Villa Eden Part 109

And this apparent indecision was increased by the feeling she had of not being justified in contending against a faith so firm and so beneficent in its influence. An unrest, like that of a spy, who, from the highest patriotic motives, inspects an enemy's camp, characterized her whole manner, and she blamed herself for having undertaken the commission. But she was now at the post, and must defend her views.

Wis.h.i.+ng to find some impregnable position, she represented to Manna that her father wanted to organize a general plan of systematic charity, and that it would be a n.o.ble vocation for her to take part in it. The Superior waited for Manna to reply, and she now said:--

"My father's donations do not fall into the right hands; we can do nothing but restore the property to him who alone has the right to determine what use shall be made of it."

There was more in Manna's reply than appeared on the surface.

The Professorin remarked that every poor man was a messenger of mercy, and every one who needed help made a demand for sacrifices; that it was not enough to bestow gifts, but one must personally devote himself to the distressed. The alms was not the important thing, but the pains which one must take on the supplicant's account. How often a man, as he goes along the street in winter, well wrapped up in his furs, bestows an alms upon a poor, freezing beggar! For him to unb.u.t.ton his coat, and to look for something to give, is of more account than the gift itself, at least to the giver.

Manna answered that women could not do such a work by themselves. The Superior joined in, saying that she had advised decidedly against Manna's taking the veil, for it was to be feared that she had no true vocation for it. Then she added in a sharp tone to the Professorin:--"We are wholly indifferent to the accusation of having tried to get possession of the child's property; we do not despise the wealth, we can do a great deal of good with it; but it is the child's soul that we value, and we do not stop to inquire whether worldlings believe it or not."

The Professorin was glad to find herself at last in the cell where she was to sleep. She had never slept at a convent, and she had again the disagreeable feeling of being a traitress and a spy. She said to herself with a smile:--

"I am rejoiced now that I forgot Parker's book; it would be a fresh treachery to have and to read his words and his thoughts here in this house."

She gave up the purpose of exerting an influence over Manna, for here were prior experiences which were beyond her control, and relations that were involved in obscurity. A deep sorrow preyed upon the child, which could only be revealed at the confessional, and which perhaps there only could find relief.

The Professorin was deeply disturbed, and had troubled dreams. She seemed to be in the midst of Wallenstein's camp, and in fetters as a spy; she was being interrogated by the sergeant of the guard, when, all of a sudden, he was changed into Professor Einsiedel, who said to her:--

"Be not afraid, I have influence on every one here, I will set you at liberty."

Then she was standing in the midst of the court-circle, and all were laughing at the _vivandiere_--years ago when she was a young, frolicsome girl, she had once taken that part--and now, as she met the glance of her son; she felt ashamed of her appearance.

These dreams whirled through her brain in strange confusion. She was rejoiced, on waking, to find that it was all a dream.

The hour for rising at the convent was a very early one, but long before the matin bell of the church rang, the Professorin had dressed, and stood watching from her cell the breaking day. The impressions of her troubled dreams faded like the mists on the river, which were now struggling with the dawning light. She dwelt in imagination upon the hundreds of young souls who now lay asleep, preparing to meet a peaceful future. She thought upon the nuns who had renounced life, to whom the day brought no event of personal interest, nothing but the uniform round of duty.

She shuddered as she thought of venturing to disturb such a life.

There may be many incidental and casual irregularities here, she thought, but a holy will has authority over these spirits; and at this early morning hour, a saying of her husband's recurred to her:--

"You can oppose an established positive religion only by having more religion than is embodied in it. The idea of the pure is persecuted, hunted down, obscured, in the world; and the hand must be sure of its high consecration, which ventures to attack a sanctuary of that idea."

The morning sun had become lord over the mist, s.h.i.+ning brightly over river and mountains. The convent bell rang, and the great house was all astir.

The Professorin went down, and knelt behind a pillar; the sisters and the children a.s.sembled together.

She remained until the morning service had ended, and then going into the dining-hall, she begged Manna and the Superior to permit her to take leave. They accompanied her to the sh.o.r.e.

The Professorin exhorted Manna to stay at the convent, and devote herself to reflection and pure thought. She spoke with such earnestness that the Superior, taking her by the hand, uttered in a low tone what was evidently a prayer.

The Professorin perceived that her old friend was praying in her behalf. And why should there not be just as good grounds for this form, as for an inward thought and wish for another, on whom one would invoke every blessing, unexpressed in words? With a light heart, she was set over to the main-land.

Sonnenkamp was surprised that she did not have Manna with her; but she said, in explanation, that she would not interfere any farther in this matter. She went back with Sonnenkamp to the villa. On board the boat, she sketched out in full the plan of an organized system of charity, which must be so arranged that Manna could go from one sanctuary into another.

Sonnenkamp listened in silence, but in no pleasant humor. The whole world seemed to have entered into a conspiracy against him, to make of him a sanctified hypocrite.

Yesterday, Pranken had made the same demand upon him, and he had said in reply, that it was a contemptible thing for the very n.o.bility to be desirous of playing the hypocrite; but Pranken had insisted princ.i.p.ally upon the religious obligation.

Sonnenkamp had shrugged his shoulders, for the man kept his mask on even when he was alone with him. He only consented after Pranken had added, that, by this means, the Court would not only be justified in conferring the t.i.tle of n.o.bility, but would feel bound to do it. Here now was Frau Dournay making a similar demand; and this was so far good, that her intentions were most likely honest.

The journey home was not very animated, for they were returning from a bootless errand. Sonnenkamp was disturbed because he was called upon to do this and that, and no object had yet been accomplished.

CHAPTER VI.

THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT IN EDEN.

A strange spirit, meanwhile, made its appearance at Villa Eden. It was kept in concealment, and yet had nothing spectral; it was bright and luminous, and yet produced a great hurly-burly.

The morning after the departure of Eric's mother, Roland had gone to the vine-covered cottage, to get a book out of the library for Eric.

With the simple desire of seeing how it looked now the Mother was away, he had entered the open door of her room. An open book was lying upon the table, and on the fly-leaf there was written in English: To my friend Dournay--Theodore Parker.

Roland was startled. This is the man, then, whom the Mother had spoken of as a saint a few days ago, and whom he was to get acquainted with by and by. He took the book and secreted it.

At noon, he asked permission to go and see Claus, and it was given.

Eric remained at home, for he wanted to finish a letter to Professor Einsiedel that he had begun some time ago. But Roland did not go to see Claus; he sat down under the lofty willows by the river-bank, steadily reading, with occasional glances at the stream.

What does this mean? Here is a champion, an inspired one, a G.o.d-revering champion, fighting for civilization and against slavery.

He read of a man, whose name was John Brown, who was hanged on the gallows at Harper's Ferry for his attempts to abolish slavery. He read and learned how Parker had prophesied a mighty struggle; and these words fell into the youth's soul like a spark of fire: "All the great charters of humanity are written in blood."

He read on and on, until he could see no longer for the darkness. And now it occurred to him that he had meant to call upon Claus, and he hurried towards the village.

Eric met him as he was going, and was very angry at being deceived.

"Where have you been?" asked Eric.

"With this man;" handing Eric the book.

Roland had eaten forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, and Eric was surprised to see how deep an impression had been made upon the youth. A new and difficult task was before him, to keep the youth from saying anything in his father's presence.

"Who is Brown?" inquired Roland. "Can you tell me about him?" Eric told him. He narrated the martyr's history, and dwelt with emphasis on the fact, that even in our day life is offered as a sacrifice, and that a pure self-surrender raises to the sublime even the man wearing a captain's gay uniform of the present day. He wanted to show, incidentally, that the costume of every age and every condition in life could be the symbolic expression of the highest greatness; but Roland did not go along with him, and he had the apparently difficult task of justifying, or, at least, of explaining the position of Sonnenkamp, who had incontrovertibly taken the opposite side.

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Roland; "now I remember you said, when we were with the Russian at Wolfsgarten, 'You could not imagine that a white boy and a negro boy could be comrades.' Are you, too, a friend of slavery?"

Eric tried to explain his meaning; and, while striving to reconcile the difference, he was pleased to notice how open the youth's soul was to every impression, and how tenaciously it clung to things spoken of only in a cursory and incidental way.

Eric sat with Roland until it was very late; he was obliged to satisfy his ingenuous mind, and this was almost the hardest task that had ever been laid upon him. The youth was to be made to perceive that there was another way of considering the question, one that regarded slavery as justifiable and a righteous necessity; he was never to let his father know that he considered him in the wrong, and that he had happened to become acquainted, through the Professorin, with a spirit that ought not to have been conjured up in this house. Eric called to mind his mother, who had admonished him, with reason, that he was to adopt that course of instruction for Roland which was necessary, and not that which the youth himself preferred. Circ.u.mstances now rendered it necessary to follow only that track which the youth had entered upon for himself. It was a matter of rejoicing that he had of himself struck out the path; it was just what all education proposed: and now was he to turn aside from this track, and to shatter in pieces the abiding fundamental principle. Thou shalt, and thou shalt not?

"It seems to me like a dream," Roland went on to say; "a great negro once held me in his arms; I remember distinctly all about him; I remember his woolly hair, and how I pulled him by it; his face was smooth, without any beard at all."

"The negroes have no growth of beard," added Eric, and the youth continued, dreamily:--

"I have been carried by negroes--by negroes."

He continued to repeat the word in a lower and lower tone, and then became silent. Suddenly he pa.s.sed his hand over his brow, and asked,--