Villa Eden Part 51

Just as he left the minister, an oldish man, who had been waiting for him under a house-porch, came up to him and greeted him in a very friendly manner. Eric could not call to mind who he was, and the man said that Eric had once done him a good turn in the house of correction, and thanked him for it; he was now in a very good situation as servant of the chancellor, and with a half-sly, half-pious expression of countenance, he offered to render Eric any service that was in his power.

Eric thanked him; he did not notice that many persons, who went by and recognised him, regarded this companions.h.i.+p as very odd.

Now the comrade who had taken Eric's place, and had become an actual captain, came from parade; he took Eric with him to the military club-house, and Eric was cheerful and lost all thought of the troubles of life. In the club-house there was much talk about Otto von Pranken and his marriage with a Creole worth many millions. Eric did not consider it necessary to say that Manna was no Creole, and that he had some knowledge of how the matter really stood.

CHAPTER XI.

WHERE ART THOU, ROLAND?

"Where is Roland?"

Sonnenkamp asks Joseph, Joseph asks Bertram, Bertram asks Lootz, Lootz asks the head-gardener, the head-gardener asks the Little-squirrel, the Little-squirrel asks the laborers, the laborers ask the children, the children ask the air, Fraulein Perini asks the Chevalier, the Chevalier asks the dogs, and Frau Ceres must find out nothing from any of them.

Sonnenkamp rides at full speed to the Major, the Major asks Fraulein Milch, but she, who knows everything, this time knows nothing. The Major rides to the castle; Roland's name is called out in all the excavations and dungeons, but there is no answer.

Sonnenkamp sends the groom to the huntsman, but he is off to the field, and not to be found.

Sonnenkamp rides to the railroad station, taking with him Puck, Roland's pony, and often looking at the empty saddle. He asks at the station, in an indifferent tone, if Roland had not arrived, as if he were expecting his return from a journey. No one had seen him.

Sonnenkamp rides back to the villa, and asks hurriedly if he has not come, and when they say no, he rides to the next station up the river.

He asks here also, but less cautiously, and here nothing is known. The servants rush hither and thither as if bewildered.

Sonnenkamp returns to the villa; the Major is there; Fraulein Milch has sent him, as perhaps he can render some a.s.sistance. She thinks that Roland has certainly gone to the convent. The Major and Sonnenkamp drive to the telegraph-office, and send a message to the convent; they are extremely impatient, for there is no direct telegraphic communication, and so it will be two hours before an answer can be returned. Sonnenkamp desires to wait here, and sends the Major to the town, where he was to see the doctor, and make inquiries everywhere, but not so as to excite any observation.

Sonnenkamp goes up and down at the station, and places his hot brow against the cool stone pillars; all is quiet and empty. He went into the pa.s.sengers' room; he found that the seats at the station were not made for comfortable rest; it was horribly inhuman. In America it is different, or it isn't--no matter.

He went out; he saw the men loading a freight-car,--they did it so leisurely; he looked at a stone-cutter who was using a pick and a hammer: he looked fixedly at him as if he himself wanted to learn the trade. People everywhere were working so quietly; they might well do so, they had not lost a son. He observed the telegraph-wires, he had an impulse to cry throughout the whole world, even where it would be of no possible avail,--

"Where is my son?"

Night comes on. The railway-train rolls in, and Sonnenkamp steps back in terror; it seems to him that the locomotive would rush directly upon him. He composes himself, he looks about, he strains his eyes, he sees nothing of Roland. The people disperse, and all is again still.

Sonnenkamp went to the telegraphist, and asked again if the telegram which had been sent had reached its destination. The reply was, "Yes."

The clicking of the telegraph-lever thrilled him; he felt the same blows in his throbbing temples. He requested the operator to remain there during the night, as one could not tell but that a message might be sent to him, or he might want to send one.

But the operator refused, although a large sum of money was offered him; he was not allowed to change the arrangements without orders from his superiors. He ordered his a.s.sistant to stay there as long as he himself remained; he closed the door with a bang, and went off. He was evidently afraid of Sonnenkamp.

Sonnenkamp was again alone. Then he heard the stroke of oars on the river.

"Is it you, Herr Major?" he cried out into the starlight night.

"Yes."

"Have you found him?"

"No."

The Major got out of the boat; there was no trace of Roland in the town. An answer could not be received from the convent before early the next morning. Now the thought presented itself, that perhaps Roland was with Count Wolfsgarten. A messenger was sent thither, and they returned to the villa.

When Sonnenkamp extended his hand to the Major to help him into the carriage the latter said,--

"Your hand is so cold to-day."

It shot through Sonnenkamp's brain, like an arrow, that he had wanted to punish the boy to-day. If the boy, with this thought in his mind, had drowned himself in the waters of the Rhine!

The ring on his thumb burned into his flesh, as if it were red-hot.

Joseph met them on their way back to the villa.

"Is he there?" cried the Major. Sonnenkamp could not himself ask the question.

"No; but the gracious lady has got hold of it."

In the village through which they drove, people were still standing together in groups, and chatting in the mild spring-night. They met the priest, and Sonnenkamp requested him to accompany them to the villa.

When they arrived at the court of the villa, Sonnenkamp remained sitting in the carriage, as if he had lost himself, and did not get out until he was spoken to. He gained strength and self-possession after his feet touched the ground.

Lights flitted to and fro, and shone through the lofty windows of the house. Now a shriek was heard, and he hurried in. In the great saloon, Frau Ceres, in her night-dress, was kneeling before a chair, her face hidden in the cus.h.i.+on. The priest stood by her side, Fraulein Perini was pouring an effervescent powder into a gla.s.s. Sonnenkamp went quickly to his wife, placed his hand upon her shoulder, crying,--

"Ceres, be quiet."

The lady turned round, glared at him with glowing eyes, then sprang up, tore open the garment on his breast, shrieking,--

"My son! give me my son, you--"

Sonnenkamp held his broad hand over her mouth; she tried to bite him, but he kept her mouth closed, and she was still.

Sonnenkamp requested the priest and Fraulein Perini to leave his wife; Fraulein Perini hesitated, but a wave of his hand gave her decided orders to go. She and the Ecclesiastic left the room. Now Sonnenkamp took Frau Ceres up in his arms, as if she were a child; carried her in to her chamber, and laid her upon the bed. Her feet were cold, and he wrapped a cloth around them in such a manner, that they were firmly bound. After a while, Frau Ceres slept, or only pretended to be asleep; it was the same either way. He went out into the balcony-chamber, where the Ecclesiastic, the Major, and Fraulein Perini were sitting together.

He urged the priest to betake himself to rest, thanking him very warmly; he said the same to Fraulein Perini, with an odd mingling of courteousness and authoritativeness in his manner; he requested the Major to stay with him.

For an hour he sat with the Major at the open balcony-door, looking up at the starry heaven and listening to the rus.h.i.+ng river; then he requested the Major to go to bed; the day would enable them to proceed quietly on sure ground. He himself lay down in the ante-chamber to his wife's room; he went again softly to her bed, shading the light with his hand; she was sleeping quietly, with burning cheeks.

All was still at the villa. Sonnenkamp was waked up when the messenger returned from Wolfsgarten; they knew nothing of Roland there.

"Is Herr von Pranken coming?" asked Sonnenkamp. The messenger did not know.

Sonnenkamp was very weary, and exhausted from want of sleep, but he could not rest; he stood at the balcony and listened to the singing of the birds and the rus.h.i.+ng of the river; he saw the sun rise in the heavens, he heard the clocks strike; the whole world, so fresh and beautiful, seemed to him a chaos. His daughter at the convent, and his wife ready, at any moment, to testify the most horrible things against him, and his son disappeared, leaving no trace! Perhaps his corpse is floating yonder in the water! It seemed to Sonnenkamp, for a moment, as if he must throw himself headlong from the balcony, and put an end to his life. Then he stood erect and took a fresh cigar.

He went down into the park; the trees were quivering noiselessly in the early dawn, and their leaves rustled and whispered when the morning sunbeam stirred them into music and motion. The birds were carroling; they had their home and their family, and to them no child was missing----

Sonnenkamp wandered hither and thither. This soil is his, these trees are his, everything is green, blooming, breathing a fresh life. Does he still breathe for whom all this had life, for whom it all was to live, for whom it was planted and set in order?

"Why is it? why is it?" shrieked Sonnenkamp through the park. No reply came from without; perhaps one came from within, for he pressed both hands, doubled up, against his breast.

He came into the orchard. There stood the trees, whose branches he had shaped according to his pleasure; they stood in full blossom, and now, in the first morning beam, the blossoms were falling down like a low rustling rain upon the ground, that looked white as if covered with flakes of snow.