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CHAPTER II.
A SUNDAY FILLED OUT

Eric had wished to write a letter to his mother out of fairy-land, when he rode as if under a spell of enchantment through the wood, where all was music, fragrance, and brightness. Yes, then! It was only a few days ago, and yet it seems as if years had elapsed. How much in these few days had Eric thought, seen, experienced! The letter is an entirely different one.

On Sunday there was a change in the household arrangements, no common breakfast being served. When Eric met Sonnenkamp in the garden, the latter asked him if he would go with them to church. Eric answered no, at once, adding in explanation, that by going he should be guilty of an act of hypocrisy; as a mark of respect for a confession not his own, he might perhaps be willing to go, but a different view would be taken of it.

Sonnenkamp looked at him in surprise. But this straight-forwardness seemed to have an effect upon him, for he said, —

"Good; one is at no loss to find out your opinion."

The tone was ambiguous, but Eric interpreted it favorably.

After all had gone to church, Eric sat alone, writing to his mother. He began by saying that he seemed to himself like Ulysses thrown upon a strange island; he had, indeed, no fellow-voyagers to take care of, but he had for companions many noble sentiments, and he must watch sharp lest they be turned into-

Just as he was writing the word, he stopped; that was not the proper tone. He destroyed the sheet, and began again. He narrated, simply and briefly, the interview, with Pranken, Clodwig, and Bella, saying that as the Homeric heroes were under the special protection of the gods, so to-day a different and better one was vouchsafed, and he was accompanied by the spirit and noble character of his parents. In speaking of Roland, he said that wealth had a peculiar power to excite the fancy, and a mighty energy in carrying out its purposes, for Roland had already removed her into the small, vine-covered house.

The bells were ringing in the village, and Eric wrote with flying speed about his conception of the noble vocation of guiding in the right path a human being, upon whom was conferred the great and influential power of wealth.

And now, mingled with the ringing of the bells, there came suddenly the recollection of that narrative in the Gospel of the rich young man coming to Jesus. He did not remember the precise question and answer, and he looked for a Bible in Roland's library, but there was no Bible there; yet it seemed as if he could go no farther, until he had become exactly acquainted with that incident.

He went down into the garden; there he came across the gardener, the so-called squirrel, who was very happy to be able to give an affirmative answer to the question whether he had a Bible. With words full of unction he brought one to Eric, who took it with him to his room.

He wrote no more, he read for a long time; then he sat there motionless, his head resting upon his left hand, which covered his eyes, until Roland returned from church, and laid down his prayer-book. As Eric grasped now the hand which had deposited the book, the inquiry darted through his soul. Wilt thou be able to give the youth a like firm trust as a compensation, if thou shouldest-

His thoughts were interrupted, for Roland said, —

"You have procured a Bible, then?" With childish pleasure he informed him that, by means of the gardener, it had been reported all over the house. Eric felt obliged to declare to the boy that he held this book in high esteem, and thought there was no other to be compared with it, but that he had none of the customary ecclesiastical reverence for it.

"Do you know this?" Eric asked, pointing to the passage about the rich young man.

Roland read it, and when Eric asked him what he thought of it, Roland only stared, for he had evidently not perceived the difficulty of the problem there enunciated. Eric avoided enlightening him now in regard to the meaning of the parable; he would wait. A seed-grain lies at first motionless in the earth, until it is stirred into activity by its own vital forces. Eric knew that at this moment such a seed-grain had fallen into the child's soul. He would bide quietly the time when it should germinate and spring up.

He complied with Roland's desire that he would go with him to meet the major, who came every Sunday to dinner. They walked for a while in the road under the nut-trees, and then up the hill through the vineyards. They saw, near a large open space where stakes only were standing, the Major, with whom we have already become acquainted at Wolfsgarten; he was to-day in full uniform, with all his badges.

Whilst the established nobility of the region were very reserved in their visits to the Sonnenkamp mansion, the Major was the banner of distinction to this household, Frau Ceres being especially delighted that a man with so many badges should devote himself to her in so friendly a way. Evil tongues, indeed, reported that the Major, in consideration of this attention to the ladies, and this Sunday display of his badges, received no trifling addition to his not very large pension, but this was pure scandal, for the Major, or rather Fräulein Milch, strenuously refused to accept presents from any one in the region, nor would they allow themselves to be in any manner dependent.

The Major was very happy to see them both.

"Have you got him so soon?" said he to Eric. "Be sure and hold him by a tight rein."

And, pointing to the vineyard, he said: "Next season we shall have there – so Herr Sonnenkamp says – the first wine. Have you ever drunk virgin wine?"

Eric answered in the negative, and the Major delighted in being able to explain to him that the first product of a vineyard was so denominated.

The Major's gait was nothing but a perpetual plunge forward and a recovery of himself again; every two steps he stopped and looked round, always with a smile. He smiled upon every one he met. Why were people to be made unhappy because he has lost his toes? Why should they see a troubled countenance? He informed Eric that he had frozen his toes in the Russian campaign, and had been obliged to have them amputated; and he smiled very cheerfully, as he said: —

"Yes, truly our German proverb is right. Every one knows best himself where the shoe pinches."

He nodded his agreement with Eric, who made an application of the proverb to the various relations of life.

Then he asked Roland whether his mother had yet risen; for Frau Ceres made the no small sacrifice of getting up at nine o'clock, and, what will be considered a not much inferior one, of completing her toilet in a single hour, and going with the family to church. She always made up, therefore, for the lost sleep by going to bed again before dinner, and putting on afterwards, for the first time, her real Sunday apparel.

When they reached the level road, the architect met them, on his way also to dinner; he joined Eric, while Roland went with the Major. The men were all obliged to look at Roland's dogs, before they assembled in the balcony-saloon. They found the doctor and the priest already with Herr Sonnenkamp.

Eric had scarcely been introduced, when Frau Ceres appeared in splendid full dress.

The Major offered his arm, the servants drew back the folding-doors, and they went through several apartments into the dining-hall.

The Major had his seat at the left of Frau Ceres, and the priest at her right; next to him was Fräulein Perini, and then the physician, Sonnenkamp, the architect, Roland and Eric took their respective seats.

The priest said grace to-day aloud. The conversation was, at first, wholly incomprehensible to Eric, for it was of persons and circumstances that he knew nothing about. The great wine establishment, the son of whose proprietor had bought, with Pranken, the beautiful horses, was often mentioned. The head of the firm had realized enormous profits, at a sale held at one of his wine-vaults up the stream. It was reported that he intended to give up business entirely, and to reside at the capital, for the shrewd old gentleman was very desirous of gaining the consideration and good will of the court.

"I give him credit," cried the doctor, "of being infatuated with the notion of getting ennobled."

Herr Sonnenkamp, who just that moment had put into his mouth some fish cut up very fine, was seized with such a sudden and violent fit of coughing, that all the table were anxious at seeing him turn so red in the face; but he soon re-assured them, saying that he had only incautiously swallowed a fish-bone.

The Major thought it unfitting that the great wine-merchant should allow himself to stand as a government-candidate for the chamber of deputies, and that, too, against such a man as Weidmann. Eric gave attention when this name was now again mentioned; it was always as if an indescribable train of honors waited upon it. But the doctor continued, by saying that the Wine-count was only desirous of satisfying his ambition, and his purpose to make himself acceptable to the government, and that he would succeed even if he knew that he would be beaten, for he appeared in the journals as a supporter of the Government.

"Now, Herr priest," he directly asked, "which candidate will the clergy vote for?"

The priest, a tall, slender form with white hair, and remarkably bright eyes, which looked keen and quiet from beneath the massive eye-brows, united both dignity and adroitness in his deportment. He would have been very glad to remain silent, but he now said – moving his left hand, with the thumb and forefinger joined – that there was really no opposition to be made to Weidmann's good qualities as a citizen.

The doctor was obliged to put up with this indirect reply. But the Major extolled very decidedly the noble character of Weidmann, who was sure to triumph.

The Major always spoke with great difficulty, and turned purple even to the roots of his white hair, whenever he was obliged to address not his immediate neighbor only, but the whole table as well.

"You speak as a brother Freemason," said the physician, giving him a nod.

The Major looked grimly at him, shaking his head, as if to say. One should not jest about such things; but he said nothing.

Sonnenkamp was very free in declaring, that although he paid taxes in this country, he should not vote; that he was cosmopolitan, and considered himself and his family to be only guests in Germany.

Eric's glance and that of the doctor met, and both looked towards Roland. What can be expected of a boy, to whom it is said. The State in which you live is of no account to you at all?

The physician, having begun to make a butt of the Major, kept it up incessantly. Known and liked as a jovial person, the physician was, early in the day, in the hilarious mood of one who has just risen from a well-spread table, and his very lively tone contrasted strangely with the heavy delivery of the Major, who very willingly allowed himself to be made the object of jesting. It seemed to him to be a man's duty to minister, even passively, to his fellow-men; and his features always said, My children, make yourselves merry, even if it is about me.

The priest, in the meanwhile, took the part of the persecuted Major, but it was hard to tell whether it was not for the sake of keeping up the raillery, for the Major smiled in a yet more puzzled way at his advocate, than at his assailant. The priest always began in a sort of narrative way, and as he went on, shot his well-aimed shafts on all sides, preserving at the same time his polished and obliging manners, and never losing sight, for a moment, of the respect due to his spiritual calling; and he had, in particular, certain tranquillizing motions with his handsome, delicate hands. The eyes of Fräulein Perini seemed to expand, more and more, and to feast in gazing, as she looked at the ecclesiastic, and listened to him with her eyes. Only she could not repress her discomfort, when the priest, after the fashion of the snuff-taking clergy, rolled up his blue linen pocket-handkerchief into a ball, and, in the full flow of discourse, tossed it from one hand to the other. She breathed more freely when he put the horrible blue handkerchief into his pocket.

Fräulein Perini maintained a tranquil imperturbability towards the rough and excitable temperament of the physician, while he regarded her as a sort of colleague; and it was really the case, that she had some medical knowledge. He had a particular respect for her, inasmuch as she had never consulted him in regard to any ailment. She lived very temperately, indulged sparingly in the luxurious entertainments and the rich daily repast, seemed to have no wants, and devoted herself to the service, or more properly, to the accommodation, of others. Doctor Richard took the liberty, as a physician of extensive practice, to use but little ceremony, and was as much the popular as the pampered despot of the whole district, and especially of the Sonnenkamp household. He was talkative at the table, eating but little, and drinking so much the more to make up for it. He praised the wines, knew them all, how long they had been kept, and when they were mellow. He inquired about an old brand, and Sonnenkamp ordered it to be brought; the physician found it harsh, rough, and immature. Herr Sonnenkamp would often look up dubiously to the physician, before partaking of some dish, but he would say in anticipation: —

"Eat, eat, it won't hurt you."

"The really best thing in the world would be to drink," Sonnenkamp said, jestingly.

"It's a shame that you never knew the 'precious Borsch,'" cried the doctor, "who once uttered that illustrious saying, 'The stupidest thing in the world is, that one can't also drink what he eats.'" Turning to Eric, he continued: —

"Your friend Pranken doesn't speak well of our Rhine-land, but this ill-humor is only an epidemic catarrh while getting acclimated, which every one must catch. I hope you will not be so long in getting over it. Look at this bottle of wine, – all is corked up here that poetry, the scenic art, and creative art can do to enchant and enliven us; the drinker feels that he is not a common pack-horse, and though, theoretically, he does not know what elements of the beautiful are contained in such a bottle, he has no need to know, he tastes it; he drinks in, in fact, the beautiful."

"Provided there is no adulteration," the architect suggested.

"Very true," the doctor cried in a loud voice; "we used to have very few cases of delirium-tremens, now so common in our district; and delirium-tremens is not from the wine, but from the alchohol in it. Do you know anything about wine?" he asked, turning to Eric, and, as if actual president, calling upon him for his opinion.

"Not any."

"And yet you have probably composed drinking-songs, where the chorus always comes in, 'We will be merry, let us be merry, we've been merry,' and after the first bottle, the merry gentlemen can't stand on their rhimed feet any longer."

A glance towards Roland brought the doctor to his senses; it was not well to make Eric a subject of ridicule in this way. He therefore turned the conversation, and gave Eric, whom he called with special friendliness Herr Colleague, an opportunity to narrate many interesting incidents of the collegiate and military life. The Major nodded approval; through Eric's conversation he was left in peace, and could give his undisturbed attention to eating and drinking. Under the napkin which he had pinned to his shoulders, he opened his uniform. It is well, he thought, that Fräulein Milch has furnished me with such a nice white vest, and it ought to be seen. He was on the best of terms with the servants, and whilst they were changing the wine, it only needed a wink to Joseph, a universal favorite, and he immediately poured out some choice Burgundy from the sparkling crystal decanter for the Major.

The Major drank no more. The conversation had taken a happy turn, after Eric began to speak of the Geneva convention for the care of those wounded in battle. This was a good common point of union for the priest, the physician, and the soldier, and, for a time, the conversation at table was harmonious and well-sustained.

The Major, in a loud tone, declared that men who did not like to have their names mentioned were the original movers in this, as in all other humane arrangements. The physician remarked to Eric, in a lower tone than ordinary, that the Major attributed to the Freemasons all the good in the world, and if he wished to keep in his good graces, he must never say anything against Freemasonry.

The entire table listened with great attention to Eric, as he asserted that we ought to be proud to see in our century such an arrangement established on the ground of pure humanity; and the priest himself nodded in assent, when Eric added that the Christian religion, in its self-sacrificing devotion to the care of the sick, had attained an elevated position, purer and loftier than had ever before been reached, in any age, and under any dispensation.

Roland was happy to see the gleaming eyes of all resting upon Eric, and collected them all in one focus for him.

They arose from table, and a blessing seemed to have descended upon the whole repast. The priest engaged in silent prayer, and the Major, coming to Eric, pressed his hand rather tightly, saying in a subdued tone: —

"You are one already, you must learn the signs."

Eric was so excited, that he hardly heard what the old man said, although he expressed his highest possible esteem in this readiness to accept him as a Freemason.

"See," cried the doctor, impudently, "see how much whiter the hair of our Major has turned."

And it actually seemed so, for the face of the Major was so permanently red, that its color seemed incapable of being deepened, and now from the excitement of the conversation and the wine, the whiteness of the hair was in reality discerned with greater distinctness.

"The Major's hair has become whiter," everybody now said, and the bewildered smile, that was always round his mouth, exploded in a loud laugh.

CHAPTER III.
THE WORLD OUTSIDE

The doctor was informed, immediately after dinner, that many patients were waiting for him, for it was generally known that he dined on Sunday here at the villa. He hastily took a cigar from Sonnenkamp, and said that Eric must accompany him, as he wished to speak with him. He said this in a positive manner admitting of no refusal.

After they had turned the corner, the physician extended his hand to Eric, saying in a hearty tone, —

"I am the scholar of your grandfather, and I also knew your father at the University."

"I am very glad to hear it; but why did you not tell me that at once?" The doctor looked at him awhile from head to foot, then he laid both hands on his shoulders, and shaking his head, but in a cordial tone, said, —

"I have been mistaken in you. I thought that the species idealist had died out; you are doctor of world-wisdom, but not doctor of worldly wisdom. Dear captain-doctor, what's the need of their knowing yonder how you and I stand with each other? – So you wish to live with Herr Sonnenkamp?"

"Why not?"

"The man can't weep if he would, and you – ?"

"Well, and I?"

"With you the tear-sack is filled at every emotion, as when you spoke there of your father, and of the noble care of the sick – you have a talent for hypochondria."

Eric was struck. This style of personal criticism was novel to him, but before he could reply, the doctor called to the waiting group of patients standing at the entrance of the porter's lodge, —

"I am coming in a moment! Wait here for me, and I'll come back soon," he said now to Eric, and went up to the group, all of whom took off their hats and caps. He spoke with one and another, taking out a blank book with loose leaves, and writing several prescriptions, with the back of a broad-shouldered man for a desk, and giving to others only verbal directions.

Eric stood in a fixed attitude, and he realized that he was wanting in worldly wisdom, but a deep feeling of happiness took possession of him, that his grandfather and father sent him here a friend. An unknown and inestimable inheritance was awaiting him in all places, like a harvest gathering in from all quarters; he regarded the family and its rich possessions with a different feeling; he was no longer poor.

The physician, coming back, said with a more cheerful countenance, —

"I am now free. Count Clodwig has told me about you, but he has given me a wrong impression of you. Never mind! Every one sees, standing in the centre of his own horizon, his own rainbow. I wished only to say to you, that what one – pardon me – what one does for you, is hardly the payment of interest, for no human being has done more for others than your grandfather and your father. Now allow yourself for once to undergo a regular examination. I saw you years ago, when you were coupled with the prince."

The doctor receded a step from Eric, and continued, —

"The crossing of races is a good one. Father, Huguenot, – Mother, pure German, real blond, delicate organization, – proper mixture of nationalities. Come with me into the arbor. Will you allow me a brief and concise diagnosis?"

Eric smiled; the physician's method of passing him under review and pronouncing verdict upon him seemed extremely odd, but yet he felt attracted.

Striking off on a twig the ashes from his cigar, the doctor asked, —

"Can you have intercourse with any one day by day, and not like him, or at least have some regard for him?"

"I have never tried it, but I think not; and such an intercourse assuredly hurts the soul."

"I expected this answer. For my part, I say with Lessing, It is better to live among bad people, than to live apart from everybody. May I ask still another question?"

But without waiting for a reply, he continued, —

"Have you ever experienced ingratitude?"

"I think that I have, as yet, done nothing which deserves gratitude. Especially may we ask, Ought we to lay claim to any thanks, inasmuch as what we do in behalf of others, we do, first of all, to secure our own self-approval."

"Good, good. Wise already. Yet one thing more. Do you believe in natural depravity, and if you do, since when?"

"If by depravity you mean the conscious delight in injuring others, then I am no believer in it, for I am convinced that all evil doing is only a stepping over the limits of a justifiable self-preservation; it is only an excess caused by sophistry or passion. Perhaps the belief in depravity is also merely passion."

The doctor nodded several times, and then said, —

"Only one question more. Are you sensitive – vulnerable?"

"I might perhaps urge your friendly testing as a proof that I am not."

The doctor threw away the cigar, which he had not wholly smoked up, and said, —

"Excuse me, I was in an error; my final question has another at the end of it. Now to conclude: Are you surprised, when you find simply stupid some little man or some little woman in fashionable clothes, and with polished address, and are you willing to take them as simply stupid, without attributing to them principles of action, and a comprehension of the principles of others?"

In spite of the evidently friendly intention, Eric's patience was exhausted; he replied to this, not without some irritation, that he had been through a great many surprising examinations here, but the present was the most surprising of all.

"You will perhaps have some light upon it, by and by," the physician said in a low tone, stealthily pressing Eric's hand, for he saw Fräulein Perini coming along the path, and he went to join her.

The company at table met again at the fountain, chatted awhile, and then separated. The priest and the Major invited Eric to call upon them; the physician asked Sonnenkamp if Eric and Roland might not be allowed to drive with him upon his round of visits. Sonnenkamp appeared struck that Roland and Eric were linked together in this way, but he nodded his assent. Eric and the doctor seated themselves in the open carriage, and Roland took his seat with the coachman, who gave him the reins.

The day was bright and full of the fragrance of flowers, bells were ringing, and larks were carolling.

They drove to a village lying at a distance from the river. From, a garden where the elder was in bloom came the beautiful music of a quartette song, and under a linden in an enclosed place, boys and youths were engaged in gymnastic sports.

"O this magnificent German land of ours!" Eric could not refrain from exclaiming. "This is life! This is our life! To cheer the soul with inspiring song, and the body with brisk motion, – this makes a people strong and noble, and honor and freedom must be theirs! All that is great belongs to us, as well as to the classic world."

The doctor, laying his hand quietly upon Eric's knee, looked him full in the eye, and then begged him, if he remained here, to make himself thoroughly acquainted through him with the Rhine life, and not allow himself to be misled, if he should find much that was repulsive both inside and outside of the house. "And if you can – I believe you alone can, if you can't, I give it up – confer upon the boy there, not merely joy in what he has, but joy in the great life of the nation and of the community, which now he has not, then you will have accomplished something that is worth living for. But the main point is, while you are doing this, to have no thought of self, and then the blessing will not fail. This is what I understand by the direction, 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God – that is, the life of truth and of love – and all things shall be added unto you.' Roland," he interrupted himself by calling, "stop here."

The doctor got out, and went into a small but neat-looking house; Eric and Roland went to the gymnastic-grounds. They were regarded at first with great shyness; but when Eric readily showed a fine-looking youth, who went through some exercise clumsily, how to do it better, and when, stripping off his coat, he swung with agility on the horizontal bar, every one became more familiar. Roland also attempted some of the exercises, without much success, and Eric said that they would practise them diligently, but it was unfavorable that they would be obliged to engage in them by themselves, for there was much greater animation and exertion of all the powers, when there was a common emulation.

A messenger came to call Eric and Roland back to the house where the doctor had stopped. Just as the physician came out of the house, the church-bell tolled; all the bystanders took off their hats, even the doctor, and he said, —

"A human being is dead; the man has lived out the term of existence; he was seventy-two years old, and yet yesterday, on his death-bed, he gained comfort in the recollection of a little deed of beneficence. In the year of the famine, 1817, he was travelling as a journeyman cooper over the Lunenburg heath – he continually called it the Hamburg heath – where there was no road; and after several hours he came across a wretched hovel, in which were several children crying from hunger. The cooper had some dried eels, and some bread in a tin box. He gave all to feed the children, and they were happy. 'Mark;' he said to me only yesterday, – 'mark how it does me good, and always rejoices me, that I could at that time feed the children, and perhaps they never have forgotten it, that once a stranger appeased their hunger.' Is it not beautiful that a man can gain solace from a single good deed? He has suffered much, and death is a release to him. Yes, my young friend, such is the world! There outside all is in bloom, people are singing, exercising, sporting, and in the meanwhile, a human being is dying – pooh!" he cried, recovering himself, "I have not brought you with me to make you troubled, Roland; drive the whole length of the village to the last house." And turning to Eric, he said, —

"We are going to see cheerful poverty; you are now to look upon the bright side. The man is a poor vine-dresser; has seven children, four sons and three daughters, and in their poverty they are the merriest people to be found anywhere, and the merriest of all is the old father. His real name is Piper; but because he sings with his children and practises them finely as often as he can get a chance, he is called Sevenpiper."

They drove to the house; the daughters were sitting before the door, the sons were at the gymnastic-ground. Sevenpiper immediately made his appearance, and said that his sons should be sent for. The doctor then asked how things were going with him.

"Ah, Herr doctor," he replied, in a loud tone, "it is always so; my youngest always has the best voice." And turning to Roland, he added, —

"Yes, dear sir, I make my children rich too; each one receives from one to two hundred songs as an outfit, and if they can't make their way through the world with that, then they are good for nothing."

The sons came, and now a cheerful song was struck up, so that the doctor and Roland were put into excellent spirits, and Eric, who quickly caught the tune, sang with them.

The old man nodded to him, and when the song was ended, said, —

"Herr, you can sing too, that's a fact."

The doctor always carried a bottle-case in his carriage, and drawing upon it now, every one became exceedingly merry; and Sevenpiper informed them, and more particularly Roland, that the best thing in the world was to be in good health, and make music for one's self.

The physician took leave, and at evening, Roland and Eric, in a joyous mood, left the house. Sevenpiper's two oldest sons went with them to the bank of the river, where they unfastened the boat, and rowed to the villa.

The water was now very still and clear, and reflected the red glow of the sunset-sky. Eric sat by himself in silence, during one of those blissful hours when one thinks of nothing, and yet enjoys all. Roland kept time in rowing with the sons of Sevenpiper; then, without stroke of the oar, they let the boat float, and it glided noiselessly along in the middle of the stream.