Villa Eden Part 72

It was a merry, exhilarating life into which Eric and Roland were inducted, and when they returned to their strict method of study, there was a deep realization of the fact that they were living in the midst of a merry region, where existence can be easily wasted in play.

It was midsummer, and there came cold, windy, disagreeable days, when it seemed that summer had departed, and yet it could not be, it must become hot again. The nightingale was voiceless; it had not ceased to sing all at once, but seemed to utter occasionally single notes from memory, while there were heard more frequently the thin voices of the linnets, or the full, short call of the blackbirds. The summer shoots on the leafy trees showed that the summer had reached its height, and was declining; the forest-trees had attained their season's growth, and the song of birds had ceased, except that the unwearied black-cap still twittered, and the magpies chattered among the branches.

Eric and Roland often, sailed upon the Rhine, and Eric sang; he was rejoiced to hear Roland say:--

"Yes, it is so. A person can sing at all seasons of the year, if he has a mind to."

Eric nodded, feeling that the consciousness of art and of a free humanity had been awakened in Roland; and he now said that they would absent themselves for a few days from the house, and proposed to Roland two plans: either they would go to Herr Weidmann's, of whom there had been so much said, or to the great musical festival that was to take place at the Fortress. Boats ornamented with parti-colored streamers, having singers on board, went up the river and were greeted at all the landings with the firing of cannon. Roland requested to go to the festival, and he wanted to walk a part of the way, desiring to see again, and this time in company with Eric, the road over which he had wandered by night.

They set out in good spirits, and Roland was very talkative, relating to Eric all his adventures. They came to the wood, and Roland gave an account of his falling asleep, and of his wonderful dream. He blushed while telling it, and Eric did not ask what his dream was. Roland went silently into the wood.

"Here it is; here it is!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Here is my porte-monnaie! G.o.d be praised and thanked, I have not been robbed.

Come, let us go to the village, where the hostler lives whom I suspected, and I will give him all the money."

They proceeded to the village, but the hostler was not there, having been drafted into the military service.

Roland was very sorry at that, and wrote down the man's name in his memorandum-book.

The two went on through the country clothed in the green of summer, and when they reached the railroad, took the cars for the Fortress. All was here decked with flags, and the whole town appeared in holiday attire.

Men and women streamed in from all quarters, some on boats and some in the cars, singing in clear tones, and were received with a hearty welcome. Eric was happy to be able to say to his pupil:--

"Remember that this belongs to us. Neither the Greeks nor the Romans had such celebrations, nor any other nation but us Germans."

They spent the night at the Fortress, and the next morning all a.s.sembled, the hundreds of male and female singers, and a great crowd of listeners, in the festival hall now properly ornamented, but at other times used as a fruit-market. A gloomy rumor was spread through the a.s.sembly; the singers shook their heads, and clapped together their hands, while among the audience there was a commotion and a rustling.

A man of fine voice, an experienced singer, had been suddenly taken ill.

"Look yonder," said Roland; "there sit nuns, and there are pupils, in the school-dress that they wear at Manna's convent. Ah, if Manna should be here too!"

Eric said to Roland:--

"Stay here; I will see if I can be of any a.s.sistance. I depend upon your not quitting this seat."

He went up to the singers on the platform, and spoke earnestly to the leader, by whose side he stood. Men came up to them while they were talking together, and went away again. Suddenly all eyes were turned towards Eric, and a whispering and a buzzing went through the a.s.sembly.

Master Ferdinand, the conductor, tapped with his baton, and his look, which directed and inspired all, was smiling. There was silence, and in a tone that won all hearts he said:--

"Our baritone has unfortunately been taken ill, and this gentleman by my side, who does not wish his name to be mentioned, has kindly offered to undertake the solos for our absent friend. You, as well as we, will be grateful to him, and willingly extend to him the requested indulgence, as he has made no rehearsals with us."

A universal applause was the reply.

The choruses began, and their tones, like the voice of many waters, moved Roland's soul. Now Eric rose. All hearts were beating. But at the first tone he uttered, each one of the singers, and each one of the listeners, looked to his neighbor and nodded. It was a voice, so full, so deep, so penetrating the heart, that all held their breath as they listened. And when he had ended, a storm of applause broke forth which seemed almost to shake the hall.

Eric sat down, and the choruses and then other solo performers sang; again he rose, and yet again, and his voice seemed to grow still more powerful, and to penetrate more deeply into the hearts of all.

But how was it with Roland, one of the thousands who listened, and who were thrilled by the sound of this voice, in the depths of their souls?

The choruses rolled in like billows of the resounding sea, but when Eric sang, it was as if he stood upon the deck of a n.o.ble s.h.i.+p, and ruled over all; and this voice was so near to Roland in its friendliness, and yet so n.o.bly exalted! The youth was possessed by that feeling of blissful, dreamy gladness which music awakes in us, transplanting it into the depths of our own life, and causing us to forget our own dreams, and merging our own individual self in the sad and blissful element of being.

Roland wept; Eric's voice seemed to waft him upwards into an invisible world, and then the choruses began again, and he seemed to be transported into a heavenly state of existence.

Roland wanted to tell his neighbor who the man was, for he heard on all sides questions and conjectures; but he said to himself:--

"No one else knows who he is, except me."

His eye now swept again over the collection of girls dressed in blue, and one of them nodded to him. Yes, it is she! it is Manna! He requested those sitting near him to let him pa.s.s through them; he wanted to go to his sister and to tell her who it was that had just brought such blessedness into the hearts of all. But he was repelled with vehemence, and his neighbors scolded about the saucy youth, who was so restless and out of humor, and wanted to create a disturbance.

Roland remained quiet, and by that means let slip the suitable opportunity of the intermission, for pressing through the crowd to Manna.

The Oratorio was ended, but the applause of the a.s.sembly, did not seem likely to end. There was a universal call for the stranger's name.

"Name! Name!" resounded from a thousand lips, with noisy demonstrations and shouts.

Then Master Ferdinand tapped with his baton again upon his desk, nodding in a friendly manner to Eric, who held back, and all cried:--

"Silence!"

Eric rose, saying in a composed voice,--

"My sincere thanks. That I have been able to take part here, has been to me a divine service, a service to divine art; and because I do not desire by any unfamiliar name to lessen the feeling of devotion awakened within you, and for this reason only, have I been reluctant to give you my name."

"Name! Name!" was again called out by the a.s.sembly.

"My name is Doctor Dournay."

"Huzza! Huzza!" burst out the whole a.s.sembly, and the orchestra played a threefold flourish, all shouting:--

"Huzza, Doctor Dournay."

Eric was almost crushed, and his shoulders ached with the congratulatory strokes upon them.

He saw himself surrounded by those who were already acquainted with him, and those who desired to make his acquaintance. The a.s.sembly dispersed.

Eric looked around for Roland, but he was nowhere to be seen. He walked about the square in front of the music-hall, and then returned to it; here he found everything in confusion, for they were rus.h.i.+ng in every direction; setting the tables for the festival-dinner. He waited a long time, for he felt convinced that Roland had got lost in the crowd, and would come back here.

At last Roland came, with glowing cheeks.

"If was she!" he exclaimed. "I went with her and her schoolmates to the boat, and they have now set off.

"O Eric, how splendid it is, how splendid, that you sang, for the first time, to her! And she said you could not be so G.o.dless, for you sang so devoutly. She said that I was not to tell you this, but she is a rogue, she meant that I should tell you. O Eric! and the Justice's Lina, and the Architect; too, are among the singers; they are walking arm in arm, and they recognised you, but they did not betray you. O Eric, how you did sing! it seemed to me that you could fly too; I was every moment afraid that you would spread your wings and fly away."

The youth was in a state of feverish excitement.

An usher came to invite Eric and his brother--such he supposed Roland to be--to be present at the dinner and to sit near the director.

Others came who knew him, and strangers who wished to be introduced.

A photographer, who was one of the solo singers, besought Eric to allow him to take his photograph, while he was waiting for dinner, as hundreds and hundreds of the singers wanted to have a picture of him.