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Sonnenkamp winced at these words, and Eric added, —

"Homelessness is hurting the soul of your son."

"Homelessness?" Sonnenkamp exclaimed in astonishment.

His face quivered for an instant, and his athletic strength seemed eager to make some outward demonstration, but he restrained it within the bounds of forced composure, asking, —

"Do I rightly apprehend you? Homelessness?"

"That is what I think. The inner life of the child needs training, that it may cling to something; a journey is, perhaps, not harmful to the soul of a child; at the best, it has little effect upon him. A child in travelling has no distinct impression from all the changes of the landscape; he takes delight in the locomotive at the station, and in the wind-mill on the hill. One fixed point in the soul anchors it firmly. I said that the human being ought to have an object to strive for, but permit me to add to that, that he must also have a fixed point of departure, and that is the home. You said, and I see it myself, that Roland takes no real delight in anything; and is not that owing to the fact that the boy is homeless, a child of hotels, with no tap-root in any place, and still more, no deep-seated impressions, no pictures in his memory which have become a portion of his very life, and to which he returns from all his wayward fancies? He told me that he had played in the Coliseum at Rome, in the Louvre at Paris, in Hyde-park at London, and on the lake of Geneva, – and now, living in Europe, yet always proudly conscious of being an American, – this causes – pardon me, I only ask the question – does this not cause a restlessness of spirit, which may be fatal to any growth?"

"I see," Sonnenkamp answered, leaning back his head, "you are an incarnate, or one might rather say, an insouled German, who runs over the whole world, in reality and in thought, and cajoles himself always with the self-complacent notion, 'I am so whole-souled, and that is more than the rest of you are.' Pah! I tell you that if I bestow anything of worth upon my child, I believe it will be just this, that he will be free from that sentimentality of a so-called settled home. The whistle of the locomotive scares away all the homesickness so tenderly pampered of old. We are in fact cosmopolites, and that is just the greatness of American civilization, that, not being rooted in the past, national limitations and rights of citizenship have no narrowing influence upon the soul. The home-attachment is an old nuisance and a prejudice. Roland is to become an untramelled man."

Eric was silent. After a considerable time, he said: —

"It is, perhaps, not beneficial, but tiresome, both to you and to me, to deal in generalities. I would only say, that however little calculated travelling may be to create an inner satisfaction, when there is no definite object to be attained that one can all along hold in view, much less can a life that has no special aim of action, thought, or enjoyment, confer any central peace. If Roland now had some special talent – "

"Do you find none at all in him?"

"I have discovered none as yet; and still it seems to me, that if he had been born under different circumstances, he would have made a serviceable lock-smith, or a good groom. I hope you do not misunderstand that – I consider it a guaranty for human equality, that what a man becomes, wholly or chiefly depends upon circumstances. Hundreds of judges would have become, under different circumstances, common laborers, and hundreds of common laborers would have become judges. As I said before, it is to me a direct proof of the universally diffused capacities of human beings, that only the few have the genius that absolutely demands a special work."

"I understand, I understand. And do you think that you can train a boy, of whom you have formed so low an opinion?"

"I have not a low opinion of Roland, neither of his head nor his heart. He seems to me not unsusceptible of love, but it is to him an enjoyment, not also a duty; he has the qualities belonging to the average of men not marked by any special characteristic, and those are entirely sufficient to form him, under judicious and proper direction, into a good and honorable man, happy himself, and able to make others happy. And I shall be very glad, in the meanwhile, if I am mistaken in attributing to Roland no special genius."

"I honor and value highly your great earnestness," Sonnenkamp interposed, "but I am just now in great haste. Inform Roland of your position."

He seemed out of humor, as he rolled his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other, and busied himself with his papers, just as if Eric were no longer present.

Eric left the work-room of Sonnenkamp, and betook himself to Roland. He found the boy busily employed in chewing a piece of half-raw meat, and giving the chewed morsels to the lately broken-in dog; the huntsman affirmed that that would attach the dog to him inseparably. Eric looked on a while, and then requested Roland to send the dog away, as he had something to say to him.

"Can't the dog stay with us?"

Eric made no reply, for he saw that he must first settle whether he or the dog had the deepest hold. On his casting a sharp look again upon Roland, the boy said, "Come, Devil, wait here at the door," and returning, he exclaimed, "There, now go on."

Eric took Roland's hand, and informed him that he had come to be his tutor. Roland leaned his handsome head upon his partly closed hand, gazing at the speaker fixedly with his large, restless, glowing eyes.

"I knew it," he said at last.

"And who told you?"

"The huntsman and Joseph."

"And why did you say nothing to me about it?"

Roland made no answer to this, only looking at the speaker, as if he would say, "I can wait." He only once removed his gaze, when Eric added, that he had wished to try first whether he was adapted to the family. Roland still remained silent. The dog scratched at the door; Roland looked towards it, but did not venture to open it. Eric opened it. The dog sprang in, crouched down before Roland, and then went to Eric and licked his hands; he seemed to be a mysterious messenger, a silent yet eloquent interpreter between them.

"He likes you too!" Roland cried out in childish delight.

These were the only words spoken by the boy. Suddenly springing up, he threw himself upon Eric's breast, where he was held in a firm embrace; the dog barked as if he must express himself.

"We will be true to each other," Eric exclaimed, unclasping his arms; "I had a brother of your age, and you are to be my younger brother."

Roland, without speaking, held Eric's right hand between both of his.

"Now let us at once begin our life, fresh and bright."

"Yes," replied Roland, "we'll make Devil fetch something out of the water; he does it splendidly."

"No, my dear brother, we will go to work. Let us see what you have learned."

Eric had noticed particularly, that Roland, who was deficient in every other branch of knowledge, had a pretty good acquaintance with geography. He tested him in this, and Roland was highly pleased to be able to give him accurate answers. They gradually passed to the consideration of other studies, and then Roland appeared confused, and for Latin he had a hatred amounting to a personal hostility.

"We will quietly study what is necessary," Eric said consolingly, "and then we will ride, drive, shoot, fish, and row."

This prospect cheered the boy very much, and when the clock struck in the tower, he suddenly observed, —

"In one hour Herr von Pranken will be with Manna. I can learn to ride, fence, and shoot, as well as Herr von Pranken, don't you think I can?"

"Certainly you can."

"I sent a letter, too, to Manna by Herr von Pranken."

"What language did you write it in?"

"English, of course. Ah! it just occurs to me, – all speak so highly of your mother, let your mother come too; she might live out therein our small, vine-covered house."

The boy could say no more, for Eric lifted him up, pressed him to his breast, and kissed him. The boy had uttered what at first sight had flashed through his own soul, and now it was evident that he bestowed gladly, loved to confer benefits, and to contrive pleasure for others; his hard-heartedness towards the dwarf disappeared as a mere superficial blemish.

A servant came and announced that dinner was served. Holding each other by the hand, Roland and Eric went to the dining-room.

CHAPTER XIV.
A RIVAL

The dinner was as ceremonious as it had been the day before. Frau Ceres, who appeared again at table, betrayed by no look or word that she had conversed so confidentially with Eric; she addressed, frequently, some brief remark to him; but again all were occupied in urging her to eat something. Eric wondered at the patience with which Sonnenkamp did this again and again.

After dinner, while they were taking coffee, Sonnenkamp observed to Eric in a careless way, that a new applicant had presented himself, who brought the highest recommendation from Roland's last tutor, the candidate Knopf. He gave Eric to understand that they did not receive every one at once to dinner, and ordered Joseph to introduce the stranger.

A slim, sunburnt man entered. He was introduced to the company. Eric was introduced by the title of Captain, Doctor being suffered temporarily to rest in peace. The stranger, whose name was Professor Crutius, had been a fellow-student with the candidate Knopf, had seen a good deal of the world, and, finally, for several years, had been professor in the military school at West Point, near New York.

He gave this information with great ease, but in rather a harsh tone of voice.

Sonnenkamp seemed to have reserved this entertainment for the dessert, to allow the two applicants to engage in a tilt with each other, while quietly smoking his cigar. He was very shrewd in finding the points where they could attack each other, but he was not not a little surprised that Eric immediately laid down his arms; expressing his thanks to the stranger, he said that he envied his rich experience in life, and his wide survey of the world, while he himself had, to his regret, been confined to the limited circle of the Principality and to the world of books.

The stranger had made the discovery very soon that Fräulein Perini was the hair-spring in the watchwork of this household, and he found that they had some reminiscences in common. Crutius had accompanied an American family to Italy, and had gone from thence to the New World.

In a manner showing candor and experience, he described the characteristics of an American boy of the upper class, and how such a boy must be managed. Without directly pointing it out, this description was evidently intended for Roland, who sat gazing at the stranger.

Eric, standing with Sonnenkamp by the balcony-railing, which he grasped tightly in his hands, said that he himself was not sufficiently prepared, and that the stranger would be, probably, the most fitting person.

Sonnenkamp made no reply, puffing out quickly cloud after cloud of smoke into the air.

"Magnanimity," he thought to himself. "Magnanimity, – nothing but smoke and vapor."

The stranger was very zealously engaged in conversation with Frau Ceres and Fräulein Perini. Roland went to his father, and said, in a voice as determined as it was low, —

"Send him away; I don't want him."

"Why not?"

"Because I have Herr Eric, and because Herr Knopf has sent him."

"Go to your own room; you have nothing to say about this," Eric ordered.

The boy stared at him, and went.

Eric declared to the father that Roland's instinctive feeling was just; the bitterness against his former teacher he could not at all judge of, but it was evident that the boy wanted to be received by some entirely unprejudiced stranger.

Sonnenkamp was surprised at this kindly appreciation on Eric's part, especially when he went on to state how unpleasant a thing it must be for the boy to be transferred in this way from one hand to another. The stranger, in the meanwhile, had asked Fräulein Perini whether Sonnenkamp had any relatives, whether that had always been his name, and whether he received many letters. He touched upon one and another point in his conversation, evidently to reconnoitre the state of feeling entertained by the family concerning America; and when Sonnenkamp, with great energy, asserted that he should like a dictator for America, who would put to rout the rascality there, Crutius said, that there were very many in the New World who really cherished the conviction and desire that America would establish a monarchy, but didn't dare to say so.

Sonnenkamp nodded to himself, and whistled again inaudibly.

"Where did you put up?" he abruptly inquired of the stranger.

Crutius named an inn in the village.

"There you are very well quartered."

The stranger's countenance changed for an instant. He had evidently expected that his luggage would be sent for, and that he would be received as a guest in the house.

Sonnenkamp thanked him very courteously for the call, and requested him to give his address in full, so that he might be written to if there should be occasion. The stranger's hand trembled as he took out his well-worn pocket-book, and gave his card. He took leave with formal politeness.

Sonnenkamp requested Eric to escort his fellow-teacher a part of the way, and handed him several gold pieces, which he was to give to the needy-looking man in a suitable manner.

"Is this friendly confidence, or is it expected as a service?" Eric asked himself, as he went after the stranger.

He overtook him near the park-wall, and when Eric represented himself to be also a teacher, the countenance of the professor changed, and he exclaimed: —

"Ah! a teacher then, and perhaps my competitor?"

Eric answered in the affirmative.

Crutius looked sour at this; he had been gratified at the friendly encouragement of the captain, whom he took to be an inmate of the family, and he was grateful to him for the praise he had given him; but now he turned out to be a teacher too! He gnashed his teeth a little over this mistake.

Eric tendered him the present of gold with great delicacy, putting himself on an equality with the stranger, making known his own poverty, and declaring how impossible it often was not to accept from those who had means.

"Ha! ha!" the stranger laughed out. "He knows me; he wishes to put me under obligation and release himself!"

Eric said that he did not understand such expressions.

"Indeed!" the stranger said, laughing. "So innocence with a captain's rank allows itself also to be bought? The whole world is nothing but an old rag-shop. What matter! The den where the tiger devours his prey is very fine and very tasty! paint and tapestry can cover up a good deal! I ask your pardon, I have taken wine this morning, and I am not used to it. Well, hand it over! My most humble compliments to Villa Eden! Ha! ha! a very nice name!"

Without adding a word more, the stranger, grasping tightly the gold, touched his hat, and walked off at a rapid pace.

Eric returned to Sonnenkamp in a meditative mood. Sonnenkamp invited him to be seated, in a very friendly manner, asking. —

"Did he take the money?"

Eric nodded.

"And of course, with hardly a thank you?"

Eric said that the man had acknowledged, of his own accord, that he had been drinking wine that morning, and was not used to it.

Pointing to a great packet of letters, Sonnenkamp said that they were all applications for the advertised situation. He expatiated very merrily upon the great number of persons who depend upon some wind-fall or other; if one should only open a honey-pot, suddenly bees, wasps, and golden-flies appear, nothing of which had been seen before. Then he continued: —

"I can give you a contribution to your knowledge of men."

"Anything about Herr Crutius?"

"No; of your very much be-pitied dwarf. It is really refreshing to find such a charming piece of rascality. I have known for a long time how smart he was in stealing the black wood-vetch from the hill above; but now the bite received in training the dog is nothing but a lie. I have already informed Roland of it, and I am glad that he can become acquainted so early with the vileness and deceitfulness of men."

"You will not keep the dwarf any longer in your employment, I suppose?"

"Certainly I shall. I am delighted that the droll little man has so much rascality. It is a perfect satisfaction to play with the villainy and roguery of people, and I should like to have half a dozen such on hand, so as to teach Roland how to deal with chaps of that stamp."

"I would rather not be able to give him that instruction," said Eric.

"It is not for you to do that; you are here for something else."

Eric left Sonnenkamp's room, greatly depressed.

A servant informed him that Roland was waiting for him at the river-bank; he went there, and Roland invited him to take a sail with him on the Rhine. He unfastened the pretty boat from the shore, and rowed expertly out into the stream; it was now a dark green, and the islands above, with their dense foliage, seemed to be growing out of a soil of liquid emerald.

A fresh breeze rippled the surface; Roland was happy that he could unfurl the sail, and showed himself skilful in his mastery over the elements. Every movement was so graceful that Eric took great delight in looking at him.

Eric was a novice on the water, and he was glad to give Roland the satisfaction of instructing him, and of showing him how the boat is made to turn, and to go in any direction. There was a joyous tone in Roland's voice that Eric had never remarked before.

And while they were sailing along with a full breeze, the splashing waves striking against the boat, Roland spoke of the candidate Knopf, who first made him really at home upon the water. Knopf could row, sail, steer, and make the boat describe a circle in the water, better than the best boatman. Yes, better than the boatman's wife even, a large, powerful woman, who now called out to him as she steered a large boat made fast to a tow-boat, while her husband, a not less powerful form, leaned against the mast.

Roland, steering towards the tow-boat, made fast to the boat which the woman was managing. She chatted with him without looking round, for she must keep the exact course. When they had gone far enough, Roland unfastened the boat, and sailed back with the current.

He gave a humorous account of the helmswoman's rule over her husband, but Eric led the conversation to the candidate Knopf. Roland was not inclined to say anything more about him, nor to speak of his previous tutors, who were evidently regarded by him with as much indifference as is a yesterday's waiter at a hotel, or a discharged servant. Who will ask about people whom they have dismissed? It was only apparent, from some words dropped by Roland, that this candidate must have had a warm affection for his pupil.

Mention was made, also, of the dwarf, and Roland took it very coolly that he had turned out a rascal, for he regarded all poor people as rascals.

Eric had gained in this sail a new and deeper knowledge of his pupil; pity was now added to the love he felt for the boy, who had so early acquired a contempt for the world, and who appeared to have no person and no thing to which he clung inseparably, and the thought of which gave him new inspiration. Only with his sister did he seem to have any real bond of affection, for as they were approaching the villa, he said: —

"Just as I am now walking with you, Manna is walking with Herr von Pranken. I think that you and Manna, when she comes, will also be good friends."

BOOK III

CHAPTER I.
THE SUBTERRANEAN CALL

A fragrant strawberry glistens on the ground, beautiful to the eye, and luscious to the taste. If there were some method of seeing, or even of hearing, what was going on at the root of the plant, we might perhaps be able to discern how the ammonia, homely, and of very pungent odor, turned up conceitedly its nose, as much as to say, What indeed would all this be without me?

The potash, on the other hand, brightly glistening and sweet-smelling, is under no necessity of saying anything, for its very appearance says already, All the scientific men of the upper world speak on my behalf.

And the hard, silicious earth, in its comfortable repose, might be understood to say, I am an aboriginal inhabitant, and what do these transient fellows want? To-day here, and to-morrow gone; I have already lived through a great deal, – everything goes by fashion.

The maggot-worm grubs at the root, blinking with its cunning eyes, and thinks, The rest are happy in rendering service, but I – I fatten myself. The earth-worm rolls itself along in a proud feeling of triumph that it can go through the streets and water-courses, whereon everything is moving hither and thither. A mole, that has nestled in the neighborhood, lies in wait for the moment when the maggot-worm is taking a little nap, after its surfeit, and gobbles it up.

Such are the manifold operations of life and movement down there at the roots, and such also are those in the servants' room of Villa Eden above.

Herr Sonnenkamp has a wise rule, although many consider it hard-hearted, that all his servants must be unmarried. They receive good wages, are in want of nothing, but make no pretension to family life. A beggar never comes into the well-kept garden, for he would disturb its comfortable serenity. He receives alms, at the entrance, from the keeper of the lodge, and the old cook oftentimes complains that the remnants of food, which might nourish many a hungry one, go so utterly to waste.

It is noon. They take their meals here, long before the table of their master above is set. Two grooms and a third coachman, who keep watch in the stables, eat by themselves in silence, for they must relieve the others.

The superintendent here below is the head-cook, dressed in light clothes, and called for shortness, "the chief;" of a burly and portly figure, with a beardless face, and a large hawk-nose, he plays here the marquis. His German is a sort of jargon, but he rules over the subordinate cook and kitchen-maids, with absolute sway.

The watchmen have dined. A long table is laid for more than a dozen persons, and they come in one after another.

The first who makes his appearance, or, rather, the one to whom the first entrance is conceded, is the head-coachman, Bertram, with a powerful, gigantic form. He has a great red beard, parted in two waving masses coming to a peak, with an embroidered waistcoat covering his hips, and over it a striped blue and white jacket, with just a slight badge of distinction from that of the other coachmen.

With a greeting to the whole corps of servants, Bertram seats himself at the head of the table with Joseph on his right, and the head-gardener on his left. Next to this one, a little man, with seamed face and rapidly glancing eyes, takes a seat; this is Lutz, the courier. Then the rest seat themselves according to their rank, the stable-boys and the men working in the garden being placed at the lower end of the table.

The first female cook, a special favorite of Fräulein Perini, insisted strenuously upon grace being said before dinner. Bertram, the travelled coachman, a decided free-thinker, always busied himself during the blessing with his great embroidered waistcoat, which he drew proudly down over his hips. Joseph folded his hands, but did not move his lips; the rest prayed silently.

No sooner was the soup removed, and a little wine sipped, – for the servants had their wine every day, – than Bertram started the talk, and upon a very definite topic.

"I was just waiting to see whether Lieutenant Dournay would recognise me; I belonged to his battery."

"Indeed!" Joseph delightedly chimed in. "He was right popular, I'm certain?"

Bertram did not consider it incumbent upon him to give a direct reply. He only said that he could never have believed that Herr Dournay would ever become a servant.

"Servant?"

"Yes, a servant like us; and because he knows something of books, a tutor."

Joseph smiled in a melancholy way, and took great pains to bring the table over to a correct view. First he praised the celebrated father of Eric, who had received at least twenty decorations; and his mother, who belonged to the nobility; and he was very happy to say that Captain Dournay understood all about the sciences, and, to throw at their heads the very hardest names which he could get hold of, – Anthropology, Osteology, Archæology, and Petrifactology – all these the captain was master of; he was a complete university in himself. But he did not succeed in convincing the company that Eric was anything else than a servant.

The head-gardener said, in a high-Prussian dialect: —

"Anyhow, he is a handsome man, and sits his horse well; but he don't know a thing about gardening."

Lootz, the courier, praised Eric for speaking good French and English, but of course, when it came to Russian, and Turkish, and Polish, the learned gentleman didn't understand them; for Lutz himself, as a journeyman tailor, having made the tour of all countries, understood all languages. He had attended formerly Fräulein von Pranken, the present Countess Wolfsgarten, and two English ladies, on their travels; now he acted as courier for Herr Sonnenkamp on his journeys, and was idle the rest of the time, unless one calls work the carrying of the letter-bag to and from the railroad station, and the playing of the guitar, which the little man practised a good deal, with the accompaniment of his own whistling. He had also a secret service.

There appeared to be a tacit agreement at the table, that they should make no reply to anything that Lutz said; he only received a smile from the second female cook, with whom he had a tender but not acknowledged relation.

A man with Sarmatian features and a Polish accent claimed for Herr von Pranken the credit of having brought the man into the house. Bertram gave Joseph a slight nudge, and proceeded to praise Herr von Pranken in the most eulogistic terms, while Joseph winked slyly, as if he would say. Just so; this shows again that the Pole is in the secret service of Herr von Pranken.

Now they speculated whether Herr von Pranken would take up his abode in the house after his marriage with Manna, for this event was regarded as a settled thing.

A gardener, who stammered a little, remarked that it was said at the village inn, that Herr Sonnenkamp had been a tailor. All laughed, and the stuttering gardener, who was the special butt of the circle, was more and more spurred on to talk, and bantered till he became blue in the face. Bertram, taking both waves of his long beard in his hands, exclaimed: —

"If any one should tell me that, I'd show him how his teeth taste."

"Just let people talk," said soothingly the head-gardener, with a smile in advance at his own wisdom, as he added, "As soon as a man gets on in the world he must make up his mind to be slandered."

One of the hostlers gave an account of a scuffle which had taken place between them and the servants of the so-called Wine-count, who reproached them with being the servants of a man whom nobody knew anything about, – who he was, or where he came from; and that one of them had gone so far as to say that Frau Sonnenkamp was a purchased slave.

The secret, and, in fact, not very edifying history of several families was now related, until the stout female cook cried out at last: —

"Do stop that talk! My mother used to say, that

 
"'Whether houses be great or small.
There lies a stone before them all.'"
 

The second gardener, a lean, thin man, with a peaked face, called the squirrel, who often had prayers with the pious people of the neighborhood, began a very evangelical discourse about evil speaking. He had, originally, been a gardener, then a policeman in a northern capital, where Sonnenkamp became acquainted with him, and placed him back again in his first occupation, employing him frequently in commissions that called for special circumspection.

An ancient kitchen-maid, who sat apart, holding in her lap the plate from, which she was eating, cried suddenly: —

"You may say what you please, the gentleman who has just come marries the daughter of the family. Just bear that in mind. Mark my words. He hasn't come for the young gentleman, but for the young lady. There was once on a time a prince and a princess in the castle, and the prince put on a servant's dress – yes, laugh away, but it is just so."

Joseph and Bertram exchanged glances full of meaning.

Now there was a general joking. Every one wished to have his fortune told by old Kate. The courier made fun of superstitious people, but assumed a very forced smile when Bertram called out: —

"Yes, indeed, the tailors are all enlightened, they don't believe in hell."

There was no end to the laughing now. Suddenly a voice sounded from the ceiling: —

"Bertram is to put the horses to the glass-carriage, and Joseph to come up."

The company at the table broke up; the hostlers went to the stables, where they smoked their pipes, the gardeners to the park and the green-houses. Joseph told two servants to set the dinner-table, and there was stillness under ground. Only the kettles bubbled and hissed, and the chief surveyed with lofty mien the progress of his work.

An hour later, Lootz received the letters which he was to carry to the station, and, in a very casual and innocent way, related that the new tutor had as adherents in the house, Bertram, who was formerly stationed in his battery, and Joseph, who considered himself committed to him as coming from the University. It had never been said in so many words that Lutz was to be a spy over the servants, but it was understood, as a matter of course, between him and his master.