Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine

CHAPTER I.

THE SUBTERRANEAN CALL

A fragrant strawberry glistens on the ground, beautiful to the eye, and luscious to the taste. If there were some method of seeing, or even of hearing, what was going on at the root of the plant, we might perhaps be able to discern how the ammonia, homely, and of very pungent odor, turned up conceitedly its nose, as much as to say, What indeed would all this be without me?

The potash, on the other hand, brightly glistening and sweet-smelling, is under no necessity of saying anything, for its very appearance says already, All the scientific men of the upper world speak on my behalf.

And the hard, silicious earth, in its comfortable repose, might be understood to say, I am an aboriginal inhabitant, and what do these transient fellows want? To-day here, and to-morrow gone; I have already lived through a great deal, – everything goes by fashion.

The maggot-worm grubs at the root, blinking with its cunning eyes, and thinks, The rest are happy in rendering service, but I – I fatten myself. The earth-worm rolls itself along in a proud feeling of triumph that it can go through the streets and water-courses, whereon everything is moving hither and thither. A mole, that has nestled in the neighborhood, lies in wait for the moment when the maggot-worm is taking a little nap, after its surfeit, and gobbles it up.

Such are the manifold operations of life and movement down there at the roots, and such also are those in the servants' room of Villa Eden above.

Herr Sonnenkamp has a wise rule, although many consider it hard-hearted, that all his servants must be unmarried. They receive good wages, are in want of nothing, but make no pretension to family life. A beggar never comes into the well-kept garden, for he would disturb its comfortable serenity. He receives alms, at the entrance, from the keeper of the lodge, and the old cook oftentimes complains that the remnants of food, which might nourish many a hungry one, go so utterly to waste.

It is noon. They take their meals here, long before the table of their master above is set. Two grooms and a third coachman, who keep watch in the stables, eat by themselves in silence, for they must relieve the others.

The superintendent here below is the head-cook, dressed in light clothes, and called for shortness, "the chief;" of a burly and portly figure, with a beardless face, and a large hawk-nose, he plays here the marquis. His German is a sort of jargon, but he rules over the subordinate cook and kitchen-maids, with absolute sway.

The watchmen have dined. A long table is laid for more than a dozen persons, and they come in one after another.

The first who makes his appearance, or, rather, the one to whom the first entrance is conceded, is the head-coachman, Bertram, with a powerful, gigantic form. He has a great red beard, parted in two waving masses coming to a peak, with an embroidered waistcoat covering his hips, and over it a striped blue and white jacket, with just a slight badge of distinction from that of the other coachmen.

With a greeting to the whole corps of servants, Bertram seats himself at the head of the table with Joseph on his right, and the head-gardener on his left. Next to this one, a little man, with seamed face and rapidly glancing eyes, takes a seat; this is Lutz, the courier. Then the rest seat themselves according to their rank, the stable-boys and the men working in the garden being placed at the lower end of the table.

The first female cook, a special favorite of Fräulein Perini, insisted strenuously upon grace being said before dinner. Bertram, the travelled coachman, a decided free-thinker, always busied himself during the blessing with his great embroidered waistcoat, which he drew proudly down over his hips. Joseph folded his hands, but did not move his lips; the rest prayed silently.

No sooner was the soup removed, and a little wine sipped, – for the servants had their wine every day, – than Bertram started the talk, and upon a very definite topic.

"I was just waiting to see whether Lieutenant Dournay would recognise me; I belonged to his battery."

"Indeed!" Joseph delightedly chimed in. "He was right popular, I'm certain?"

Bertram did not consider it incumbent upon him to give a direct reply. He only said that he could never have believed that Herr Dournay would ever become a servant.

"Servant?"

"Yes, a servant like us; and because he knows something of books, a tutor."

Joseph smiled in a melancholy way, and took great pains to bring the table over to a correct view. First he praised the celebrated father of Eric, who had received at least twenty decorations; and his mother, who belonged to the nobility; and he was very happy to say that Captain Dournay understood all about the sciences, and, to throw at their heads the very hardest names which he could get hold of, – Anthropology, Osteology, Archæology, and Petrifactology – all these the captain was master of; he was a complete university in himself. But he did not succeed in convincing the company that Eric was anything else than a servant.

The head-gardener said, in a high-Prussian dialect: —

"Anyhow, he is a handsome man, and sits his horse well; but he don't know a thing about gardening."

Lootz, the courier, praised Eric for speaking good French and English, but of course, when it came to Russian, and Turkish, and Polish, the learned gentleman didn't understand them; for Lutz himself, as a journeyman tailor, having made the tour of all countries, understood all languages. He had attended formerly Fräulein von Pranken, the present Countess Wolfsgarten, and two English ladies, on their travels; now he acted as courier for Herr Sonnenkamp on his journeys, and was idle the rest of the time, unless one calls work the carrying of the letter-bag to and from the railroad station, and the playing of the guitar, which the little man practised a good deal, with the accompaniment of his own whistling. He had also a secret service.

There appeared to be a tacit agreement at the table, that they should make no reply to anything that Lutz said; he only received a smile from the second female cook, with whom he had a tender but not acknowledged relation.

A man with Sarmatian features and a Polish accent claimed for Herr von Pranken the credit of having brought the man into the house. Bertram gave Joseph a slight nudge, and proceeded to praise Herr von Pranken in the most eulogistic terms, while Joseph winked slyly, as if he would say. Just so; this shows again that the Pole is in the secret service of Herr von Pranken.

Now they speculated whether Herr von Pranken would take up his abode in the house after his marriage with Manna, for this event was regarded as a settled thing.

A gardener, who stammered a little, remarked that it was said at the village inn, that Herr Sonnenkamp had been a tailor. All laughed, and the stuttering gardener, who was the special butt of the circle, was more and more spurred on to talk, and bantered till he became blue in the face. Bertram, taking both waves of his long beard in his hands, exclaimed: —

"If any one should tell me that, I'd show him how his teeth taste."

"Just let people talk," said soothingly the head-gardener, with a smile in advance at his own wisdom, as he added, "As soon as a man gets on in the world he must make up his mind to be slandered."

One of the hostlers gave an account of a scuffle which had taken place between them and the servants of the so-called Wine-count, who reproached them with being the servants of a man whom nobody knew anything about, – who he was, or where he came from; and that one of them had gone so far as to say that Frau Sonnenkamp was a purchased slave.

The secret, and, in fact, not very edifying history of several families was now related, until the stout female cook cried out at last: —

"Do stop that talk! My mother used to say, that

The second gardener, a lean, thin man, with a peaked face, called the squirrel, who often had prayers with the pious people of the neighborhood, began a very evangelical discourse about evil speaking. He had, originally, been a gardener, then a policeman in a northern capital, where Sonnenkamp became acquainted with him, and placed him back again in his first occupation, employing him frequently in commissions that called for special circumspection.

An ancient kitchen-maid, who sat apart, holding in her lap the plate from, which she was eating, cried suddenly: —

"You may say what you please, the gentleman who has just come marries the daughter of the family. Just bear that in mind. Mark my words. He hasn't come for the young gentleman, but for the young lady. There was once on a time a prince and a princess in the castle, and the prince put on a servant's dress – yes, laugh away, but it is just so."

Joseph and Bertram exchanged glances full of meaning.

Now there was a general joking. Every one wished to have his fortune told by old Kate. The courier made fun of superstitious people, but assumed a very forced smile when Bertram called out: —

"Yes, indeed, the tailors are all enlightened, they don't believe in hell."

There was no end to the laughing now. Suddenly a voice sounded from the ceiling: —

"Bertram is to put the horses to the glass-carriage, and Joseph to come up."

The company at the table broke up; the hostlers went to the stables, where they smoked their pipes, the gardeners to the park and the green-houses. Joseph told two servants to set the dinner-table, and there was stillness under ground. Only the kettles bubbled and hissed, and the chief surveyed with lofty mien the progress of his work.

An hour later, Lootz received the letters which he was to carry to the station, and, in a very casual and innocent way, related that the new tutor had as adherents in the house, Bertram, who was formerly stationed in his battery, and Joseph, who considered himself committed to him as coming from the University. It had never been said in so many words that Lutz was to be a spy over the servants, but it was understood, as a matter of course, between him and his master.

CHAPTER II.

A SUNDAY FILLED OUT

Eric had wished to write a letter to his mother out of fairy-land, when he rode as if under a spell of enchantment through the wood, where all was music, fragrance, and brightness. Yes, then! It was only a few days ago, and yet it seems as if years had elapsed. How much in these few days had Eric thought, seen, experienced! The letter is an entirely different one.

On Sunday there was a change in the household arrangements, no common breakfast being served. When Eric met Sonnenkamp in the garden, the latter asked him if he would go with them to church. Eric answered no, at once, adding in explanation, that by going he should be guilty of an act of hypocrisy; as a mark of respect for a confession not his own, he might perhaps be willing to go, but a different view would be taken of it.

Sonnenkamp looked at him in surprise. But this straight-forwardness seemed to have an effect upon him, for he said, —

"Good; one is at no loss to find out your opinion."

The tone was ambiguous, but Eric interpreted it favorably.

After all had gone to church, Eric sat alone, writing to his mother. He began by saying that he seemed to himself like Ulysses thrown upon a strange island; he had, indeed, no fellow-voyagers to take care of, but he had for companions many noble sentiments, and he must watch sharp lest they be turned into-

Just as he was writing the word, he stopped; that was not the proper tone. He destroyed the sheet, and began again. He narrated, simply and briefly, the interview, with Pranken, Clodwig, and Bella, saying that as the Homeric heroes were under the special protection of the gods, so to-day a different and better one was vouchsafed, and he was accompanied by the spirit and noble character of his parents. In speaking of Roland, he said that wealth had a peculiar power to excite the fancy, and a mighty energy in carrying out its purposes, for Roland had already removed her into the small, vine-covered house.

The bells were ringing in the village, and Eric wrote with flying speed about his conception of the noble vocation of guiding in the right path a human being, upon whom was conferred the great and influential power of wealth.

And now, mingled with the ringing of the bells, there came suddenly the recollection of that narrative in the Gospel of the rich young man coming to Jesus. He did not remember the precise question and answer, and he looked for a Bible in Roland's library, but there was no Bible there; yet it seemed as if he could go no farther, until he had become exactly acquainted with that incident.

He went down into the garden; there he came across the gardener, the so-called squirrel, who was very happy to be able to give an affirmative answer to the question whether he had a Bible. With words full of unction he brought one to Eric, who took it with him to his room.

He wrote no more, he read for a long time; then he sat there motionless, his head resting upon his left hand, which covered his eyes, until Roland returned from church, and laid down his prayer-book. As Eric grasped now the hand which had deposited the book, the inquiry darted through his soul. Wilt thou be able to give the youth a like firm trust as a compensation, if thou shouldest-

His thoughts were interrupted, for Roland said, —

"You have procured a Bible, then?" With childish pleasure he informed him that, by means of the gardener, it had been reported all over the house. Eric felt obliged to declare to the boy that he held this book in high esteem, and thought there was no other to be compared with it, but that he had none of the customary ecclesiastical reverence for it.

"Do you know this?" Eric asked, pointing to the passage about the rich young man.

Roland read it, and when Eric asked him what he thought of it, Roland only stared, for he had evidently not perceived the difficulty of the problem there enunciated. Eric avoided enlightening him now in regard to the meaning of the parable; he would wait. A seed-grain lies at first motionless in the earth, until it is stirred into activity by its own vital forces. Eric knew that at this moment such a seed-grain had fallen into the child's soul. He would bide quietly the time when it should germinate and spring up.

He complied with Roland's desire that he would go with him to meet the major, who came every Sunday to dinner. They walked for a while in the road under the nut-trees, and then up the hill through the vineyards. They saw, near a large open space where stakes only were standing, the Major, with whom we have already become acquainted at Wolfsgarten; he was to-day in full uniform, with all his badges.

Whilst the established nobility of the region were very reserved in their visits to the Sonnenkamp mansion, the Major was the banner of distinction to this household, Frau Ceres being especially delighted that a man with so many badges should devote himself to her in so friendly a way. Evil tongues, indeed, reported that the Major, in consideration of this attention to the ladies, and this Sunday display of his badges, received no trifling addition to his not very large pension, but this was pure scandal, for the Major, or rather Fräulein Milch, strenuously refused to accept presents from any one in the region, nor would they allow themselves to be in any manner dependent.

The Major was very happy to see them both.

"Have you got him so soon?" said he to Eric. "Be sure and hold him by a tight rein."

And, pointing to the vineyard, he said: "Next season we shall have there – so Herr Sonnenkamp says – the first wine. Have you ever drunk virgin wine?"

Eric answered in the negative, and the Major delighted in being able to explain to him that the first product of a vineyard was so denominated.

The Major's gait was nothing but a perpetual plunge forward and a recovery of himself again; every two steps he stopped and looked round, always with a smile. He smiled upon every one he met. Why were people to be made unhappy because he has lost his toes? Why should they see a troubled countenance? He informed Eric that he had frozen his toes in the Russian campaign, and had been obliged to have them amputated; and he smiled very cheerfully, as he said: —

"Yes, truly our German proverb is right. Every one knows best himself where the shoe pinches."

He nodded his agreement with Eric, who made an application of the proverb to the various relations of life.

Then he asked Roland whether his mother had yet risen; for Frau Ceres made the no small sacrifice of getting up at nine o'clock, and, what will be considered a not much inferior one, of completing her toilet in a single hour, and going with the family to church. She always made up, therefore, for the lost sleep by going to bed again before dinner, and putting on afterwards, for the first time, her real Sunday apparel.

When they reached the level road, the architect met them, on his way also to dinner; he joined Eric, while Roland went with the Major. The men were all obliged to look at Roland's dogs, before they assembled in the balcony-saloon. They found the doctor and the priest already with Herr Sonnenkamp.

Eric had scarcely been introduced, when Frau Ceres appeared in splendid full dress.

The Major offered his arm, the servants drew back the folding-doors, and they went through several apartments into the dining-hall.

The Major had his seat at the left of Frau Ceres, and the priest at her right; next to him was Fräulein Perini, and then the physician, Sonnenkamp, the architect, Roland and Eric took their respective seats.

The priest said grace to-day aloud. The conversation was, at first, wholly incomprehensible to Eric, for it was of persons and circumstances that he knew nothing about. The great wine establishment, the son of whose proprietor had bought, with Pranken, the beautiful horses, was often mentioned. The head of the firm had realized enormous profits, at a sale held at one of his wine-vaults up the stream. It was reported that he intended to give up business entirely, and to reside at the capital, for the shrewd old gentleman was very desirous of gaining the consideration and good will of the court.

"I give him credit," cried the doctor, "of being infatuated with the notion of getting ennobled."