CHAPTER VII.
BITTER ALMONDS BECOME SWEET
The Justice's wife was an object of envy in that the first coffee-party of the winter was to be at her house. It seemed hardly necessary to provide any entertainment; for who would care to eat and drink when there was so much to talk about? – of Sonnenkamp, of Bella, of the betrothal of Eric and Manna, of poor Frau Ceres, of the negro, of the Prince, of Clodwig's death. There was so much, that only a part of it could be brought into play.
At length the company assembled.
The corner of the sofa where Bella used to sit – it seemed decades ago – was shunned with a kind of superstitious dread. Frau "Lay-Figure" was so extremely fortunate as to have a story to tell about a sofa-corner. There was a physician back in the country, with a very small practice, and the sofa in his parlor had a great hole in it: so, whenever a caller came, the doctor's wife was very affable, and seated herself forthwith upon the torn place in the sofa. It was a good story enough, and Frau Lay-Figure told it well, too: and she laughed, as she generally did; for she laughed at every thing: but nobody else laughed very heartily.
Luckily, a stranger was now introduced; quite a distinguished personage, who now made her first appearance at the grand coffee-party. This was the wife of the Director of the Water-works, who, in the discharge of his duties as Rhine Commissioner, had come to reside for a short time in the little town.
The Frau Directorin of the Water-works seated herself, all unconsciously, in Bella's old place.
And now they could begin.
But who would have guessed that the covetousness of the Cabinetsräthen would be first discussed as a kind of appetizing morsel! This was the way with great people. Of course, one could get clothes from Paris by such machinations. A magnificent system of bribery indeed! Who knew what else she might have got out of Sonnenkamp, and others besides? The ladies were almost ashamed of their own virtuous stupidity.
The English lady spoke with great respect of the Americans who had purchased the villa of the Cabinetsrath.
The Consul's wife in particular, she said, belonged to one of the first families in the Northern States; for there was a decided aristocracy there, distinguished for its noble bearing. The great merchants, the millionaires of the North, were usually called "merchant-princes."
Frau White, or Frau "Coal," as she was called, gazed reverently up at the English lady. Her glance said that she considered the latter a happy woman to have any thing so well worth telling.
The Rhine Commissioner's wife had a very good time. To her they could tell the whole story of the house of Sonnenkamp; and the ladies took turns, and supplemented one another's narratives.
The wife of the cement-manufacturer wore her perpetual frown, and nodded occasionally, as if she had much to say, when, in reality, she had nothing.
Frau Lay-Figure observed, smiling sweetly, that it was very interesting to have known a slave-trader. She had often wished to see one.
"And a cannibal too!" said the wife of the steamboat-agent, who, as usual, held her cup aloft in her left hand, and dipped her cake in it from time to time. She had always the very best appetite.
"Yes, that is interesting too," assented Frau Lay-Figure, smiling so as to show her teeth.
It was remarkable that no one ventured at first to allude to Frau Bella, until the wife of the steamboat-agent told how she had gone with her eldest daughter to the dentist, and he had told her he was never so startled in his life as when the Countess von Wolfsgarten came to him, the very night Count Clodwig was so ill, to have a front tooth set.
The Doctor's wife said that Frau Bella was not guiltless of her husband's death.
All now fell upon her. She must tell them what she knew; and, before she could explain herself, Frau Lay-Figure added, —
"And no doubt Herr Sonnenkamp was guilty too! Who knows what he did?"
The good Doctor's lady turned pale; but though she protested earnestly and solemnly, that her husband had said nothing about it, that she never would have spoken if he had, they would not believe her. The Doctor's wife was exceedingly sorry, and retracted her remarks, that Bella, in a passionate outburst, had wounded deeply her husband's feelings. The mistaken declaration of the coroner, so strenuously contradicted, was revived; and they said it was evident that Frau Bella had felt herself in some way to blame, and had fled on this account.
"I pity Herr von Pranken," said Lina suddenly.
All eyes were turned upon her; and Lina quietly continued, —
"Yes, he is not so bad a man after all. He has lost his bride, and now his sister has deserted him; and for so much shame and misery to be heaped upon his head is too hard."
The wife of the Director of the Waterworks praised Lina's kind-heartedness, and wanted to know more about Bella's character. Frau Lay-Figure said she was the one to inform her; for she had a cook who had formerly lived with Bella. The latter was not bad to her servants, only capricious. She sometimes scolded them dreadfully, but made them presents afterwards, and took care to have them enjoy themselves.
A good deal of curiosity was expressed by one and another, as to whether Eric and Manna would soon marry. The death of Frau Ceres and the Priest's violent harangue were next discussed.
The steamboat-agent's wife had some further information to give about Bella's nocturnal journey. She had questioned the pilot; and universal astonishment was expressed that Bella had taken no wardrobe with her.
"I fancy she will assume man's attire, and she will look remarkably well in it."
Frau Lay-Figure rolled her eyes about the circle after this audacious remark; but she encountered no glance. The eyes of all the ladies were cast down.
The question was now asked, whether the Professorin had been invited. The Justice's wife replied in the affirmative; and Frau Lay-Figure began, that people said, – but they all knew no one had ever said it but herself, – that the Professorin had managed very adroitly to oust Pranken, and substitute her son. Before any one could reply, there was a knock, and the Professorin entered. All rose; and Frau Lay-Figure, who had ensconced herself in the harmless corner of the sofa, insisted upon giving the Professorin her place.
With winning frankness, the lady remarked, that she had had a strong desire to see something of her fellowmen once more, and could enter most heartily into their simple and delightful mode of life. Amidst so much confusion, one was apt to forget that there could be any thing steadfast in the world.
Every one was struck with respectful surprise, Frau Lay-Figure most of all.
Inquiries were made for Manna; and the Professorin said she had wished to be remembered to them, and regretted that she could not come. A genial feeling prevailed; and Lina did not wait to be entreated, but, at the request of the Professorin, seated herself at the piano, and sang. She felt that her music would refresh the good lady; and she sang with her whole soul. She had never sung better. In the midst of her performance. Manna appeared with Aunt Claudine in the adjoining room. Both waited in silence till the song was ended.
Lina was overjoyed at Manna's arrival, and accosted her thus, —
"Forgive me for being so naughty! It has vexed me that my happy betrothal-time should be spoiled by all this trouble; and now it is just the same with you! I was thinking even now, as I sang, how I wished I could give you some of my joy and forgetfulness and hopefulness and all the rest."
The eyes of all were fixed upon Manna, whose appearance was totally changed by her mourning dress. The Rhine Commissioner's wife observed in a low tone, that she had never seen such dark eyes, or so broad and fair a forehead. Manna was perfectly self-possessed, and bowed when assailed on all sides with entreaties that she would continue to live at the Villa, and not sell it, and remove to another country. They were all so much attached to Eric and herself, and would like so much to have them for friends and neighbors.
In fact, a magnanimous spirit took possession of the company; and, on their way home. Manna exclaimed, —
"O Mother! Eric was perfectly right. He persuaded me to come here, and I am glad I did. We ought not to seclude ourselves from people when they are kindly disposed towards us."
During the whole drive. Manna held the Professorin's hand, and, when they arrived at the Villa, ran up the steps for the first time with a firm and rapid tread. She ordered the room to be brightly lighted, and also begged Eric to sing to her. He knew what songs to choose; and, when they separated, she said, —
"Yes, my dear ones, I have taken my journey, and now I am once more quite at home."
CHAPTER VIII.
TRANSPLANTED
Roland, meanwhile, was living quietly at the commercial town, industrious and happy. He resided in the Banker's house, and made friends with the children of the latter, particularly with a younger son, who, just returning from the University, had laid aside his books, and entered immediately upon the banking business. But for Weidmann's youngest son he cherished a genuine youthful friendship, very unlike that artificial intimacy with the cadet, which had been forced upon him by others. They were incessantly busy during the day, which closed with a late dinner, after which they had a game in the billiard-room, or attended some concert or play, or, more frequently, read or studied quietly, each by himself.
Roland often sat in his room till late at night, teaching English to his young friends Weidmann and Fassbender.
He, too, had now become a teacher, and derived a singular pleasure from thus imparting something of himself, and not merely of his possessions, – a pleasure which was exalted into the purest joy by the bright and cordial nature of young Weidmann.
Wherever Roland appeared, he was the object, first of remark, afterwards of kindly attention. He thought often of his winter at the capital, and how different life had been there. Here he found a circle of commoners, understanding itself thoroughly, and not without pride in its own strength. All the officials at the counting-house were particularly friendly to Roland. His beauty, his confiding disposition, above all his hard fate, seemed to recommend him to their especial consideration. The Banker praised him for having mastered, in so short a time, the essentials of the business; for he could now compute the price of any public funds by means of the exchange lists, and had a good insight into book-keeping.
So passed several weeks, until the elder Weidmann arrived, and invited his son, the cashier Fassbender, and Roland to visit him.
Weidmann first saw his son and Fassbender alone, and learned from them that the younger tradesmen had discussed the subject of the slave-trade, and had even held a meeting, and formally debated the question, but disagreed in their final vote. They stood twelve against twelve; it having been strongly urged that a man might lawfully carry on this traffic, provided he were not personally engaged in it; especially since others would be sure to carry on the lucrative business if he were held back by scruples.
Weidmann looked grave.
Roland came. He was very animated, and re-assured by Weidmann's encouraging glance, he begged to be allowed to return to Mattenheim.
The Banker assented readily.
With expressions of genuine affection, they bade Roland good-by. First of all, he revisited Villa Eden with Herr Weidmann. He had left it a boy; he returned a mature man.
In a few days, Roland's effects were all packed, ready for a removal to Mattenheim.
Eric accompanied him thither, and Roland turned crimson, when, on entering his room – it was the same that Lilian had formerly occupied – Knopf handed him a note from the latter. She had expressly requested that it might not be given to Roland until he returned permanently to Mattenheim.
The next day, Eric went back to Villa Eden, and announced to Manna and his mother his own intention of removing to Mattenheim.
A strange conflict ensued in Manna's breast; but, as she made no allusion to it, Eric thought it right to respect her reserve.
The Major, to whom Eric confided his plan, complained that he, too, had got to build himself a new nest in his old age; for his brother, the Grand-master, whose wife had died, had become engaged, and was to be married again in the spring. Now, Fräulein Milch had no mind to be tolerated, and patronized by a young wife; and when his Masonic brother, the Grand-master, had informed them that he should wish to reserve one of the rooms which the Major had formerly occupied, for a guest-chamber, Fräulein Milch had behaved in a most independent manner.
She thanked him, but declared her fixed determination to leave the house.
They had never had a quarrel before.
But when the Major perceived how sorrowfully Fräulein Milch repented her obstinate determination, he scolded himself for being too meek and yielding, and thanked the Fräulein for preserving her dignity as he ought to have done himself, but which he was so apt to lose sight of.
He proposed to Fräulein Milch the plan of removing to the castle, where there were fine rooms all in readiness, and where it must be very pleasant to live; but Fräulein Milch would hear nothing about living in a knightly castle. She set forth to the Major the bother it would entail: with the butcher, the baker, the grocer, the milkmaid, with all the various trades and callings, did she persecute the Major, until he was sore dismayed.
"We will say no more about it," he cried, "but pray don't let me forget to ask Captain Dournay how the old knights used to live."
Upon Eric's arrival, this had been the Major's opening question, and then, for the first time, he made known his own difficulty.
Eric did not regret it; for he hoped, that, in the spring, the Major would remove to the green cottage, while his mother would live with Manna at the Villa.
The Major laughed. "Did you ever hear," said he, "the story of the man who was a suitor forty years? Courting-time is very fine, I tell you; but even ten years is too long. And now away with you! There is something for you to learn yet. But don't tell a soul about that stale old suitor, will you? On your honor? He, too, was once young."
On the eve of his departure, when he and Manna were alone, Eric said, —
"Manna, we have no betrothal time. Our hearts are torn by sorrow and separation, we must comfort one another."
"And might I know why you, too, forsake me?"
"I shall be much with you and my mother; but I must be alone also. Just think, I have to become a new man, to change my scholarly vocation for some other, I know not what; but whether I am near you, or not, whether I hold your hand, and look into your eyes, or am far away, be sure that you are the inmost life of my heart: I bear you about with me like a blessed faith."
As Eric continued in this strain, a new and delightful understanding was established between the two, and Manna embraced him, saying, —
"I will not shed a tear to-morrow when you leave; and I will follow you in all your wanderings with trustful eyes. I know that I am with you and in you, as you are with me and in me. It seems inconceivable to me that I never knew you before that spring day. I cannot think what the world was like before I knew you; for I cannot imagine the world without you."
When Eric left for Mattenheim, the next day, he kissed his betrothed for the first time before his mother; and, after he had mounted his horse. Manna said to him, —
"I am glad you are going; and I will stay quietly with your mother, and be perfectly content. Thank you for letting me be a child once more before I become your wife. Ah! I had no childhood; but forgive me. I will never cease to be grateful for what has come to me, and I will not mingle sorrow with it all. And I promise that you shall have in me a strong and trustworthy wife."
So Eric departed.
Adams went with him. He, too, was to learn husbandry at Mattenheim.
The ladies were now alone with Professor Einsiedel and the Major, who was more at the Villa than ever.
The Villa itself, however, was silent and deserted; for they all lived at the green cottage. Many of the servants were dismissed, and the gardeners only were kept at the Villa.
CHAPTER IX.
UPON NEW SOIL
A cheerful life they led at Mattenheim. The day began and ended early. There was no trespassing upon the night. All were incessantly occupied, and even Adams could not hold aloof.
Weidmann had arranged matters very methodically.
Adams received no orders; but they allowed him to see that every one about him was busy, and, in the end, he could not choose but follow their example. He became ashamed of his idleness; and the servant who had once been a criminal must now teach him to plough and sow. He was even eager to thresh; but this was exceedingly difficult for him, because he could not keep time. He liked best to work in the mill; and it was a droll sight to see the stalwart negro pass and repass, powdered with meal. He also applied himself zealously to his books, in the evening, with Knopf for a teacher.
Of all the dwellers at Mattenheim, Knopf was the happiest. What more could he desire? He had Weidmann whom he revered, Eric whom he held in high esteem, Roland whom he loved enthusiastically, and a prince and a slave to instruct; for Prince Valerian had to submit to being taught at Adams's side; and, while Adams toiled at his writing-book, the Prince pursued his studies in history and mathematics; and it was often amusing to hear Knopf say, when giving a lesson in the history of literature, "Observe, my dear young lady," for hitherto his pupils in this department had been mostly girls.
During the day-time, they were employed, whatever the weather, in the open air. Surveys were undertaken, especially of the recently purchased domain; and many a good hunt came off, in which Roland distinguished himself by his great expertness.
Roland was passed, so to speak, from hand to hand; for each of Weidmann's sons took possession of him for hours or days at a time, and found a peculiar pleasure in affording the youth all possible assistance. Roland gained an insight into many different processes of manufacture; but his curiosity was also awakened in quite another direction.
In the cement-manufactory all was so still, that Roland asked the Inspector, Fassbender's eldest son, whether the workmen were not allowed to speak.
"They prefer not to," was the answer; "for talking distracts their attention, and, as they work by the job, it would hinder them very much."
Roland looked confounded. These men imposed silence upon themselves for the sake of earning their bread!
The noon-bell rang. He saw young men and girls of his own age come out of the manufactory: some of the girls were knitting as they walked; and the question arose within him, In what respect do you and your sister differ from these, and why?
On Saturday evening, Roland stood by while the workmen were paid off. They were gathered in groups before the house. Some had washed themselves, and others were still covered with dust. The little sliding window in the counting-room was opened, and Roland stood near the Inspector, as the latter opened a drawer in which lay various packages of money, and read aloud the list of the workmen's names. He watched their hard hands as they took up the money from the shelf, or swept it with the right hand into the left.
When they were all paid off, he went out and mingled with the people. There were soldierly fellows among them: some were young, and some old; and all carried sticks with sharp ferrules, and were chaffering with a baker-woman for loaves of bread, which they wrapped in cloths, and carried away under their arms. One called to another to bear him company in his walk; and they dispersed up and down the mountain.
Is it really the lot of human beings to live so? How old are these men? Where are their homes?
Roland gazed thoughtfully after them.
Is there any help for such things? or is there none?
"What are you thinking about?" asked the Inspector.
"I am wondering why these tired men should have so far to go."
"It is good for them. It is what keeps them well. The worst feature of their lot is being pent up in a confined space."
Roland was silent; but countless questionings arose within him. He could not cope with them; and no one else, however well disposed, could solve them for him. He did not regain perfect composure except after an interview with Weidmann.
Weidmann possessed a firm and unvarying equipoise of character, before which the stormy agitation of other souls subsided. He had dignity without severity. He was not so vivacious and stimulating as Eric; but he preserved a steady and quiet moderation in all things. He took note of a blunder, a disaster, whether in public or private affairs, with manly calmness; never allowing himself to be bewildered or disheartened thereby.
Eric had caused his pupil to see things through a polished and many-sided prism, which seemed to remove objects from their true position, and make them appear higher or lower than they really were. Weidmann, on the other hand, revealed them in their simple, natural aspect. He introduced method into Roland's thought, life, and work; for, thus far, the latter had been too unstable, even in spiritual things. He gave Roland a course of lessons in agricultural chemistry, which, at the same time, served Prince Valerian as a review of the teaching he had already received.
Eric, too, came in for a share of this instruction, and became Roland's fellow-pupil.
Very seldom did Weidmann pass from positive facts to spiritual interpretations; but he was all the more impressive when he did. He led Roland to a comprehension of human life, to patience, and wisdom. He showed him, that, despite the stress laid on the equality of mankind, men differed as widely in their power of grasping thoughts, as different substances in their ability to conduct heat. Earth warms quicker than water; but it cools more rapidly also. Thus, by analogies from Nature, did Weidmann endeavor to teach his pupil justice, and humanity, and was not unfrequently surprised to discover in Roland a kind of previous preparation, which enabled him to receive new ideas readily, and to develop them; for ideas having an analogy to each other must needs suggest and flow into one another, giving rise to new combinations of thought, as we see in mechanics, and conspicuously in chemistry.
Weidmann often expressed briefly to Eric his pleasure at Roland's zeal in work and study, and his interest in the labor of others in the manufactories.
But, if a great and noticeable change was taking place in Roland, a still greater transformation was being effected in Eric. Here, where a man wrought always with reference to his neighbor, where no one dreamed of grasping the entire system, but each throve quietly by himself; here Eric's lips were often sealed for days together. He no longer felt it his duty to be always imparting. He not only found a deep joy in his love for Manna, but he preferred listening to talking, and seeing to showing. He felt as if he were on some peaceful island, where yet he could hear a friendly voice at any hour. Pranken might now have watched him from morning till night in vain: he would have had to retract that bitter speech of his about Eric's zeal for imparting knowledge.
Roland and Knopf often regarded him with surprise. He would accompany them on long walks without uttering a single word.
The evening of each day was devoted to festivity. Great stress was here laid upon that evening recreation, which, unfortunately, has become obsolete in the world. Frau Weidmann, who dressed neatly but plainly during the day, appeared regularly each evening in holiday attire. They did not have prayers at Mattenheim; but Weidmann held private worship in his soul.
When Roland expressed his peculiar pleasure in the fine and efficient system of horse-breeding at Mattenheim, Weidmann would say, —
"I have a story to tell about that. Everybody has heard, and possibly seen with his own eyes, how the old lord of the manor used to drive through the village with his span of dock-tailed bays, to the admiration of all beholders. And it is customary to say that we have no such horses now-a-days, so large, so fat, so handsome! Well, that may be. But no more are there such miserable nags to be seen as in old times. All horses are moderately strong and handsome, and of tolerably good blood. The breed generally has improved. And there you have the present age. The horse is a fine emblem to my mind; the lilac is another. They used to bring this flowering shrub from Persia, and set it only in the parks of great people; but now it grows everywhere, and is none the less beautiful for being common. And so the beautiful enlarges its circumference perpetually."
Roland's eyes sought Eric's at such words; and their flash said, "How new, how glorious, how wide, the world is!"
On another evening, Weidmann made the casual remark, —
"If the last century deserves to be called the age of enlightenment, ours should be called the age of free labor; for self-imposed labor is alone genuine and productive."
Roland did not look at Eric after this, but sat with downcast eyes. He knew what the expression signified, having heard it used before now in contradistinction to slave-labor.
Prince Valerian, too, created much amusement. He had always retained that insatiable desire for knowledge, which he had displayed on his first day at Wolfsgarten; but Weidmann was as indefatigable in his answers as the Prince in his questions.
Teaching had acquired a new impressiveness for Roland. He was a member of society. He heard questions answered which he himself had not proposed, and, when he subsequently asked these same questions of himself, the replies sank into his heart more deeply than the answers to his own inquiries used to do. Weidmann's teachings were always clear and definite. They fixed attention on the subject exclusively, never on the teacher, insomuch, that Weidmann's own worth was often quite overlooked.
A stream so clear that its bed is plainly visible frequently appears shallower than it really is; and so it was with Weidmann. He was not brilliant; but he had genuine common sense.
There was always unusual excitement at Mattenheim when a letter arrived from Dr. Fritz; and Weidmann said openly, that, since storms were abroad in the world, he trusted that the tempest which had broken over America might clear the air in Europe.
Encouraged by this remark, Knopf related how it had been represented to Louis XIII. that he could never convert savage nations, and bring them into the church, without first enslaving them: now, however, he said, the heathen were brought into the church, but the little matter of freeing them afterwards was forgotten.
Frau Weidmann deprecated this sort of discussion before Roland, but comforted herself with the thought that her husband must have some deliberate purpose in it all.
And, in fact, it was Weidmann's design to lead Roland to a full consid