CHAPTER XIII.
IN THE BOND OF BROTHERHOOD
"The bees we brought from Europe are flying out into the spring air," wrote Lilian from New York.
At Mattenheim, also, spring was close at hand. Out-door work became pressing; sunshine and hail followed one another in swift succession; but the buds were swelling, and verdure refreshed the eye. In the new shoots, or sleeping eyes, as they are called, choice grafts were set, that the tree henceforward might bear richer fruit. The same thing was to take place elsewhere.
One evening, when they were all together at Mattenheim, Weidmann read a letter from Doctor Fritz, in which he described the base league of the so-called Knights of the Golden Circle. A network of their societies extended over all the Southern States, and they had their accomplices even in the North.
They conducted a kind of criminal court by means of signs; and murders and secret executions without number were accomplished by their means.
He added that if one wanted to realize the entire range of man's capabilities, both for virtue and vice, he had but to offset against this band a character like Seward's.
While they were still pondering upon this intelligence, a letter with the royal seal arrived, containing expressions of high consideration for Weidmann, together with the Prince's request that he would inform young Sonnenkamp Banfield that no obstacle existed to his entering the military service, and that especial pains would be taken to show the young man, personally, all due regard.
"It cannot be," said Roland with a fixed look. "Too late!"
He expressed his gratitude, however, for the kindness of the Prince, and added with an accent of deep pain, that it was a comfort to know that the privilege of fellowship was restored to him.
"You shall have one of a different kind," said Weidmann. "You shall be received with your brother and friend, the Herr Captain, into our Order. Strictly speaking, you are too young; but we will show you how much we honor you."
In the evening, it rained steadily; and as Weidmann lay beside the window, gazing out upon the landscape, he called Roland to his side, and said, —
"These are pleasant hours, my son, in which we can look out of the window, and know that the rain is quickening and refreshing all things. A spirit who has awakened and refreshed the souls of many men, a benefactor who has renovated the being of numbers of his fellow-creatures, must experience in tranquil and elevated hours a similar joy. Rejoice that this happiness may be yours also. If I am not here to welcome you back from the war, know that I feel this on your behalf, and be thankful for it."
"Is the crisis, then, so near?"
"Yes. I have by me a letter from my nephew, and I tell you that the time has come."
Roland shuddered. He seized Weidmann's arm, and held it fast.
Weidmann continued, —
"My nephew writes, it is true, that they think the war will not last long; and that those who have enlisted hope to return to their homes in a few weeks. I think otherwise. You will be quite early enough for the great struggle. Rejoice that you are prepared for it beforehand."
Roland hastened to Eric; and the latter said, —
"Give me your hand, Roland: I go with you!"
Adams approached them with flashing eyes, and cried, —
"We will all go, – all."
They embraced one another, as though the world's deliverance had arrived.
They passed a sleepless night; and, on the morrow, Roland and Eric rode to the Villa. They made known their resolution, and Manna responded, —
"I shall go too."
But she gave Eric a look which was perfectly intelligible to him; for it said, "You approve, then, of the son's taking the field against the father."
Eric told her that he had sent by way of Paris a notice to the Confederate journal which Sonnenkamp had designated, couched in terms which he alone would understand, to the effect that Roland would join the land-forces of the Union, hoping that he should not encounter his father, who was probably in the naval service.
Eric found it difficult to restrain Roland, and to convince him that days must elapse before their departure. They went together to the Major, who said, —
"It is all right! Now you must join! Brother Weidmann told me long since that you were to be initiated before engaging in this philanthropic struggle. And now let me tell you that our bond is especially effective in war. You will receive a sign; and, if you make that sign, no enemy, even though his weapon were raised against you, can kill you face to face; and you cannot kill any one who gives you this sign. Yes, my dear brothers, I must begin to call you so, all the good in this world has been wrought by Freemasons; for those who have wrought it have all been Freemasons at heart, if not in reality. But I'll say no more. Brother Weidmann will tell you all. Now go! I must be off to the castle. It has come at last."
Once up at the castle, the Major wandered about, saying to himself, over and over again, —
"If the Builder of all the worlds will only suffer me to hold together! I want this and one thing more, and then I shall be satisfied!"
Men are coming and going; workmen are hammering; the Major's long cherished wish is fulfilled. There is to be a great Masonic celebration at the castle, and what a celebration! Eric, Roland, and Adams are to be received into the order.
From all the surrounding country, men came flocking to the castle. The Major went with Roland, the Architect with Adams, the Banker, who, with his daughter-in-law, was visiting at Villa Eden, accompanied Eric. At the castle, the three separated, and each was taken into a room by himself. Presently the Major came to Roland, and took away all the money and jewelry he had about him. Shortly after, men appeared who bandaged the eyes of each of the candidates. They were then conducted through long passages, up stairs and down, until they seemed to emerge into the open air. At last, they were told to stop, and sternly reproved for venturing to intrude here; but they remained firm.
Roland was comforted by the sound of Weidmann's voice, although it seemed to come from a great distance. The latter said that their being led blindfold by friends who saw, signified that they must learn to trust those who were pledged to afford them guidance and protection in life. Voices now called out, that it was time to removed the bandages.
"No," cried a powerful voice: "Roland, I cannot admit you."
Roland did not know this voice. What did it mean? What was required of him?
"Back, back! you stand on the brink of an abyss!" was shouted on all sides.
Roland's knees shook. The first voice continued, —
"Roland, are you ready to renounce all that you now possess, or will ever call your own, to become naked, poor, and helpless as you were by nature? Will you relinquish all your wealth, whether justly or unjustly acquired? Speak!"
"Speak, speak!" cried a chorus of voices. "Will you become poor?"
"Speak!" the voices repeated; and the question was asked for the third time, "Will you renounce all, and become naked, poor, and helpless?"
"No. I will not!"
A pause ensued: then Weidmann said in a re-assuring tone, "And why not?"
"Because it is not my duty, and I have no right to relinquish what was intrusted to me, – to transfer my responsibilities even to the highest and noblest. I am required myself to watch and work."
"Where is your obedience? Can you be a soldier, a fighter in the cause of humanity, and not obey? Do you know what obedience is?"
"I think I do. I am ordered, for my part of the great campaign, to hold a certain post, and I pledge my life that I will be faithful without knowing why I am stationed just there. This is a soldier's duty, as I understand it. But in life it seems to me different. What right have you, more than another, to say, 'Intrust your possessions to us, that we may dispose of them as we think fit'? Here I stand, with I know not whom about me: I only know the voice of my noble friend Weidmann, and him I trust: Wherever he is, I will take my place at his side, and stand there blindfold. My eyes are bandaged; but I can look within, and I know that I am in duty bound, according to my strength and my wisdom, with the free assistance of others, to make the best of my life and endowments; but I will not give myself and my life away blindfold. Take me back! Reject me if I am wrong; but I cannot do otherwise."
"Off with the bandages! Off with the bandages!" was now vociferated for the third time by the whole assembly.
The strains of an organ were heard in the distance. Roland's bandage was removed, and a veil thrown over his head, that he might not be dazzled by the light.
When the veil was removed, he stood with Eric on one side and Adams on the other.
Weidmann spoke the words of initiation; and Roland, kneeling, humbly took the oath, with Eric's hand resting on his right shoulder, and Adams's on his left. Swords clashed, and in the distance singing was heard with an organ accompaniment.
The powerful singer whom we heard at Herr Endlich's entertainment, and at Wolfsgarten, sang here in the arched hall a pathetic air in a rich bass voice; and all hearts were gently soothed.
Roland arose. Weidmann kissed him, and afterwards embraced his brother Eric on the right, and his brother Adams on the left. They received the signs; and the so-called sign of distress, in particular, moved Roland deeply.
Eric, Roland, and Adams were now led out of the hall, and received back their money and jewels, the Major remarking, —
"You did bravely, young – forgive me – my brother!"
On returning to the hall they all rose; and Weidmann, bidding Roland and Eric take Adams's hand, began as follows, —
"Here, while we clasp our dusky brother in our arms, you see what we are! Through the jubilations of our century, a sound pierces, which, in time to come, shall be heard no more: it is the sound of clashing chains, of the fetters wherewith our fellow-men have been bound. Henceforth, these chains shall be but an emblem, a melancholy symbol. We who are men, and who want to be men fully and entirely, we take one another by the hand, and form a living chain. My brothers, you will be told, and, perchance, will tell yourselves, that our Order is antiquated, without significance in these modern times; but I tell you it will never be antiquated, never insignificant, for they who are dedicated to the service of the free Spirit must ever hold one another in a living clasp.
"We know the deficiencies of our Order. It is a matter of great difficulty to found an association firmly upon a universal thought apart from any historical basis. This is our principal disadvantage as compared with the Church. Hence enthusiasts and hypocrites seek for an historical foundation; nevertheless, our Order is the stronghold of virtue; and its unity is doubly formidable in that it is a league of free men; for free men will not suffer themselves to be bound. Yet our league, were its name never mentioned, would have a most important bearing upon the solution of the social problem, as it is called, of which the slavery question is only a part. And it is the thing we want, not the name. No deliverance was ever wrought by mere calculation, and there can be no permanent effect produced without the co-operation of love. The lust of pleasure and the lust of gain would seem to be the essential characteristics of our time; yet I, and we all, proclaim aloud. Great is our century! Europe, with her ancient culture and her waning nobility, is endeavoring to lay all men under an obligation to labor: America and Russia, to render all labor free. Ever since I beheld the great millennial wave bearing down upon me, I have lived a new and happy life. I have been filled with holy confidence; and, all unseen, our league is working towards the same end.
"Two principles are contending in this world, egoism and humanity. We meet selfishness by benevolence. The more thou servest others in love, the freer art thou. The more thou givest of thyself, the richer art thou. To every man we say, 'First free thyself from servitude.' Great things in this world come from small beginnings. To every one of you and to myself I say, 'Begin by abolishing slavery in thyself!' We have all a slave within us, a slave to precedent, to inertia, to obsequiousness. Free this slave within, and then wilt thou be worthy to emancipate the slaves around thee. And now, my new brothers, consider this. As the signs of intelligence which you have received are not verbal, but visible, sensible motions, as our own mutual understanding supersedes and transcends speech, so is it with the idea of our Order. It is something older and broader than all single religious associations. We seek repose and peace in labor and trade. To our doctrine each may give his own private interpretation, as every man speaks in his own peculiar voice, which can never be exactly imitated. The deed alone, the free, righteous, noble deed, cannot be explained away, cannot be misunderstood, cannot be affected by any individual. Ours is a brotherhood of noble deeds."
Turning to Roland he said, —
"To you, my young brother, much has been given; and you must say with your brother here, so rich in intellectual gifts, and this your other brother, now armed for free labor, 'What I am, and what I have, I have not of myself, and so I have it not for myself.' Self-sacrifice is self-exaltation. Your own highest good is the good of the whole world. What you do, do not with the hope of reward from another; but be yourself your own reward. A revolution is now taking place in the minds of men, such as there must have been wrought when they first learned the fact of the motion of the planet on which we live. Mankind, who had always known slavery, and believed that its continuance was right, were long unable to conceive a different state of things; and it was thus with the authors of that great sacred book. I say, mankind could not conceive of labor as other than a disgrace, a curse pronounced upon the race. But now, not by any new and external revelation, but through a free and natural unfolding of knowledge, we are enabled to get beyond this view. A new age is beginning. Labor is no longer a disgrace, but an honor; no longer a curse, but a blessing. No formal religion can sanctify labor; for it belongs not to the other world, but eternally to this. Were a medal to be struck to commemorate our century, it should bear upon the face the symbol of free labor, and upon the reverse, that of the love of nature. Neither has yet been represented by art. Our idea has not yet attained to many-hued loveliness, and to a picturesque variety; for philanthropy is colorless like pure light. Walk therefore in the light, and die for the love of your kind. You have lived in the light; live ever so, and in the eternal ideas of self-sacrifice and brotherly love."
Deeply moved, Eric made a brief reply. Roland, too, was called upon, but could only say, —
"My brother and teacher has expressed all that I feel."
Adams also offered a few words. He would try to show himself worthy the honorable brotherhood which had been conferred upon him.
The three now seated themselves in the ranks of the brotherhood, and took part in the transaction of some urgent and existing business.
With ready and practised eloquence, the Major's host, the Grand Master, informed them that the Pope had condemned all Masonic leagues; and he read a protest to be adopted by the present lodge.
Weidmann asked if any brother desired to offer any comment, and the Doctor came forward, and said, —
"I move the rejection of this protest, and also the open acknowledgment of that notoriously false principle with which we are reproached in the bull of excommunication. I find Masonry as wordy at home as it is dastardly abroad; for dastardly it is, not to be perfectly open. It is all true! We recognize and acknowledge man to be morally complete, independent of any positive church; not necessarily hostile to the church, but independent of it. But this prevaricating, and ducking under ecclesiastical phrases, this spiritless sailing under false colors," —
"A little less vehemently, if you please," observed Weidmann.
Quietly, but firmly, the Doctor continued:
"I move that the protest be rejected."
The Grand Master gazed helplessly about. He, with all his honors on his head, bring forward a proposition, and not have it accepted! —
The Doctor at length begged Eric, as one not yet bound by the traditions prevailing here, to explain his meaning more precisely.
Eric arose and said, that, though strongly inclined to agree with the Doctor, he was not quite sure where right lay. He could only permit himself to quote the words of a noble spirit now passed away. Clodwig had seen, as in a vision upon his death-bed, the combatants of the present day dividing into two hostile camps, one of which rallied around the Pope, the other around the standard of free thought. A third party, agreeing partly with the former, and partly with the latter, he thought impossible.
The protest was rejected; but the Doctor's proposition, openly to acknowledge the justice of the Papal animadversions, was also set aside. At the close of the celebration the brethren sat down to a banquet. Roland was once more welcomed by the Banker with peculiar heartiness.
The youth asked the Major in a low voice, why Professor Einsiedel and Knopf were not members of the order.
"They are natural members of the association," answered the Major.
As they left the castle by the light of the full moon, Roland said to the Major, —
"To have lived a day like this makes death seem easy."
"I say with Claus," answered the Major, "we won't look for death till the very last."
And so their high-strung mood passed over into merriment.
On the following morning, the Major begged for the Banker's advice on a matter bearing decisively upon his life; and in which the Banker could assist him more than any one else.
The Banker declared himself ready to render any assistance.
CHAPTER XIV.
A VOLUNTARY SACRIFICE AND A FULFILMENT OF DESTINY
Flowers of all sorts were blooming in the conservatories, buds upon the artistically trained espalier trees were opening, and the park was resounding with songs of the birds, restlessly chirping and flying about at this time of wooing and mating.
Never before had Eric enjoyed the dawn of spring so intensely as now. He was filled with the joy of love, and the heavy burdens which Fate had laid upon him seemed like an accident, a dream, which he could all at once shake off.
Early in the morning he would stroll in the park; a peculiar feeling of joyousness would come over him at the thought that Spring would soon reign over this, his own estate. Why should not these trees, these meadows, these plantations put on new bloom and verdure, now that they were his? And while wondering whether it would really ever be his lot to pass here an industrious and peaceful life, he could not free himself from a feeling of compassion for Sonnenkamp. The man had planted and fostered all this – where was he now?
Manna and the Professorin were walking with the Banker's daughter-in-law, who had been drawn thither by her desire to know Roland's sister, and her much praised mother-in-law. The three ladies had quickly formed a league of friendship, based on the foundation of a fine and liberal culture. Yet, though the inmates of the Villa were so happy together, each one harbored the restless longing to depart.
The ladies entered the conservatory.
A wave of aromatic perfumes floated towards them, and flowed around them. Their eyes were refreshed by the thousand hues of the newly-opened blossoms.
The Professorin spoke of the rest she should find in watching over the culture of these plants.
Manna expressed her intention of devoting herself, in the days that were to come, to botany, both theoretical and practical. The Banker's daughter-in-law promised soon to do the same.
With a feeling of pleasurable excitement, they sat in the green-house, where to-day, for the first time, the great windows had been opened. Manna sent for her harp, and they found that the Banker's daughter-in-law could sing several songs of which the harpist knew the accompaniment. It was an hour filled with the pure joy of existence, untroubled by one thought of the past, by one anxiety for the morrow.
Manna had caused a beautiful myrtle-tree to be placed on the table, wishing to weave from its boughs a crown for Lina, whose marriage was to be solemnized almost immediately. As she sat thus, with the blooming branches before her, Weidmann entered, and said joyously, —
"This tree bears leaves and blossoms enough for threefold bridal wreaths, and I hope they will be worn."
Then he told them that he came as the Major's ambassador, to summon the ladies' attention to the story of Fräulein Milch.
The Major came in with the Fräulein, who, casting a strange look at the Banker's daughter-in-law, said, —
"You are to be present too."
The Major, having called thither the Banker and Professor Einsiedel, declared his readiness to yield to the instance of his friends, and reside at the Villa, in order to superintend and keep everything in good condition; but only with the stipulation that Fräulein Milch should at last be released from her vow; stating that she was ready, after having related her life-history, to submit to the verdict of their friends, the Banker and the Professor.
"Another story!" moaned the Professor. He dreaded the idea of pronouncing a judgment which was wholly without results, as in the case of Sonnenkamp.
The Major, however, begged so urgently that he consented, and Fräulein Milch began: —
"You, Herr Professor, are just like my father, and yet you are very different! He, too, was a learned man, but in a very different sphere.
"You have many of his habits, and, if you accompany me to the altar, it will seem as though my father were with me, although you are much younger. And you, my friends, – you, Frau Professorin, who have honored me before knowing my life, and you, Fräulein Manna, who, after conquering a strong prejudice, have given me your rich love, – you shall now be made really acquainted with me. But you (turning to the Banker), you will best be able to pass sentence upon me; for you are a Jew, as I am a Jewess."
All were astounded.
Fräulein Milch waited quietly until her auditors had recovered from their amazement, then continued: —
"I am the daughter of a learned Hebrew, and an only daughter. I had one brother, of whom we shall hear later. My father was a noble and pious man; he was considered a scholar of great discernment, with fine polemical gifts; but in life he was childishly simple and – why should I not say it? – shiftless. He read the sacred books from morning till night.
"My mother sprang from a wealthy house, had once been blessed in early childhood by the hands of Moses Mendelssohn; from this it was predicted that she would one day marry a man of great knowledge. This proved true. According to the will of her parents she became the wife of my father, on account of his piety and learning.
"Such was the way in which the opulent Israelites formerly exhibited their gratitude and respect for a learned man of their faith, as the Christians bestowed gifts upon the convents. The Jews could found no establishments. They had no protection; all their goods were movable, and thus they devoted a portion of their wealth to the support of our scientific men.
"My mother's whole being was absorbed in her adoration of my father. The quiet and uniformity of life; the calm content which reigned in my parental abode; how the poor were fed; how our entire existence was nought save the pause between one pious deed and another, between one festival and another, no one present can know but you (turning towards the Banker), you alone can conceive of it. I myself often recall it as a dream. In winter, when my father was unable to go out, the community came to my father, to unite together in prayer in his study, and, while a little child, I used to hear much discourse on worldly events.
"What did we know of the world?
"The world belonged to the officials outside, to the soldiers. They were, in our eyes, beings moving in a fabulous realm, into which we could never enter.
"My brother, who was a handsome man – he resembled Herr Dournay – formed a friendship with a young drummer named Grassler, who was billetted in our house. We were all made perfectly happy by the reverence which this youth showed towards my father, whom he regarded as a saint, and by his gentleness and timidity when in his presence. I yet remember, as though it were but yesterday, how I stood on the steps, turning round and round with my hand one of the knobs of the balustrade, when the drummer said to me: —
"'Yes, Rosalie, when you are grown up, and I have become an officer, I will come back and take you away with me.'
"He went away drumming; but I kept hearing those strange words in the sound of the drum, and still stood on the steps, twirling the knob, while the whole world seemed to whirl with me. But I beg pardon, I am growing too prolix."
"No, go into details as much as you like."
"But I cannot," replied Fräulein Milch. "Well, then, they went to the war. My brother fell. Conrad came back. He had become an ensign, and he brought back to my father my brother's little prayer-book, its cover and leaves pierced by a ball. My father and my mother and I sat on the ground, mourning for seven days. Conrad came and sat with us: he honored our foreign observances.
"Father seated himself again among his sacred books; but, whereas he used formerly to read with a low, humming sound, he now spoke the words aloud and with violence. He seemed obliged to put a constraint upon his thoughts, which would go out after his son.
"Time gradually healed our wounds. My brother had long been at rest in his grave, – who can say where? Conrad had returned to his home. I was seventeen. It was on Easter eve; we had solemnized the Passover, and my father discoursed much on the liberation from servitude, in commemoration of which we keep Easter, and lamented the oppression beneath which we were sighing still. He loved Jesus heartily and warmly, and only bewailed unceasingly the misuse of his name as an authority for the misery into which we, members of his race, were plunged. That night I heard him say that our great and wise Rabbi, Moses ben Maimon, had taught that Jesus had overthrown heathen idolatry; that he was not Messias, but his fore-runner!
"It was late at night ere we went to rest. I slept in a room adjoining that of my parents. Thus I heard my father say to my mother: —
"'How wretched we Jews are! there is that splendid man, so loyal, so good-hearted, Conrad Grassler, returned. He has worked his way up to a captaincy, and retired on a major's pension, and now here he comes and asks for our Rosalie. If the good man were only of our faith, if he were a Jew, how gladly would I give him my child! I could not desire a better husband for her; but, as it is, it cannot be, and God forgive my sin in thinking of it!'
"I heard this from my chamber, and that night, though I was still under my parents' roof, my spirit was already far away, out into the wide world, where the officers lived, and the soldiers, and those who owned it.
"Father had nothing against Conrad if it had not been for that one thing. A voice within me repeated this all night long. And in the morning, while my father and mother were in the synagogue, I sat alone with my prayer-book. See this little prayer-book. It is a devotional manual for women, composed by my father – but my thoughts were not upon it. How still it was! I was alone in the house. No one was to be seen in the streets, for the whole community was at the synagogue. I seated myself in the middle of the room; I did not wish to look out of the window; Conrad would surely be passing by.
"But how did he look? How wonderful that he had kept that promise made to me in my childhood! What had he become? How would I seem to him?
"Then, I cannot tell how it was, but as I was standing at the window, looking out, I saw Conrad, grown into a noble-looking man. I withdrew from the window, but then, came footsteps on the stairway, and my heart throbbed as though it would burst. Conrad stood alone in the world; he is a military orphan."
A smile passed round the circle of listeners, and Fräulein Milch went on: —
"I told Conrad what my father had said to my mother, the night before. I could give him up for my parents' sake; but he was not in duty bound to renounce me, and I had not the right to relinquish for him, and it was settled that I should elope with him.
"My father returned from the synagogue, and I have never felt a heavier sorrow than when he laid his hand in blessing on my head, as is the custom with us. I would not disturb the joy of the feast, and not until it was ended – oh! I ruined the joy of his whole life! There were no more feasts for him – did I flee with Conrad. I persuaded myself that my father would give us his blessing, when he should see that it could not be otherwise. We wrote to him, but he did not answer. He sent us word, through a friend, that he had had two children, who were dead, and for whom he earnestly prayed that it might be well with them in the other world. And one word more he sent me, – 'Thou seekest honor before the world, and for honor hast thou forsaken thy father.' I wrote back protesting with a solemn oath that I had wished to obtain no earthly honor through Conrad, promising to clothe myself with humiliation and shame in the eyes of the world, and that oath I have kept until the present day.
"Conrad soon received tidings of my mother's death, and my father followed her in a few months. I inherited a small fortune, and we went to the Rhine. Down below, yonder, we lived twelve years in a little lower Rhenish village, hidden from all the world, happy in each other. We needed nothing from the world but ourselves. Conrad wished constantly to marry me; but I had vowed to robe myself in ignominy during the whole period of my existence. We might have been united here by civil contract. That, too, I refused. I used to attend church, impelled by the desire to pray in common with my fellow human beings. I had my quiet corner, and while the organ was pealing, and a divine service different from my own was being solemnized, I would sit alone and pray out of the prayer-book which my father had composed, and from the other, which my brother had had on the field of battle, and which had rested on his heart till it beat no more. I was in the church and was no stranger, for there were people beside me, praying after another fashion, but to the same Spirit which I also invoke, and this Spirit will know and explain why men turn themselves to him in such different ways. Now I believe I may revoke my sentence of self-excommunication."