Czytaj książkę: «Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine», strona 47

CHAPTER XIII.
SOUR CREAM SWEETENED

The Major had never been in better spirits at the table than to-day. He forgot to beckon to Joseph to fill up a second time his glass with the favorite Burgundy.

Frau Ceres smiled dubiously when the Professorin gave an account of the excellent people she had seen, the refreshing influence of the prospect of river and mountain, and the yet fairer one of such noble, genuine, domestic life. She added that she had but little acquaintance with other lands, but it was certain that no land surpassed Germany in real depth of feeling and generally diffused culture. Cities and villages, that were only empty names to the traveller whizzing by, concealed within them the beautiful and the best adornments of humanity.

"Nowhere, not in any place where church-bells have rung, has a better sermon been preached than that," said the Major to Eric. He then rose. "Now, the Mother – all of you drink with me – now, long life to the Mother; she enjoys life herself, and makes other people see life on its beautiful and fair side, and the Builder of all the worlds will bless her for it. My brothers! – I mean my – my – then, long life to the Professorin."

Never before had the Major made so long a speech at table, and never had he been so joyous as to-day. Soon after dinner he went towards home, repeating over to himself by the way the words of his speech, for he specially prided himself on being able to give it to Fräulein Milch word for word. All the reputation in the world is of no account if she does not praise him, for she has the best insight into everything.

When he reached the house, and Fräulein Milch complained to him that to-day her sweet cream had turned sour, and not a drop was to be got in the whole village, he signified to her by a wave of the hand that she was to keep silence, so that he should not forget his toast. Placing himself directly in front of her, he said: —

"This is the speech I made at dinner." Laadi looked up at her master, when she heard him declaiming with such energy, and when the Major had concluded, she signified by a bark that she comprehended him. The Major did not mean to tell a lie, but the speech was assuredly better, at least it was longer, as he rehearsed it now to Fräulein Milch, than the one he had made. She said, when he got through: —

"I am only glad that there were some good people there to hear you."

Fräulein Milch did not take to Herr and Frau Sonnenkamp; but she especially disliked Fräulein Perini.

"Why haven't you spread our beautiful white table-cloth?" asked the Major, when he surveyed the neat table set in the garden.

"Because the white is too dazzling in the sunlight."

"That's true; it's well. Mustn't I shut Laadi up? she's so demonstrative."

"No; just let the dog be loose."

The Major was quite in despair that he could not do something to show honor to his guests.

After a while he came back in triumph, for he had done something which was a great sacrifice for him; he had begged the Grand-master's cook to give him a pitcher of fresh cream. He scarcely ever borrowed anything, but to-day an exception must be made.

He managed to place the pitcher upon the table unnoticed by Fräulein Milch, and put his hand up to his mouth to keep himself from laughing outright, when he thought of the Fräulein's astonishment at finding sweet cream upon the table.

He did still more. He went into the sitting-room and dragged his great, leather-covered easy-chair into the garden, for the Professorin to sit in; but when Fräulein Milch came out, she surprised him by pointing out that the easy-chair would not bear the bright sunlight out-of-doors. They carried it back together.

"Sha'n't we go to meet them?" said the Major, who had taken out his spy-glass; "just look through, – stop, I'll alter it, – there; I think there's somebody in sight down yonder."

Fräulein Milch begged him to be quiet, and the Major looked now as if he were ready to weep. Laying his hand on Fräulein Milch's shoulder, he said, —

"It's hard – very hard – cruel – bad – very bad – very cruel that I can't say, Here, Frau Dournay, here is my wife."

Fräulein Milch wheeled about swiftly, and there was a freezing coldness in her whole demeanor.

"For Heaven's sake, what's the matter?"

The dog barked as if she would say, "What's all this? What do you look so angry for?"

"I'm quiet now – I'm quiet now! Be easy, Laadi," said the Major soothingly. He was so exhausted, that he was obliged to sit down; he tried to light his long pipe, but it went out.

He stood by the garden-fence, drumming with his fingers upon one of the rails, and lost in so deep a reverie, that the guests stood before him, without his having noticed their approach.

The meeting of the Mother and Fräulein Milch was not so cordial as the Major had hoped it would be. Each seemed to hold back a little, and they evidently gave each other a close inspection. But the Major laughed inwardly when he thought of the sweet cream, which Fräulein Milch poured out just as usual, without noticing it.

He soon tapped with his stump-finger upon his forehead, saying to himself, —

"She's much too smart to make any fuss before strangers. O, she's wise; one can't know how wise she is!"

How he would have liked to say that to the Professorin! But he resolved to speak as little as possible to-day, and leave the field wholly to Fräulein Milch.

Just the right subject of conversation did not seem to come up; but when the Doctor's wife was mentioned, Fräulein Milch expressed her respect for the noble woman, who had just the right sort of aristocracy.

"And what do you mean by the right sort of aristocracy?"

"It seems to me to receive every one's respect and honor."

"Exactly so, and that perhaps is still truer of Frau Dournay," interposed the Major.

It seemed to him that Fräulein Milch sneered a trifle, and it was not pleasant to him.

The Mother asked Fräulein Milch if she were a native of this part of the country.

She answered curtly in the negative.

At last an expedient occurred to the Major. Two strange horses must be left in the stable by themselves; perhaps they will kick a little at first, but they are soon on good terms. He busied himself in giving a long account to Eric and Roland of the vineyard, which would this year yield wine for the first time, virgin wine as it was called; they must go with him to see it.

The ladies were now by themselves. The Mother wanted to say something commendatory of Fräulein Milch, about whom she had heard so many favorable things; but this did not exactly suit her, and by a happy turn she referred to the strangeness of the change in her own life, and how much she needed help.

This was the right key to touch, for Fräulein Milch was in her element whenever she could render any advice and assistance. She took an unexpectedly deep view, saying that a firm position in life could be kept, so long as one's self-respect was preserved. The Mother was surprised at the tact and knowledge of the world she displayed. She expected to see a narrow-minded, frivolous, talkative housewife, and here was evidence of refined thought which could be the result only of deep and mature reflection.

She wanted to say, You are more than your circumstances would indicate; but she refrained, and expressed anew her satisfaction at the beauty of the landscape, which was continually unfolding hidden charms, and at the rich fulness of life, as revealed in human beings, who even in solitude cherished refined thoughts and noble sentiments. Fräulein Milch, who had seated herself with her cup of coffee a little apart from the table, now drew up nearer, and beginning with an allusion to Eric's discreet management, she proceeded to give a clear-sighted characterization of Herr Sonnenkamp and his wife.

She did not mention Fräulein Perini. She only expressed her regret that Herr Sonnenkamp, who was not really hardhearted, should have no systematic beneficence. She drew a picture of the necessitous condition of various people in the neighborhood, for she knew everybody for miles around. The Mother said finally: —

"I thank you; you remind me of a work which I had lost sight of, and which was the very reason of my coming here. If I have the disposal of Herr Sonnenkamp's charities, will you assist me?"

Fräulein Milch promised to do so; but she suggested that it would be very much more expedient for the Professorin to have the cooperation of the daughter of the house; in this way many good results could be secured. The girl, who was serious and earnest, would take again her proper place, and the immeasurable wealth of the father would have a secure and immovable basis if it were intrusted to the care of the daughter of the house.

The Mother's eyes gleamed as she looked, at Fräulein Milch; yonder the Doctor's wife, and here the housekeeper, are appealing to her to bring Manna out of the convent, and initiate her into an active life of common usefulness.

She made, very cautiously, further inquiries of the charitable and sensible housekeeper concerning the people in the neighborhood, but Fräulein Milch evaded them. She affirmed that she did not have the right view of people; she saw them on Sundays and holidays, when they were in a merry mood, singing, and going up and down the mountain with wreaths on their heads; but whoever was not in the very midst of this hilarious movement, whoever observed it from the window, or from behind the garden hedge, could form no suitable estimate of it; generally the whole seems one undistinguishable jumble, just as when one stops his ears and looks at people dancing, but hears nothing of the music.

The Mother led the talk back to Manna, and, forgetting her usual marked reserve, Fräulein Milch declared that Manna must have received some severe shock, as it was not natural for any one to go from the extreme of overbearing pride to the extreme of humility.

"I will relate to you one little incident of Manna, and you will know what she is. A stinging fly, a Rhine-gnat, as it is called, alighted on her hand, and sucked her blood; she quietly let it suck, and then said: 'The ugly fly! I have let it drink my blood without disturbing it, and just for that it has stung me.' Now can't you know what the child is from this little trait, supposing that they have not spoiled her in the convent? I can speak of the child with so much the more freedom, as she has a dislike to me, of which Fräulein Perini was the cause."

Fräulein Milch now launched out into a passionate invective against Pranken.

She acknowledged that her aversion to him arose from his making the Major the target of his wit, more than was attributable to youthful arrogance; he was both witty and supercilious. And it was so much the more remarkable that now he should pretend to be pious, and that too, before he had married Manna; there must be some deep-laid game here, not easily seen through.

Engaged thus in friendly intercourse, the two women got to know each other. Frau Dournay, with her naturally ladylike and easy bearing, imparted a great deal, without seeming to do so; Fräulein Milch, with her acquired culture, which did not sit gracefully upon her, in every communication of deep thought showed plainly the difficult steps by which she had made it her own. When the Professorin spoke with such ease and fluency, Fräulein Milch nodded, saying to herself; "Yes, forsooth! this lady has sat down at the table all spread, and been served by others, with all the means of culture, while I have had to cook my own food and to set my own table."

The Major saw from a distance the two women take each other by the hand, and he spoke to Laadi fondling words that he would like to have spoken to Fräulein Milch.

"You are a pretty creature, smarter than all the world put together – clear as the day – quiet and steady – not you, Laadi, – what are you looking at me so for?"

He returned to the garden, Roland and Eric following immediately.

As the Major was escorting the Professorin a part of the way home, she said: —

"I believe that I am acquainted now not only with the two best, but also the two happiest people in this region."

The Major remained some time standing in the same place, and looking after the departing guests; then turning his eyes upward, he said: —

"Thanks to thee, thou Builder of all the worlds! Thou knowest what I would say, without my speaking, – oh dear!"

BOOK VIII

CHAPTER I.
ON GOETHE'S BIRTH-DAY

The swiftly-flowing Rhine between its bends seems transformed into a lake, until, curving around the jutting mountain, it continues its course.

This is very much the case with the story we are narrating.

The Mother wanted to go straightforward to the goal she had in view, but many obstacles interposed. First came a very pressing invitation from Clodwig, for the Mother and the whole of Sonnenkamp's family to celebrate Goethe's birth-day at Wolfsgarten.

The invitation was accepted; but Frau Ceres and Fräulein Perini remained at home.

They drove to Wolfsgarten. Eric did not say it in so many words, but his eyes expressed how much he felt protected and supported by the Mother's presence, in entering the house of his friend; she seemed a living testimony that he crossed the threshold with a pure heart and a pure eye. Yet he could not suppress all anxiety in regard to his first meeting with Bella. She came with the Aunt, as far as the wood, to meet them.

Bella embraced the Mother, and again thanked her for having subjected herself to the self-denial of letting Aunt Claudine remain with her. Extending her hand to Eric, she said, with a sort of chilled look: —

"You were his first thought to-day, my young friend."

She said nothing further, and did not mention her husband's name.

Rain began to fall before they reached Wolfsgarten, and it did not cease during the whole day, so that they were confined in doors.

Clodwig was remarkably cheerful and happy, and the day passed off with a joyousness that is possible only to persons in entire leisure, and perhaps only on the banks of the Rhine.

Roland was the happiest of all; he seemed to be the life and connecting link of the company, looking up at every one, as if he would ask: —

"Why are you not as glad as I am?"

He went from the Mother to the Aunt, from her to Bella and to Clodwig, to and fro, as if he must let every one know how pleasant and home-like a circle he had found. He was in such very good spirits, that at last he said: —

"Ah! when sister Manna comes home, she will see at once that uncle, aunt, grandfather and all are here, just as if they had grown upon trees."

The inquiry was made where Pranken was.

They said he had gone to stay with an agriculturist devoted to the church, the convent-farmer, as he was called; for there was nothing, at the present day, to which an ecclesiastical coloring and characteristic was not given. Pranken had the good fortune, by this means, to be near the convent, whose lands were farmed by the agriculturist.

They assembled in the grand saloon, from which three doors opened upon the covered piazza adorned with flowers and hanging-plants, and furnished with comfortable seats.

As they were quietly sitting and chatting together, Clodwig suddenly raised his hand as a signal for them to be silent; they understood his meaning and ceased talking. He had taken out his watch, and now said: —

"This is the very moment Goethe was born. I beg," he added with a kindly glance, "I, beg Bella and Fräulein Dournay-"

The ladies understood what he meant, and seating themselves at the piano, played Beethoven's Overture to Egmont, arranged as a duet.

Clodwig, leaning back in his chair, listened with closed eyes; the Professorin was sitting near him, while Eric, holding Roland by the hand, was upon the piazza.

At the conclusion of the Overture, Clodwig informed them that he had been so fortunate as to know Goethe personally, and related a variety of pleasing anecdotes.

The Mother expressed her regret at never having heard the voice of the exalted genius, nor looked him in the eye, although she was old enough, at the time he died, to know what he was, even if she could not fully comprehend him. She recounted the fact of a man's coming to her father's house, as they were sitting down to dinner, and informing them that news of Goethe's death had just been brought. An elderly lady was so affected by it, that she could not sit down with them to dinner.

In the qualified view he then expressed, she had gained an acquaintance for the first time with her husband's mind; for while he held Goethe in the highest veneration, he had asserted that the Master had made poetic art too effeminate, in placing woman too directly as the central point of living interests, and giving the impression to men, that poesy and an acquaintance with it, were the province of woman, just as so many Free-thinkers, as they were styled, regarded religion as belonging peculiarly to her.

Clodwig opposed this view of Goethe; he dwelt with special emphasis upon the difficulty experienced in our modern life, which does not admit of the worship of genius, as it is termed; for this worship could be possible only where a pure manifestation of God, a theophany, was granted. When limitations were placed to this, worship was no longer possible.

It was scarcely noticed that Bella, Claudine and Herr Sonnenkamp had left the saloon, for Bella had requested Herr Sonnenkamp that he would give her some advice about the new arrangements of her conservatory.

And thus Clodwig and the Mother were now left alone in the saloon, while Eric and Roland were sitting in silence upon the piazza, and listening to Clodwig as he added, that the future would no longer, perhaps, have any formal cultus, when there was the true consecration of the spirit in actual life.

Eric and Roland listened with bated breath, as Clodwig and the Mother acknowledged to each other the influence which the Master had exerted upon the development of their life and the training of their minds. They thoroughly discussed that work too little known, "Goethe's Conversations with Eckermann," which brings us into the living, personal presence of the Master of masters. Clodwig represented that the youth of today no longer had the same veneration for Goethe; and the Professorin informed him that her deceased husband – she quoted him repeatedly – had explained this by saying, that the youth of to-day regarded themselves, first of all, as citizens, and this life as a citizen, this active influence in the State, had not dawned upon Goethe, and it was not his sphere.

They again extolled, as in an alternate chant, the influence of Goethe in enriching and in deepening their life.

Eric and Roland listened in silence; once only, Eric said in a low tone, —

"Note, Roland, this is glory, this is renown, this is the noblest good-fortune, for a man to exert such an influence that his spirit always gives fresh inspiration; that two persons shall sit in after years, and derive mutual edification from recalling what one who is dead and gone has been the means of establishing."

Roland looked into the large, gleaming eyes of Eric, who could have embraced the youth as he said, —

"For once, I am present at your devotions."

Again the two in the saloon spoke, and now Eric heard his name mentioned, as the Mother said, —

"Eric reads Goethe's poems aloud very well."

He got up at once, and was ready to do it.

Bella, Aunt Claudine, and Herr Sonnenkamp were called in, and Eric read aloud, but to-day not so well as usual, for there were many things which might be taken as the embodiment of emotions in his own heart and in that of Bella.

They sat down to dinner in an elevated frame of mind, as after a religious service.

Clodwig could not speak often enough of the good-fortune, which had led the son of one of the guests to become the life-guide of the son of another.

He plunged deeply into the consideration that one Spirit, who presided over all, had prepared and fitted the one to impart the highest he possessed to the other.

He said very naturally, that Manna ought to leave the convent, as no one could aid her to complete her education more worthily than the Mother.

Sonnenkamp and the Mother looked at each other in amazement, for another was expressing their own silent convictions.

Sonnenkamp thanked Clodwig very meekly for the deep interest he felt in his family, and said that a suggestion of Clodwig's had to him the weight of a higher command, and he hoped that the Professorin would receive it as such. She promised to undertake the charge, as her only satisfaction was in being useful.

The rain still continued. Again they assembled in the grand saloon, and now Bella displayed her proficiency in arts that no one knew her to be mistress of. She appeared, having a red velvet curtain draped about her in the Grecian style, and imitated a famous Italian player with wonderful fidelity to the life. She went out, and appeared again as a Parisian grisette; then she afterwards appeared as a Tyrolese singer, every time wholly different, and hardly recognizable.

She excited the most merriment when she imitated in succession three different beggar-women, – a Catholic, a Protestant, and a Jew. She enacted also, with the same applause, a scene in which a Catholic, a Protestant, and a Jewish woman came separately to the dentist, to have an aching tooth extracted. And without degenerating into caricature, she took off her acquaintances, all with such perfect grace and such accuracy of delineation, that words failed to express the admiration.

Clodwig said in a low tone to the Mother: "You may well be proud that she makes this exhibition before you, for she cannot be easily induced to do it in any one's presence whom she does not value highly."

Sonnenkamp added that it was a magnificent but wasteful luxury to possess such talent, and not to exhibit it to the delight of the whole world.

Eric, meanwhile, watched with a mixed feeling these dramatic representations, which he could not help admiring. How rich a nature Bella possessed! And how hard it must be for her to circumscribe her manifold activity within the narrow bounds of a limited sphere of duty! But Bella, to-day, had thrown herself into the various parts with all her energy; she desired to have every feeling and every remembrance effaced from her own and from Eric's soul. Eric had this impression, but he made no remark. Bella spoke to him once only, telling him that the Russian Prince, who was staying with Weidmann, wrote frequently to her, and desired to be remembered to him; and that he also wrote in the warmest terms of esteem concerning Roland's earlier tutor, Master Knopf.

In the emphasis which she placed upon the word tutor, Bella seemed desirous of setting up again between her and Eric the old boundary line that had disappeared.

Towards evening the rain held up, and the sun came out with that inexpressible glory of coloring only to be seen when the mountains glow, and seem transfigured with its misty beams. They immediately set out towards home.

The whole day seemed a perfect series of fantastic forms. Roland was continually giving expression to his astonishment at the versatility of the Countess; but Sonnenkamp offered his hand to the Mother, saying, —

"If agreeable to you, we will to-morrow pay a visit to my daughter."

The Mother nodded assent. Sonnenkamp was highly pleased; he had perfect confidence in the nobleness of her motives, and, for awhile, he himself experienced a like elevation. It is such a fine thing, and people are so happy in taking up with things of that sort, and it always pays well, at any rate, in making one feel comfortably.

But very soon the consciousness of his own triumphant power came uppermost; the world subserves his plans, and it is his chief delight to make people his tools and playthings, and balance himself on their shoulders. And it exactly suited his purpose that Clodwig and the Professorin adopted his own secret plan; they must now feel grateful to him for carrying out their desires, at the very time they were of service to him, and were helping him to bring to a successful issue his main design. He saw in this a confirmation of his claim to be a being of a higher species, one who disposes as he will of others, and at the same time makes them feel under obligation to him.

On the evening of his return, Sonnenkamp ordered the gardener to place the next day Manna's favorite flower, the mignonette, in every part of her room.