Villa Eden Part 162

"Ah, I wish it may not be with you as it is with me; the older I become, the more mysterious and complicated are many things to me. You men are fortunate; individual things do not vex you so much, because you can see a united whole."

As the mother gazed confusedly about her she looked upon her son, and her eye sank; she would willingly have imparted her trouble to him; but why burden him when he could do no good? She kept it to herself.

Eric told her of the interesting life he had seen at Mattenheim, and how fortunate he had been in gaining there a fatherly friend. In the way in which he described the energetic activity of the family, it seemed as if he were bringing a fresh breeze into the room; and the mother said:--

"Yes, we forget in our troubles that there are still beautiful, harmonious existences in the world for a maiden like Manna." And just as she mentioned her name, a messenger from Manna came with the request, that the Professorin would come to her.

Eric wanted to say to the messenger in reply, that his mother was unwell, and to ask Fraulein Manna therefore to have the goodness to come to her; but his mother sat erect, and said:--

"No, she requires my a.s.sistance; I must be well, and I am well. It is best that my duty saves me from yielding to this weakness."

She got up quickly, and said to the messenger:--

"I will come."

She dressed hurriedly, and went with her son to the villa.

CHAPTER IX.

HERO ROLAND'S MOTTO.

The Professor's wife announced herself at Manna's door; Manna opened it. With a bloodless countenance, she stood, before the Mother and languidly-held out her hand.

"I have wrestled with myself all alone," she said; "I cannot find the outlet; I must tell you all."

And now Manna related how she had grown up in most reverent respect for her father, and how she had often painfully lamented that her mother was so harsh and cold to him; but once--she had never learned what had transpired previously--her mother had said in the presence of her father:--

"'Know then who your father is, who your father is.' Don't look at me, I beg of you; I beg you, let me speak it softly in your ear."

She whispered the words softly in the ear of the Professorin. The latter sat there and held her hands in her lap, and shut her eyes; not a sound was heard in the room: it seemed as if the whole world was dead, and the two human beings that sat there opposite to each other, dead as well. Manna went on to say that she did not at first understand what this meant, but gradually it had come to her, and she had persuaded her, parents to let her go to the convent. On the way thither the thought was continually present to her, how, in old times, Iphigenia had offered herself up as a propitiatory sacrifice, and so she longed to offer herself up a willing and a hopeful victim, to wash away all the guilt of those who were dear to her.

"I felt then as if something had been cleft within me, as if a vein had burst in my heart. I looked upon myself as a victim on the altar. I had the courage then, I wanted to act decisively before that courage deserted me, for I was afraid of my own cowardice, and for that reason was anxious to bind myself at once."

Again, after a longer pause--the Professorin did not interrupt with a single word--Manna said that she did not understand what her father was doing, and she, she herself must be made n.o.ble, and become Pranken's bride, of equal rank with him. She had honored and esteemed Pranken; he was a man of the world, but of a profoundly generous and religious character.

Sobbing bitterly, she threw herself upon the mother's neck, and exclaimed:--

"I cannot! I cannot be his wife. Ah! I am too weak. You have told me that I should have to experience trying conflicts, but I had never thought, never dreamt of such a thing as this. No; no, indeed."

"What more?" asked the Mother.

Manna hid her face in her hands, then threw herself upon the Mother's neck and wept.

"The Mother entreated her to let her know the rest, but Manna remained silent; finally she uttered the words:--

"No, I shall take it with me into the grave; it is mine alone."

The Professorin spoke words of hope and comfort to her, and asked her whether she had ever mentioned in confession what she now confessed to her. Manna said no, and then threw herself upon her knees before the Mother, and besought her to tell no one what she had related of her father. But she started up suddenly as if bitten by a serpent, when the Professorin told her that she had known it all a long while, that it had been a heavy burden to her, but that it was the duty of the innocent not to withdraw themselves from one who seeks to efface a wretched past.

A strange agitation swept over Manna's countenance.

"Who else knows it? Tell me."

"Why should I, my child? Why do you so torment your soul, and make it wander from house to house, from man to man, crushed, begging, and imploring forgiveness?"

"My prayer, my sacrifice is rejected; I am cast out, we are all cast out. No, I am free; the holy ones in heaven have not been willing to accept my sacrifice. It shall live within my own bosom only, within myself, within my crushed and shattered heart. I am free--free."

"Your laugh makes me feel uneasy," said the Professorin, who was observing closely the play of Manna's features. Manna moaned that her sorrow was sevenfold.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I have spoken with my brother only once about slavery, and then I felt as if something was whirling around me, when he said, Beings who are admitted to religious life are our equals. He is right; whoever enters the sanctuary of the knowledge of G.o.d is a free child of G.o.d; and I shuddered when I thought for the first time how it could be possible for a man to be praying in church, and have near by, separated from him only by a railing, men who were slaves. Is not his every word of prayer, is not his offering, a lie? It was a frightful pathway upon which I had entered, and all the powers of evil were pus.h.i.+ng me on further and further. How is it then? how can a priest receive the child of a man, how could he receive us into the church, while our father still----"

As if a weight lay on her heart. Manna placed her hand there, and seemed unable to go on.

The Professorin consoled her.

"My child," she said, "do not lay the blame on Religion; cast no stone at those who cannot accomplish everything, who cannot equalize all the inequalities that have come into the world from sin. The temple is great, pure, and sublime, even though cares, sloth, and base submission have found hiding-places in it."

From the bottom of her heart, the Professorin sought to keep Manna from losing her hold upon religion; she spoke with enthusiasm of those who devote their whole existence to the Most High, who restlessly work and strive, without reward, to fas.h.i.+on the earth into a dwelling-place of love and virtue.

Manna looked up astonished at the woman who thus counselled her; her lips parted, but she could not utter the words that lay upon her tongue; she wanted to ask. "But are you not a Huguenot?" But she kept back the words, for it seemed to her at this moment as if every difference in form of religious belief had been blotted out; here was indeed nothing but a heart simple in its purpose, gentle, patient, suffering, and devoted to good. Now she felt that she had fully and entirely devoted herself to the n.o.ble woman; she flung herself into her arms; with tears in her eyes she kissed the Mother's cheeks, forehead, and hands, and asked her to lay her hands upon her head, and save her from dying of grief.

Silent and locked in each other's arms sat the two women, when a knock was heard at the door.

Sonnenkamp called out that he must speak with his daughter.

"You must speak to him," said the Professorin.

Manna rose, and pushed back the bolts of the door.

Sonnenkamp entered.

"I am glad you are well again," said he in a clear voice to the Professor's wife.

He did not dream with what eyes the Professorin and his child regarded him.

"I thank you," he continued, making a gesture which was intended to signify that he desired to be alone with Manna.

Manna perceived it, and she begged--she could not express her agony, but she begged earnestly--that her father would permit the Professorin to be present at the conversation; she had no secrets from the n.o.ble woman.

Sonnenkamp shrugged his shoulders.

Was it possible? No, it could not be, his own child could not have betrayed him.

He now said plainly that he would rather speak with Manna alone.