: "I dislike to interrupt the brief joy of
this meeting with you. Ah! you have no idea what a terrible bore this
extolled poetry of rural life is!" Pouring out a glass from the
uncorked bottle, he said laughing, "Compost, and again compost, is the
word. The compost-heap is an Olympus, and the God enthroned upon it is
called Jupiter Ammonia." Pranken laughed aloud at his own witty
outburst, then drank off his glass, and complacently twirled with both
hands the ends of his moustache.

Eric led the conversation back to the beauty of the Rhine-life, but
Pranken interrupted by saying, "If now somebody would only take off the
paint from this lying Lorelei, with her song about the beauty of life
on the Rhine! So the poets always speak of the dewy morning, and we had
to-day a blast from the mountains, as if the angels in heaven had spilt
all their milk into the fire."

Eric could not help laughing; sipping at his glass, he said, "But the
joy of the wine!" "O, yes," replied Pranken, "the old topers drink as a
matter of business, but without any poetry. They sit together by the
hour, always the same set, and the same half-dozen anecdotes on hand;
or they interchange a superannuated jest, and then go home with red
face, and staggering feet, bellowing forth a song; and that they
call Rhine joyousness! The one really merry thing in this whole
Rhine-delusion is the landlord's garland." "What's that?" "When the
respectable godfather tailor or shoemaker has laid in a cask of choice
vintage, more than he can or wishes to drink, he hangs upon his house a
green garland; and the old German family room, with its hospitable
Dutch stove covered with green branches, and its gray cat under the
bench, is turned into a bar-room. They first finish up Smith street,
then Hare street, Church street, Salt street, and Capuchin street. They
drink the health of their own wine; this is the only mistress."

"Let us, too, rejoice in our wine," said Eric. "See how the sun still
glows in the noble juice which it has so joyfully smiled upon, and so
diligently ripened. I drink to thee, O Sun, past and present." With a
rapidity that seemed foreign from his ordinarily quiet mood, he emptied
the glass.

"I have always thought," replied Pranken, "that you were a poet. Ah, I
envy you; I should like to have the ability to write a satirical poem,
so peppered that the whole world would burn its tongue with it." Eric
smiled, saying that he had himself once thought that his vocation was
to be a poet; but that he had perceived his mistake, and was now
resolved to devote himself to some practical calling. "Yes," he said,
taking the newspaper out of his pocket, "you can perhaps render me a
service that will determine my whole life." "Gladly, if it is not
against--"

"Don't be alarmed, for it has nothing to do with theories of right, or
political matters at all. You can perhaps help me to an introduction."

"In love then? The handsome Eric Dournay, the Adonis of the garrison,
wants some one to do his wooing?"

"Nothing of that kind. I only want a situation as private tutor. Look
at this advertisement: 'I desire for my son, fifteen years of age, a
tutor of scientific education and high-breeding, who will undertake to
give him such training as shall fit him for a high station. Salary to
be fixed by mutual agreement. A pension for life after the conclusion
of the engagement. Address and references to be left at the railroad
station at ----, on the Rhine.'"

"I know about this advertisement, and even had a hand in writing it. I
must confess that we hit upon something rather unusual in the choice of
the expression 'high-breeding.'"

"Is a man of rank to be understood?"

"Certainly. I have no need of defending myself against the charge of
what the newspaper hacks call _feudalism_. In this case the point
insisted on is, that a tutor in a middle-class family, and especially
for a self-willed boy, must be a man of unimpeachable position."

"Certainly, that is all right and proper. Perhaps, although I'm not a
Baron, I have an unimpeachable position. I received the title of doctor
a few days ago."

Pranken gave him a condescending nod of congratulation, then added
quickly,--"And do you leave entirely out of sight that you quit the
army with the rank of Captain? I should lay special stress on the
military training. But no, you are not fit for a bear-trainer! The boy
is as untameable and crafty as an American redskin, and he knows just
where to lay hold upon the scalp-lock in every character, as he has
already proved on half a dozen tutors." "That would only give an
additional charm to the attempt." "And do you know that Massa
Sonnenkamp is a millionaire, and the heir knows it?"

"That doesn't alarm me, but rather tempts me on." "Well; I will take
you myself to the mysterious man. I have the good luck to stand high in
his favor. But no. Still better, you shall go with me first to my
brother-in-law's estate. You must remember my sister Bella."
"Perfectly, and I accept your hospitality. But I would rather you
should announce my visit to Herr Sonnenkamp--it seems to me I have
heard that name before, but no matter--and let me go to him alone."
Pranken threw a questioning glance upon Eric, who continued: "I know
how to appreciate your ready friendliness; but a stranger can never
quite do himself justice in presence of a third person."

Pranken smiled at Eric's quickness, feeling a sort of pride in having
so cultivated a man under his patronage. He took out his pocket-book,
and sat for a while with his silver pencil-case pressed against his
lips; the doubt arose whether he were doing wisely to recommend Eric to
the position; would it not be better to put him off, and bring forward
a man who would be quite under his own influence? but as Eric would
make the application for himself, and would, most probably, receive the
appointment, it would be better to establish a claim to his gratitude.
And in the midst of his hesitation a certain kindly feeling made itself
felt; it was pleasant to be able to be a benefactor, and he was for a
moment happy in the thought.

He wrote directly on a card to Herr Sonnenkamp, begging him to make no
engagement, as a highly educated gentleman, formerly an artillery
officer, was about to apply in person for the situation. He carefully
avoided speaking as a personal friend of the applicant, as he wished to
take no decided step without his sister's approval.

The card was sent off immediately, and Pranken played for some minutes
with the india-rubber strap of his pocket-book, before putting it back
into his pocket.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                     COMRADES WITHOUT COMRADESHIP.


Seated in an open carriage, the two young men were soon winding along a
road which led up the mountain. The air was full of dewy freshness, and
high above the vineyards the nightingales in the leafy woods poured
forth a constant flood of melody. The two men sat silent. Each knew
that the other had come within the circle of his destiny, but could not
anticipate what would be the consequence.

Eric took off his hat, and as Pranken looked at his handsome face with
its commanding, self-reliant expression, it seemed to him that he had
never really seen it before; a thrill of alarm passed through him, as
he began to realize that he was forming ties whose results could not be
foreseen. His face now darkened with anger and scorn, now brightened
with benevolence and good-humored smiles; he murmured to himself some
unintelligible words, and burst forth at intervals into an inexplicable
fit of laughter.

"It is truly astonishing, most astonishing!" he said to himself. "I
could hardly have believed it of you, my good Otto, that you could be
so generous and self-forgetful, so wholly and completely a friend.
People have always told you, and you have had the conceit yourself,
that through all your whims you were better than you would own to
yourself. Shame on you, that you would not recognize your innocence and
virtue! Here you are showing yourself a friend, a brother, a most noble
minister of destiny to another, who is a bit of humanity, nothing but
pure humanity, in a full beard. All his thoughts are elevated and
manly, but a good salary pleases even his noble manliness."

Pranken laid his head back on the cushions of the carriage, and looked
smiling up to the sky. He resolved to take good care that this specimen
of noble manhood, who was sitting by him in the carriage, should not
thwart his plans, and that what he could not bring about himself, his
sister Bella should accomplish. Pranken's whole bearing was forced and
unnatural. His uniform, worn ever since childhood, had given him not
only a feeling of exclusiveness, but also a definite, undisputed, and
exceptional position, which separated him from the ordinary mass of
men. Among his fellow-soldiers ha was lively, and high-spirited; not
specially remarkable for anything, but a good officer, knowing how to
take care of and to drill his horses and his men. Now that he had laid
aside his uniform, he felt in citizen's dress as if he were falling to
pieces; but he held himself all the more proudly erect, in order to
show by every movement that he did not belong to the common herd. In
the regiment there were always strict rules to be followed; now he was
under the command of duty and wearisome free-will. Left to himself, he
became painfully aware that he was nothing without his comrades. Life
appeared bare and dreary, and he had worked himself into a bitter and
satirical mood, which gave him in his own eyes, a certain superiority
to that blank, monotonous existence, without parade, or play, or
ballet. He looked with a sort of envy at Eric, who, poorer and without
advantages of social position, gazed around him so serenely and
composedly, feasting on the beauty of the landscape. Eric was certainly
the better off. Having become a soldier at a more mature age, he had
never lost his own individuality in the '_esprit de corps_' of army
life; and now that he was a civilian again, his whole appearance
changed, and his nature developed itself under a new and interesting
aspect.

"I envy you," said Pranken, after they had driven for sometime in
silence.

"_You_ envy _me_?"

"Yes! at first it vexed me and roused my pity, that a man like you
should enter the service of a private individual, and in such a
position! But perhaps it is fortunate for a man to be obliged to
determine on some career in order to make a living."

"Just for that reason," replied Eric, "will the task of educating the
young millionaire be a hard one. Two things only excite the powers of
men to activity: an idea, and worldly gain."

"I don't quite understand you."

"Let me make my meaning clearer. He who uses his power for the sake of
an idea enters the region of genius, however small and inconspicuous
may be the sphere of his activity. He who works for the sake of profit,
to supply the necessities, or the luxuries of life, is nothing but a
common laborer. The common need is the compelling power which plants
the vine on the steep mountain side, clears the forest, steers the
ship, and drives the plough. Where this common need unites itself with
the ideal, and this may be in every sphere of life, _there_ is noble
human activity. A nobleman, who busies himself in the world, has the
good fortune to be the inheritor of an idea,--the idea of honor."

Pranken nodded approvingly, but with a slightly scornful expression, as
much as to say, "This man to have the audacity to seek justification
for the nobility! Nobility and faith need not be proved; they are facts
of history not to be questioned!"

Again they were silent, and each asked himself what was to come of this
unexpected blending of their paths in life. As fellow-soldiers they had
been only remotely connected; it might be very different for the
future.

The valleys already lay in shadow, though the sun shone brightly on the
mountain-tops. They drove through a village where all was in joyous and
tumultuous movement,--in the streets, maidens walking arm in arm; young
men standing singly or in groups, exchanging merry greetings and jokes
and laughing jests; the old people sitting at the doors; the fountain
splashing, and along the high-road by the river, gay voices singing
together.

"O how full of refreshment is our German life!" cried Eric; "the
active, industrious people enjoy themselves in the evening, which
brings coolness and shade to the treeless vineyards."

They continued their journey in silence, when suddenly Pranken started
convulsively, for there came before him, as if in a dream, a vision of
himself, pistol in hand, confronting in a duel the man now seated by
his side. Whence came the vision? He could not tell. And yet, was it
meant to be a prophetic warning?

He forced himself to talk. A prominent trait of his character, which
belonged to him by nature and education was a social disposition, a
desire to please all with whom he came in contact. To drive away the
vision, and in obedience to this social impulse, he began to tell Eric
where he had been. By the advice of his brother-in-law, Count Clodwig
von Wolfsgarten, he had just paid a visit to a much respected landed
proprietor in the neighborhood, in order to enter upon a course of
instruction, if the arrangement should prove mutually agreeable.

The land-holder Weidmann,--who was often called the March-minister,
because as a pioneer to help stem the revolutionary current in 1848 he
was made minister for three days,--was considered, in all the
surrounding region, as an authority upon agricultural as well as
political matters.

Pranken talked on, and the more he talked the more he enjoyed his own
witty sallies; and the more he indulged in them, the more pungent they
became. He began: "I should like to know how this man will strike you;
he has, like"--here he hesitated a little, but quickly added--"like all
great reformers, a vast train of fine dogmas, enough to supply a whole
Capuchin monastery."

Eric laughed, and Pranken, laughing also, continued: "Ah! the world is
made up of nothing but humbug! The much-talked-of poetry of a landed
proprietor's life is nothing but a constant desire for lucre, tricked
out with paint from the glow of the morning and evening sky. This Herr
Weidmann and his sons think of nothing but the everlasting dollar. He
has six sons, five of whom I know, and all look impertinently well,
with pretentiously white, faultless teeth, and full beards. These
mountains, which travellers admire, are compelled to yield them wine
from the surface, and slate, manganese, ore, and chemicals from the
mines beneath. They have five different factories; one son is a miner,
another a machinist, a third a chemist, and so they work into each
others' hands and for their common interest. I have been told that they
extract forty different substances from beechwood, and then send the
exhausted residuum as charcoal to the Paris restaurants. Isn't that a
pretty love of nature? Then, as to Father Weidmann,--you enjoy the song
of the nightingales, I know. Well, Father Weidmann obtained from the
government an edict of protection for them, because they eat insects
and are very useful to the fields and woods. Father Weidmann lives in a
restored castle, but if a minstrel came there to-day he would get no
hearing, unless he sang the noble love by which Nitrogen and Hydrogen
are bound to Ammonia. I am almost crazed with super-phosphates and
alkalies. Do you think, it is a destiny worth striving after, to be
able to increase the food of mankind by a few sacks of potatoes?"

Before Eric could answer, Pranken added: "Ah, there is just nothing
that one would like to turn to. The army is the one profession."

As they were ascending a steep hill overlooking the river with its
islands, Pranken, pointing up the stream to a white house upon the
bank, said, "Yonder is the Sonnenkamp villa, which bears the name of
Eden. That great glass dome on which the evening sun is shining is the
palm-house. Herr Sonnenkamp is an enthusiastic gardener; his
conservatories and hot-houses excel those of princes."

Eric, standing upright in the carriage, looked back upon the landscape,
and the house where was to be, probably, the turning-point of his life.
As he sat down Pranken offered him a cigar. Eric declined, for he had
given up smoking.

"He who does not smoke will not do for Herr Sonnenkamp;" and he
emphasized the word Herr. "Next to his plants, he prides himself upon
his great variety of genuine cigars; and he was specially grateful to
me, when I once said to him that he possessed a seraglio of cigars. I
don't know how he who refuses a cigar can get along with him."

"I can smoke, but I am no slave to the habit," replied Eric, taking the
cigar.

"You seem to me not only a Doctor of Philosophy," said Pranken, "but
also a real philosopher."

The two travellers drove on in silence. Eric looked down, his mind
occupied with many and various thoughts.

O wonderful world! Invincible potencies hover in the air; a human soul
is journeying there and does not imagine that another is pressing
towards him, and that they both have one destiny. This is the greatness
of the human spirit, that there is a preparation for taking up into
itself, as if they had one life, some person whose name is not even
known, whose countenance has not been seen, and of whose existence
there has been no anticipation. He who has not lived for himself alone,
he who has dreamed, thought, labored, striven for the common good, he
is ready, each hour, to enter into the universal life, and utters the
creative word. Be soul of my soul, and speaks the word of salvation,
"Thou art thy brother's keeper."




                               CHAPTER V.

                THE OLD NOBLEMAN AND HIS BEAUTIFUL WIFE.


"To Wolfsgarten," was the direction upon the guide-board at the edge of
the well-kept forest where they were now driving, on the grounds and
territory of the nobleman. Every stranger who asks the way, and makes
inquiry concerning the large, plain mansion with steep gables beyond,
receives the reply that two happy people live there, who have every
blessing except that of children.

There are those who give satisfaction to the soul. Where two sit and
talk about them, each feels gratified in being able to perceive and
exhibit the pure and beautiful, and is grateful to the other for each
new insight; but, strangely enough, people soon tire of talking about
the purely beautiful. On the other hand, there are those who furnish an
inexhaustible supply of material for conversation which dwells chiefly
upon the unlovely features, whilst the attractive are mingled in and
brought to the surface with great effort; at the close the speaker
feels obliged to add, "But I am no hypocrite when I meet this person in
a friendly way, for while there is much to condemn, there is also a
great deal that is good." Clodwig was a character of the former, and
his wife Bella, born Baroness von Pranken, of the latter sort.

Clodwig was a nobleman in the best sense of the word. He was not one of
your affable people, on the same terms with every one. He had a
gentlemanly reserve and repose. The independent proprietor, the
manufacturer as well as the priest, the day-laborer, the official, and
the city-merchant, each believed that he was particularly esteemed and
beloved; and all considered him an ornament of the landscape, like some
great tree upon the mountain-top, whose shade and whose majestic height
were a joy, and a shelter from every storm.

The counsel and help of Clodwig von Wolfsgarten could be counted upon
confidently in all exigencies. He had been abroad for a long period,
and only since his second marriage, five years since, had he resided at
his country-seat. Bella von Wolfsgarten was much more admired than
beloved. She was beautiful, many said too beautiful for the old
gentleman. She was more talkative than her husband; and when she drove
out in a pony-carriage drawn by a span of dappled greys through the
country and villages, herself holding the reins, while her husband sat
by her side and the footman upon the back seat, everybody bowed and
stared. Many old people, who always find some special reason for any
new fashion, were inclined to see in this fact of Bella's holding the
reins a proof that she had the rule. But this was not so, by any means.
She was humble and entirely submissive to her husband. It was often
displeasing to him that she so excessively praised, even in his
presence, his goodness, his even disposition, and his noble views of
life and the world.

Eric had only a dim recollection of the commotion excited in the
capital by Bella's marriage, for it happened about the time that he
resigned his commission. He had frequently seen Bella, but never the
count. The count had been for many years ambassador from the small
principality to the papal court, and there Eric's father had become
acquainted with him.

Clodwig was known in the scientific world through a small archæological
treatise with very expensive designs; for next to music, which he
pursued with ardor, he was devoted to the science of antiquity with all
that earnest fidelity which was a characteristic of his whole being. It
was said in his praise, that there was no science and no art to which
he did not give his fostering care. Returning from Rome to his native
land, childless and a widower, he became an esteemed member of the
assembly of the nobility favoring what is called moderate progress; and
during the session, he associated much with the old Herr von Pranken,
who was also a member. He soon became interested in Bella von Pranken,
a woman of imposing manners, and a brilliant performer upon the piano.
Bella was now, if one may be so ungallant as to say so, somewhat
passée; but in her bloom she had been the beauty of that court circle,
where a younger generation now flourished, to which she did not belong.

Bella had travelled over a good part of the world. In the company of
two Englishwomen she had visited Italy, Greece, and Egypt. She had
hired an experienced courier, who relieved her from all care. On her
return to the court where her father was grand-equerry, she mingled in
society with that indifferent air which passes itself off as a higher
nature brought into contact with the common-places of daily life. She
conversed much with Clodwig von Wolfsgarten, who supposed that the
insignificant trifles of social life were considered by her as unworthy
of notice, and she gained the credit with him of possessing a refined
nature occupied only with higher interests. She constantly and actively
participated in Clodwig's fondness for archaeological pursuits. It was
a matter of course that they should find themselves in each other's
society, and if the one or the other was not present, Bella or Clodwig
was asked if the absent one was sick, or had an engagement. Bella had
no porcelain figures and nick-nacks of that kind upon her table, but
only choice copies from the antique; and she wore a large amber chain
taken from the tomb of some noble Roman lady. She possessed a large
photographic album, containing views of her journey, and was happy to
look over them again and again with Clodwig, and to receive instruction
from him. She also played frequently for him, although no longer
exhibiting her musical talent in society.

The entire circle for once did something novel: they carried from Bella
to Clodwig, and from him to Bella, the enthusiastic speeches of the one
about the other; and even personages of the highest rank took part in
furthering their intimacy. This became necessary from the timidity they
both experienced, when they became conscious of the possibility of a
different relation between them. Meanwhile success crowned the attempt,
and the betrothal was celebrated in the most select circle of the
court.

Mischievous tongues now repeated--for it was but fair that there should
be some compensation for the previous excessive good-nature--that two
interesting points of discussion had arisen. Bella, they said, had made
it a condition of the betrothal, that he should never speak of his
deceased wife, and the old Pranken had asked of the physician how long
the count might be expected to live. He must have smiled in a peculiar
way when the physician assured him that such old gentlemen, who live so
regularly, quietly, and without passion, might count upon an indefinite
number of years.

In the meanwhile, the conduct of Bella gave the lie to the malicious
report that she hoped soon to be a rich young widow. Clodwig had had an
attack of vertigo shortly before the wedding; and always after that
Bella contrived that he should be, without his knowledge, attended by a
servant. She devoted herself with the most affectionate care to the old
gentleman, who now seemed to enjoy a new life, and to gain fresh vigor
on returning to his paternal estate. At the baths, where they went
every summer, Clodwig and Bella were highly esteemed personages. She
was admired not only for her beauty, but also for her stainless
fidelity, and for her solicitous attention to her aged husband.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                           THE RECEPTION DAY.


It was yet bright daylight here upon the mountain-height, when they
approached the Wolfsgarten mansion. As they were making the last ascent
through the park, a beautiful girl in a figured blue summer-suit stood
in the path between the green trees. Getting sight of the carriage, she
quickly turned back again. Two light-blue ribbons, tied behind,
according to the fashion, floated in the evening wind. Her step was
firm and yet graceful.

"Ah," said Pranken, "to-day we have hit upon my sister's collation-day.
That pretty girl who turned about so quickly is the daughter of the
Justice, freshly baked out of the oven of the convent of the 'Sacred
Heart' at Aix. You will find her a genuine child of the Rhine, and my
sister has given her the appropriate name Musselina; there is in her
something of perpetual summer. Through this warm-hearted child we are
now already announced to the company."

While he was arranging his hair with his pocket-comb, he continued,--

"The family is very respectable and highly esteemed; the little one is
too good to be trifled with; one must have an inferior kind to smoke in
the open air."

Pranken suddenly became aware whom he was talking to, and immediately
added,--"So would our comrade, Don John Nipper, who was everlastingly
betting, express himself. Do you know that the wild fellow has now an
affection of the spine, and is wheeled about at Wiesbaden in a chair?"

Pranken's whole manner changed; and springing with joyful elasticity
out of the carriage, he reached out his hand to Eric, saying, "Welcome
to Wolfsgarten!" Many carriages were standing in the court-yard, and in
the garden they found the ladies, who with fans and parasols sat upon
handsome chairs around a bed of luxuriantly-growing forget-me-nots, in
the centre of which was a red rhododendron in full bloom.

"We are no peace-breakers; don't let us disturb you, good ladies,"
cried out Pranken from a distance, in a jesting tone. Bella greeted her
brother, and then Eric, whom she recognised at once. The wife of the
Justice and Fräulein Lina were very happy to renew the acquaintance of
yesterday; then were introduced the district physician's wife and
sister, the head-forester's wife and her mother, the apothecary's wife,
the burgomaster's wife, the school-director's wife, and the wives of
the two manufacturers. In fact, all the notabilities of the place
seemed to have assembled. The gentlemen had gone, it was said, to view
some prospect not very far off, and would soon be back.

The conversation was not very lively, and Eric's appearance awakened
interest. The director's wife, a large striking figure--Bella called
her the lay figure, for she knew how to dress well, and everything
became her--raised her opera-glass and looked round upon the landscape,
but took advantage of this survey to get a nearer look at Eric's face.
The manner in which she then balanced the glass in her hand seemed to
say that she was not altogether displeased with the view.

After the first question, how long it was since Eric had seen the
Rhine, and after he had informed them how everything had appeared under
a new aspect, and had affected him almost to intoxication, he said it
was very pleasant to see the young ladies wearing wreaths of fresh
flowers and leaves upon their heads. To this he added the remark, that
though it was natural and fitting for ladies to wear wreaths on their
heads, it was very comical when men, even on some rural excursion,
allowed the black cylinder hat to be ornamented with a wreath by some
fair hand.

Insignificant as was the observation, the tone in which Eric uttered it
gave peculiar pleasure, and the whole circle smiled in a friendly
manner; they at once felt that here was a person of original and
suggestive ideas.

Bella knew how to bring out a guest in conversation. "Did not the
Greeks and Romans, Captain," she asked, "wear badges of distinction
upon the head, while we, who plume ourselves so much about our hearts,
wear ours upon the breast?" Then she spoke of an ancient wreath of
victory she had seen at Rome, and asked Eric whether there were
different classes of wreaths. Without intending it Eric described the
various kinds of crowns given to victory, and it excited much merriment
when he spoke of the wreath made of grass, which a general received who
had relieved a besieged city.

The girls, who stood in groups at one side, made a pretence of calling
out to a handsome boy playing at the fountain below, and sprang down
the little hill with flying garments. On reaching the fountain, they
troubled themselves no further about the little boy they had called to,
but talked with one another about the stranger, and how interesting he
was.

"He is handsomer than the architect," said the apothecary's daughter.

"And he is even handsomer than Herr von Pranken," added Hildegard, the
school-director's daughter.

Lina enjoyed the enviable advantage of being able to relate that she
had met him yesterday at the island convent; her father had rightly
guessed that he was of French descent, for his father had belonged to
the immigrating Huguenots, as his name indicated. The apothecary's
daughter, who plumed herself highly upon her brother's being a
lieutenant, promised to obtain from him more definite information about
the captain.

In her free way, Lina proposed that they should weave a garland and
place it unexpectedly on the bare head of the stranger. The wreath was
speedily got ready, but no one of the girls, not even Lina, ventured to
complete the strange proposal.

Meanwhile Eric was sitting amidst the circle of ladies, and he
expressed his sincere envy of those persons who live among such
beautiful natural scenery; they might not always be conscious of it,
but it had a bracing influence upon the spirit, and there was a keen
sense of loss when removed into less interesting scenes. No one
ventured to make any reply, until Bella remarked,--"Praise of the
landscape in which we live is a sort of flattery to us, as if we
ourselves, our dress, our house, or anything belonging to us, should be
praised."

All assented, although it was not evident whether Bella had expressed
approval or disapproval. Then she asked Eric concerning his mother, and
as if incidentally, but not without emphasis, alluded to the sudden
death of her brother, Baron von Burgholz. Those present knew now that
Eric was of partially noble descent. Bella spoke so easily that
speaking seemed a wholly secondary matter to her, while seeing and
being seen were the things of real importance. She hardly moved a
feature in speaking, scarcely even the lips, and only in smiling
exhibited a full row of small white teeth.

Bella knew that Eric was looking at her attentively while he spoke, and
composedly as if she stood before a mirror, she offered her face to his
gaze. She then introduced Eric, in the most friendly way, to the
agreeable head-forester's wife, a fine singer, asking at the same time
if he still kept up his singing; he replied that he had been for some
years out of practice.

The evening was unusually sultry, and the air was close and hot over
mountain and valley.

A thunder storm was coming up in the distance. They discussed whether
they should wait for the storm at Wolfsgarten or return home
immediately. "If the gentlemen were only here to decide." The pleasant
forester's lady confessed that she was afraid of a thunder storm.

"Then you and your sister are in sympathy," said Eric.

"O," said the sister, "I am not at all afraid."

"Excuse me; I did not mean you, but the beautiful songstress dwelling
here in the thicket. Do you not notice that Mrs. Nightingale, who sang
so spiritedly a few moments since, is now suddenly dumb?" All were very
merry over this remark, and now each told what she did with herself
during a thunder storm.

"I think," said Eric, "that we can find out not so much the character,
as the vegetative life of the brain, the nervous temperament, as it is
called, by observing the effect which a thunder storm has upon us. We
are so far removed from the life of nature, that when changes take
place in the atmosphere that can be heard and seen, we are taken by
surprise, as if a voice should suddenly call to us out of the still
air, 'Attend! thou art walking and breathing in a world full of
mystery!'"

"Ah, here come the gentlemen!" it was suddenly called out. Two handsome
pointers springing into the garden went round and round Pranken's dog,
who had been abroad, smelling at him inquiringly, as if they would get
out of him the results of his experience. The men came immediately
after the dogs.

Eric immediately recognised Count Clodwig, before his name was
mentioned. His fine, well-preserved person, the constant friendliness
of expression on his smoothly shaven, elderly face, as yet
unwrinkled,--this could be no other than the Count Clodwig von
Wolfsgarten; all the rest had grouped themselves around him as a
centre, and exhibited a sort of deference, as if he were the prince of
the land. He possessed two peculiar characteristics seldom found
together: he attracted love, and at the same time commanded homage; and
although he never exhibited any aristocratic haughtiness, and treated
each one in a friendly and kindly manner, it seemed only a matter of
course for him to take the lead.

When Eric was introduced to him, his countenance immediately lighted
up, every feature beaming with happy thoughts. "You are welcome; as the
son of my Roman friend you have inherited my friendship," he said,
pressing more closely with his left hand the spectacles over his eyes.

His manner of speaking was so moderate and agreeable that he seemed to
be no stranger; while there was in the accent something so calm
and measured, that any striking novelty was received from him as
something for which you were unconsciously prepared. He had always
the same demeanor, a steady composure, and a certain deliberateness,
never making haste, having always time enough, and preserving a
straight-forward uprightness befitting an old man. When Eric expressed
the happiness it gave him to inherit the count's friendship towards his
father, and that of the countess towards his mother, a still warmer
friendliness beamed from Clodwig's countenance.

"You have exactly your father's voice," he said. "It was a hard stroke
to me when I heard of his death, for I had thought of writing to him
for several years, but delayed until it was too late."

When Eric was introduced now by Clodwig to the rest of the gentlemen,
it seemed as if this man invested him with his own dignity. "Here I
make you acquainted with a good comrade," said Clodwig, with a
significant smile, whilst he introduced him to an old gentleman, having
a broad red face, and snow-white hair trimmed very close. "This is our
major--Major Grassler."

The major nodded pleasantly, extending to Eric a hand to which the
forefinger was wanting; but the old man could still press strongly the
stranger's hand. He nodded again, but said nothing.

The other gentlemen were also introduced by the count; one of these, a
handsome young man, with a dark-brown face and fine beard and
moustache, the architect Erhardt, took his leave directly, as he had an
appointment at the limestone quarry. The school-director informed Eric
that he had been also a pupil of Professor Einsiedel.

The major was called out of the men's circle by the ladies; they took
him to task, the wife of the Justice leading off, for having left them
and gone off with the gentlemen, while always before he had been very
attentive to the ladies, and their faithful knight. Now he was to make
amends.

The major had just seated himself when the girls placed upon his white
head the crown intended for Eric. He nodded merrily, and desired that a
mirror should be brought, to see how he looked. He pointed the
forefinger of his left hand to Lina, and asked her if that was one of
the things she learned at the convent.

It soon became evident that the major was the target for shafts of wit,
a position which some one in every society voluntarily must assume or
submit to perforce. The major conferred upon his acquaintance more
pleasure than he was aware of, for every one smiled in a friendly way
when he was thought of or spoken about.

A gust of wind came down over the plain; the flag upon the mansion was
lowered; the upholstered chairs were speedily put under the covering of
the piazza; and all had a feeling of comfort, as they sat sociably
together in the well-lighted drawing-room, while the storm raged
outside.

For some time no other subject could be talked about than the storm.
The major told of a slight skirmish in which he had been engaged in the
midst of the most fearful thunder and lightning; he expressed himself
clumsily, but they understood his meaning, how horrible it was for them
to be murdering each other, while the heavens were speaking. The
Justice told of a young fellow who was about to take a false oath, and
had just raised up his hand, when a sudden thunder-clap caused him to
drop it, crying out, "I am guilty." The forester added laughing, that a
thunder storm was a very nice thing, as the wild game afterwards was
very abundant. The school-director gave an exceedingly graphic
description of the difficulty of keeping children in the school-room
occupied, as one could not continue the ordinary instruction, and yet
one did not know what should be done with them.

All eyes were turned upon Eric as if to inquire what he had to say, and
he remarked in an easy tone,--"What here possesses the soul as a raging
storm is down there, on the lower Rhine, and above there, in Alsace, a
distant heat lightning which cools off the excessive heat of the
daytime. People sit there enjoying themselves in gardens and balconies,
breathing in the pure air in quiet contemplation. I might say that
there are geographical boundaries and distinct zones of feeling."

Drawing out this idea at length, he was able to make them wholly
forget the present. The forester's wife, who had been sitting in the
dark in the adjoining room with her hand over her eyes, came into the
drawing-room at these words of Eric, which she must have heard, and
seemed relieved of all fear.

Eric spoke for a long time. Though his varied experience might have
taught him a different lesson, he still believed that people always
wished to get something in conversation, to gain clearer ideas, and not
merely to while away the time. Hence, when he conversed, he gave out
his whole soul, the very best he had, and did not fear that behind his
back they would call his animated utterances pertness and vanity. He
had a talent for society; even more than that, for he placed himself in
the position of him whom he addressed, and this one soon felt that Eric
saw farther than he himself did, and that he spoke not out of
presumption, but out of benevolence.

There is something really imposing in a man who clearly and fluently
expresses his ideas to other people; their own thought is brought to
light, and they are thankful for the boon. But most persons are imposed
upon by the "Sir Oracle" who gives them to understand, "I am speaking
of things which you do not and cannot comprehend;" and the Sir Oracles
carry so much the greater weight of influence.

The men, and more particularly the Justice and the school-director,
shrugged their shoulders. Eric's enthusiasm and his unreserved
unfolding of his own interior life had in it something odd, even
wounding to some of the men. They felt that this strange manner, this
extraordinary revelation of character, this pouring out of one's best,
was attractive to the ladies, and that they, getting in a word
incidentally and without being able to complete a thought, or round off
a period, were wholly cast into the shade. The Justice, observing the
beaming eyes of his daughter and of the forester's wife, whispered to
the school-director, "This is a dangerous person."

The company broke up into groups. Eric stood with Clodwig in the
bow-window, and they looked out upon the night. The lightning flashed
over the distant mountains, sometimes lighting up a peak in the
horizon, sometimes making a rift in the sky, as if behind it were
another sky, while the thunder rolled, shaking the ceiling and tinkling
the pendent prisms of the chandelier.

"There are circumstances and events which occur and repeat themselves
as if they had already passed before us in a dream," Clodwig began.
"Just as I now stand here with you, I stood with your father in the
Roman Campagna. I know not how it chanced, but we spoke of that view in
which the things of the world are regarded under the aspect of the
infinite, and then your father said,--methinks I still hear his
voice,--'Only when we take in the life of humanity as a whole do we
have, as thinkers, that rest which the believers receive from faith,
for then the world lives to us as to them, in the oneness of God's
thought. He who follows up only the individual ant cannot comprehend
its zigzag track, or its fate as it suddenly falls into the hole of the
ant-lion, who must also get a living. But he who regards the anthill as
a whole--'"

Clodwig suddenly stopped. From the valley they heard the shrill whistle
of the locomotive, and the hollow rumbling of the train of cars.

"But at that time," he continued after a pause, and his face was
lighted up by a sudden flash of lightning, "at that time no
locomotive's whistle broke in upon our quiet meditation."

"And yet," said Eric, "I do not like to regard this shrill tone as a
discord."

"Go on, I am curious to hear why not."

"Is it not grand that human beings continue their ordinary pursuits in
the midst of nature's disturbances? In our modern age an unalterable
system of movements is seen to be continually operating upon our earth.
May it not be said that all our doing is but a preparation of the way,
a making straight the path, so that the eternal forces of nature may
move in freedom? The man of this new age has the railroad to serve
him."

Clodwig grasped Eric's hand. Bright flashes of lightning illumined the
beaming face of the young man and the serene countenance of the old
count. Clodwig pressed warmly Eric's hand, as if he would say, "Welcome
again! now art thou truly mine." Love, suddenly taking possession of
two hearts, is said to make them one; and is it not also true of
friendship?

It was so here. The two confronted each other, not with any foreboding,
or excitement of feeling, but with a clear and firm recognition that
each had found his own choicest possession; they felt that they
belonged to each other, and it was entirely forgotten that they had
looked into each other's eyes for the first time only a few moments
before. They had become united in the pure thought of the Eternal that
has no measure of time; they may have stood there speechless for a long
time after unclasping their hands; they were united, and they were one
without the need of word, without external sign.

In a voice full of emotion, as if he had a secret to reveal, which he
could hardly open his lips to utter, and yet which he must not
withhold, Clodwig said,--"In such storms I have often thought of that
former period when the whole land from here to the Odenwald was a great
lake, out of which the mountain peaks towered as islands, until the
water forced for itself a channel through the wall of rock. And have
you, my young friend, ever entertained the thought that chaos may come
again?"

"Yes, indeed; but we cannot transport ourselves into the pre-human or
post-human period. We can only fill out, according to our strength, our
allotted time of three score years and ten." The major now came and
invited them to go into the inner saloon, where the company had
assembled. Clodwig again stroked softly Eric's hand, saying, "Will you
come?" Like two lovers who have just given a secret kiss and an
embrace, they rejoined the company. No one suspected why their
countenances were so radiant.




                              CHAPTER VII.

                         AN ILLUMINATING FLASH.


After the crisis of a storm has passed, a company of persons become
very lively, and have an additional feeling of home. They had withdrawn
into the inner music saloon, whose vaulted ceiling, brilliantly lighted
up, had even a festive appearance. Half way up the walls of the room
four balconies projected, and in the centre was the grand piano. On one
side was a circular seat, upon an elevated platform, where Bella was
sitting with the happy Justice's wife on the right, and the forester's
wife on the left.

The young girls were promenading arm in arm through the saloon, and
Pranken, full of his jokes, accompanied them; he carried in his hand a
rose out of Lina's wreath; when Clodwig and Eric joined the circle,
with the major, the young people came up to them.

Bella asked the major whether the work upon the castle, which Herr
Sonnenkamp had begun to rebuild, was still continued. The major nodded;
he always nodded several times before he spoke, as if carefully
arranging beforehand what he should say.

He asserted very confidently that they would find a spring in the
castle court-yard. Clodwig begged him to preserve carefully every relic
of the middle ages and the Roman period, and promised soon to go
himself, and superintend the excavations. The head-forester jestingly
observed, "Herr Sonnenkamp,"--everybody called him Herr, but with a
peculiar accent, as if they wished no further acquaintance with
him,--"Herr Sonnenkamp will probably now give his name to the restored
castle."

When Herr Sonnenkamp's name was mentioned, it seemed as if a dam had
been carried away, and the conversation rushed in headlong from all
quarters.

"Herr Sonnenkamp has a deal of understanding," said the
school-director, "but Molière maliciously observes, that the rich man's
understanding is in his pocket."

The apothecary added, "Herr Sonnenkamp loves to represent himself as an
incorrigible sinner, in the hope that nobody will believe him; but
people do believe him."

Eric caught the names Herr Sonnenkamp, Frau Ceres, Manna, Roland, Frau
Perini; it was like the chirping of birds in the woods, all sounds
mingled together, and no one melody distinctly heard. The wife of the
Justice, with a significant glance towards Pranken, said, "Men like the
major and Herr von Pranken can take up at once such mysterious,
interloping people from abroad, but ladies must be more reserved." Then
she gave it to be understood that the old established families could
not be too strict in receiving foreign intruders.

In a somewhat forced humor, Bella joked about the long nails of Frau
Ceres; but her lips trembled when Clodwig said very sharply, "Among the
Indians long nails take the place of family descent, and the one
perhaps is as good as the other."

All were amazed when Clodwig spoke so disparagingly of the nobility. He
seemed displeased at the detracting remarks upon the Sonnenkamp family;
he was above all meanness, and everything small and invidious was
as offensive to him as a disagreeable odor. Turning to Eric, he
said,--"Herr Sonnenkamp, the present subject of the conversation, is
the owner of many millions. To acquire such immense wealth is an
evidence of strength; or, I should rather say, to acquire great wealth
shows great vigor; to keep it requires great wisdom; and to use it well
is a virtue and an art."

He paused, and as no one spoke, he continued,--"Riches have a certain
title to respect; riches, especially one's own acquisition, are an
evidence of activity and service. Far easier does it appear to me to be
a prince, than to be a man of such excessive wealth. Such an
accumulation of power is apt to make men arbitrary; a very wealthy man
lives in an atmosphere saturated, as it were, with the consciousness of
supreme power, and ceases to be an individual personality, and the
whole world assumes to him the aspect of a price-current list. Have you
ever met such a man?"

Before Eric could reply, Pranken roughly broke in, "Captain Dournay
wishes to become the tutor of the young Sonnenkamp." All eyes were
directed towards Eric; he was regarded as if he had been suddenly
transformed, and clad in a beggar's garment. The men nodded to each
other and shrugged their shoulders; a man engaging in a private
employment, and such an employment too, had lost all title to
consideration. The ladies looked at him compassionately. Eric saw
nothing of all this. He did not know what Pranken meant by this
surprising revelation; he felt that he must make some reply, but knew
not what to say.

A painful pause followed Pranken's communication. Clodwig had placed
his hands upon his lips, that had become very pale. At last he said,
"Such an appointment will contribute to your honor, and to the honor
and good fortune of Herr Sonnenkamp."

Eric felt a broad hand laid upon his shoulder, and on looking round he
gazed into the smiling countenance of the major, who, pointing several
times with his left hand to his heart, said at last, "The count has
expressed what I wished to say, but it is better for him to have said
it, and he has done it much better than I could. Carry out your
purpose, comrade."

Pranken now came up, and said, in a very affable tone, that it was he
who had advised and recommended Eric. Lina had opened a window, and
called out in a clear voice, "The storm is over."

A fresh, fragrant air streaming into the saloon gave relief to their
constraint, and every one breathed freely again. A gentle rain still
pattered down, but the nightingales were again singing in the woods.
They now urged the forester's wife to sing. She declined, but could not
withstand the request of Bella, who very seldom played, that she would
sing to her accompaniment.

The forester's wife sang some songs with so fresh and youthful a voice,
so clear and simple, that the hearts of all the hearers were touched.
Lina also was urged to sing. She insisted that she could not to-day,
but, on receiving a reproving glance from her mother, she seated
herself at the piano, sang some notes, and then gave up. Without
embarrassment, as if nothing had happened, she said, "I have now proved
to you that I can't sing to-day."

The wife of the Justice bit her lips, and breathed hard with quivering
nostrils, at the foolish girl acting as if nothing was the matter. The
forester's wife sang another song; and now Lina, placing herself at her
side, said that she would sing a duet, but she could not sing alone.
And she did sing, in a fresh soprano voice, somewhat timidly, but with
clear and pure tone.

With unconscious simplicity, as if he were an old acquaintance, she now
asked Eric to sing. The whole company united in the request, but Eric
positively declined, and looked up surprised when Pranken joined in
with the remark, "The captain is right in not exhibiting at once all
his varied talents." It was said in the gentlest tone, but the
sarcastic point was unmistakable.

"I thank you for standing by me like a good comrade," said Eric,
looking round.

The sky was clear, only it still lightened over the Taunus mountains.
The company took their leave, with many thanks for the delightful day
they had spent, and the charming evening. Even the perpetually silent
"Mrs. Lay-figure" now spoke, appearing in her fashionable new hood,
which she had put on very becomingly. Just as they were departing, the
physician made his appearance. He had been detained by the storm while
visiting a patient in a neighboring village. He drove off with the
rest, having scarcely had time to say good-evening to the Count Clodwig
and Bella.

Bella drew a long breath when the reception was all over. There was
much conversation in the different carriages, but in one there was
weeping, for Lina received a sharp scolding for her behavior, in acting
as if she were nothing but a stupid, simple country girl. Instead of
being sprightly and making the most of herself, she behaved as if she
had come, only an hour before, from keeping geese. Lina had for a long
time been accustomed to these violent reproofs, but she seemed today to
take them more feelingly to heart. She had been so happy, that now the
severe lecture came doubly hard. She silently wept.

The Justice, who was no justice of the peace in his own family, took no
part in this feminine outbreak. Not until he was ready to take a fresh
cigar did he say, "This loquacious Dournay seems to me a dangerous
man."

"I think him very agreeable."

"Woman's logic! as if the amiability, instead of excluding, did not
rather include, the dangerous element. Don't you see through this very
transparent intrigue?"

"No."

"Then put together these facts: we come across him at the convent,
where the daughter of this exceedingly wealthy Herr Sonnenkamp is
living, and he acts as if he knew no one, and had no special end in
view. Now he wants to be the tutor of young Sonnenkamp. Ha! what a
flash!"

A bright flash of lightning illumined not only the landscape, but the
relation in which several people stood to each other. Especially the
Eden villa was as clearly defined in every part as if it were only a
few paces off.

"Just see," continued the Justice, "how this great pile of buildings
and the park are lighted up, and no one knows what is brewing up
here. Amazing world! Baron Pranken introduces this Dournay to his
sister-in-law and his father-in-law as a friend, and yet these two men
are sworn enemies."

The wife of the Justice was vexed with her husband. He was so animated,
and made such keen observations, alone with her and at home, while in
society he had hardly a word to say, and let others bear away all the
honors.

"Who is the father-in-law you speak of?" she asked, for the sake of
saying something.

"Why, Herr Sonnenkamp, of course; at least, he is to be. That
inexhaustible wealth of his is guano for the Baron Pranken; he needs
it, and why should he trouble himself about where it comes from?" Lina
threw her veil over her face, and shut her eyes. The Justice now
explained the special reasons why neither he, nor his wife, should
become mixed up in these affairs.

"This captain-doctor is a dangerous man, dangerous in many respects."
This was his last remark, and they were silent until they reached home.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                        CONFESSION OF TWO KINDS.


Otto von Pranken walked with his sister Bella up and down the garden.
Otto informed her that he had recommended Eric to Herr Sonnenkamp, but
that he was already very sorry for it.

Bella, who was always out of humor after she had made herself a victim
to the collation, turned now her ill humor against her brother, who had
introduced to her as a fitting guest one who was, or wished to be, a
menial, and above all, a menial of that Herr Sonnenkamp. With
mischievous satisfaction she added thereto, that Otto must take delight
in boldly leaping over difficulties, since he had recommended into the
family such an attractive person as this doctor--she made use of that
title as being inferior to that of captain. The natural consequence
would be that the daughter of the house would fall in love with her
brother's tutor.

"This Herr Dournay," she ended by saying, "is a very attractive person,
not merely because he is extraordinarily handsome, but yet more because
he possesses a romantic open-heartedness and honesty. Whether it is
genuine or assumed, at any rate, it tells, and particularly with a girl
of seventeen just out of a convent."

Otto answered good naturedly, that he had given his sister credit for a
less commonplace imagination; moreover, that Eric was an acknowledged
woman-hater, who would never love a real woman of flesh and blood. Yet
Pranken declared his intention of calling the next morning at the
villa, and telling Herr Sonnenkamp in confidence how very reluctant he
was to give the recommendation; that he should beseech him to dismiss
the applicant politely, for he might with propriety and justice say
that Eric would inoculate the boy with radical ideas; yes, that it
might further be said to Herr Sonnenkamp, that to receive Eric would be
displeasing at court. This last reason, he thought, would carry all
before it. Pranken had worked himself into the belief that to have a
secure position in the court-circle was the highest that Herr
Sonnenkamp could aim at.

Bella rejected this plan; she took pleasure in inciting her brother to
gain the victory over such an opponent; that would inspire him with
fresh animation. Moreover, that it might be well to offset the Lady
Perini, whose ecclesiastical tendencies no one had thoroughly fathomed,
by a man who was a representative of the world, and under obligations
of gratitude to them. And further it was not to be doubted that a
perpetual, secret war would exist between Donna Perini and this
over-confident Dournay, so that, whatever might happen, they would have
the regulation and disposal of matters in their own hands.

Bella forgot all her vexation, for a whole web of intrigue unfolded
itself clearly to her sight, agreeable in the prosecution, and tending
to one result. She was the confidante of Fräulein Perini, but she
herself did not wholly trust her, and Otto must remain intimate with
Eric; and in this way, they would hold the Sonnenkamp family in their
hands, for Eric would undoubtedly acquire great influence.

Otto strenuously resisted the carrying out of the part assigned to him,
but he was not let off. A cat sitting quiet and breathless before a
mouse-hole will not be enticed away, for she knows that the mouse will
come out; it is nibbling already; and then there is a successful
spring. Bella had one means of inducing her brother to do as she
wished; she need only repeat to him how irresistible he was, and how
necessary it was for him to gain that self-confidence which had
hitherto stood him in such good part. Otto was not fully convinced, but
he was persuaded that he soon would be. And, moreover, this Dournay was
a poor man whom one must help; he had taken today the sudden revelation
of his position in life with a good grace, and behaved very well.

Whilst brother and sister promenaded in the garden, Eric sat in the
study of Count Clodwig, that was lighted by a branching lamp. They sat
opposite, in arm-chairs, at the long writing-table. "I regret," Clodwig
began, "that the physician came so late; he has a rough rind, but a
sound heart. I think that you and he will be good friends."

Eric said nothing, and Clodwig continued: "I cannot understand why my
brother-in-law, in his peculiar manner, informed the company so
suddenly of your intention. Now it is a common topic of conversation,
and your excellent project loses its first naïve charm."

Eric replied with great decision, that we must allow the deed resolved
upon in meditation to come into the cold sharp air of the critical
understanding.

Clodwig again gazed at him fixedly, apparently surprised that this man
should be so well armed at all points; and placing his small hand upon
a portfolio before him as if he were writing down something new, he
resumed:--

"I have, to-day, been confirmed anew in an old opinion. People
generally regard private employment as a degradation, regardless of the
consideration that the important thing is, in what spirit one serves,
and not whom he serves. 'I serve,' is the motto of my maternal
ancestors."

The old man paused, and Eric did not know whether he was going on, or
waited for a reply; but Clodwig continued: "It is regarded as highly
honorable when a general officer, or a state official undertakes the
education of a prince; but is it any the less honorable to engage in
the work of educating thirty peasant lads, or to devote one's self, as
you do, to the bringing up of this wealthy youth? And now I have one
request to make of you."

"My only desire is to grant it."

"Will you tell me as exactly as possible how, you have so--I mean, how
you have become what you are?"

"Most willingly; and I will deserve the honor of being allowed to speak
so unreservedly, by not being too modest. I will speak to you as to
myself."

Clodwig rang a bell that stood upon the table, and a servant entered.
"Robert, what room is assigned to the doctor?" "The brown one directly
over the count's chamber." "Let the captain have the balcony chamber."
"If the count will pardon me, the luggage of Leonhard, Prince of
Saxony, is still in that room." "No matter; and, one thing more, I
desire not to be interrupted until I ring."

The servant departed, and Clodwig settled himself in the arm-chair,
drawing a plush sofa-blanket over his knees; then he said, "If I shut
my eyes, do not think that I am asleep."

In the manner with which Clodwig now bade Eric speak out frankly, there
was a trustful kindness, very far removed from all patronizing
condescension; it expressed, rather, an intimate sympathy and a most
hearty confidence. Eric began.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                               A SEEKER.


"I am twenty-eight years old, and when I review my life, it seems to me
so far to have been only a search. One occupation leaves so many
faculties dormant, and yet the torture of making a choice must come to
an end; and in every calling of life the entire manhood may be
maintained and called forth into action.

"I am the child of a perfectly happy marriage, and you know what that
means. I shared, from my third year, the education of the Prince
Leonhard. There was a perpetual opposition between us, the reason of
which I did not discover until later, when an open breach occurred. I
then saw for the first time, that a sort of dissimulation, which does
not agree with good comradeship, had made me outwardly deferential, and
inwardly uneasy and irritated. Perhaps nothing is more opposed to the
very nature of a child than a perpetual deference and compliant
acquiescence.

"I entered the military school, where I received marked respect,
because I had been the comrade of the prince. My father was there
my special instructor, and there I lived two years with your
brother-in-law. I was not distinguished as a scholar.

"One of the happiest days of my life was the one on which I wore my
epaulets for the first time; and though the day on which I laid aside
my uniform was not less happy, I am not yet free from inconsistency. I
cannot to this day, see a battery of artillery pass by without feeling
my heart beat quicker.

"I travel backwards and forwards, and I pray you to excuse disconnected
narration. I have, to-day, been through such a various experience; but
I will now endeavor to tell my story more directly and concisely.

"Soon after I became lieutenant, my parents removed to the university
city; I was how left alone. I was, for a whole year, contented with
myself and happy, like every one around me. I can remember now the very
hour of a beautiful autumn afternoon,--I still see the tree, and hear
the magpie in its branches,--when I suddenly reined in my horse, and
something within me asked, 'What art thou doing in the world? training
thyself and thy recruits to kill thy fellow-men in the most scientific
manner?'"

"Allow me to ask one question," Clodwig mildly interrupted. "Did the
military school never seem to you a school of men, and part of your
profession?"

Eric was confused, and replied in the negative; then collecting his
thoughts, he resumed: "I sought to drive away oppressive thoughts, but
they would not leave me. I had fallen out with myself and my
occupation. I cannot tell you how useless to myself and to the world I
seemed to be,--all was empty, bare, desolate. There were days when I
was ashamed of my dress, that I, a sound; strong man, should be loafing
about so well dressed, my horse perhaps consuming the oats of some poor
man."

"That is morbid," Clodwig struck in with vehemence.

"I see it is now; but then it was different in the first stress of
feeling. The Crimean war broke out, and I asked for a furlough, in
order to become acquainted with actual war. My commander, Prince
Leonhard, at the rifle-practice, casually asked me which army I meant
to join; and before I could reply, he added, in a caustic tone, 'Would
you prefer to enlist with the light French or the heavy Englishman?' My
tongue was tied, and I perceived clearly my own want of a clear
understanding of my position. How mere a cipher was I, standing there
without any knowledge of myself or the world! My outer relations shared
in the total ruin of my inner being. Must I relate to you all these
petty annoyances? I deserved to have them, for there was in me nothing
but contradiction, and my whole life was one single great lie. A
uniform had been given me; I was not myself, and I was a poor soldier,
for I abandoned myself to the study of philosophy, and wished to solve
the riddle of life. I am of a peculiarly companionable, sympathetic
nature, and yet the continued life among my fellow-soldiers had become
an impossibility.

"I bore it two years, then asked for my discharge; which I received,
with the rank of Captain, out of respect to my parents, I think. I was
free, at last, and yet, as I said before, it saddened me to break away
from my life.

"I was free! It was strange to look out into the world and say. World,
what do you want of me? What must I do for you? Here are a thousand
employments; which shall I take? I was ready for anything. I had a fine
voice, and many people thought that I might become a professional
singer, and I received overtures to that effect. But my own inclination
led in a very different direction. An earnest longing possessed me to
make some sacrifice for my fellow-men. Had I been a devout believer, I
think I should have become a monk."

Clodwig opened his eyes and met Eric's beaming glance. After a short
pause, Clodwig nodded to Eric, then folded his arms again on his
breast, laid his head back, nodded again, and closed his eyes. Eric
continued:--

"When I first went through the streets in a civilian's dress, I felt as
if I were walking naked before the eyes of men, as one sometimes seems
to be in troubled dreams. In such a helpless, forlorn state of feeling,
one grows superstitious, and is easily governed by the merest
accidents; The first person who met me, and stared at me, as if
doubting who I was, was my former captain, who had left the service,
and was superintendent of a House of Correction for men. He had seen
the notice of my discharge, and remembering some of my former attempts
in that direction, asked whether I meant to devote myself entirely to
poetry. I answered in the negative, and he told me that he was looking
for an assistant. My decision was soon made; I would consecrate myself
to the care and elevation of my fallen fellow-men. After entering on my
new occupation I wrote to my parents. My father replied to me, that he
appreciated my efforts, but foresaw with certainty that my natural love
of beauty would make a life among criminals unbearable to me; he was
right. I tried with all my might to keep in subjection a longing for
the higher luxuries of life, but in vain. I was without that peculiar
natural vein, or perhaps had not reached that elevated standpoint,
which enables one to look upon and to treat all the aspects of life as
so many natural phenomena. In my captain's uniform, I received more
respect from the prisoners than in my citizen's dress. This experience
was a sort of nightmare to me. Life among the convicts, who were either
hardened brutes or cunning hypocrites, became a hell to me, and
this hell had one peculiar torment. I fell into a mood of morbid
self-criticism, because I could not forget the world, but was
constantly trying to guess the thoughts of others. I tormented myself
by imagining what men said of my course. In their eyes I seemed to
myself now an idealistic vagabond, if you will allow the expression.
This I was not, and would not be, and above all, I was determined that
my enemies and deriders should not have the triumph of seeing me the
wreck of a fickle and purposeless existence.

"Ah, I vexed myself unnecessarily; for who has time or inclination to
look for a man who has disappeared! Men bury the dead, and go back to
their every-day work, and so they bury the living too. I do not
reproach them for it, it must be so.

"It became clear to me that I was not fitted for the calling I had
chosen. I lived too much within myself, and tried in every event to
study the foundation and growth of character of those around me, not
willing to acknowledge that the nature and actions of men do not
develope themselves so logically as I had thought. Besides, I was too
impassioned, and possessed by a constant longing for the beautiful.

"I thought of emigrating to the New World, but what should I do there?
Was it worth while to have borne such varied experiences and struggles
in order to turn a bit of the primeval forest into a cornfield? Still,
one consideration drew me toward America. My father's only brother, the
proprietor of a manufactory of jewelry, lived there, but was quite lost
to us. He had loved my mother's sister, but his suit was somewhat
harshly rejected, and he left Europe for the New World. He cast off all
connection with his home and family, and turned out of his house in New
York a friend of my father's who guardedly mentioned us to him. He
would hear nothing of us, nor even of Europe. I imagined that I could
reconcile my uncle, and you know that a man in desperate circumstances
looks for salvation to the most adventurous undertakings.

"My good father helped me. What he had always recognized as my true
vocation, from which I had turned blinded by the attractions of army
life, I now saw plainly. A thirst for loneliness arose within me; I
felt that I must find some spot of earth where no disturbing tone could
penetrate the inner life, where I could immerse myself in solitude.
This solitude which is inclusive of all true life, study, the world of
letters, now offered to me. My father helped me, while showing me that
my past life was not wasted, but must give me a new direction and a
peculiar success. He brought me a birth-day gift which I had received
in my cradle; the senate of the University; in which he had lectured
before his appointment as tutor of the prince, had bestowed upon me
soon after my birth its certificate of matriculation, as a new-born
prince receives a military commission."

Clodwig laughed heartily, rubbed his eyes, leaned forward with both
hands on his knees, looked kindly at Eric, and begged him to go on.

"I have little more to tell you. I soon schooled myself, or rather my
father schooled me, to live for universal ends, and to put aside all
personal aims as much as possible. I devoted myself to the study of
ancient literature, and every aspiration for the beautiful, which had
idealized the poet's vocation for me, found satisfaction in my
introduction to the classic world. 'Every man may glory in his
industry,' says the poet. I worked faithfully, and felt only in my
father's house the happiness of a child, and in my youth the joy of
mental growth. My father hoped that success would be granted me where
he had failed; he made me heir of those ideas which he could neither
establish as scientific truth, nor impart from his professor's chair,
if there ever were a happy home, made holy by lofty aspiration, it was
my parents' house. There my younger brother died, now very nearly a
year ago; my father, who already was sorely sick at heart, with all his
stoic fortitude could not bear this blow. It is two months since he
also died. I kept down the anguish of my bereavement, finished my
studies, and received my doctor's degree a few days ago. My mother and
I formed various plans, but have not yet decided upon any. I made this
excursion to the Rhine in compliance with my mother's advice, for I
have been working very hard; on my return we meant to come to some
decision. I met your brother-in-law, and I feel it my duty not to turn
away from the opening which has offered. I am ready to enter into
private service, knowing what I undertake, and believing that I am
thoroughly equipped for it. There was a time when I thought I could
find satisfaction only in working for some great public interest; now I
should be content to educate a single human being, still more to
co-operate in training to a fitness for his great duties one, who, by
his future lordship over vast possessions, represents in himself
manifold human interests.

"I have come to the end of my story. I do not wish that any one should
think better of me than I deserve, but I also wish to pass for what I
believe I am. I am neither modest nor conceited; I may be in dangerous
ignorance, for I do not in the least know how I am regarded by others;
I have shown only what I find in myself by honest self-examination. I
mean to be a teacher. He who would live in the spirit, and has not the
artist's creative power, must be a teacher; for the teacher is, so to
speak, the artisan of the higher being, and, like every artisan, is so
much the better workman, or teacher, the more of the artist spirit he
has and uses. A thought is the best gift which man can bestow upon man,
and what I give my pupil is no longer my own. But pardon me for having
fallen into this vein of preaching. I have shown you my whole life, as
well as I can; where I have left any gaps, pray question me."

"Nothing further is needed," said Clodwig, rising, and quietly laying
aside the sofa-blanket. "Only one question. Have you never had the
desire to marry, or has that not entered into your plans?"

"No, I shall not marry. I have heard so many men say, 'Yes, ideals, I
had them too, but now I live in and for my family.' I will not
sacrifice everything higher to the caprice of a pretty woman. I know
that I am at variance with the world; I cannot dissemble, nor can I
change my own way of thinking, nor bring others over to mine. I have
set myself a difficult life-task, which can be best carried out alone."

Clodwig stepped quickly towards Eric and said:--

"I give you my hand again. This hand shall never be withdrawn from you,
so long as it has life. I had something else in view for you, but now I
cannot and need not speak of it; I will subdue my own wishes. Enough;
press on quietly and firmly towards your goal; whatever I can do to
help you reach it, you have a right to demand. Remember you have a
claim upon me in every situation and condition of your life. You cannot
yet estimate what you have given, and are still giving me. Good night,
my dear young friend."

The count hastily withdrew, as if to avoid any further emotion. Eric
stood still, looking at the empty chair and the sofa-blanket as if all
were a dream, until a servant came, and, in a very respectful manner,
conducted him to his room.




                               CHAPTER X.

                             THE GOOD HOST.


When a man has laid open his whole history to another, he often seems
to himself emptied, hollow, and void,--what is left of him? how small
and contemptible he appears! But it was quite otherwise with Eric. From
a tower below in the valley rang clear a silver-toned midnight bell,
hung there in ancient times by a noble lady, to guide the lost wanderer
in the forest to a human dwelling. Eric heard it, and saw in fancy the
confessional in the church, with its believers bending before it, or
passing out into the world again made strong by its blessing. He had
confessed to a man whose life was consecrated by a pure spirit, and
felt himself not impoverished, but elevated and strengthened, armed
with self-knowledge for every relation of life.

He opened the window, and inhaled the cool, fragrant air of night. Over
the valley hung a thin mist; the clocks in the villages struck
midnight, and the Wolfsgarten clock chimed in sweet and low. Eric
resigned himself to the influence of nature's life and power as it
presses upward in the tree-trunks, moves in the branches, and refreshes
every bud. In the distance rolled a railway train. The nightingales
sang loudly, then suddenly ceased as if overpowered by sleep.

In nebulous forms, familiar and strange figures gathered around Eric.
How much he had experienced in this one day, though he had not yet
crossed the threshold of the house where perhaps his future lot was
cast! He had reviewed his past life, and had found a home of which he
had not dreamed yesterday. Ah, how great and rich is the world, and
true comrades live in it waiting only for our summons and the greeting
of friendly eyes!

All the fulness of life in the immortality of nature and the human
spirit flooded Eric's being. He felt a blessed elation; he had given up
his life, it was taken from him; he was freed from self, and lived and
soared in the infinite.

The moon rose over the mountains, a whispering thrill rustled through
the wood, the nightingale sang loud again, the mists rose from the
valley and vanished, and one broad beam glittered on a glass dome in
the distance. There lay Villa Eden.

Only after a vigorous resistance Eric finally yielded to weariness and
closed the window. A black trunk marked with the crest of Prince
Leonhard first attracted his notice, and he smiled to see how Clodwig
had shown his household in what honor he held his guest; this room had
been occupied by the Prince a few days before. Eric then gazed long on
a bust of Medusa, fascinated by the grand, powerful, beautiful face; on
the head with its wildly disordered locks were two wide-spread wings;
below the heavy frowning brow gleamed the great death-dealing eyes; the
mouth was haughtily curved, and on the lips lay scornful, defiant
words; under the chin two snakes were knotted together like a kerchief.
The aspect of the head was at once repulsive and fascinating.

Opposite the Medusa stood a cast of the Victory of Rauch, that
wonderful countenance recalling the face of Queen Louisa, the noble
head with its garland of oak-leaves not raised, but bent as if in
thought and self-control.   A strange pair were those two busts! but
there was no more time to dwell upon them. Eric was overcome by sleep,
but woke again after a few hours, when day had scarcely dawned.

There are hours and days of joyous and buoyant feeling, as if we had
found the key to all hearts; as if we held in our hands the magic wand
which reveals all living springs, and brings us near to every soul as
to a friend and a brother. The world is purified, the soul pervaded by
the deep feeling of unalloyed blessedness, which is nothing but
breathing, living, loving.

Encompassed by such an atmosphere, Eric stood at the window and looked
out over the river to the mountains beyond, the castles, the towns, the
villages, on the banks and on the heights. Everywhere thou art at home,
thou art living in a beautiful world. He went at once into the open
air, and strode on not as if he were walking, but as if borne onward by
some ineffable power. Drops of rain from the last night's storm hung
upon the tender green of the foliage, on the grass and flowers; no
breeze stirred the air, and frequent rain-drops, like a sudden shower,
pattered down from the overhanging branches. A ray of sunlight now
gleams upon every leaf and twig, and awakens an inexpressible movement;
the blackbird sings in the copse, and with his clear, shrill tone is
heard far above all the intermingling, chorus of melodies.

Eric stood motionless near a covered pavilion on the very ridge of the
mountain, and gazed long at a kite hovering with outspread wings over
the summit, and then letting itself down into the wood on the other
side of the river. What made him think at that moment of Herr
Sonnenkamp? Was it envy and dread of the little bird, whom evil tongues
called a bird of prey; and has he not the right to live according to
his might?

Eric's thoughts were wafted toward the boy, longing to mingle in his
dreams, and whisper to him, I am coming to thee. He endeavored for a
long time to get sight of the glass dome, but it was nowhere visible.
He went away from the river to an elevated plain, from which there was
again a view of valleys, heights, and mountains.

He stood in the midst of an extensive field, and for the first time saw
a vineyard which was just being planted. The laborers held implements,
like augurs, in their hands, and making with them holes in the loose
earth, they set out the young shoots in rows.

He saluted the laborers, and they answered him cheerfully, feeling from
the sound of his voice that he greeted every stranger as a brother. He
inquired how long it would be before the first vintage, and when an old
man answered clearly all his questions, he felt a new refreshment.

This conversation brought him back from his state of excitement, back
from his wandering into the infinite, again to the earth. He went away
expressing his thanks, and realising that he must bring this strain of
lofty feeling into subjection to actual life. He met laborers who were
going to a limestone quarry. He joined them, and learned that this also
belonged to the count, who had leased all his lands, not retaining for
himself even the management.

Receiving a friendly greeting from the overseer, he was shown a
manufactory of cement near by, and saw paving-tiles from excellent
patterns of the time of the Renaissance, which Clodwig had recommended,
and which found a ready sale.

Eric returned to the Castle, refreshed by the breath of nature as well
as by this glance into actual human life. A servant told him that the
count was expecting him. Clodwig, already fully dressed for the day,
took his guest by the hand, saying, "I shall ask you by and by many
questions, but only one now:--did your father despair at the last,
or--how shall I express it?--did he die in the belief of an orderly and
progressive unfolding of the social and moral world?" Eric then
depicted in vivid language derived from his own recollections, and
under the inspiring influence of his morning's exhilaration, how his
father, on the last night of his life, congratulated his son that he
was born into the new age, which need no longer exhaust itself against
opposing forms of violence. "My son," he said, "my heart thrills with
joy, when I contemplate how in this century a beauty, a freedom, and a
brotherly love unfold themselves which existed to us only in the germ.
As one example, my son, see how the State now educates its children,
and does it in a way that no Solon, no Socrates, ever could imagine.
Thou wilt live in a time when it will hardly be conceived that there
were slaves, serfs, bondmen, monopolies, and the whole trumpery of a
false world."

Eric added how happy it made him, that his father had departed in such
a cheerful mood, and that he, as a son, could so fully enter into his
hopes, and carry them out into life. He spoke in such an excitable
manner, that Clodwig placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "We will
not, in the morning, take such a distant flight." He expressed also his
satisfaction that he could enter so fully into the life of the coming
generation, for he had always been troubled lest he might lose all hold
upon the new time.

"We have had our morning devotions, now let us go to breakfast," he
said, turning round easily as he got up from his seat. "Yet one more
question: did your father never explain to you what occurred at his
sudden--you know what I mean--loss of favor at court?"

"Certainly; my father told me the whole, circumstantially."

"And did he not forbid you to speak of it to any one?"

"To others, but not to you."

"Did he mention me by name?"

"No, but he expressly enjoined it upon me to inform those whom I
honored with my whole soul, and so I can tell you."

"Speak rather low," Clodwig enjoined, and Eric went on.

"My father, in that last interview which no one knew anything about,
was to have received from the hand of the sovereign a title of
nobility, in order that he might be appointed to an office at court. He
said to the sovereign, 'Your highness, you make null the blessing of
the long years in which I have spent my best strength in the education
of my youthful prince, if you think I accept this on my own account, or
that I regard it as something belonging to the age in which we live.'
'I do not make a jest of such things,' the prince replied.  'Neither do
I,' said my father.

"Years after, his lips trembled as he related this to me, and he said,
that that moment, when he stood face to face with his pupil speechless,
was the bitterest moment of his life."

A silent pause now ensued between Eric and Clodwig, until the latter
said finally, "I understand, I understand; let us go."

They went into the breakfast-room on the ground floor, the doors of
which were wide open. Bella soon appeared; she thought that Eric looked
at her scrutinisingly, and quickly turning away, she went to a side
table to prepare the coffee.

"My wife," said Clodwig, "has already sent a messenger, this morning,
to Fräulein Perini, and I have added a message to Herr Sonnenkamp, that
you, dear Dournay, would present yourself this evening, or, what would
be better, early to-morrow morning."

"And I am to ask you to excuse my brother, who has set out, early
this morning, in company with a young man whom they call here the
Wine-chevalier, to the horse-market at Mannheim. Will you have coffee
or tea?"

"If you please, coffee."

"That is fine, and on the strength of that we are good friends," said
Bella, in a lively way. "It is an abominable excess of politeness, when
people reply to such a question, 'It makes no difference to me.' If it
makes no difference to you, dear polite soul, then give some decided
answer, and don't put off the choice upon me."

A merry key was thus struck, and they seated themselves at table. Bella
noticed that Eric observed her, and she knew that she looked better in
her pretty morning-dress, than in full evening costume. Her movements
were very elastic and graceful. She was a tall, noble, well-made
person; her soft, dark-auburn hair, now partly loose, was confined by a
fine point-lace kerchief, put on with apparent carelessness, as if one
had not taken a second look in the mirror, and tied under the chin. Her
complexion was fresh, as if she had just bathed her face in milk; and
in fact she did wash her face in milk every morning and evening. The
expression of her countenance was keen and bright. All was nobly
formed, except that she had a thin, compressed upper-lip, which a
malicious gentleman at court had once called the lip of a poisoner. It
was very vexatious to Bella that her voice was so masculine.

Her personal charms, her cordial and at the same time arch manners,
showed to great advantage in the light talk at the breakfast table; and
when at intervals she keenly watched Eric, she was surprised at his
appearance. Yesterday she had seen him first only in the evening
twilight, and afterwards by candle-light. He was manifestly a person to
be seen in full daylight; and in fact, there was now a brilliant
lighting up of his countenance, for the happy excitement of his whole
inner being showed itself in his mien, and he looked at Bella, as if he
would say, 'I have become almost the son of thy husband; let the same
noble union be formed between us.'

Bella was unusually friendly, perhaps because she had already used a
little artifice. A note, written in Italian to Fräulein Perini,
cautioned her in terms as decided in meaning, as they were carefully
worded in expression, of the necessity of subjecting the new-comer to a
sharp examination.

When Clodwig told the messenger that Eric would make his appearance in
the evening, or the next morning, she felt herself justified and at
rest in regard to her previous artifice; for Clodwig had never before
detained a guest with such determination of his own, and no one could
even boast of having made it appear that he was not sufficient for
himself.

Clodwig and Bella had promised each other to live only to themselves,
and until now they had faithfully kept the promise.

"I am a weary soul," Clodwig had said to Bella when he offered her his
hand, and she had answered, that she would refresh the weary one. She
had cut off every relation with the world, for she knew that friendly
visits last only for a few hours or days, and make the solitude
afterwards more keenly felt.

Bella was very amiable always, and to everybody, provided everybody
always did according to her will, and lived to please her. She really
had no love for people and no desire for their society; she wanted
nothing from others, and wished only to be left alone. The manifold
relations which Clodwig had formerly had with men and women were
repugnant to her, and he accommodated himself to the wish of his wife,
who lived wholly for him, so far as to reduce his extensive
correspondence and his personal intercourse to the smallest possible
limit. They kept up a periodical connection with only two social
circles in the neighborhood: one of these was the so-called
middle-class circle who were invited to collation, as it was named,
which we made acquaintance with yesterday; the other was a select
circle, of the noble families scattered around, who were invited twice
a year. Was this renegade captain now to change all this?

In the triumphant thought that she had banished him, Bella became more
and more talkative. Eric could not refrain from highly extolling that
mirthful excitement, that exuberant humor which pervades the Rhineland,
and takes possession of every one who comes within the sphere of its
inhabitants. At last he led the conversation again to Sonnenkamp, by
remarking that the manner in which the man was spoken about yesterday
was very puzzling to him.

Bella in an off-hand manner declared, that she found the man very
interesting, although this was going counter to the universal
Philistinism; that she regarded him as a conqueror, a bold Berserkir,
who had nothing to win for himself in this stock-jobbing age but gold.

There appeared to be a sympathetic attraction between Bella and
Sonnenkamp's speculative and daring spirit. Clodwig considerately
added,--

"I have often noticed, that so long as a man is accumulating wealth,
his prosperity seems to give universal satisfaction; men feel pleased,
as if they were accumulating too. But when he has attained his end,
they turn round and find fault, where before they had commended. Do you
understand anything of horticulture?"

"No."

"Herr Sonnenkamp is a very considerable horticulturist. Is it not
strange that in the laying out of parks we have wholly supplanted the
formal methods of French gardening, which now turn to the culture of
fruit, and find encouragement in the pecuniary profit that governs all
such operations? The English excel in swine-raising, their swine being
fat sides of bacon with four feet attached; the French, on the other
hand, having taken to fruit culture, have succeeded in producing
fabulous crops.

"Yes!" he concluded, smiling, "Herr Sonnenkamp is a tree-tutor, and,
moreover, a tyrannical tree-trimmer. To-day I can speak out more
freely. Sonnenkamp has always been, and will always be, a stranger to
me.

"Through all his external polish, and an increasing attention to the
cultivation of good manners, a sort of brutishness appears in him, I
mean brutishness in its original meaning of an uncultivated state of
nature."

"Yes," Bella remarked, "you will have a difficult position, and
especially with Roland."

"With Roland?" asked Eric.

"Yes, that is the boy's name. He would like to know much, and learn
nothing."

Bella looked round pleased with her clever saying. The parrot in his
great cage upon the veranda uttered shrill cries as if scolding. As she
rose, Bella said, "There you see my tyrant; a scholar who tyrannises
over his teacher in a most shocking manner."

She took the parrot out of his cage, placed him on her shoulder,
fondled and caressed him, so that one almost grudged such wasteful
prodigality; and her movements were all beautiful, especially the
curving of the throat and shoulders.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                          MEDUSA AND VICTORIA.


Clodwig looked down for some time after Bella had gone. He nodded to
Eric as if he would greet him anew. But Bella soon returned, bearing
the parrot on her hand, and stroking it. She walked up and down the
room, lingering when Eric related how he had to-day, tearing himself by
force away from the view of the river, gone back into the country, and
had conversed with many persons.

Clodwig dwelt at length upon his pet theory, that traces of the Roman
Colonists were still preserved in the physiognomy and character of the
people.

Bella, apparently unwilling to be obliged to hear this again,
interrupted, with good-humored impertinence,--"When one turns himself
away from the Rhine, he has the feeling, or at least I have, that some
one, it may be Father Rhine himself, looks after me and calls out, 'Do
turn round!'"

"We men do not always feel that we are looked at," replied Clodwig, and
requested Eric to give his opinion about the earthen vase, a present
the day before from the Justice, which was standing on a side-table in
the breakfast-room. Eric readily complied, and they went into the
adjoining room, filled with a great variety of articles found buried in
the ground. Eric, fresh from the study of antiquities, showed himself
so familiar with all the related topics, that Bella could not refrain
from expressing her astonishment.

"You are a good teacher, and it must be a pleasure to be instructed
by you." Eric thanked her, and Bella continued with friendly
affability,--"Yes, indeed! many people give instruction in order to
make a brilliant appearance, and many deal forth their knowledge
reluctantly; but you, Doctor, teach like a beneficent friend who
delights in being able to impart, but takes a yet greater pleasure in
bestowing a benefit upon the recipient; and you impart in such a way
that one is not only convinced you understand the matter, but believes
that he himself does."

Clodwig looked up in amazement, for he had said the evening before
precisely the same thing of Eric's father, while making mention of the
fact that the only little treatise ever published by him had received
the disinterested help of Professor Dournay.

Bella withdrew after having thus shown her friendliness and her
admiring surprise. The two men sat together for a long time after this,
and then went to Eric's room, where Eric handed to the count a copy of
his Doctor's thesis; and it then first occurred to him how strangely it
had happened that he had there discussed the apocryphal treatise of
Plato, "Concerning Riches," and now he was to be called upon to educate
one under conditions of wealth. Eric and Clodwig were greatly struck by
this coincidence.

Clodwig requested Eric to translate the manuscript from Latin into
German. He did so, and it was to them a time of real enjoyment.

When they arose, Clodwig observed to Eric how strange it must appear to
him to find the Medusa and Victoria opposite each other; but he
confessed to a heresy which met with his own approval, though not in
accordance with the received scientific explanation. The Medusa was to
him the expression of all-consuming passion, which stiffens with horror
the sinning beholder who sees therein the image of himself; and it was
very significant that the ancients represented this entire abandonment
of all the higher spiritual nature through a womanly form, the
unrestrained indulgence of passion being opposite to the truly
feminine, and so the more unseemly. The Victoria of Rauch, on the other
hand, appeared to him to be the embodiment of an eminently modern
spiritual conception.

"This countenance is wonderfully like"--he did not finish the sentence,
but, stammeringly beginning another, continued: "This is not that
Goddess of Victory who wears proudly and loftily the crown upon her
gleaming forehead; this is the representation of victory which is
inwardly sad that there is a foe to be conquered. Yes, still further,
this Victoria is to me the goddess of victory over self, which is
always the grandest victory."

After Clodwig had made this remark, he said, "Now I leave you to
yourself; you have already talked too much to-day and yesterday." Eric
remained alone, and while he was writing to his mother, Clodwig sat
with Bella and said to her:--

"This young man is a genius, and ought not to live in a dependent
situation, bound to routine service; he ought to be free like a bird,
singing, flying, as he will, without any fixed and unalterable limits
of time and occupation, and especially he ought to be by himself. It is
a joy to meet with such originality and depth."

"Is he not too well aware of his own worth?" asked Bella, a flash of
displeasure gleaming in her eyes.

"Not at all. He does not wish to shine, and yet he is genuine light. I
feel as if I stood in the clear sunshine of the spirit; he is a man of
pure character, and I am at home with him in the inmost realities, as I
am with myself." Bella said nothing, and Clodwig continued:--"I like
especially in him, that he lets one who is talking with him complete
his sentence; he does not interrupt by any movement or any change of
feature; and in such an active and richly endowed mind this is doubly
valuable, and something more than mere civility."

Bella still kept silence, bent over her embroidery, on which she was
diligently intent. At last she looked up, and with a beaming
countenance, said, "I rejoice in your joy."

"And I should like to perpetuate this joy," Clodwig replied.

"He is a handsome man," added Bella.

Clodwig answered, smiling, "Now, since you have called my attention to
it, I am reminded how handsome he is. But he does not plume himself
upon his good looks, and I think _that_ to be genuine beauty, which,
when present has nothing strikingly prominent, all being in harmonious
combination, but which, when thought of afterwards, reveals new and
beautiful attributes and forms. Most handsome men are forever looking
into a mirror visible only to themselves. But why should I give up this
man to somebody else, and above all to this Sonnenkamp? I am situated
so that I can offer him a home with me for years! Why not do it?

"Why not?" said Bella, putting away her embroidery. "I need not assure
you that I have no other joy in life than yours. So it is now with this
brief happiness of yours, this childlike confidence you place in this
noble-looking man. I see also that he has something elevated in his
nature; he imparts much and gladly, is stimulating and quickening."

"Why not then?"

"Because we want to be alone! Clodwig, let us be by ourselves! It is my
desire that even my brother should soon leave us; every third person,
whether related by blood or by the most intimate spiritual ties, causes
a separation, so that we do not have exclusive possession of each
other."

While she was speaking, she had placed her hand on Clodwig's arm, and
now she grasped his hand and stroked it. As Clodwig went away, Bella
looked after him, shaking her head.

Bella came to the dinner-table handsomely dressed, and with a single
rose in her hair. The men appeared weary, but she was extremely
animated. She spoke a great deal of the happiness she had always had in
being at the house of Eric's parents, where no ignoble word was ever
uttered, for the mother cherished every high thought, like a priestess
tending and feeding the smallest flame of the ideal on the household
altar. Eric, who thought that he was proof against any further
excitement, experienced a new and elevated emotion.

They drove out at noon, and Bella was silent during the ride. They
visited a former Roman encampment. Bella sat alone under a tree, upon a
covering spread upon the ground, and the men walked about.

When they came together around the evening lamp, Bella seemed like an
entirely different person, having for the third time, that day, changed
her dress. She was now very lively.

Bella had never been, during her whole life, dissatisfied with herself;
she had never repented anything she had done, always saying. You were
fully justified, at the moment when you acted. She did not wish at this
time to appear in a false light to her husband's favorite, or as a mere
trifling appendage; Eric should know who she was, that she was not only
Clodwig's wife, but over and above all, Bella von Pranken.

She was ready to play as soon as Clodwig expressed the wish to hear
her. The quick and eager haste with which she took off her ringing and
rattling bracelets, which Eric at once with marked attentiveness
received from her hand and placed upon the marble table under the
mirror,--the manner in which she poised her hands like two fluttering
pinions, and then brought them down upon the keys, like a swimmer who
is in his element,--all served to show how resolved she was to occupy
no second place. And never, since she had been Clodwig's wife, had
Bella played as she now did in the presence of a third person,
reserving hitherto her masterly performance on the piano for Clodwig
alone. To-day her execution displayed such zest and skill that Clodwig
himself, who knew every peculiar excellence in her method of playing,
received a new surprise and delight.

During a pause, Eric seemed to strike the right key by remarking, that,
after such elevated enjoyment in the intercourse with noble persons and
in the wide survey of unbounded nature, there is nothing for the soul
but to let the feelings dissolve and die away in the unlimited and
shoreless ethereal atmosphere of music. A realm of waking dreams is
then opened to us, a feeling of the infinite is awakened, that creates
a something beyond what any word or look can express, and which is
never unfolded by any sight or sound of nature from the unfathomed and
mysterious depths of the human soul. As in answer to the inquiry, what
influence predominated in him before composing, Mozart said, 'nothing
but music which _would_ come out,'--the pure musical impulse without
any definite conception, without any limiting idea, only a rhythmic,
billowy undulation of tones,--so it is that we, after the tension of
thought and observation, through music are admitted into that pure,
undefined, yet all-encompassing realm, which is a chaos, but a chaos
that is no longer formless and void.

Bella, who sat reclining far back in a large arm-chair, gazed at Eric
in such rapt wonder, that he dropt his eyes, unconsciously fixed upon
her. To the surprise of both the men she suddenly rose, and bade them
good night. She first gave her hand to Clodwig, then to Eric, and then
to Clodwig again, and quickly went out.

Clodwig remained only a short time with his guest, and then he also
took his leave. Eric went, in a sort of ecstacy, to his chamber. How
rich was the world! what a day this had been from the dawn in the dewy
wood even until this moment! and human happiness was a reality! Here
were two who had attained rest and blessedness, such as could hardly be
believed to exist in the actual world.

While he was standing still upon the carpeted stairs, from unconscious
thoughts of the rich house he was about to enter, and conscious
thoughts of the full and rounded existence of his host and hostess, the
question suddenly occurred to him, Is this beautiful life, this
perfecting of the soul in an extended view of nature, and its
saturation in all that is beautiful in science and art, possible to
wealth only, to freedom from care and want, to emancipation from all
labor and from common needs?

As, holding the light in his hand, he entered the balcony chamber, he
remained standing terrified, as if a ghost had appeared to him, before
the bust of the Medusa, which with open mouth fixed upon him its
overpowering and paralyzing gaze.

How is this? how has this image so suddenly assumed this likeness? Did
Clodwig have any suspicion of it? It was indeed terrible.

Eric turned about, and now, as if it were some trick played upon him by
an evil spirit, the contrasted image also, the Victoria, has a likeness
to Bella when, silent and quiet, she modestly and humbly bent down her
head.

Had Clodwig any suspicion of this wonderful play of opposites, and did
he not acknowledge this, this morning when he avowed his heresy to the
received opinion?

The pulse in Eric's temples beat violently. He put out the light,
looked for a long time out into the dark night, and sought to recall
afresh to his recollection the bright plenitude of the day's
experience.




                              CHAPTER XII.

                            FRAU ADVENTURE.


In the morning Eric put on his uniform, for so Clodwig had advised with
cautious reference to a former experience. A horse had been placed at
his disposal, and his portmanteau was to be sent after him.

Clodwig's contracted brow grew smooth as the handsome, noble-looking
young man entered the parlor in his becoming uniform. After greeting
him, he pointed to Eric's arm, saying:--

"Take off the crape before you go."

Eric looked at him surprised, and Clodwig explained himself.

"You are not to be sentimental, and you must agree with me that it is
not well to enter, for the first time, a stranger's house, wearing a
badge of mourning. People often desire a sympathy which they cannot
expect to receive. You will be less disturbed in the end, if you
impress it upon yourself at first that you are entering service, and
moreover are to serve an extremely rich man, who would like to keep
everything unpleasant out of sight. The more you keep to yourself your
own personal feelings, the more free will you be."

Clodwig smiling quoted from Lucian's "Sale of the Philosophic Sects,"
where the Stoic as a slave cries out, "Even if I am sold, I am still
free within myself!"

Eric good-humoredly took the crape from his sleeve.

Bella had excused herself from appearing at breakfast, and sent Eric a
message of farewell till their next meeting.

The two men were now alone. Clodwig gave Eric a letter for Herr
Sonnenkamp, but begged him not to make any positive engagement until he
had seen him again, adding almost inaudibly, "Perhaps I shall keep you
for myself."

As a mother crams all the pockets of her son going away from home, so
Clodwig sought to give his young friend all sorts of instructions.

"I have but slight acquaintance with the boy," said he; "I only know
that he is very handsome. Do you not agree with me that it is a great
mistake to give a young soul the foundation principles which are to
determine his life-course, before this young soul has collected the
material of life or knows his own tendencies?"

"Certainly," replied Eric; "it is like building railroads in
uncultivated or half-civilized countries, before roads have made
possible the interchange of agricultural and manufactured products. The
root of the disease of modern humanity, as my father often said, lies
in the habit of teaching children dogmatically the laws which govern
the universe; it is a superfluous labor based on ostentation, which is
unfruitful, because it leaps over the first steps."

Clodwig nodded several times. This man might be trusted to sail out
into the open sea; he would always have a compass with him.

The time of departure came; Clodwig said,--

"I will go a little way with you."

Eric took his horse by the bridle, and they walked on side by side. The
old man often fixed an anxious, affectionate look upon his young
friend. He repeated that he considered it a highly honorable task to
train the young American for a useful life; then he advised him again
to keep this one object in view, and to turn resolutely from all gossip
concerning Herr Sonnenkamp, who had certainly left many rumors
uncontradicted, either because he was too upright to trouble himself
about them, or because he preferred to have some facts of his history
hidden by false reports. It was undoubtedly singular, that though he
was a German by birth, not a single relative had ever been seen at his
house; probably, however, he was of low origin, and helped his
relatives on condition that they should have no intercourse with him;
Major Grassler had hinted at something of that kind.

"One thing more," said Clodwig, standing still, "say nothing to Herr
Sonnenkamp of your having for a short time devoted yourself to the
supervision of criminals. I would cast no slur upon him, but many men
have an aversion to persons of such a calling."

Eric thanked him, seeing clearly his earnest desire to smooth the path
before him. They went on in silence until Clodwig said, "Here I will
turn back, and let me give you one warning."

"A warning?"

"Perhaps that isn't the right word; I only want to say to you, make up
your mind to pass in the world for an enthusiast. A man who seeks
anything in life except profit, pleasure, and honor, appears an
enthusiast to many people who have no sympathy with such a
predilection; the world cannot be just to such men, it must condemn
them, because it sees its own strivings condemned by them. You will
have to bear a martyrdom all your life long, if you remain true,--and I
believe you will; bear it with a proud self-respect, and remember that
a new, old friend understands you, and lives your life with you."

Suddenly the old man laid his hands on Eric's shoulders, kissed him,
and walked hastily away, without once turning.

Eric mounted and rode on; as he turned the corner of the wood, he
looked back and saw Clodwig standing still. Bella had watched the pair
from the balcony, which commanded a view of their whole course; now she
went to meet her husband, and was not a little surprised to observe in
his face an emotion which she had never seen there before; he seemed to
have been weeping.

"You were right," said Clodwig hastily, "it is better for us to remain
by ourselves. But I rejoice in this new generation which differs from
ours; it wavers no longer between the two poles of enthusiasm and
despair; it has, if I may so express it, a sort of intellectual
inspiration, and I believe it will bring more to pass than we have. I
am glad that I am not too old to understand these young people born
into an age of railroads. I admire and love this present age; never
before has every man in every calling known so definitely what he
wishes and ought to do, both in science and practical life."

Bella thought she must make some, reply, and said that young Sonnenkamp
would be fortunate to have such a guide.

"It pains me that he must enter that house."

"Yet you have recommended him."

"Yes, that's it exactly. One is punished sooner or later for
undertaking anything with half-sincerity or against his real
convictions. I have brought myself into closer relations with this Herr
Sonnenkamp, without really wishing it. In his house I always have a
feeling as if I were in a family where horse-flesh is eaten. But, good
heavens! it may be prejudice, custom; horse-flesh is also one kind of
meat. But now I am free from, anxiety for the excellent young man."

Clodwig seemed unable to cease talking of Eric; and as he recalled what
had passed, he was astonished at all that he had learned from him in so
short a time; pointing to an apple-tree in blossom, he exclaimed: "Look
at that tree in bloom, which when shaken covers every one with
blossoms, and yet its richness is unimpaired. Such is this Dournay."

Bella replied, that it must be a hard task for a man who was so spoken
and thought of to live up to the standard expected of him.

"May not such pleasure in imparting," she asked doubtfully, "be an
exaggerated self-esteem or pure vanity?"

"O no! this young man does not wish to make a show; he only wishes that
no moment of existence may be utterly wasted. He lets his active spirit
work, and he must take satisfaction in the notice and sympathy of
others; without this satisfaction, the pleasure of imparting would be
impossible. That is the faith which removes mountains of prejudice."

"Faith?" said Bella, smiling beforehand at her own nice distinction,
"it seems to me rather like the permanent embalming of a want of
faith." He very zealously endeavored to show how this was, rather, the
difficult and painful transmission of one's life.

He spoke long and eagerly. Bella appeared to listen, but hardly heard
what he said; she smiled to herself at the old diplomatist, who had
something incomprehensibly child-like, almost childish, about him. She
threw her head back proudly, conscious of her inflexible virtue, which
was strongly armed even against her husband, who wished to bring her
into constant intercourse with a young man so richly endowed.

In the mean time Eric had ridden on through the wood, filled with fresh
animation by the happy chance which had befallen him. He took a firm
hold of his horse's bridle, full of that confident spirit to which
every undertaking seems sure of success, or, at least, of only short
and temporary failure. He congratulated himself on the good fortune
that had helped him to win so easily and entirely a man of refined
character, who was evidently somewhat cautiously reserved towards most
men.

He had left his past life on the mountain behind him, and a new one was
beginning. Smiling, he thought, The heroes of old must have felt in my
mood, when they knew that they were under the protection of one of the
gods of Olympus.

At a turn in the wood he stopped, and, taking Clodwig's unsealed letter
from his pocket, read as follows:


"A neighbor's greeting to Herr Sonnenkamp, at Villa Eden.

"Had Fate granted me a son, I should consider it as a completion of the
great blessing, to be able to give him this man as a tutor.

                           "CLODWIG, COUNT VON WOLFSGARTEN.
WOLFSGARTEN CASTLE, May 4, 186-."


Eric set spurs to his horse, and rode gaily on through the wood, where
birds were singing amid the fresh young leaves. As he passed through
the village, he saw at the window of the Rath-haus, behind blooming
wall-flowers, a rosy, fair-haired maiden, who drew back quickly as he
bowed to her. He would have liked to turn his head to see whether she
was looking after him, but he did not venture to do so.

After a little while, it occurred to him that he was very vain to
believe that this lingering behind the flowers concerned him at all;
Lina had undoubtedly expected to see Baron von Pranken, when she heard
his horse approaching.

Eric was now riding along the river-bank in the valley. He was so full
of cheerfulness, that songs rose to his lips as they had not done for a
long time; he did not give them voice, but sang them in his soul. The
whole fulness and variety of thought, perception, and feeling were
stirring in his heart. As he saw the sun shining on the glass dome of
Villa Eden, it struck him like a lightning flash,--

Why is such a free, delightful existence denied me? why must I labor in
the service of others? Then came the thought. But what should I do with
such an indolent, selfish life? Then the riddle presented itself, How
is one to educate a wealthy boy?

And so strangely are thoughts associated in the human mind that Eric
felt, not that he could solve this riddle, but that he could understand
how the ancients had represented the idea of enigmatical questioning
and the riddle under the form of the Sphinx.

Then again came the inquiry, How can one educate a rich boy, who knows
that an estate like that, and untold wealth, are to be his, and who
sees no need for exertion in the life before him?

Eric had been looking down; now he threw back his head and smiled as he
thought, Neither pupil nor tutor is a mere abstract idea; both are
living, variously endowed beings. Such questions can receive no general
answer, and all riddles are like stormy weather out of doors, that,
seen through the dim atmosphere from the shelter of a house, seems
intolerable, but once out in the midst of it, one feels refreshed.

All his puzzling doubts and speculations seemed cleared away, and he
felt ready armed to wrestle with the problem. "Come on, riddle, I am
ready for you," he said almost aloud, and rode on at a quick trot.

In the midst of his doubts and thoughts a pleasant smile suddenly
spread over his face. He wondered whether he were not under some spell,
and all the frolicsome humor of youth came over him as he uttered aloud
a letter which he would write to his mother.


"DEAR MOTHER:

"You must let yourself be named Frau Adventure, for your son, Doctor
Adventure, Captain Hero, in the midst of railway cars and telegraphs,
has fallen upon Dream-land, where he is fed upon the sweet-bread of
praise, and the sugared almonds of protection, by a pair of spirits who
watch over the Holy Grail. He is now seated on a bay horse, and has the
magic word sesame of a sage hermit in his pocket, and all things come
at his bidding, and each says, 'Heart, what dost thou desire?' Dear
mother, if you want a quiet little island, only say so; I have
innumerable ones to dispose of.

"And there's a postscript, dear mother. Suppose the millionaire,
towards whom I am riding, should be Uncle Adam? That would make the
fairy tale complete."


At the thought that this fanciful conjecture might be a probability,
Eric stopped short. Then he rode briskly along the broad road, on each
side of which grew great nut-trees, dropping their caterpillar-like
blossoms on the path. The horse trotted on bravely, his black mane
flying in the wind as the rider lifted his cap to let the fresh air
cool his hot brow.





                                BOOK II.




                               CHAPTER I.

                           A MORNING IN EDEN.


The boats sail up and down the river, the railway trains move on this
side and on that, and persons from all countries, and in every relation
of life, get refreshment from the view.

There thou wouldst like to dwell, many a one thinks, and to pass away
thy days in the regular and constant enjoyment of nature, and in
voluntary labor, solitary, or in the society of congenial persons.

The banks of the Rhine have the appearance of being charming seats of
repose, while they also furnish enough of stirring life. The high-road
of intercourse with the world lies before the very threshold of the
house; and from the midst of solitude, every hour can unite itself with
the great world's varied and bustling activity.

Cheerful towns and villages along the banks, with their castles and
vineyards, their beautiful and well-kept country-seats, are everywhere
seen, forming an almost unbroken chain.

From town to town, and from house to house, stories are narrated of the
narrow escapes of the inhabitants, who saved themselves with resolute
strength from the ingulfing flood, or with the last energy of despair
reached the shore, many being dashed with violence upon the bank.

He who comes an entire stranger from abroad, and makes his home here,
can feel assured that it is at his option to cultivate an acquaintance
with the old residents, or to remain by himself. The continual current
of strangers, coming and going, allows him who remains to abide in
complete isolation.

Whose is that beautiful country-house yonder, which looks to the
passer-by, with its tower gleaming from a distance, like a white swan
nestling in the green bank? Travellers on the boats passing up and down
the river often ask this question, and receive the reply, that the
villa is called Eden, and that it is a real Eden, as far as one can
judge from the outside, for it is all shut up and guarded, with
spring-guns and steel traps the whole length of the garden walls. The
servants have permission to show the house and park only when the owner
is away on a journey, and then they take in a great deal of money.

One praises the wonderful stables with marble mangers; another, the
hot-houses all in bloom; a third, the beautiful arrangement of the
interior of the house; a fourth, the fruit-garden and the park, each
one according to his own peculiar taste. The owner is a rich American,
who has built this house, laid out the shady park, and changed the
half-swampy, ragged, and uneven meadow, extending down to the river,
into a fruit-garden that bears fruits of a size and beauty never before
seen in this region. He was rebuilding, too, the ruined castle there on
the height.

And what is the name of this man?

Sonnenkamp. Almost all his servants are foreigners; he visits only a
few persons in the vicinity, and seldom receives any one as a guest; no
one knows, indeed, who he is, or what he is. He has the finest horses,
but he, his wife, and a female companion drive and ride out together,
only at some convenient point to turn back again on the public highway.

On the morning that Eric rode to the villa, a large, thick carpet was
laid by servants in morning livery on the west side upon the extensive
gravelled square. A round table with green damask covering was placed
near a many-colored pyramid of fragrant flowers, and on the table was
afterwards set a large, ground crystal vase, with artistically arranged
flowers and bouquets, and plates for four persons.

A side-table was placed near a blossoming copse of laburnums and
variegated lilacs, and on it a large silver tea-urn with lighted lamp.
A thin vapor soon went up from the urn. Two great rocking-chairs were
put in suitable places near by.

A young man who stood aside, taking no part in the arrangement, looked
out upon the landscape, where one could enjoy a view extending over the
fruit-garden and the fountain, in whose basin two pairs of swans were
swimming, over the meadows; and now he turned away from the prospect,
inspected the preparations, and with the words, "All right," withdrew
with the servants. The tea-urn steamed, and the chairs and table seemed
to be awaiting the company.

A pert finch alighted upon the back of one of the rocking-chairs, and
whistled to his little mate in the trees: "that was a fine set-out, and
he would like, if he could, to do the same for his little ones."

The forward, impudent young father was, however, soon scared away, for
at the sound of approaching footsteps he started, and carelessly flew
directly over the hissing urn, whose vapor seemed to scald him, and to
change his course, so that he almost grazed the hat on the head of the
man who now came in.

The man limped a little with his right leg, but lie knew how to
disguise it so that this limping toned down the formidable impression
of his powerful, athletic frame.

He was a large, broad-shouldered man, in a well-fitted summer suit, and
a white neck-cloth with a standing shirt-collar after the English
fashion. The man of Herculean frame seemed to do all he could to
reduce, lessen, and soften the effect of it; but the finest garments
could do this only in a small degree. He wore a broad-brimmed straw
hat, so that at a short distance but little could be seen of his shaded
face. The young man who had superintended the arrangements a short time
before, bearing a large portfolio, followed the strong man.  The man in
the straw hat had sat down in the rocking-chair, which, together with
the portfolio, was made ready for him.

Removing the straw hat, which the valet Joseph at once took, he stroked
his smoothly-shaven, prominent chin with his large, fleshy hand, on
whose thumb, strange to say, was a ring like a single link of a chain,
a golden hoop with iron in the middle.

The man is Herr Sonnenkamp. His reddish face had deeply marked lines,
and over his broad brow a lock of gray hair was combed down. There was
a more than ordinary breadth between the bristling eyebrows, giving to
them the appearance of having been forcibly rent asunder. Whoever saw
this countenance once could never forget it.

The deeply-set, light-blue eyes had an expression of determination and
shrewdness; the shoulders were broad and somewhat round; the nose was
large, but not without a character of nobleness; the mouth was somewhat
curved with imperious disdain. The whole countenance was worn and
anxious, but a domineering energy was visible in all its traits.

The impression at the first was, that one would not like to have
this man for an enemy. "Hand here," he now said, taking out of his
vest-pocket a ring on which were suspended some very small keys.

Joseph held the portfolio in the most convenient position for
Sonnenkamp to unlock, and then took out the letters it contained.
Sonnenkamp speedily arranged them, placing together those with a
foreign stamp, and by the side of them a large pile having an inland
postage mark. Joseph now laid down the hat and the portfolio upon the
empty rocking-chair, and with his ready scissors cut every envelope.

Herr Sonnenkamp quickly ran over the opened letters, and put them
aside. He only looked at the seal and address of some of the inland
ones, and directed that they should be placed again in the portfolio;
he put two of the foreign in his pocket, and, placing the rest back
with his own hand, locked the portfolio.

The folding-doors of the terrace were opened, and Herr Sonnenkamp rose,
taking from the chair his broad straw hat. Two female forms appeared on
the terrace. One, tall, with a long, pale, sad face, wore a morning cap
with deep-red ribbons; and a flaming red shawl; the other was a small,
pretty figure, with sharp, bloodless features, piercing brown eyes, and
coal-black hair lying flat upon the head; she was one of those
countenances that have plainly never been youthful, and to which
advancing age can do no harm. Her dress was of black silk, and she had
suspended from her neck a mother-of-pearl cross that glistened and
shone upon her breast.

Herr Sonnenkamp  had that American trait, including in itself so much
that is good, of respectful courteousness and considerate care toward
his own household and relatives; he went to meet the two ladies at the
steps, nodded pleasantly to the lady in black, and extending his hand
to the lady in the red shawl, asked in a kindly tone after her health,
using the English language.

The lady, Frau Ceres, did not deem it necessary to make any reply. She
went to her seat at the breakfast table, and a female attendant
immediately placed a shawl over her lap, and a waiter pushed under her
feet a cushioned footstool.

The lady in black, Signora Boromea Perini, went to the side-table, and
took with a spoon from the tea-canister, which a servant held, the
requisite measure of tea.

"Where is Roland?" inquired Frau Ceres, in a listless tone.

"He will soon be here," answered Sonnenkamp, and made a sign to have
him sent for. Fräulein Perini brought the first cup to Frau Sonnenkamp,
to whom it appeared too great an exertion to pour in a couple of drops
of milk. In a very subdued tone, Herr Sonnenkamp asked, "Will you eat
anything, dear child?"

Frau Ceres sipped a spoonful, then half a one, and looked about, as if
spent with the effort. It seemed to be a burden to her to be obliged to
sip the tea herself.

"Where is Roland?" she inquired again. "It is inexcusable that he is so
irregular. Did you not say something, Madame Perini?"

"Nothing, my gracious lady."

Herr Sonnenkamp remarked in a very mild, pacifying tone, if she would
endure it patiently a little longer, Roland would receive, it was to be
hoped, a tutor at last who would bring him under the proper discipline.
He then spoke of the letter which Otto von Pranken had written to him.
At the mention of this name, Fräulein Perini let a biscuit fall into
her cup, and busied herself in fishing it out again, while Sonnenkamp
added that he should read no more applications, until he had become
acquainted with the person recommended by Herr von Pranken.

"Is the man one of the nobility?" asked Frau Ceres.

"I do not know," replied Sonnenkamp, though he did know very well; "he
is a captain."

Frau Ceres, without saying anything, determined within herself to wait
until this question of nobility was settled.

Fräulein Perini, feeling that she must speak for Frau Ceres as if
knowing what she thought, looked at her smilingly and observed, "One
seldom meets with so perfect a chevalier as the Baron von Pranken, at
least not in Germany; even more than the countess Bella he has----"

"I pray you," Herr Sonnenkamp here interposed, and his countenance had
the expression of a bull-dog trying to be tender, "I pray you not to
praise others at the expense of the countess; the ladies are bewitched
with Herr von Pranken, and for my part, I am with the countess Bella."

Frau Ceres gave an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, and
held the gold spoon pressed to her lips. He boasts of being fascinated,
she rightly thought, and it is only for the sake of making a
complimentary speech.

"But where can Roland be?" she suddenly exclaimed, and pushed against
the footstool so that the table shook, and everything upon it rattled.

The servant, entering, said that Roland would not come to breakfast, as
he did not wish to eat anything to-day, but to remain with Nora, who
had five puppies.

"Then tell him," rejoined Sonnenkamp, and his countenance flushed a
dark red even to the roots of his thin hair,--"then tell him that if he
does not instantly come, I will have all the five young ones
immediately drowned in the Rhine."

The servant hastened out, and a beautiful youth, clothed in blue
velvet, soon made his appearance; he was pale, and his finely cut lip
quivered. He had evidently gone through a hard struggle.

The boy was tall and slender, and his features were strikingly
beautiful, delicately regular as if chiselled. He took off his
jockey-cap, and showed his dark brown hair, well arranged in thick
curls about his forehead.

"Come to me," said his mother, "and kiss me, Roland, you look so pale;
is anything the matter with you?"

The boy kissed his mother, and, shaking his head as if denying that
anything ailed him, said in a voice hovering between a falsetto and a
bass, "I am as well as my young dogs."

A deep color dyed his cheeks, and his lips became purple.

"I do not wish to punish you on the day that you receive your tutor,"
said Sonnenkamp, casting a glance toward his wife.

"I? a tutor again? no tutor for me," replied the boy; "and if you give
me one, I will soon make him take his leave."

Sonnenkamp smiled. This bold, defiant attitude of the boy seemed
specially to delight him. When Roland, who had just declined all food,
ate now heartily, his mother followed his example; in the satisfaction
of knowing that her son had so good an appetite, she also found one, so
that Fräulein Perini could not refrain from remarking to Roland,--

"See, Master Roland, how on your dear mother's account you should come
regularly at meal-time, for she can only taste food when you also
partake of it."

The boy gave Fräulein Perini a peculiar look, but made no reply; there
seemed to be no good understanding between the boy and the companion of
his mother. Fräulein Perini, however, showed her friendliness toward
the boy, promising to pay a visit with him to the young dogs after
breakfast.

"Do you know why dogs are born blind?" asked Roland.

"Because God has so ordained it."

"But why has God ordained it?"

Fräulein Perini looked puzzled at this question, and Herr Sonnenkamp
came to her help, saying that he who was continually asking the reason
why would never accomplish anything, and that Roland had fallen into
this way of constant questioning, because he was not willing to learn
anything thoroughly.

The boy looked down. A certain sullenness or dulness, perhaps both,
appeared in the expression of his face.

Frau Ceres left the breakfast table, seated herself in a rocking-chair,
and contemplated her long, delicate, almond-shaped nails.

Herr Sonnenkamp told her what a number of letters in German, French,
and English he had received in answer to his advertisement; the
candidates had generally enclosed their photographs, and rightly, for
personal appearance was significant.

Frau Ceres listened like one who is sleepy, sometimes closing her eyes.
When Sonnenkamp remarked how much misery there was in the world, a
constant looking for a perfect success, to which every man believes
that money is the one thing needful, she threw upon him a sidelong
glance of surprise, apparently not comprehending how any one could
live, and be destitute of means.

Fräulein Perini, the companion, was a useful mediator; she knew how,
while Frau Ceres remained apparently or really quite inattentive, to
keep up the conversation with short questions, or remarks, as she
occasionally looked up from her embroidery and cast a glance, the real
convent glance, shy but benignant, upon Herr Sonnenkamp. In this way
Frau Ceres could listen, without exerting herself to join in the
conversation.

Fräulein Perini seemed to serve Herr Sonnenkamp as a person upon whom
he could practice politeness; and they stood in the most courteous
relation to each other. He would, in fact, have been glad to dismiss
her long before, but she was fastened upon him like the rheumatism-ring
which he wore on his left thumb.

Frau Ceres was always carefully waited upon by Fräulein Perini; never
alone, she had a constant companion and attendant, and when they drove
out, Herr Sonnenkamp always left the seat next his wife to Fräulein
Perini, riding backwards himself. He could not be rid of her, and it
was best to treat her with polite consideration. Besides, she had many
excellent qualities, and best of all, no whims; she was always
even-tempered, never put herself forward, and always had an opinion,
which generally was one that caused no discussion. She never appeared
offended; if she was overlooked, she seemed not to notice it; or if
drawn into conversation, she was agreeable, and even witty; she was
always ready to help, to do for and to meet others, and never talked of
herself.

Every morning, summer and winter, she went to church, and was always in
order, as if ready for a journey at an hour's notice; she knew where
everything was in the house, and was never in the way in travelling.
She was always busy with embroidery, and there was no church for miles
around which had not an altar-cloth, or some part of the decoration, of
her work.

She spoke all the continental languages with ease, except German, which
she said she never could learn. Sonnenkamp was convinced, however, that
she understood it perfectly, and that her want of comprehension was
only a mask whose object it was easy to see.

Her relations with Roland were peculiarly distant. She treated him as
the young master of the house, but concerned herself no further about
him, even declining his father's proposal that she should instruct him
in the languages. She never stepped out of the circle that appeared
marked out for her; after being Manna's governess, she became wholly
and exclusively the companion of Frau Ceres; and this was a most safe
and honorable position.

The more Herr Sonnenkamp spoke of the recommendation of Herr von
Pranken, so much the more attentive Fräulein Perini seemed to become,
but she did not utter a single word; but when Herr Sonnenkamp asked her
what had been her feelings when she was first introduced to the family
at Nice, she answered, "I had the happiness to be introduced to you by
my noble guardian, the Dean."

Roland was impatient and beckoned to Fräulein Perini to go with him:
but Sonnenkamp requested her to remain with the mother, and in order to
manifest some sympathy in his son's joy, he himself accompanied him.

Roland was the only one whom the dog allowed to come near her; and when
Herr Sonnenkamp ventured it, she growled, and snapped at him with her
teeth. He was very angry, but he restrained himself and went away.

Roland brought his cross-bow and shot at the doves and sparrows in the
courtyard. Suddenly the boy left off. A horseman, with horse well in
hand, galloped up to the gate.




                              CHAPTER II.

                           THE ARROW CAUGHT.


"Shoot away, my boy, I'll catch the arrow!" the rider called from his
horse, and the boy stood still, as if he had seen a miracle. Eric had
heard much of Roland's beauty, but he was astonished at the charming
grace of his figure. The boy's whole being seemed strained with
amazement and excitement, like the bow which he held bent in his hand.
The rider feasted his eyes on the picture. Roland's head was bare, his
jockey-cap lay near him on a great dog resting at his feet, and just
raising his head as if to ask whether he should start up and drive the
stranger away.

"Shoot away! Fire!" cried the rider, in a commanding tone. "Have you no
courage?"

The arrow whizzed from the bow, the rider bent sideways and caught it
with a sure hand.

"Either you are a bad marksman, or you tried not to hit me!" he
exclaimed.

Astounded and motionless, with his bow lowered, the boy gazed at him
while he was approaching and dismounting, and then asked,--

"Can you be the hero Siegfried?"

"Ah! then you know about him," replied Eric, gaily. "No, my young
friend." He offered his hand to Roland, who seized it.

"Hero Siegfried wore no uniform with a red collar. But now help me to
dispose of my horse."

"It is like one of Count Wolfsgarten's horses."

"It is his."

"Ivan!" shouted the boy.

A groom appeared and led the horse to the stable. As Eric and Roland
followed, they heard from behind a partition near by a whining, and a
weak attempt at barking.

"You have some young St. Bernard dogs close by," said Eric.

"Yes; do you know them by their whimper?"

"I can't tell the particular breed in that way. I saw a St. Bernard dog
out there in the court; but I know by the sound that these puppies are
blind and not a week old."

The boy looked at Eric as if he were a magician; he opened a door, but
begged him to go no nearer, because the mother was very savage, and was
just then suckling all the five young ones. Eric did approach her,
however, and she looked at him without growling, and again the boy
gazed at the stranger in astonishment.

"_You_ can certainly tell me why dogs are born blind," he began.

Eric smiled. A boy who asks questions is desirous of instruction and
ready for it; it is only necessary to put things before him which will
lead him to question.

"Not only dogs," replied Eric, "but cats, eagles, and hawks come into
the world blind. It may be that those animals which need sharp eyes for
their support and protection have a gradual development of the power of
sight, so that they do not see the light, as the saying is, all at
once. Man even, though he opens his eyes at his birth, has no real
power of sight at first; he has to learn to see during his first year.
Man, like the brute, learns to use his limbs in his earliest years, but
one thing the brute wants, he can never acquire articulate speech."

A thrill passed over the boy as he listened to the stranger, whose
words again had a tone of strangely magnetic power. In the excited
state in which Eric had been for two days, and which reached its height
at this moment, it seemed to him as if he were acting out a fairy tale,
or one of those dreams in which one says to himself, in the wonder of
the dream-life, "Wake up, you are certainly dreaming!" There was
something which gave him a sense of being merely a spectator of his own
life, though he knew that he was actually living it. He compelled
himself to collect his thoughts, and said at last,--

"You are the son of Herr Sonnenkamp, are you not? and your name is
Roland?"

"Roland Franklin Sonnenkamp; what is yours?"

"Eric Dournay."

The boy started; he thought he had heard the name within a few days,
but was not quite sure.

"You are a Captain of Artillery, sir?" said he, pointing to the
uniform.

"I have been. Then you know the different uniforms, my boy."

"Yes; but Herr von Pranken doesn't speak to me so familiarly."

"I think we had better both keep up the familiar manner that we began
with," answered Eric, holding out his hand to the boy. Roland's hand
was cold, all his blood had rushed to his head. The boy was surprised
and taken captive in spite of himself.

"If you like," he began again, "you can have one of my puppies. Two I
mean to keep; one I shall bring up for my sister Manna; Baron von
Pranken is to have the fourth, and you may have the fifth."

His face beaming with satisfaction, Eric looked at the boy; this
pleasure in giving showed that there was something good to build upon.

"Perhaps you know that in Homer the host does honor to a guest by
bestowing some gift as a token of remembrance."

"I know nothing about Homer."

"Have none of your tutors told you anything of him?"

"All of them. They made a great talk about him, but it's stupid."

Eric led the conversation back, and asked, "Who helps you train the
dogs?"

"One who knows all about it, the huntsman Klaus, whom they call the
screamer; he will be pleased when I tell him that you knew how old the
puppies were by their whimper."

Eric nodded. A boy like this might easily be guided to knowledge, if
one could once get the lead.

Eric now asked Roland to conduct him to his father. As they were about
to leave the stable, a snow-white pony with long mane turned his head
quite round and neighed.

"That is my Puck," said Roland. He was evidently very happy in showing
the stranger all his treasures, almost like a little child who displays
a toy for the wonder of his playmate. Eric could not but praise the
beautiful creature, which looked at him with great, wild, shy eyes.

He took the boy's hand, and they went together through the large
botanical garden.

"Do you know about plants too?" asked Roland.

"No, I'm quite ignorant about them."

"So am I," said the boy, delighted; Eric's acknowledgment of an
ignorance which coincided with his own seemed to bring them nearer to
each other.

They passed over a plat where men were weeding and putting the ground
in order. A little old man, with a shy but shrewd look, was at work; he
took off his cap, and said good-morning. "Have you seen my father?"
asked Roland. "He is over there," replied the little man, pointing
toward the green-houses.

The long green-houses, constructed of pale-blue glass, came in sight. A
door stood open, within which a fountain was to be seen, in whose gray
marble basin lay blocks of stone with water plants growing in all their
crevices. Some of the trees which needed protection from the winter
were still here, and a few which did not thrive had thick wrappings on
trunk and branches.

They heard a voice. "There he is in the cold-house," said Roland. Eric
told him to turn back now, as he had something to say to his father
alone.

The boy stood as if rooted to the spot. In Eric's manner of ordering
him to go, there was an air of such irresistible authority that he did
not know what to make of it.

As Eric went forward, the boy stood motionless, then turned, snapped
his fingers, and whistled to himself.

Drawing a long breath, Eric stopped a moment to collect himself. What
if this boy were related to him by blood, and he were to find here his
missing uncle? Walking slowly and composedly, he entered the open door
of the green-house.




                              CHAPTER III.

                          THE FLAG IS HOISTED.


"Who's there? what do you want?" was asked by a form as it raised
itself up from a bed of black earth. A coarse, gray, sacklike linen
garment covered the form from head to foot; it was like that worn by
convicts, or rather, by the insane.

"What do you want? who are you? whom do you wish to see?" the man again
asked.

"I wish to see Herr Sonnenkamp."

"What do you want of him?"

"I would like to introduce myself to him."

"I am he. Who are you?"

"My name is Eric Dournay. Herr von Pranken had the kindness, day before
yesterday, to--"

"Ah! are you the man?" Sonnenkamp replied, drawing a long breath. With
trembling hands he unfastened the linen sack which he wore over his
coat, saying, with a forced smile, "You have surprised me in my
working-garb."

Rolling the sack together, and tossing it away, he said, "Was no
servant at hand? Do you always wear a uniform?"

It was the uniform then that gave him such a start, thought Eric. And,
on looking at the man, he was sure that he could not be his uncle. The
likeness of his missing uncle, which still hung in his father's study,
was present to his mind; it represented him as a slim, delicate form,
with a very prominent aquiline nose, and no trace of resemblance to
this athletic personage before his eyes.

"I am very sorry for having disturbed you," Eric resumed, convinced
that the first impression had been an unfavorable one. "I beg you
indeed to excuse me," he stammered out; "the Count von Wolfsgarten,
whose guest I have been, and from whom I bring to you a letter of
recommendation, has--"

"A letter from Count Wolfsgarten? Very welcome. I am very glad to see
you," replied Sonnenkamp, taking the letter.

"We have met very unexpectedly--there was no reason for
suspecting--prejudice as men--I mean--constraint--"

Sonnenkamp's tone had wholly changed; it had become gentle, kind,
almost tenderly beseeching.

He hastily ran his eye over the lines written by Clodwig, and then said
in a low tone,--

"I am very glad,--very welcome."

Looking, up from the letter, he made a sort of bow to Eric, and, as if
sure of acquiescence, remarked, "a nobleman--just what a nobleman ought
to be--is the Count Wolfsgarten. Do you stand as high in favor with the
Countess Bella?"

There was a touch of sarcasm in the tone of this last question.

Eric answered with an unmoved tone and look, "I am happy to enjoy
equally the favor of husband and wife."

"Fine, very fine," Sonnenkamp resumed. "But let us go out into the open
air. Are you a botanist too?"

Eric regretted that he had always neglected to extend his knowledge in
this direction.

Out in the open air, Sonnenkamp again surveyed the new-comer from head
to foot. Eric now for the first time noticed, that wholly forgetting
his military attire, he had taken off his cap. And when he perceived
the look with which he was surveyed, he realised what was the meaning
of private service, to give up one's self with his whole personal being
to the dominion of an individual.

In Sonnenkamp's survey there was something which made Eric feel as if
he were in a slave-market; and when Sonnenkamp stretched out his hand
with a peculiar gesture, it seemed as if he were about to take hold of
his chin, open his lips, and examine whether his teeth were all sound.

Eric shook his head at this strange fancy, and proudly stood erect,
feeling, that he must maintain his own ground steadily in the presence
of this man.

Sonnenkamp immediately gave orders to a servant near by to get
breakfast ready at the fountain.

"Did you come on horseback?" he asked.

"Count Wolfsgarten was kind enough to furnish me with a horse."

"You have already spoken with my son?"

"Yes."

"I am glad that you came in uniform," Sonnenkamp said, making no
further inquiries of Eric what he thought of the boy.

As if Eric were only a distinguished, well-recommended visitor,
Sonnenkamp now exhibited to him the object of his greatest pride. This
was a perfect collection of heaths, such as is rarely to be found. He
discoursed upon the nice distinctions in the different varieties, and
added: "I have been where the greater part of these heaths originated,
the table-land of the Cape of Good Hope."

"I am sorry," said Eric, "that my mother is not here, for she would
take great delight in this magnificent display."

"Is your mother a botanist?"

"Our botanical professor used to boast of her proficiency; but she
takes great pains to avoid every appearance of being a blue-stocking.
It must be very difficult to keep together these productions of
different climates."

"Very difficult indeed. These Ericas require, at the same time, a
regular temperature and a uniform moisture. You may often have noticed
how some little heath-plant with its delicate blooms, which is sent to
a lady for a flowers-stand, becomes dry and brittle after a few days.
This little plant will not endure the dry atmosphere of a room."

Sonnenkamp suddenly stopped, and smiled to himself. This stranger
professed only an ordinary degree of knowledge in order to be
agreeable, and to let the rich proprietor branch out and be eloquent
about his darling hobby. I can't be taken by such coarse bait, thought
Sonnenkamp. "Will you be so good as to put this tub from the stand upon
the ground?" he said, pointing to a very large Erica.

A momentary glance made Sonnenkamp aware that Eric understood well
enough that the motive was to find out whether he knew how to make
himself serviceable, and how to keep a humble position.

Eric complied very readily with the request, but Sonnenkamp had
immediately made up his mind, in spite of Clodwig's warm
recommendation, not to receive this man into his house.

He had two reasons. The stranger had seen him, as no other person could
ever boast, utterly thrown off his balance, and must therefore be
removed from his sight; now it appeared that he must maintain a
respectful demeanor, which was rather irksome.

He would, in the meanwhile, show to one so well-recommended every
respectful attention. He took pleasure in thinking how he would test
the man in all points, allow him to unfold himself in the consciousness
of a certainty of being employed, and then dismiss him without
assigning any reason for doing so.

All this passed through Sonnenkamp's thoughts while he was turning
round to lock the green-house door. The thing was as surely and as
firmly fixed in his mind as the door was surely and firmly looked.

"Do you speak English?" he asked, seeing his wife still sitting in the
rocking-chair; she had taken off the red shawl, and as she sat there,
her satin dress had a rich golden lustre.

"Captain, Doctor, I beg your pardon, what name?" said Sonnenkamp, in
introducing him.

"Dournay."

Frau Ceres gave a hardly perceptible nod, and, as if there were no one
else present, said in a peevish tone to her husband, that he paid no
attention to her, and had not said a single word to her about her new
dress. Sonnenkamp stood wholly at a loss to know what was the meaning
of this unexpected sally of his wife. Did she think it was a mark of
high-breeding to show the stranger such a degree of indifference? She
was not diplomatic enough for that. He turned, and as if apologising,
remarked to Eric that his wife loved gay colors.

In a tone of strict truth, Eric replied that he entirely coincided with
the gracious lady; that gay colors were in keeping with external
nature; and that people ought to be sunny and bright like the flowers.

Frau Ceres smiled at this friendly turn, and Eric continued in the same
strain, that it was a lamentable effect of the style of conversation
employed in society, that the expression even of a truth should be
regarded as mere civility and flattery, whenever it struck pleasantly
upon the ear; that words were deprived of their real meaning, and
people accustomed themselves to advance ideas which neither the speaker
nor the hearer actually believed; that our manner of talking in society
was like a card of invitation to an evening party, in which eight
o'clock was specified as the hour, when half past nine was meant; and
he who went at eight only brought the hosts into a dilemma.

Frau Ceres looked from Eric to her husband, and from her husband to
Eric, and as no one said anything, Eric continued, briefly pointing out
how colors in dress harmonised with the natural environment. But he
soon perceived that he was going too far in this exposition, and he
added that the attire of ladies approached nearer to the ethereal
bright plumage of the birds.

His mother now beckoned to Roland, who appeared in the distance. He
pointed to the summit of the tower. The mother looked up and smiled;
and the father also smiled when he saw the flag of the American Union
floating from its top.

"Who did that?" asked Sonnenkamp.

"I," Roland answered, with a joyous smile.

"What is it for?"

The boy's visage changed, and he cast a side-glance toward Eric.

Sonnenkamp screwed his under lip between his thumb and fore-finger into
a half-circle, and nodded silently.

Eric had noticed the boy's glance, and his heart beat for joy. He asked
the boy.

"Are you very proud of being an American?"

"Yes."

Eric was introduced to Fräulein Perini as she came up to them; grasping
the mother-of-pearl cross with her left hand, she made a very
ceremonious courtesy. Frau Ceres requested her to go with her to the
house. Sonnenkamp, Eric, and Roland remained by themselves.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                  THE BUYER EXAMINES WHAT IS OFFERED.


"Give me your hand, Roland," said Eric. The boy gave it, looking up
trustingly and joyfully.

"My young friend," Eric added, "I thank you for that testimony of
respect waving yonder; but now leave us, for your father wishes to
speak with me."

Father and son looked in amazement at the man who was giving his orders
in such a free and easy manner. The boy departed, Eric nodding to him
again.

After the two men were left by themselves, for a while no word was
spoken. Herr Sonnenkamp, who always carried his cigars loose in his
pocket, offered Eric a large, black, broken one, which he accepted and
lighted from the match Sonnenkamp held out to him, without taking it
into his own hand.

After drawing a few whiffs, he said,--"You will certainly agree with
me, that it is an impolite politeness for any one to insist on taking
the lighted match into his own hand; between this giving and taking,
one generally burns his fingers."

However insignificant this remark, it served for a beginning. Herr
Sonnenkamp leaned back in his chair, held the cigar-smoke for a long
time in his mouth, and then blew it out in perfect rings, which, as
they floated in the air, grew larger and larger until they vanished.

"You have great influence over the boy," he said, after a while.

"I think that the attraction is mutual, and this makes me hope that I
might succeed as the boy's tutor. Only love can educate, as love only
can create and form. An artist who does not love his calling can never
truly create. There are, indeed, many who love a child because they
give him instruction; but I can instruct only one whom I love."

"Fine, very fine,--noble. But Roland needs a strict hand."

"Love does not exclude but rather includes strictness; he who loves
requires perfection in himself, as well as in the object of his love,
and makes the highest demands."

Sonnenkamp nodded in a very friendly, even kindly manner; but there was
a sort of sneer upon his countenance, as looking down to the ground and
placing both hands upon his knees, he said:--

"We will speak now about personal matters; for things of that sort we
will find time by and by. You are a ----?"

"Philologist by profession; but I have devoted myself, by preference,
to practical education."

"I know that,--I know that," Sonnenkamp said, still looking down as he
spoke.

"I should like to know something about your personal history."

He did not look up, and Eric was deeply pained at the thought of being
obliged again to become his own biographer. He felt like a man who
speaks to a sober and cool listener after drinking with a set of boon
companions. He had unfolded himself freely and spontaneously to
Clodwig, the day before; and to-day he must do it in order to recommend
himself to a purchaser. And so it is! The seller must always say more,
and expatiate more upon his goods, than the buyer. Wealth was a
tyrannical power exhibiting itself under an entirely new form.

Eric, looking at the back of the man's head, and at his broad
neck,--for not a glance was vouchsafed him,--very soon lost all
sensitiveness as to his position of being a seeker after employment. He
was not the receiver, but the giver. A tone of self-respect breathed in
the words which he now uttered:--

"I offer you my free labor."

On hearing this, Sonnenkamp threw up his head quickly without changing
his position, cast a rapid glance upon the speaker, and let his head
immediately drop again.

"I mean," continued Eric, "that I offer to you and to your son all that
I am, and all the knowledge and science that I have made my own
hitherto. I look for no other reward than the free unfolding of my own
activity; and I have the feeling of freedom in doing this, since
whatever I may accomplish I accomplish also for myself, in bringing
that actually to pass which I have striven after, and which I have laid
down as a theoretical demand."

"I know what free labor is," Sonnenkamp said, looking towards the
ground. Then sitting upright, he added with a smiling countenance:--

"You are not dealing with a man of learning. I think we shall come
sooner to terms, if you will regard me as a common-sense man who only
wants to know the plain matter-of-fact."

"I had hoped," Eric replied, "that the introduction of Count von
Wolfsgarten--"

"I esteem highly the Count von Wolfsgarten, more highly than I do any
one else; but--"

"You are right; I will give you a personal explanation," Eric
interrupted.

Was it the cigar, or was it the painful position in which he felt
himself placed, that caused the sweat to start out upon Eric's
forehead? At any rate, he laid the cigar down, and perceiving with a
sort of surprise that he was wearing his uniform, began to explain
again that he had put it on, for that day, because Count Wolfsgarten
had advised him to do so.

Sonnenkamp again sat up wholly erect, feeling himself completely
fortified against this man, who, an entire stranger, had taken
possession of his house, his wife, his son, and thought even to
domineer over him, and make him a stranger in his own home. He would
let the applicant talk till he was tired.

"Go on, captain," he exclaimed, laying his right hand with the fingers
crooked upon the table, and then drawing it back again, as if he had
deposited a stake at play.

Eric had now become master of all his powers, and in a tone of cheerful
good humor, began in a wholly different style:--

"Excuse a scholar for not throwing off his scholastic method. In the
old poems, before the hero enters upon his career, the parents are
described; and although I am no hero, and what I have to unfold is no
record of personal prowess, yet allow me to give a preliminary account
of my father and mother."

Eric once more gave a brief and concise sketch of his life. Mindful of
Clodwig's advice not to say anything about his fancied mission to
educate convicts, an incident occurred to him, which he had, in an
incomprehensible way, wholly passed over before. He gave an account of
his once having had charge of a powder-mill. "I was driven away by a
revolting expression of my employer. From some cause never yet
explained, the mill blew up, and four men were killed. But what said my
employer when he reached the spot? Not one word of pity for the lost
men, but 'that it was a shame for so much good powder to be lost.'"

"What was the man's name?" asked Sonnenkamp.

Eric gave one of the most distinguished names of the principality, and
was not a little surprised to hear Sonnenkamp say, "A wonderful
man,--influential and powerful."

Eric found it difficult to continue his narrative with composure after
this incident, and ended by saying,--

"I beg that you will not regard me as a weak, restless person, for
having so often changed my calling."

"On the contrary," Sonnenkamp declared, "I have had experience enough
both in the old and new world, to teach me that the most capable people
are just those who determine for themselves upon their employment.
Whoever changes his calling must do so either from some external
necessity, or from real fitness for something else. Allow me to ask one
question. Do you believe it possible for a man who undertakes,
compelled by want or because he can find nothing better to do, some
employment, I do not like to call it a service, but a dependent
position--you know what I mean, but I am not familiar with the
German--is it possible for him to devote himself heartily to that
occupation? Will he not always feel himself bound, under obligation to
serve, and often ill at ease?"

"Your frank objection," Eric replied, "does me great honor. I know well
that the calling of an educator requires to be made supreme, from
morning until night. Nothing can be more desirable to me than to
perceive that you are as deeply interested in the matter as I could
wish."

Again a peculiar expression darted across Sonnenkamp's countenance; but
Eric, without appearing to perceive it, continued, in a voice full of
emotion, "It is not because I can find nothing better to do that I
apply for the position of tutor in your family. I agree with you, that
he who takes such a place merely from necessity can never fulfil its
duties, although I do not mean to assert, and unconditionally, that
inclination may not be developed, or as we say, that one may not make a
virtue out of necessity. My knowledge is not great, but I have learned
what one must do in order to learn, and therefore I think that I am
able also to instruct. As far as earnest sincerity of purpose is
concerned, I will yield to no one; and so far as I can judge, I venture
to say, that were I placed in the most favorable circumstances, I would
enter upon the calling of an educator in a spirit of freedom, with
joyful zeal."

"Right honorable, right honorable! go on!" Sonnenkamp interposed in
such a tone that Eric was somewhat confounded, hearing as he yet did,
in a measure, the echo of his own earnest utterance, now so strangely
interrupted. In a sort of triumphant tone, Sonnenkamp continued:--

"An amateur is all very well; but I prefer a man with a profession."

"I am entirely of the same opinion," Eric answered; "and I am amazed at
the good results practically secured in the new world, by adopting a
different course."

With constrained calmness he continued,--

"In regard to this matter, I have only one desire, and only one request
to make."

"And that is?"

Sonnenkamp again placed his hand upon the table as if he were laying
down a stake at play.

"I should like that you would not find it disagreeable to consider me
at first, for some days, a guest in your house."

Eric said nothing more, hoping that Sonnenkamp would answer at once in
the affirmative; but he cracked in two, abruptly, a cigar which he had
just lighted, and which did not seem to draw freely, and threw it away
into the shrubbery. His face became red again, and a mocking smile
played upon his lips, as he thought: "Very confident indeed! This young
man imagines that if he can only get a lodgment for a few days, he can
so bewitch every one that he will 

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