Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine. Auerbach Berthold

in God! Look! a poor vine-dresser was buried there day before yesterday. I would give half my property to purchase of him for the remainder of my life his trust in God. I could not believe what the physician said, but it was only the truth, that this vine-dresser, a real Lazarus covered with sores, in all his sufferings constantly said, 'My Saviour underwent yet severer pains, and God knows beforehand why he inflicts this upon me.' Now tell me if such a faith is not worth more than any millions of money? And I ask you now, do you feel yourself able to give this to my son, without making him a priest-ridden slave, or a canting devotee?"

      "I do not think that I can. But there is a blessedness to be obtained from the depths of thought."

      "Is there? and in what does it consist?"

      "According to my opinion, in the blissful consciousness of acting according to the measure of our strength, and in harmony with the well-being of our fellow-men."

      "I think that if I, when a boy, had had an instructor after your stamp, it would have been happy for me," Sonnenkamp exclaimed, in a tone entirely different from before.

      Eric replied, "Nothing that you could say to me would give me more confidence and hopefulness than this utterance."

      A quick movement of the hand, as if he were throwing away some object, indicated that something went wrong with Sonnenkamp. This continued conversation wearied him, for he was not used to it, and this sort of immediate balancing of the ledger wounded his pride. Eric never remained in his debt, and he himself had always the feeling that there was something for him to pay.

      For some time nothing was heard but the splashing of the fountain, and the gentle flowing of the Rhine, and at intervals the note of the nightingale singing unweariedly in the thicket.

      "Did you ever have a passion for play?" Sonnenkamp asked unexpectedly.

      "No."

      "Were you ever passionately in love? You look at me in astonishment, but I asked only because I should like to know what has made you so mature."

      "Perhaps a careful and thorough training has given me that serious thoughtfulness which you are so kind as to call maturity."

      "Well, you are more than an educator."

      "I shall be glad if it is so, for I think that he who is to bring anything to pass must always be something more than what his immediate activity calls for."

      Sonnenkamp again made a wry face, and once more jerked his hand as if throwing something away. This readiness always to return the blow, and this assured response, put him out of countenance.

      They heard Pranken and Fräulein Perini walking up and down in a side-walk.

      "You must take care to stand in good relations with Fräulein Perini," Sonnenkamp said, as he rose; "for she is also – she is of some importance, and is not very easily fathomed, and she has one great advantage over most persons I know, – she has that most valuable trait of never indulging in any whims."

      "I am sorry to say that I cannot boast of any such trait, and I ask your pardon in advance if I ever – "

      "It is not necessary. But your friend, Pranken, understands very well how to be on good terms with Fräulein Perini."

      Eric considered that truth demanded of him to inform Sonnenkamp that he had no right to call Pranken a friend of his. They were in the military school together, and acquainted in the garrison, but their ideas had never chimed together, and his own views in life had always been wholly different from those of a rich elder son; he acknowledged the kindness with which Pranken had facilitated his entrance into the family of Sonnenkamp, but the truth must be spoken in spite of all feelings, of gratitude. Sonnenkamp again whistled inaudibly; he was evidently amazed at this courageous openness of mind, and the thought occurred to him that Eric was a subtle diplomatist, he himself considering it the chief peculiarity of diplomacy not to make any confession of being under obligation of any sort. This man must be either the noblest of enthusiasts or the shrewdest of worldlings.

      Eric felt that this confession was untimely, but he could not anticipate that this communication would counteract the whole impression previously made upon Sonnenkamp.

      On meeting Pranken and Fräulein Perini, Sonnenkamp greeted the Baron in a very friendly way, and took his arm.

      Eric joined Fräulein Perini. She always carried some nice hand-work; with very small instruments and with a fine thread, she completed with surprising quickness a delicate piece of lace-work. It was the first time that Eric had spoken with her, and he expressed his great admiration for her pretty, delicate work. But immediately it was fixed as firmly as if there had been a written covenant between them, – We shall avoid each other as much as possible, and if we are placed in the same circle, we shall conduct ourselves just as if there were no such persons in the world.

      In contrast with the clear, full tone of Eric, Fräulein Perini always spoke in a somewhat husky voice; and when she perceived that Eric was surprised at hearing her, she said, —

      "I thank you for not asking me if I am not hoarse. You cannot imagine how tiresome it is to be obliged to reply, again and again, that I have always spoken so from my childhood."

      Eric gladly entered into this friendly mood, and related how troublesome it was to a friend of his, born on the 28th of February, to have the remark always made to him. It is fortunate for you that you were not born on the 29th, for then you would have had only one birth-day every four years. "He has now accustomed himself to say pleasantly, 'I was born on the 28th of February, and it is fortunate for me that I was not born on the 29th, for then I should have had only one birth-day every four years.'"

      Fräulein Perini laughed heartily, and Eric was obliged also to laugh.

      "What are you laughing at?" Sonnenkamp asked, drawing near. Laughing was the thing of all others that he most delighted in.

      Fräulein Perini narrated the story of Eric's friend, and Sonnenkamp laughed too.

      The day continued after that serene and unruffled.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      EYES OPENED

      While Eric was in the garden with Herr Sonnenkamp, Roland sat with Claus near the young dogs. The huntsman asked him whether all was settled with the captain, and seeing that he did not understand his meaning, he laughed to himself as he thought he might win a double reward.

      "What will you give me," he asked, "if I manage to have the captain stay with you as a companion and teacher? Whew!" he interrupted himself suddenly, "you look like a dog whose eyes are opened for the first time. Come, tell me – what will you give me?"

      Roland could not answer; everything was giddy and confused in his thoughts, and the young dogs seemed to be whirling round and round.

      Joseph came into the stable, and after representing Eric's parents as veritable saints, he concluded, —

      "You ought to be proud, Master Roland; the father educated the prince, and now the son is to educate you."

      "Open the shutters, quick!" cried Claus suddenly. Joseph did so, and the trainer took up one of the puppies, drew up its eyelids, and exclaimed, "There, that's enough to show me that this one's eyes are just opening. Now don't let any more light in, or they will be spoiled."

      In his interest in the animals, Claus forgot his shrewd two-fold plan; he went with Roland and Joseph into the court, where Roland immediately left them. He saw his father and Eric sitting together, and felt angry with Eric for not telling him directly who he was. Soon overcoming this feeling, however, he would gladly have hastened to him and embraced him, but he restrained himself, and only approached when he heard the whole party laughing.

      He pressed close to Eric confidingly, and his eyes said, "I thank you; I know who you are."

      Eric did not understand his glance, until Roland said, —

      "The others have had you long enough, now come with me."

      He accompanied Eric to his room, and seemed to be waiting to talk with him, but Eric begged to be left alone; he was inexpressibly weary, and, like a heavy burden, there lay upon his spirit the consciousness that he who enters the