CHAPTER IX.
DEJECTION AND COURAGE IN A CHILD'S HEART.
At the table, Frau Ceres thought that her son looked very pale; shebesought the Chevalier not to tax him so severely, and especially notto let him draw so long out of doors.
The Chevalier entirely coincided with this; it was his plan to haveRoland draw from plaster-models, and after that, he would take him outinto the free air.
"Taken out into free air?" said Roland to himself; and it seemed tostrike him that there was a contradiction in the idea of being takeninto the free air.
Sonnenkamp was unusually cheerful at dinner; his contempt for men hadto-day received new confirmation, and he had fresh conviction of hisability to play with them. He enjoyed a special sense of freedom in thethought that this Herr Dournay, who undertook to dictate matters forhim and for so many other people, was now done with. Yet he mustacknowledge to himself, that he could, probably, have made no betterchoice for his son.
After dinner, Pranken allowed the Justice, who was in a hurry, to bedriven to town in Sonnenkamp's carriage; he himself remained in veryconfidential conversation with Sonnenkamp, who admired the art withwhich a young man, who was a suitor for a wealthy maiden, workedhimself into a state of enthusiasm thereat.
After Pranken had departed, Sonnenkamp went to the conservatory, whereRoland soon came to him and said:--
"Father, I have a request."
"I shall be glad, if it is a request that I can grant."
"Father, I promise to learn everyday the names of twenty plants, if youwill give me Herr Eric again."
"Very nice of Herr Dournay to teach you to promise me that."
The boy looked at his father, as if confounded, his lips swelled, andgazing timidly around upon the plants, as if he called upon them tobear testimony that he was speaking the truth, he cried:--
"Eric has not said to me anything of the kind, any more than thoseplants have; he has not taught me to say that; but if he had, I wouldlearn it from him, and from nobody but him."
"Not even from me?" exclaimed Sonnenkamp.
The boy was silent, and his father repeated the question:--
"Not even from me?"
His tone was vehement, and he doubled up his great fist.
"Not even from me?" he asked the third time.
The boy drew back, and cried with a thrilling voice:--
"Father!"
Sonnenkamp's fist unclosed, and with forced composure he said:--
"I didn't mean to punish you, Roland--come here--nearer--nearer yet."
The boy went to him, and his father placed his hand upon his forehead,which, was hot, while the father's hand was cold.
"I love you more than you can understand," said the father. He bentdown his head, but the boy stretched out both hands, crying with avoice full of anguish:--
"Ah, father! I beseech you--father, I beseech you, not to kiss me now."
Sonnenkamp turned and went away. He expected that the boy would followhim, and clasp him round the neck, but he did not come.
Sonnenkamp stood in the hot-house near the palms; he felt chilly;then he asked himself: "Why does not the child love you? Is thatcrack-brained German revolutionist, that Doctor Fritz, in the right,who used the words in a published letter: Thou who extirpatest filialand parental love in thy fellow human beings, how canst thou hope forthe love of thine own children?"
He could not comprehend how these words, which were uttered in acontest long gone by, and which he wished to forget, now came into hismind. Suddenly a loud cry made the strong man shudder.
"God bless you, massa! God bless you, massa!" seemed to be uttered bythe voice of a spirit.
He searched about, and found his wife's parrot, which had been broughtin its cage to the hot-house. The gardener, when summoned, informed himthat Frau Ceres had ordered the parrot to be brought here, as thedwelling-house was too cold for it.
"God bless you, massa! God bless you, massa!" cried the parrot behindSonnenkamp, as he was leaving the palm-house.
Roland, in the meanwhile, stood as if rooted at the spot where hisfather had left him; the park, the house, everything swam round beforehis eyes. Joseph then came. Roland was rejoiced that there was yet onehuman being with whom he could lament over Eric's expulsion. He toldhim what had happened, and made complaint about his father.
"Don't say anything to me that I cannot repeat to your father,"interposed Joseph. He was a prudent and faithful servant, who wouldhave nothing to do with secrets, or with tale-bearing. His father hadimpressed that upon him, when he went away from his home, and he hadresolutely and faithfully kept his counsel.
Roland asked Joseph if he was not going to return soon to his nativecity; Joseph replied in the negative, but went on to tell, with greatanimation, how splendid it was the first time he had leave to go home.He described very minutely the road, and whom he met at this place andat that, and how his mother was peeling potatoes when he stepped intothe house, and how then his father came in, and all the neighbors, andexpected to see him wearing golden clothes, because he was in theservice of so rich a man. Joseph laughed at this simplicity, but Rolanddid not. He went back to the house, and it seemed to him as if thewhole house thrust him out. He went into Manna's chamber; he thought itwould seem homelike here, but the pictures on the wall, and the flowersin the chimney-place, looked at him so strange and so inquiring. Hewished to write to Manna, and tell her of all his troubles, but hecould not write.
He left the house and went into the court; here he stood for a while,looking round dreamily. The Chevalier came out and asked him if he didnot want to do something; Roland stared at him, as if he did notrecognize who he was, and made no reply. He took his cross-bow, but hedid not draw the string. The sparrows and doves flew about hither andthither; the handsome dogs crowded up to him and sniffed around him,but Roland was like one bewildered.
He went to the river-bank, followed by his great dog, Devil, and therehe sat down under the huge, tall willows, putting his hat on the groundnear him, for his head seemed on fire. He bathed his brow with water,but his brow was no cooler. He did not know how long he had beensitting there, gazing fixedly into vacancy without any consciousthought, when he heard some one call him by name. He involuntarilyclapped his hand upon the muzzle of the dog lying near him, scarcelybreathing himself, in order not to betray his place of concealment. Thevoice grew fainter, and ceased to be heard. He still sat quiet, andcautioned the dog in a low tone to be still also; the dog seemed tounderstand him.
Roland took put of his side-pocket the letter he had written to Eric,and read it; his eyes overflowed with tears of longing and grief, andgetting up, he hurled the letter into the river.
The night came on. Noiselessly, as a hunter who is stalking a deer,Roland left his lurking-place, and wended his way through the narrowpath of the vineyard back from the river. He wanted to go to thehuntsman, he wanted to go to the Major, he wanted to go to somebody whowould help him. Suddenly he stopped.
"No! to nobody--to nobody!" he breathed low to himself, as if he hardlydared trust the silent night.
"To him! to him!"
He crouched down, so that nobody should see him in the vineyard,although it was dark. He did not stand erect, until he came to thehighway above.
Das landhaus am Rhein. English Page 48