Villa Eden Part 166

Eric's countenance brightened; he had no reason for putting faith in Fraulein Milch's conjecture, and still he did put faith in it. And now it occurred to him, that he had joyfully antic.i.p.ated something, he knew not what, to-day; now he had experienced it.

He accompanied Fraulein Milch home. The Major was not in; he had gone to the castle, for there was still a great deal to be done, to be ready for the solemn opening of the castle-which was soon to take place.

Eric turned back and went, to his mother's.

CHAPTER XIII.

A GRACIOUS HAND POURS OUT THE WINE.

"Are you, too, down-hearted and meditative?" cried the Doctor, meeting him as he was entering the house. "I find here a whole colony of low-spirited people. What is there then in this whole affair so discouraging? Herr Sonnenkamp is getting new clothes and a new equipage made. In old times, I still remember them, a commoner did not dare to drive out in a coach and four, or, if he did, the horses had to be put in hempen traces. Well, Herr Sonnenkamp is getting leather traces made.

What of that? Frau Ceres is sick, Manna is sick, the Professorin is sick, the Captain looks sick; Fraulein Perini and your aunt are the only ones in health in the hospital. Effervescing powders must be the prescription for everybody to-day." The Doctor brought with him a cheerful tone, which, like a spicy breeze from the mountain forests, was sweeping away the mists. The Mother could not tell why she was so uneasy, Eric could not tell why he was. The Doctor counselled Eric to take shares in the new mine; and keep his knowledge as a jewel for himself.

They had discovered a new stratum of manganese in the soil of Mattenheim; his son-in-law had been to see him, and had said a great deal to him about the favorable impression Eric had left behind him in the family there.

The Doctor took Eric back to the villa with him, and just as they were entering the courtyard there came a telegram to Eric. It was from Herr Sonnenkamp, and contained a request that he would let Frau Ceres know that at that very moment he was on his way to court.

The Doctor undertook the responsibility of holding back this news from Frau Ceres; she was near enough to delirium without that; he had ordered her a sleeping potion.

At table appeared Fraulein Perini, Manna, and Eric. After the first course, Fraulein Perini was called to Frau Ceres, and did not come back.

Manna and Eric were left alone.

"You were also in the church to-day," said Manna.

"Yes."

"I must beg your forgiveness, I have done you wrong."

"Done me wrong?"

"Yes, I thought you were without religion."

"So I am, according to strict opinions."

Manna said nothing; she laid the bit she was just raising to her mouth down again on her plate. Both sat silent, opposite each other, for a long while; each was seeking after a safe topic of conversation.

"You had a younger brother whom you have lost? I heard you speaking of him to-day," began Manna, blus.h.i.+ng up to her temples.

"Yes, he was of the age of Roland, and this very day I have been wondering why I could not be as much to my dear brother as I have been to our Roland."

"Do not say _have been_; you are still, and will remain so to him.

Roland repeated to me, an expression of yours: 'Friends who can forsake one another were never friends.'"

"Certainly, but what comfort is that thought, if one no longer breaks the daily bread of life with another? I have known, however, that this separation must occur, I have recognized it as necessary; and still, for the first time, I see how almost constantly, for a long while, I have thought of nothing, felt nothing, experienced nothing, but that I forthwith connected Roland with it,--living only for him. Now the whole bent of my thoughts must be changed, a new object found, for the old chain is crushed, severed, cast off, and I feel so homeless and forlorn."

"I understand that perfectly," said Manna, as Eric paused for a moment.

She sipped the wine that stood before her.

Eric continued:--

"I have a poetic friend, a peculiar man, who takes everything terribly hard: he is a man, who, with his whole soul, unreservedly and exclusively, forgetful of all else, loves his calling. He complained to me once how empty, lonely and forsaken he seemed to himself, when he had put the finis.h.i.+ng stroke to a work which was then about to go forth from him into the wide world, to find its home everywhere, and to remain with him no more. He had devoted all his thought and feeling, night and day, to the creations of his fancy, and now they had wandered across the sea into another world, there to be no longer his. He could not withdraw his thoughts from them, and yet he could do nothing more for them, for their clearer presentation, for their perfect development. Yes, my dear Fraulein, and these are only creations of the fancy that forsake the man and make him so lonely. How much stronger must the feeling be then, when a living man, who has taken root in our soul, has forsaken us."

Manna was gazing full at him; big tears hung on her long eye-lashes, and she saw a dewy l.u.s.tre in his; she folded her hands on the table, and quietly looked into Eric's countenance.

He felt this look, and said confusedly:--

"Forgive my egotism in speaking only of myself. I would not put any further burden upon the sister, and I can straightway give you the consolation which I have found for myself, and which will serve for you too. We have no right to give our soul one exclusive interest, and in that way lose sight of all the world beside; our soul must be satisfied to feel that there are other things in the world, of which account must be taken. Only, in the sense of desertion, while this inevitable wound still bleeds, one can do nothing else than wait quietly, and compose one's self in the thought of the fullness of the powers of the world, and the fullness of the duties and joys which lie in our fitness to use those powers. Ah, my dear Fraulein," he said, interrupting himself, "my mother likes to tell of an old parson, who cried out to his congregation:--'Children, I preach not for you alone, I preach also for myself; I have need of it.'"

A smile flitted across Manna's countenance, and Eric smiled too.

"Yes, so it is!" he continued, "it is not to the isolated, to the wandering, to the changeable, but to the Everlasting, we should devote our service; to the Spirit abiding in the universal, that we should be submissive, until he calls us to another post. Whither? Wherefore? Who can say? We experience the death of sweet individual relations, to enter anew into the grand community of the eternal whole."

"You are without religion--no; you shall not say that of yourself, you are not irreligious," exclaimed Manna.

"Many hold me for a laggard, others as cowardly and obsequious, because I believe in G.o.d, in a wise consistency and gracious providence, in the events which we meet in the history of mankind in general, and in the course of life of individual men in particular."

Manna's cheeks were glowing, she unfolded her hands, she stretched forth her hand as if she wished to give it to Eric, but, on its way, it seized the flask and she said:--

"We are so grave; and really, am I not a sorry hostess?"

She poured out the wine for him, he drank it at a draught, and while he was drinking, his gaze rested on Manna. She knew that he was contemplating her, she cast down her eyes.

"I must make still another acknowledgment to you," she said. She stopped as if waiting for breath, then she continued:--

"As you were speaking of your being now so sad because you can do nothing more for Roland, it was becoming clearer and clearer to me anew what happiness, what faith I also have lost."

She closed her eyes, she breathed heavily; then she opened her eyes once more, and said:--

"I believed at one time that one could pray for another, for one absent, a distant one, wherever and whatever he might be; I believed that one could sacrifice himself for another, and everything would be atoned for. Ah! now I believe so no more."

Eric made no answer; he knew with what a struggle this acknowledgment was wrung from her lips. Silent they sat opposite each other, and a thrill went through Eric. Now he knew that Manna loved him, for only to the man she loved could she have confided what she had. A spiritual cloud of joy and of grief seemed around him; this maiden loved him and he loved her, her with such a dowry from such a father.

Luckily, a servant entered and told Eric that his mother was expecting him.

"I will accompany you," said Manna, rising. She went to get her hat.

Eric was standing in the dining-hall; the plates and gla.s.ses and dishes were dancing before his eyes. Manna returned quickly; her countenance was more serene than ever; she was once more the young maiden, she had the clear voice and the brisk movement of youthfulness, as she made a gentle bow, and invited Eric to go with her. They were detained in the entrance hall; a package for Manna had been received.

"Ah! the silk dress from the Moravians," she said. "I suppose you know, Captain, that these people are not of our church, and still they get their support from the church. Or are you a contemner, of the Moravians, also?"

"'Contemner' is not my word, but I find their conduct inconsistent.

They are constantly preaching simplicity, renunciation of self, contempt of show, and of worldly enjoyments, and they trade in silken goods and, Havana cigars; they rely on the sinfulness of other men just like the mendicant friar who says: 'I will not work and earn money, but of course others should earn money for me to beg.'"