CHAPTER V.
THE BLACK HORROR
"Henry, come! Henry, come back! these are your trees, and your house. Come back! I will dance with you. Henry, Henry!"
Such was Frau Ceres' incessant cry.
She refused all nourishment; she insisted on waiting till her husband said "Dear child, do take something." Only after the most urgent entreaties of Fräulein Perini, did she at last consent to eat something. She wanted to embroider, and took up her work; but the next moment she laid it down again.
Weeping and lamenting, she went through the gardens and greenhouses.
Fräulein Perini had the greatest difficulty in soothing her.
Then Frau Ceres reprimanded the gardener for raking over the paths. The marks of her husband's feet were in the gravel, and they must not be removed, or he would die.
At other times, she would sit at the window for hours together, looking out upon the hills and the clouds, and the river where the boats were sailing up and down; and all the while she would be grieving in a low voice to herself, —
"Henry, I grieved you sorely, I wounded you; you may whip me as you would your slaves; only let me be with you, forgive me. Do you remember that day when you came out to me, and Cæsar played the harp, and I danced in my blue frock and my gold-colored shoes? Do you remember?" – "Manna," she suddenly cried; "Manna, bring your harp and play for me. I want to dance; I am still pretty. Come, Henry!"
Suddenly she turned to Fräulein Perini, and asked, "He is coming back, is he not?" Her tone was so quiet and natural as for the moment to re-assure them.
"Tell him he shall marry Frau Bella when I die," she suddenly began again, her great eyes gazing vacantly before her. "Frau Bella is a handsome widow, very handsome; and he shall give her my ornaments, they will look so well on her."
"Pray, do not speak so."
"Come, we must see that his heaths are well taken care of. He taught me all about them. We will have some good bog-earth dried and pounded and sifted. Then, when he comes home, he will say, 'That was very clever of you, Ceres: you did that well.'"
She went with Fräulein Perini to the hot-house, and gave intelligent directions to the head gardener that he should be careful to keep the heaths very moist, and not in too high a temperature.
Fräulein Perini sent one of the boys who was working in the garden to fetch Eric. Her anxiety was so great, she could not bear to be left longer alone with Frau Ceres.
Frau Ceres appeared very composed. After examining all the heaths, and lifting each one up to see that the saucers were kept properly damp, she left the hot-house, saying as she went, —
"It is quite time that Captain Dournay should learn the care of plants. These scholars fancy there is nothing they can learn from us: I can assure them they can learn a great deal from my husband. There are more than two hundred heaths at the Cape. Yes, you may take my word for it; he told me so. Now let us go back into the house."
On their way, they came to an open space, where was a pond, and a little fountain playing.
Suddenly Frau Ceres uttered a piercing cry. Down the broad path towards them came the black man Adams, with Roland on one arm, and Manna on the other.
"You are changed into a negro! Who did that to you? Henry! Fie, Henry! Take off the black skin!" With piercing cries, she threw herself upon Adams, and tore the clothes from his body; then sank lifeless on the ground before him. They were just bearing her into the house, when Doctor Richard and the Professorin arrived.
Frau Ceres never woke.
Her body was laid in the great music room; and the flowers that Sonnenkamp had so tenderly cared for were set about his wife's corpse. Here in the music room, where the young people had so often sung and danced – would there ever be dancing and music here again?
The friends came, and kissed and embraced Roland; Lina also appeared, and embraced Manna in silence. By a pressure of the hand, a silent embrace, each one expressed to the mourners his sympathy, his desire to help them.
Pranken appeared also among the mourners, and, with Fräulein Perini, knelt beside the body.
After a blessing had been pronounced in the church, the funeral-train moved towards the burial-ground.
The members of the music-club had been gathered together by Knopf and Fassbender, and sang at the open grave. Roland stood leaning on Eric, while the Mother and aunt Claudine supported Manna.
Eric's thoughts reverted to that day in spring when he had sat over his wine with Pranken, and had looked out at the churchyard where the nightingale was singing. Who could have foretold then that he would be standing here a mourner at the grave of the mother of his betrothed, and of his pupil?
The music ceased, and the Priest advanced to the edge of the grave. There was a hush for a while over the whole assembly. The chattering of the magpies, and the screaming of the nut-peckers, was heard in the trees.
After repeating a prayer in a low tone, the Priest raised his voice, and cried, —
"Thou poor rich child from the New World! Now thou art in the new world indeed. Thou hast gone hence with thy sins unforgiven, in delusion, in frenzy. Thou hast left thy children behind to atone, to suffer, to sacrifice, for thee. They will do it: they must do it. Children, God is your father; the church is your mother. Hearken unto me. Here we stand beside an open grave. Ye can live without us, without the church; but, when ye come to die, ye must call upon us: and, though ye have scorned us, we shall come full of grace and compassion; for God so commandeth us. O thou departed one! now thou art ennobled; for death gives nobility: thou art decked with ornaments fairer than thy diamonds; for, with all thy worldliness, thou didst have a believing spirit. Grief set her crown of thorns upon thee: thou hast suffered much, and thou wilt be forgiven. But I call upon ye who stand here this day alive: Ye can build country houses, and furnish them sumptuously; but the prince of all life, which is death, shall come and mow you down, and ye shall moulder in the ground. A house of boards, that is the country house which is decreed to every one, deep in the bosom of the earth. But woe to those men whose holy ark is the fire-proof safe! The men of so-called philosophy and natural science come and flatter the believers in the fire-proof safe, and when the bolt from heaven falls, they say, 'There is a lightening-rod on our house, we have nothing to fear.' And if death comes, what say ye then? Ye have no answer. O ye poor, rich children! Turn unto us! The arms of mercy are open to receive you; they alone can defend you. To that rich young man the answer was: – I speak not of how the wealth was won from which the young soul will not part; I only call – no, it is not I who call – my passing breath but bears the eternal word. Leave all that thou hast and follow me. Wilt thou too, go hence weeping, because thou canst not give up the riches of the world? Oh! I call thee – no, He who has brought this day upon us, who looks down from the height of heaven into this grave – He calls to thee: Rend asunder the bonds of slavery! Thou art thyself a slave: be free! And thou, noble maiden, who hast the highest in thyself, look down into this grave, and forward to the time when such a grave shall open for thee. Save thyself! Despise not the hand that will save thee. Days of sorrow, nights of desolation will come upon thee. In the day thou wilt ask, 'Where am I?' and for what is my life on the earth? And thou wilt send forth thy voice weeping into the night, and wilt shudder at the night of death? Thou knowest what is salvation; thou bearest it in thyself. And now? Faithless – thrice faithless! Faithless to thyself, to thy friends, to thy God!" Beating himself upon the breast, he cried in a voice broken by tears, —
"How willingly, how joyfully would I die, I who am speaking to ye now, if I could say, I have saved them. And yet, not I, but the Spirit through the breath of my mouth. Come, leave all that holds ye back, all on which ye lean – come to me, ye children of sorrow; to me, ye children of misery, of pain, of riches, and of helpless poverty!"
There was a pause in which no one stirred, and the Priest resumed, —
"I have spoken, I have warned, I have called as I was forced to, and because I was forced. I appeal to thee whose mortal frame we are here consigning to the earth, speak to thy children, 'Children, the three handfuls of earth which you were to throw upon my grave, ye shall throw them when this hand resigns what is called the riches of this world, but which is nothing but the ransom of a lost soul.' If ye do it not, we shall still pray for ye who are dead in the living body, as we do for thee whose dead body we are sinking into the grave, but whose soul is risen into eternity. Grant that thy, children may receive eternal life, only the life eternal!" —
The Priest's whole body trembled, and Roland trembled as he stood by Eric. Weidmann approached the boy on the other side, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said in a low voice, "Be calm."
The grave was filled up with earth; the Priest hurried from the church-yard and Pranken with him: the mourners took their way back to the Villa.
"Who would have believed that the Priest would dare to speak so at the grave? But it is well. What more can come? Is not all accomplished now? It is best that she should have died when she did. The poor rich children!"
"What will the children do now?" Such were the words that might have been heard on all sides, as the people dispersed after the burial of Frau Ceres.
The children returned from their mother's grave to the Villa.
Roland was the first to recover his self-command.
"I will not let myself be broken down," he cried. "The black horror shall not frighten me. Give me something to do, Eric. Herr Weidmann, now for the first time, I am yours: I will work, and not let myself give way."
Manna, too, began to be herself again.
Their mother's death, and the painful scene at her grave, had given added firmness to the character of both.
The day after the funeral, Roland was first applied to upon a question of money: Fräulein Perini asked for her discharge. With the approval of Eric and Weidmann, she was abundantly provided for, besides receiving Frau Ceres' entire wardrobe. She packed the clothes in great trunks, and had them taken to the parsonage; but she herself soon departed for Italy, where she joined the young widow, the daughter of Herr von Endlich.
Villa Eden stood now entirely at the disposal of Eric and Roland.
Once more, the Professorin became the one point of attraction; and all assembled in her cottage. She had now a good helper in Professor Einsiedel, who had obtained leave of absence, and promised to spend the winter at the Villa.
After the shocks that Roland and Manna had experienced, their mourning for their mother was almost a relief. That her death should have been caused as it was by terror at the sight of Adams, by a diseased imagination, and that the Priest at the grave had made his last, desperate attempt upon them, – these things were almost a comfort to them. Roland gratefully clasped his sister's hand as she said, —
"Let us not have any feeling of hatred or bitterness towards the negro for having been the innocent cause of our mother's death."
"If there were only something else in prospect for you, if you could only find such an active interest as I have at Mattenheim," said Roland, in whose mind the idea became uppermost, that he must return to Mattenheim. But with a sad smile, like a sunbeam breaking through heavy clouds, he soon added, —
"I forgot: there is something else for you, and something so beautiful! You will be Eric's wife."
Manna was silent.
"What are you reading so earnestly?" she asked Roland one day, after he had been sitting for hours without looking up from his book. He showed her what it was, a book treating of forests. That subject was the only one which now fascinated him, he told her; and, as she spoke, it seemed almost as if it must be Eric talking, so entirely had the boy entered into the spirit of his teacher.
He felt refreshed by the study of this perpetual and permanent growth, and the voluntary protection of it by men. With a real enthusiasm he added, —
"I could not be interested in raising flowers, as my father was; but I get from him the love with which I can devote myself to the trees and woods."
CHAPTER VI.
THE VOLUNTEER
In accordance with a wish of Weidmann's, Eric accompanied Roland and Joseph to the city, in order to deposit the valuable papers in a place of safety.
The first house they visited on arriving in the city was the Banker's, which, situated in a garden outside the gates, combined the repose of the country with the animation of the city. The business life of the owner was in the heart of the city: here he was his own master. Everywhere throughout the richly furnished house were marks of refinement and elegance.
To Eric's surprise, he found the Banker in the great library where were several beautiful statues. The man, who, at Wolfsgarten, at the time of Clodwig's death, had kept so modestly in the background, here in his domestic life presided over a rich and solid establishment.
After a short explanation of the object of their visit, the Banker took his guests to his office. Here, in his business activity, he seemed another man, or rather two men. He had, so to speak, an office nature and a home nature: in his own house friendly, amiable, generous, and communicative; at his office chary of words, curt, decided, and cautious.
He declined receiving all these valuable papers himself, but advised their being taken to the city bank for deposit: as an additional precaution, the coupons should be separated from the bonds, and kept by themselves.
The Banker advised that Roland should acquire some insight of his own into business and money matters. As he would one day have the management of such a large property, it would be desirable for him to enter some business house for a while; otherwise he would always be in a measure dependent upon others. He offered to make an exception in Roland's favor, and, contrary to his custom, receive the young man into his own office.
Eric assented, seeing what an advantage this would be; but Roland looked embarrassed. The Banker now produced Weidmann's letter in which the same desire was expressed.
Roland cast a timid look about the room, where several young men were standing at desks writing, or were walking to and fro. Should he be standing there too? What did these strangers mean by disposing of him so, and wishing to give him a career?
All this passed rapidly through his mind, and, when he was asked his opinion, he replied, —
"I am grateful not only for the kindness, but for the frankness, of Herr Weidmann and yourself in speaking so openly with me."
The Banker sent word through a speaking-tube, that he desired Herr Rudolph Weidmann to come up to his room.
Weidmann's youngest son, who was a clerk in the banking house, soon entered.
There was a general introduction: the young man bowed to Eric, and shook hands with Roland. The Banker told young Weidmann that he should be excused from work as long as Roland remained; but the young man replied, that there was so much work going on as to make that impossible. The Banker dismissed him with an invitation to come that evening to his house; and, after a few friendly words with Roland, the boy departed.
The Banker considered whether it would not be well to sell some of Sonnenkamp's American paper, owing to the unsettled state of the times; but, on the other hand, he could hardly take upon himself the responsibility. He received with a cordial smile Roland's suggestion, that they were bound to keep his money as it was till there should be some new developments.
Roland and Eric next accompanied the Banker to the house. It was just at the time, when, owing to the election of Lincoln, American paper was falling from day to day in value, occasioning great excitement in business circles. Roland and Eric were greatly impressed by the fact; and the question arose in their minds. How could men take a purely moral and disinterested view of great public events, when the rise and fall which they occasioned affected so immediately their own profit and loss?
Bewildered by the noise and the contradictory emotions that the scene aroused in them, they left the Exchange, and became the Banker's guests in his own house.
Here the Banker assumed the part of teacher, and explained to his two guests that the laws of economics and those of humanity were hard to reconcile, almost as hard as the conflict between the freedom of the will and the limitations of nature in the department of philosophy. They are parallel lines that rarely meet, and then only to part again at once. After all, what was one man's loss was another man's gain, so that none of the world's property was really lost.
Eric showed how these contrasts had been recognized, though in a different way, in the most ancient times. The rod of Hermes is at once the wand of divination and the symbol of that instantaneous flash – the introduction into life and the dismissal from it – by which the old myths represented human life and death.
The Banker, who was always ready to receive information, listened to Eric's explanation of the myths and sagas, and their similarity in all the different nations. He was always eager to penetrate any new realm of knowledge, and grateful for instruction.
While the company were at table, several telegrams were brought to the Banker, who read them tranquilly, and then handed them to his two sons, who were sitting at table with him.
Here, at this table, Eric was for the first time conscious of a change in himself. The Banker liked to have every finished result of science served up for him, and he brought intelligence and relish to the enjoyment of it, as he did at the same time to a perfectly ripe pine-apple; but Eric was not so communicative as he used to be, and no longer felt called upon to give himself out at every demand. He kept silence, and left the talking to others. As soon as he had finished his comparisons of the different mythologies, the Banker, in his turn, spoke of the effect that was produced by the rise or fall of this or that paper; the exchange also he described as an organic existence.
Eric was a ready listener, he wanted now to be instructed by others.
The Banker's daughter-in-law, a lady of noble bearing, treated Eric and Roland with marked cordiality, and expressed a great desire to become acquainted with the Professorin and Manna.
Eric was surprised at being reminded of an incident that had almost passed from his memory. This lady had heard him sing at the festival, and said how much pleasure it would give her to hear him again, as she sang a little herself: upon his saying, however, that he was not at that moment at all in the mood for singing, she at once ceased from her request, in the hope that it might, by and by, at some happier time be granted her.
As the company were rising from table, young Weidmann and the cashier Fassbender were announced. The host made them come in, and sit down with the party at dessert. The young men were evidently embarrassed, and felt it a great favor to be thus admitted into the private life of their chief.
The gentlemen repaired to the billiard room. And the young men, as a special favor, were allowed to smoke a cigar in the house of the chief, even in his presence.
As Roland showed ho inclination to take part in the game, the Banker told him to consider himself at perfect liberty to go to his room, or to take a walk with Weidmann and Fassbender. He preferred going with the young men to his room. He returned presently, when the gentlemen, having finished their game, were sitting in familiar chat about the open fire, and with many thanks announced his resolution of entering the office for a while; only stipulating that he should not be charged with fickleness of purpose, if he did not stay long in the employ.
Far into the night, Roland talked with Eric, telling him how strange it seemed to have so much guidance and protection offered him, although he acknowledged the advantage it was to him, and the gratitude he felt towards these gentlemen for it.
The next morning, the box of papers was taken to the vaults of the bank. Eric and Roland stood as in a fairy tale before all this hidden treasure. Some old recollection must have been stirred in Roland; for he suddenly said to Eric, —
"What would Claus say if he could see all this?"
He looked in amazement at Eric, standing there so tranquil and indifferent.
"Does it not impress you strongly too?" he said.
"Not at all; for what is all this treasure? From the top of a mountain, you see things of much more value than this stamped metal. Houses, fields, trees, are much more, much greater."
Roland looked disheartened. For a long time to come, he would have nothing to do but cast accounts, and watch the money market. The full life at the Villa, the mountains, the river, the drives, and Mattenheim, all seemed removed to an immeasurable distance. Nevertheless, he remained firm.
Eric took Roland to the counting-house, where the latter was assigned a place at young Weidmann's desk.
Eric staid several days; for he wished to become acquainted with Roland's associates. He was especially pleased with the cashier, Fassbender's son, a young man of much discernment and youthful freshness, active in body, and vivacious in mind. He was president of the mercantile
turnverein
, and assiduously cultivated the love of learning in himself and his companions.
Eric could resign the guidance of Roland to this young man with entire confidence.
He talked much with the Banker about Clodwig. The Banker was very lenient in his judgment of Bella, and could not refrain from reproaching Clodwig with having married again: he had deceived himself, and allowed Bella to be deceived; for the latter had really believed that she could find pleasure in a quiet life, and relinquish all the privileges of youth; and it was the smothered passion for adventure which had driven her to this extreme.
Eric listened, but said little. He even felt it his duty to tell the Banker that he had got over his old zeal for imparting knowledge, and was no longer in a condition to give the total results of his thoughts and study.
The Banker considered this perfectly natural. The knowledge which constituted a man's calling, he said, was a man's capital, and ought not to be drawn upon: every man held a kind of trust fund, and the interest only should be risked and freely employed in trade.
He thought it eminently proper that Eric should now learn to be economical of himself.
On the third day, Eric returned alone to Villa Eden, promising to forward all necessary aids for Roland.
He came, as it were, out of another world; but his heart was lightened: he rejoiced at Roland's sudden resolve, and even began to consider himself no longer as a mere scholar, but as one to whom a great treasure has been intrusted which he is to care for next to truth.
The announcement of Roland's decision created great astonishment at Villa Eden.
Eric found Professor Einsiedel