Buch lesen: «Villa Eden: The Country-House on the Rhine», Seite 91

CHAPTER X.
THE LOST ORGAN-TONES

Mattenheim was the seat of a hearty Rhenish hospitality. There were almost always visitors in the house. The Banker came, and was rejoiced to find Roland so busy and cheerful. Professor Crutius came, and made friendly overtures to Roland; but the latter said, —

"You cannot want my friendship."

The information brought by Crutius concerning the state of affairs in the New World gave rise to many an animated discussion on the great, decisive, protracted struggle between freedom and slavery apparently impending there. Crutius could corroborate from his own observation the statement, that the Southern States were abundantly provided with disciplined officers; for in the military school at West Point, where he had formerly been a teacher, there were many more Southern than Northern students. If the Union succumbed, if, as was very possible, the slaveholders should conquer, the cause of freedom was wounded to the core. Not only would men lose their faith, but the cause itself would be injured; who knew how deeply or for how long a time?

Soon after Professor Crutius departure, a kind of dulness and dejection was observable in Roland. He did what was required of him; but he wore, for hours together, a fixed and hard expression. Neither to Weidmann nor to Eric did he reveal what was passing in his mind. To Knopf alone he confessed his anxieties, making the latter promise that he would tell no one else.

Roland had learned that Dr. Fritz was his father's bitterest foe; he had also accidentally heard Crutius tell Weidmann, that he had no doubt Sonnenkamp was one of the most zealous of the Southern leaders, and would take an active part in the war.

Like a smothered fire which suddenly sends up countless tongues of flame, so did all Roland's anguish revive. Anguish for his father's deeds, for his flight and the elopement of Bella while his mother yet lived, for his mother's death and his own inheritance of sorrow – all these several pains were blended confusedly within him, and his one hope of deliverance seemed annihilated. Lilian is the child of one of his father's most determined enemies, and, if forced to decide, can he take the field against his father?

Roland became desperate. Is there any thing like a righteous moral order in the affairs of this world? No: all is chaos and barbarism.

Knopf knew not how to comfort him, and found it hard to keep his own promise of secrecy.

One day, a bright, cold, bracing winter day, Weidmann crossed the river to close a contract for the supply of railway sleepers, and took Roland with him.

On their return, they found the Rhine full of floating ice. The bells were ringing in the valley and on the hills; the sunset-glow in the heavens, spread in strange waves of light over a background of pale green sky. Griffin stood in the prow of the boat, looking out upon the landscape; and as they made their way, the boatmen pushing aside the blocks of ice, Roland said suddenly, —

"It was just such a day, just such an evening, when Washington crossed the Delaware."

He said no more. Weidmann divined that Roland was wondering why Washington had not abolished slavery immediately on the close of the war; but he turned the subject aside, saying that he thought it one of the finest traits in the great Washington's character, that he was so ready to be convinced of an error.

Roland was startled. What might that mean?

Weidmann continued, "I have left you to yourself, Roland; but now I will tell you the state of your mind. You are involved in doubt and despair; but you are no strong man unless you rise above them."

The young man's eyes dilated, and Weidmann continued, —

"Two things are to be noted. In the first place, you have ceased to believe that the world is under the dominion of moral law, you have lost your faith in that Supreme Being whom we, as well as the Priests, call God; and, secondly, you believe (and this is worse still), – you believe that you must take upon yourself the expiation of sins which you never committed. You dread the inevitable consequences entailed by every earthly event, and are confused by your fears."

Roland gazed wonderingly at the man who thus calmly and deliberately spoke out his own inmost thought.

Weidmann continued, —

"On the one hand, you deny the operation of eternal laws; on the other, you fear it. Now look at these masses of ice in the river. Do you care to learn something of that immeasurable and all-pervading wisdom which interrupts the laws of Nature when their strict, logical consequences would involve the destruction of the world?"

"Oh, if that were so! If I might but learn it!"

"Well, then, stop there. Do you know what changes regularly take place in bodies as they become warmer or colder?"

"Heat expands, and renders them lighter. Cold contracts, and makes them heavier."

"Is it the same with water?"

"I think so."

"No, it is not. If ice were heavier than water, it would sink, and the streams would freeze from the bottom upward. There suddenly we have a deviation, an exception to the so-called stern and implacable law of Nature. Water attains its utmost weight and density at a temperature of 38°.75 Fahrenheit. Beyond this point, it grows lighter, and expands. And I tell you I do not comprehend how a man knowing this can persist in denying God. For God is here. Here is no mere blind, self-regulative, natural law. Here is the free Genius of the Universal. Here is Wisdom. Observe, if solidified water went on increasing in weight, and streams froze from beneath upward, the river-beds would remain undisturbed until the spring-thaws. And do you understand what the consequences would be?"

"Certainly; the fish would all die."

"Even so. Here is the wisdom of God. Here is the Deity who modifies the law of Nature for the preservation of his creatures. Our God no longer towers aloft above the waters and their laws. He lives and works within the waters. The law of Nature is broken that Nature may be preserved. There are no more visible miracles; but all life, beyond a certain point, subsists by a miracle, – the miracle of Genius. The very surface of the earth, whereon we plant and build, is such a natural miracle. Our globe is molten fire inside, and the crust remains cool above it. Do you understand?"

"I believe I do."

"And now, my son, you have not to suffer and repent and make atonement under some iron law of Nature, because the man who was your father sinned. You are free. Least of all creatures, is man the helpless subject of natural law. He is lord of his fate. Look up! The world is very bright, and this whole, vast, beauteous world is full of God. Let the bell-ringers, yonder, understand and address him after their own fashion. It is not ours. The churches are but little chambers in the great temple of the universe. Let no man, in my presence, restrict the Highest to one revelation and one mode of worship. God, the great, the holy, is everywhere. It is impossible not to find him. We have him here, out under the broad arch of heaven, and we have him in our own hearts. He who thus feels the breath of the Infinite upon him – he lives a holy life. Come to my heart, my son! You have wrestled manfully! You are saved!"

Roland threw himself into the arms of this man, and kissed his garment, and wept in the fulness of his heart.

It was night when they disembarked; but within and around Roland all was ineffably bright. A new man stepped upon the shore.

Roland and Weidmann walked home in silence.

With a feeling of release, as if the evil spirit which possessed him had been exorcised by a spell, Roland entered the house with Weidmann. He stood at the window, gazing long into the starlit heaven, and then wrote a letter to Manna. Out of an overflowing heart, he told her that to-day he had found the Highest – a trust, a faith, a rest, such as he had never believed possible. But he could not finish the letter.

He sought Eric, and begged that he would go back with him to Villa Eden.

Eric understood him; and the next day they departed together.

It was a happy coming home, when Eric and Roland arrived at the Villa.

They found the ladies tranquil and happy. Manna beamed with a twofold rapture. Her brother and her lover had come; and both brought strength with them and substantial invigoration.

They had much to tell one another; yet, when the first greetings were over, they reverted to higher and more general themes. All were struck with surprise, that Manna should have a story so like Roland's to tell.

Professor Einsiedel had several exceptions to take to Roland's communication; but he stifled them. The youth might some time advance another step; still it was needful for him to have taken this.

To the story of Manna's experience he listened with satisfaction. He could reflect that he had helped to establish her self-dependence.

Sitting with her hand in Eric's, Manna told her tale.

"It was hard for me to forego the old sacred consolations. Whenever I went to church, I thought of you and of myself. The strong, tremulous swell of the organ speaks so directly to the heart. Those tones are lost to you and me. You have told me that your friends used to deride you as a sentimentalist, because you could not overcome the longing in your soul for those organ-tones; and now that same desire awoke within me when I thought of you. But 'tis vain! It must be enough for us that the realm of music and of feeling is still vast and wide, without the strains of the church-organ. I cling to those noble words, 'My temple are ye.' If the human soul has become the temple of the Holy Ghost, we need no visible temple."

A spirit of consecration hovered over them as they were now assembled in the vine-clad house. They felt that they were members of the communion which has no name.

When Eric visited the little town, he was informed by the cooper, now, mine host of the "Carp," that the comedy-writer had wanted to make a carnival play out of Sonnenkamp's story, and bring it out in the market-place; but that he himself had not favored it, and they were going to represent a nobility-mill instead. Commoners in front were to be thrust in above, and noblemen with weapons and shields were to come out below, on the back side.

He begged Eric to be present at the carnival performance next day; but Eric was not in the mood.

CHAPTER XI.
A FULL HOUSE AND FULL DAYS

On the following day came the Major, and Fräulein Milch, and Lina with her betrothed.

It was settled, that, if the snow remained, they were all to have a sleigh-ride to Mattenheim; for they wished to say good-by to Prince Valerian, who was soon to return home.

It was a day of domestic happiness and cheer.

Manna said repeatedly, that she had often wondered why they should have imposed this separation upon themselves; but she now understood that it was better so.

Fortune smiled upon them. They went to Mattenheim in several large sleighs; and, on their arrival, Knopf took his young friend, Roland, aside, and gave him a private letter from Lilian.

No one else knew why Roland was so extravagantly gay; but Knopf smiled quietly to himself.

Manna and the Professorin were cordially received by Frau Weidmann and her daughters-in-law. It refreshed the heart to see how full and rich at every stage of existence was the home-life at Mattenheim.

While Lina expressed her especial satisfaction in the fact, that here at Mattenheim one had five good meals a day, and insisted upon it that love sharpened the appetite, the ladies from Villa Eden thoroughly enjoyed a glimpse into Frau Weidmann's housekeeping arrangements.

The Professorin had known her in her early years, and remembered what a fine appearance had been made by this tall lady, who now always wore a huge pair of spectacles. She, Manna, and Aunt Claudine, were moved to reflection and self-examination, as they beheld the woman's active life. All her household were busily employed, and yet it was perfectly quiet and orderly; and Frau Weidmann discharged her round of duties without tormenting herself by needless anxiety. She was proud to show the ladies her whole house, and particularly her great preserve-jars, containing provision not only for the various branches of her own family, but for the poor who have no forethought. She frankly complained that she had not time enough for self-culture, but said smilingly, that it was like the question of driving the birds away from her garden: she must either forego their singing, or good berries and lettuce, as it was impossible to have both.

Manna learned from Frau Weidmann many particulars of Pranken's life; of his bearing during his short stay at Mattenheim, as well as the facts generally known at the capital.

It had been painful to Manna to be obliged to deal so harshly with Pranken; for he had shown himself kind and good, both to her father and herself: but she was now relieved from this trouble also.

The ladies of Villa Eden were not a little surprised, however, to hear at Mattenheim of the great commotion in the New World; for papers and despatches had come with Lilian's letter from America, and Weidmann could not withhold from them his conviction that the new year would bring the great crisis of the century, perhaps of all modern history. Were it possible to break up the Union, and to elevate slavery, which had been tolerated hitherto as a species of smuggling, into a prominent article of state-policy, the cause of freedom and humanity, for which they were all laboring, would be so fearfully injured and impeded, that the petty efforts of individuals would seem of no account.

Relief from this dark apprehension was experienced by all the company, as Weidmann read aloud a passage from his nephew's letter.

Doctor Fritz wrote, —

"Surpassing all others in the greatness and majesty of his bearing, bright as the brightest example of classic times, we have the noble Seward: and Germans ought especially to honor him, for he has publicly declared, that, wherever the Germans go, it is their task to clear the way for liberty, and that the true Germanic spirit is the spirit of freedom and toleration. This man, who had been named as a Presidential candidate along with Lincoln, and even before, when he saw that Lincoln's chances were better than his own, resolved that there should be no split in the Republican vote, and became a most zealous agitator in Lincoln's behalf."

Weidmann paused, adding the remark that Prince Valerian, who was now leaving for his native land, would there find a similar state of transition.

The last remark was lost upon Manna, who said to Eric in an undertone, —

"Oh, our father! Do you not think that he will take part in this struggle?"

"I do; and that, too, we must bear."

The Prince departed. At the last moment, Lina and Eric had to sing, "We meet again." He deeply regretted that he could not take Knopf with him; but the latter had promised Lilian that he would come to America, and do something there. He did not specify what it was to be.

After the Prince had left, they drew closer together. Roland, Manna, and Eric were sitting in Roland's room when the latter said, —

"Manna, if it comes to war in our native land, I shall go there. I have decided, and no one can deter me."

The words were upon Manna's lips, "And what if our father is fighting on the other side?" but she checked herself, and only said, —

"If you go to the New World, I shall go with you."

"And then Eric will go too. I have talked with Herr Weidmann about it. He has consented; and the thing which he sanctions is, beyond question, right and safe. But I have promised him that I will not go until he says, 'Now is the time.'"

Manna was comforted. She saw that her brother's life was in safe keeping.

On their way home, Aunt Claudine expressed the general feeling, when she said, —

"It seems to me as if these days had been all music and feasting."

"Yes," cried Lina; "one could eat there enough for the whole year."

And they drove on their way laughing.

CHAPTER XII.
FETTERED HANDS UPLIFTED

The great law of our time, that of the unity of all existence, asserted itself with peculiar and perpetual force in the busy home at Mattenheim. A man of mature years had deliberately concentrated his thoughts upon the movement in the New World; and the destiny of a youth was bound up in the same.

Papers and despatches from America came thicker and faster.

They lived a twofold life, immersed in pressing and manifold business here, but intent, meanwhile, upon the sharp crisis so rapidly approaching in a remote quarter of the world.

Roland devoured the letters and journals in which the so-called slavery-question was discussed. Doctor Fritz wrote doubtfully of Lincoln. The man's nature was so simple, and his faith in men's goodness so thorough, that he feared he would not be decided enough with the chivalry of the South.

For the first time, Roland heard the slaveholders called chivalry; and Weidmann declared that it was no mere form of speech, but a perfectly explicit term. The slave-owners wanted to live merely for the nobler passions, as they were called: other men must toil for their subsistence, and even for their luxuries. This is the true feudal spirit, which looks upon labor as something humiliating and disgraceful, whereas, in reality, man's only true nobleness consists in labor.

Two books exercised a powerful influence upon Roland's mind. He read "Uncle Tom's Cabin" for the first time, and wept over it, but presently roused himself, and asked, —

"How is this? Shall we point the scourged and oppressed to a reward in the next world, where the master will be punished and the slave elevated? But who can compensate him for the torment he has endured here? Is it not as it was with Claus? Who could indemnify him for the captivity he had to undergo before he was pronounced innocent?"

Very different was the effect produced upon the young man's mind by a book of Friedrich Kapp's, entitled "Slavery in America," which had grown up out of a dense mass of previously accumulated material, and, by a remarkable coincidence, appeared at precisely this time.

At first, Roland could not comprehend how it was possible for a man to give so clear and lifelike a picture of facts so revolting. When he came to the ensuing passage, he wept aloud.

"The owners of the slave-ships are almost always foreigners, – Spaniards, Portuguese, and, alas!" here followed a dash that was like a dagger to the reader, – "alas! even Germans."

Everywhere, by day and by night, Roland talked of what was agitating his soul; and, for the first time, he felt something like distrust of Benjamin Franklin. He learned, indeed, that Franklin was president of the Abolition Society in Philadelphia, but, also, that he, like the other great heroes of the American War for Independence, in his earnest desire for unanimity at the time the Union was founded, had trusted to the expectation that slavery would be extinguished within a lifetime by the mere increase of free labor.

This hope had proved deceptive, and Roland recalled with anguish that remark of Theodore Parker's, —

"All the great charters of humanity have been written in blood."

Often did Roland stand thoughtfully before a picture of Ary Scheffer's, which hung in the large sitting-room. It represented the adoration of Jesus; and there was a negro in it, stretching out his fettered arms toward the redeeming and consoling Saviour, with a most affecting expression. For two thousand years, this race had been extending its fettered hands toward the redemptive thought of mankind. Why had this lasted so long?

To Weidmann, Roland confessed what was weighing on his heart; and Weidmann succeeded in changing his sorrow into joy, that the time had now come in which these things would have an end. He was peculiarly severe upon those, who, like sentimental criminals, represent, sin and crime as evil, and yet say, "There is no help for it. So it has been, and so it must be."

Goethe's verses now occurred to Roland, and he repeated them to Weidmann, who said, —

"It is the free man's inherited privilege to see absolute perfection in no man. Like Goethe, the Americans boast in having no mediæval conditions to overcome; but they have inherited slavery, which many even declare to be the natural condition of the laboring classes."

Weidmann gave Roland, Abraham Lincoln's speech at the Cooper Institute in New York.

Roland was requested to read it aloud; but his voice choked, and his utterance was painfully agitated, when he came to the words, —

"Were we even to withhold our votes, Republicans, you may be sure the Democrats would not be satisfied. We could not stop there. We must leave off calling slavery a wrong, and justify it loudly and unconditionally; we must pull down our Free State Constitutions; the whole atmosphere must be disinfected from all taint of opposition to slavery, before they will cease to believe that all their troubles proceed from us.

"And since the Southerners pretend that slavery is a righteous institution, honorable to mankind, the logical inference is, that it ought universally to be recognized as a moral good and a social blessing, and everywhere introduced.

"Our sense of duty forbids such a thought. And, if so, then let us stand by our duty fearlessly and effectively. Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored, – contrivances such as seeking for some middle ground between the right and wrong, vain as the search for a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead man, – such as a policy of 'don't care' on a question about which all true men do care, – such as Union appeals beseeching true Union men to yield to Disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling not sinners but the righteous to repentance.

"Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us; nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the Government, nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and, in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it."

Tears rose to Roland's eyes. He glanced up at the picture where the slave was stretching out his fettered hands; and within him rose the words, "Thou art free."