Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine
"I was free! It was strange to look out into the world and say. World, what do you want of me? What must I do for you? Here are a thousand employments; which shall I take? I was ready for anything. I had a fine voice, and many people thought that I might become a professional singer, and I received overtures to that effect. But my own inclination led in a very different direction. An earnest longing possessed me to make some sacrifice for my fellow-men. Had I been a devout believer, I think I should have become a monk."
Clodwig opened his eyes and met Eric's beaming glance. After a short pause, Clodwig nodded to Eric, then folded his arms again on his breast, laid his head back, nodded again, and closed his eyes. Eric continued: —
"When I first went through the streets in a civilian's dress, I felt as if I were walking naked before the eyes of men, as one sometimes seems to be in troubled dreams. In such a helpless, forlorn state of feeling, one grows superstitious, and is easily governed by the merest accidents; The first person who met me, and stared at me, as if doubting who I was, was my former captain, who had left the service, and was superintendent of a House of Correction for men. He had seen the notice of my discharge, and remembering some of my former attempts in that direction, asked whether I meant to devote myself entirely to poetry. I answered in the negative, and he told me that he was looking for an assistant. My decision was soon made; I would consecrate myself to the care and elevation of my fallen fellow-men. After entering on my new occupation I wrote to my parents. My father replied to me, that he appreciated my efforts, but foresaw with certainty that my natural love of beauty would make a life among criminals unbearable to me; he was right. I tried with all my might to keep in subjection a longing for the higher luxuries of life, but in vain. I was without that peculiar natural vein, or perhaps had not reached that elevated standpoint, which enables one to look upon and to treat all the aspects of life as so many natural phenomena. In my captain's uniform, I received more respect from the prisoners than in my citizen's dress. This experience was a sort of nightmare to me. Life among the convicts, who were either hardened brutes or cunning hypocrites, became a hell to me, and this hell had one peculiar torment. I fell into a mood of morbid self-criticism, because I could not forget the world, but was constantly trying to guess the thoughts of others. I tormented myself by imagining what men said of my course. In their eyes I seemed to myself now an idealistic vagabond, if you will allow the expression. This I was not, and would not be, and above all, I was determined that my enemies and deriders should not have the triumph of seeing me the wreck of a fickle and purposeless existence.
"Ah, I vexed myself unnecessarily; for who has time or inclination to look for a man who has disappeared! Men bury the dead, and go back to their every-day work, and so they bury the living too. I do not reproach them for it, it must be so.
"It became clear to me that I was not fitted for the calling I had chosen. I lived too much within myself, and tried in every event to study the foundation and growth of character of those around me, not willing to acknowledge that the nature and actions of men do not develope themselves so logically as I had thought. Besides, I was too impassioned, and possessed by a constant longing for the beautiful.
"I thought of emigrating to the New World, but what should I do there? Was it worth while to have borne such varied experiences and struggles in order to turn a bit of the primeval forest into a cornfield? Still, one consideration drew me toward America. My father's only brother, the proprietor of a manufactory of jewelry, lived there, but was quite lost to us. He had loved my mother's sister, but his suit was somewhat harshly rejected, and he left Europe for the New World. He cast off all connection with his home and family, and turned out of his house in New York a friend of my father's who guardedly mentioned us to him. He would hear nothing of us, nor even of Europe. I imagined that I could reconcile my uncle, and you know that a man in desperate circumstances looks for salvation to the most adventurous undertakings.
"My good father helped me. What he had always recognized as my true vocation, from which I had turned blinded by the attractions of army life, I now saw plainly. A thirst for loneliness arose within me; I felt that I must find some spot of earth where no disturbing tone could penetrate the inner life, where I could immerse myself in solitude. This solitude which is inclusive of all true life, study, the world of letters, now offered to me. My father helped me, while showing me that my past life was not wasted, but must give me a new direction and a peculiar success. He brought me a birth-day gift which I had received in my cradle; the senate of the University; in which he had lectured before his appointment as tutor of the prince, had bestowed upon me soon after my birth its certificate of matriculation, as a new-born prince receives a military commission."
Clodwig laughed heartily, rubbed his eyes, leaned forward with both hands on his knees, looked kindly at Eric, and begged him to go on.
"I have little more to tell you. I soon schooled myself, or rather my father schooled me, to live for universal ends, and to put aside all personal aims as much as possible. I devoted myself to the study of ancient literature, and every aspiration for the beautiful, which had idealized the poet's vocation for me, found satisfaction in my introduction to the classic world. 'Every man may glory in his industry,' says the poet. I worked faithfully, and felt only in my father's house the happiness of a child, and in my youth the joy of mental growth. My father hoped that success would be granted me where he had failed; he made me heir of those ideas which he could neither establish as scientific truth, nor impart from his professor's chair, if there ever were a happy home, made holy by lofty aspiration, it was my parents' house. There my younger brother died, now very nearly a year ago; my father, who already was sorely sick at heart, with all his stoic fortitude could not bear this blow. It is two months since he also died. I kept down the anguish of my bereavement, finished my studies, and received my doctor's degree a few days ago. My mother and I formed various plans, but have not yet decided upon any. I made this excursion to the Rhine in compliance with my mother's advice, for I have been working very hard; on my return we meant to come to some decision. I met your brother-in-law, and I feel it my duty not to turn away from the opening which has offered. I am ready to enter into private service, knowing what I undertake, and believing that I am thoroughly equipped for it. There was a time when I thought I could find satisfaction only in working for some great public interest; now I should be content to educate a single human being, still more to co-operate in training to a fitness for his great duties one, who, by his future lordship over vast possessions, represents in himself manifold human interests.
"I have come to the end of my story. I do not wish that any one should think better of me than I deserve, but I also wish to pass for what I believe I am. I am neither modest nor conceited; I may be in dangerous ignorance, for I do not in the least know how I am regarded by others; I have shown only what I find in myself by honest self-examination. I mean to be a teacher. He who would live in the spirit, and has not the artist's creative power, must be a teacher; for the teacher is, so to speak, the artisan of the higher being, and, like every artisan, is so much the better workman, or teacher, the more of the artist spirit he has and uses. A thought is the best gift which man can bestow upon man, and what I give my pupil is no longer my own. But pardon me for having fallen into this vein of preaching. I have shown you my whole life, as well as I can; where I have left any gaps, pray question me."
"Nothing further is needed," said Clodwig, rising, and quietly laying aside the sofa-blanket. "Only one question. Have you never had the desire to marry, or has that not entered into your plans?"
"No, I shall not marry. I have heard so many men say, 'Yes, ideals, I had them too, but now I live in and for my family.' I will not sacrifice everything higher to the caprice of a pretty woman. I know that I am at variance with the world; I cannot dissemble, nor can I change my own way of thinking, nor bring others over to mine. I have set myself a difficult life-task, which can be best carried out alone."
Clodwig stepped quickly towards Eric and said: —
"I give you my hand again. This hand shall never be withdrawn from you, so long as it has life. I had something else in view for you, but now I cannot and need not speak of it; I will subdue my own wishes. Enough; press on quietly and firmly towards your goal; whatever I can do to help you reach it, you have a right to demand. Remember you have a claim upon me in every situation and condition of your life. You cannot yet estimate what you have given, and are still giving me. Good night, my dear young friend."
The count hastily withdrew, as if to avoid any further emotion. Eric stood still, looking at the empty chair and the sofa-blanket as if all were a dream, until a servant came, and, in a very respectful manner, conducted him to his room.
CHAPTER X.
THE GOOD HOST
When a man has laid open his whole history to another, he often seems to himself emptied, hollow, and void, – what is left of him? how small and contemptible he appears! But it was quite otherwise with Eric. From a tower below in the valley rang clear a silver-toned midnight bell, hung there in ancient times by a noble lady, to guide the lost wanderer in the forest to a human dwelling. Eric heard it, and saw in fancy the confessional in the church, with its believers bending before it, or passing out into the world again made strong by its blessing. He had confessed to a man whose life was consecrated by a pure spirit, and felt himself not impoverished, but elevated and strengthened, armed with self-knowledge for every relation of life.
He opened the window, and inhaled the cool, fragrant air of night. Over the valley hung a thin mist; the clocks in the villages struck midnight, and the Wolfsgarten clock chimed in sweet and low. Eric resigned himself to the influence of nature's life and power as it presses upward in the tree-trunks, moves in the branches, and refreshes every bud. In the distance rolled a railway train. The nightingales sang loudly, then suddenly ceased as if overpowered by sleep.
In nebulous forms, familiar and strange figures gathered around Eric. How much he had experienced in this one day, though he had not yet crossed the threshold of the house where perhaps his future lot was cast! He had reviewed his past life, and had found a home of which he had not dreamed yesterday. Ah, how great and rich is the world, and true comrades live in it waiting only for our summons and the greeting of friendly eyes!
All the fulness of life in the immortality of nature and the human spirit flooded Eric's being. He felt a blessed elation; he had given up his life, it was taken from him; he was freed from self, and lived and soared in the infinite.
The moon rose over the mountains, a whispering thrill rustled through the wood, the nightingale sang loud again, the mists rose from the valley and vanished, and one broad beam glittered on a glass dome in the distance. There lay Villa Eden.
Only after a vigorous resistance Eric finally yielded to weariness and closed the window. A black trunk marked with the crest of Prince Leonhard first attracted his notice, and he smiled to see how Clodwig had shown his household in what honor he held his guest; this room had been occupied by the Prince a few days before. Eric then gazed long on a bust of Medusa, fascinated by the grand, powerful, beautiful face; on the head with its wildly disordered locks were two wide-spread wings; below the heavy frowning brow gleamed the great death-dealing eyes; the mouth was haughtily curved, and on the lips lay scornful, defiant words; under the chin two snakes were knotted together like a kerchief. The aspect of the head was at once repulsive and fascinating.
Opposite the Medusa stood a cast of the Victory of Rauch, that wonderful countenance recalling the face of Queen Louisa, the noble head with its garland of oak-leaves not raised, but bent as if in thought and self-control. A strange pair were those two busts! but there was no more time to dwell upon them. Eric was overcome by sleep, but woke again after a few hours, when day had scarcely dawned.
There are hours and days of joyous and buoyant feeling, as if we had found the key to all hearts; as if we held in our hands the magic wand which reveals all living springs, and brings us near to every soul as to a friend and a brother. The world is purified, the soul pervaded by the deep feeling of unalloyed blessedness, which is nothing but breathing, living, loving.
Encompassed by such an atmosphere, Eric stood at the window and looked out over the river to the mountains beyond, the castles, the towns, the villages, on the banks and on the heights. Everywhere thou art at home, thou art living in a beautiful world. He went at once into the open air, and strode on not as if he were walking, but as if borne onward by some ineffable power. Drops of rain from the last night's storm hung upon the tender green of the foliage, on the grass and flowers; no breeze stirred the air, and frequent rain-drops, like a sudden shower, pattered down from the overhanging branches. A ray of sunlight now gleams upon every leaf and twig, and awakens an inexpressible movement; the blackbird sings in the copse, and with his clear, shrill tone is heard far above all the intermingling, chorus of melodies.
Eric stood motionless near a covered pavilion on the very ridge of the mountain, and gazed long at a kite hovering with outspread wings over the summit, and then letting itself down into the wood on the other side of the river. What made him think at that moment of Herr Sonnenkamp? Was it envy and dread of the little bird, whom evil tongues called a bird of prey; and has he not the right to live according to his might?
Eric's thoughts were wafted toward the boy, longing to mingle in his dreams, and whisper to him, I am coming to thee. He endeavored for a long time to get sight of the glass dome, but it was nowhere visible. He went away from the river to an elevated plain, from which there was again a view of valleys, heights, and mountains.
He stood in the midst of an extensive field, and for the first time saw a vineyard which was just being planted. The laborers held implements, like augurs, in their hands, and making with them holes in the loose earth, they set out the young shoots in rows.
He saluted the laborers, and they answered him cheerfully, feeling from the sound of his voice that he greeted every stranger as a brother. He inquired how long it would be before the first vintage, and when an old man answered clearly all his questions, he felt a new refreshment.
This conversation brought him back from his state of excitement, back from his wandering into the infinite, again to the earth. He went away expressing his thanks, and realising that he must bring this strain of lofty feeling into subjection to actual life. He met laborers who were going to a limestone quarry. He joined them, and learned that this also belonged to the count, who had leased all his lands, not retaining for himself even the management.
Receiving a friendly greeting from the overseer, he was shown a manufactory of cement near by, and saw paving-tiles from excellent patterns of the time of the Renaissance, which Clodwig had recommended, and which found a ready sale.
Eric returned to the Castle, refreshed by the breath of nature as well as by this glance into actual human life. A servant told him that the count was expecting him. Clodwig, already fully dressed for the day, took his guest by the hand, saying, "I shall ask you by and by many questions, but only one now: – did your father despair at the last, or – how shall I express it? – did he die in the belief of an orderly and progressive unfolding of the social and moral world?" Eric then depicted in vivid language derived from his own recollections, and under the inspiring influence of his morning's exhilaration, how his father, on the last night of his life, congratulated his son that he was born into the new age, which need no longer exhaust itself against opposing forms of violence. "My son," he said, "my heart thrills with joy, when I contemplate how in this century a beauty, a freedom, and a brotherly love unfold themselves which existed to us only in the germ. As one example, my son, see how the State now educates its children, and does it in a way that no Solon, no Socrates, ever could imagine. Thou wilt live in a time when it will hardly be conceived that there were slaves, serfs, bondmen, monopolies, and the whole trumpery of a false world."
Eric added how happy it made him, that his father had departed in such a cheerful mood, and that he, as a son, could so fully enter into his hopes, and carry them out into life. He spoke in such an excitable manner, that Clodwig placed his hand on his shoulder and said, "We will not, in the morning, take such a distant flight." He expressed also his satisfaction that he could enter so fully into the life of the coming generation, for he had always been troubled lest he might lose all hold upon the new time.
"We have had our morning devotions, now let us go to breakfast," he said, turning round easily as he got up from his seat. "Yet one more question: did your father never explain to you what occurred at his sudden – you know what I mean – loss of favor at court?"
"Certainly; my father told me the whole, circumstantially."
"And did he not forbid you to speak of it to any one?"
"To others, but not to you."
"Did he mention me by name?"
"No, but he expressly enjoined it upon me to inform those whom I honored with my whole soul, and so I can tell you."
"Speak rather low," Clodwig enjoined, and Eric went on.
"My father, in that last interview which no one knew anything about, was to have received from the hand of the sovereign a title of nobility, in order that he might be appointed to an office at court. He said to the sovereign, 'Your highness, you make null the blessing of the long years in which I have spent my best strength in the education of my youthful prince, if you think I accept this on my own account, or that I regard it as something belonging to the age in which we live.' 'I do not make a jest of such things,' the prince replied. 'Neither do I,' said my father.
"Years after, his lips trembled as he related this to me, and he said, that that moment, when he stood face to face with his pupil speechless, was the bitterest moment of his life."
A silent pause now ensued between Eric and Clodwig, until the latter said finally, "I understand, I understand; let us go."
They went into the breakfast-room on the ground floor, the doors of which were wide open. Bella soon appeared; she thought that Eric looked at her scrutinisingly, and quickly turning away, she went to a side table to prepare the coffee.
"My wife," said Clodwig, "has already sent a messenger, this morning, to Fräulein Perini, and I have added a message to Herr Sonnenkamp, that you, dear Dournay, would present yourself this evening, or, what would be better, early to-morrow morning."
"And I am to ask you to excuse my brother, who has set out, early this morning, in company with a young man whom they call here the Wine-chevalier, to the horse-market at Mannheim. Will you have coffee or tea?"
"If you please, coffee."
"That is fine, and on the strength of that we are good friends," said Bella, in a lively way. "It is an abominable excess of politeness, when people reply to such a question, 'It makes no difference to me.' If it makes no difference to you, dear polite soul, then give some decided answer, and don't put off the choice upon me."
A merry key was thus struck, and they seated themselves at table. Bella noticed that Eric observed her, and she knew that she looked better in her pretty morning-dress, than in full evening costume. Her movements were very elastic and graceful. She was a tall, noble, well-made person; her soft, dark-auburn hair, now partly loose, was confined by a fine point-lace kerchief, put on with apparent carelessness, as if one had not taken a second look in the mirror, and tied under the chin. Her complexion was fresh, as if she had just bathed her face in milk; and in fact she did wash her face in milk every morning and evening. The expression of her countenance was keen and bright. All was nobly formed, except that she had a thin, compressed upper-lip, which a malicious gentleman at court had once called the lip of a poisoner. It was very vexatious to Bella that her voice was so masculine.
Her personal charms, her cordial and at the same time arch manners, showed to great advantage in the light talk at the breakfast table; and when at intervals she keenly watched Eric, she was surprised at his appearance. Yesterday she had seen him first only in the evening twilight, and afterwards by candle-light. He was manifestly a person to be seen in full daylight; and in fact, there was now a brilliant lighting up of his countenance, for the happy excitement of his whole inner being showed itself in his mien, and he looked at Bella, as if he would say, 'I have become almost the son of thy husband; let the same noble union be formed between us.'
Bella was unusually friendly, perhaps because she had already used a little artifice. A note, written in Italian to Fräulein Perini, cautioned her in terms as decided in meaning, as they were carefully worded in expression, of the necessity of subjecting the new-comer to a sharp examination.
When Clodwig told the messenger that Eric would make his appearance in the evening, or the next morning, she felt herself justified and at rest in regard to her previous artifice; for Clodwig had never before detained a guest with such determination of his own, and no one could even boast of having made it appear that he was not sufficient for himself.
Clodwig and Bella had promised each other to live only to themselves, and until now they had faithfully kept the promise.
"I am a weary soul," Clodwig had said to Bella when he offered her his hand, and she had answered, that she would refresh the weary one. She had cut off every relation with the world, for she knew that friendly visits last only for a few hours or days, and make the solitude afterwards more keenly felt.
Bella was very amiable always, and to everybody, provided everybody always did according to her will, and lived to please her. She really had no love for people and no desire for their society; she wanted nothing from others, and wished only to be left alone. The manifold relations which Clodwig had formerly had with men and women were repugnant to her, and he accommodated himself to the wish of his wife, who lived wholly for him, so far as to reduce his extensive correspondence and his personal intercourse to the smallest possible limit. They kept up a periodical connection with only two social circles in the neighborhood: one of these was the so-called middle-class circle who were invited to collation, as it was named, which we made acquaintance with yesterday; the other was a select circle, of the noble families scattered around, who were invited twice a year. Was this renegade captain now to change all this?
In the triumphant thought that she had banished him, Bella became more and more talkative. Eric could not refrain from highly extolling that mirthful excitement, that exuberant humor which pervades the Rhineland, and takes possession of every one who comes within the sphere of its inhabitants. At last he led the conversation again to Sonnenkamp, by remarking that the manner in which the man was spoken about yesterday was very puzzling to him.
Bella in an off-hand manner declared, that she found the man very interesting, although this was going counter to the universal Philistinism; that she regarded him as a conqueror, a bold Berserkir, who had nothing to win for himself in this stock-jobbing age but gold.