Das landhaus am Rhein. English

by Berthold Auerbach

  CHAPTER III.

  THE HAND OF RECONCILIATION IS NOT GRASPED.

  Before Eric started, Manna came to him, saying that she mustimmediately go to the convent; that she thought it her duty, above all,to confess the truth there, and that she did not wish to postpone anything so difficult, but to undertake it at once.

  Eric was perplexed. Why should Manna wish to re-enter the convent? Hesoon recognized in this desire, however, the impulse to do something,not to remain in inactivity; and, moreover, the manner in which shesought to sever the old ties in peace was thoroughly noble: so hemerely said,--

  "Only do not forget that you are no longer justified in imposingcastigations and mortifications upon yourself, or in allowing them tobe enjoined upon you by others; for you no longer belong to yourself,Manna, you are mine: you must neither torture my Manna, nor allowothers to torture her."

  Manna looked at him with beaming eyes, and from out of all hertribulation sounded a serene voice, as she said,--

  "It was through you, Eric, that I came to this resolution."

  "Through me?"

  "Yes. You told me how much good it did you, when one of your comrades,after you had taken leave of him, came to you and said, 'Do not thinkhardly of me if I ignore you. You could not do otherwise; and I neithercan nor dare do otherwise.' I am going to imitate you and your comrade.The souls of those in the convent shall not be burdened with mydesertion, which they must consider as apostasy."

  Manna wished that Aunt Claudine should accompany her; but Eric thoughtit more fitting that she should travel with Roland. The brother andsister would thus be alone together, out in the world; and Roland wouldhave to protect his sister, to render her services which would lift himout of his state of dead dejection, out of his heavy, monotonoussorrow.

  "You can scarcely imagine how happy it makes me to let you command me,"said Manna, as Eric arranged every thing.

  Roland agreed at once.

  "But you must ask your parents' leave," was the next order; and thechildren felt painfully that this was but a form: every thing was tornasunder and rent to shreds; all obedience and all dependence.

  "Manna, now is the time," said Roland, in great agitation.

  "For what?"

  "You ask father; perhaps he will tell you whether we have noblood-relations in Europe. Whoever they may be, they ought to come tous now. It is hard enough that we have never troubled ourselves aboutthem."

  Manna looked imploringly up to Eric, who, rightly discerning in theyouth the instinctive longing for family ties, begged them to abstainfrom urging the matter for the present, saying that the time for itwould come by and by.

  Manna went to her father, and said that she wished to go to theconvent.

  Sonnenkamp was alarmed, but quickly regained his composure on Manna'sadding that she went thither for the last time, in order to bidfarewell forever, as she had decided never to become a nun.

  In spite of all its distortion, a gleam of triumphant satisfactionlighted up Sonnenkamp's face.

  "Do you see at last? They knew--I now have certain evidence that theyknew--what money, and in what manner earned, you brought them. Did theyever say a word to you about being unable to accept it?"

  Manna avoided this view of the question. She would gladly haveconfessed all to her father at once, but had not yet the courage.Moreover, she had promised Eric to follow his guidance implicitly.

  The weather was foggy and cold, as the brother and sister, and FraeuleinPerini, went down the river: yet the journey refreshed them, for Rolandsaid after a short time,--

  "Ah! There _is_ a world outside after all!"

  Towards noon, the sun pierced through the mist, which melted away, andevery thing became suddenly bright. The vessel steamed down the stream,shooting rapidly along over the clear water, between the sun-illuminedmountains, on which, here and there, harvests were still beinggathered.

  The passengers stood or walked on deck, enjoying the wide prospect; butbelow in the cabin, lay Manna, with closed eyes, not heeding FraeuleinPerini's injunction to come up and refresh herself with the view andthe free air, only begging to be left alone. And so she lay andthought, half dreaming, half awake, of all that had happened to her andhers. How utterly different it was when she went up the river, withRoland, last spring! Eric's warning came into her mind, how wealth, andthe ease with which it enables one to make disposition of externalmeans and of those who serve, seduce us into healing ourselves withamusements and outward remedies.

  This reproach did not now trouble her: she only wished to partpeacefully from a Past, under obligations contracted in her soul to thefriendly souls there, which she wished to fulfil, even though outwardlyseparating herself from them. Her soul lay bound by obligations to thewomen yonder: she wanted to take care to be truly comprehended, eventhough she was outwardly cutting herself off from them.

  The difference of faith between Eric and herself again arose beforeher. But what course remained to her? To become untrue there to thepious sisters, or here to Eric; but no, that was no longer possible.She hoped that the great soul of the Superior would give her calmness;and thus she lay, sunk in a half-slumber during the whole trip.

  On deck, Fraeulein Perini was glad, on the whole, that Manna hadremained unseen; for here and there among the passengers Sonnenkamp wasmentioned, and the report was, that the Prince's negro had lifted himup with both hands, and had carried him, struggling, down thestaircase, until he was set at liberty by the servants, who brought himto the carriage. An agent, whom Fraeulein Perini knew, was alreadywondering who would buy the Villa, for it was absolutely certain thatthe man would not remain there.

  In the forward cabin, where Lootz had ensconced himself, he was obligedto hear the fruiterers who were carrying to the Lower. Rhine the fruitwhich they had brought from Sonnenkamp's head-gardener, saying one toanother, that they would not be willing to take a mouthful of fruitcultivated by this man. They granted him the merit, however, of havingdone much toward the introduction of a species of apples which greweasily and bore well.

  At the last stopping-place but one before the Island Cloister, twoblack-robed nuns came on board. Fraeulein Perini, who knew one of them,went down with them into the cabin where Manna was sleeping. Both nunsplaced themselves opposite to her, took out their prayer-books, andprayed for the poor soul lying there in the sleep of sorrow.

  Manna opened her eyes and gazed around in astonishment. She knew notwhere she was. One of the nuns--it was the shy one, who always kept inthe background--welcomed her in the French language, and bade hercomfortingly, resign herself to all that she must endure.

  Manna sat up. So, then, the news had already reached even their ears!She went on deck with Roland and the three ladies. The Island cloistercame into view. Every thing was so clear and bright, that she felt asthough she had now suddenly returned to earth. There was every thing,just as it used to be, seeming to look at her with the question, "Wherehast thou been this long time?"

  They got into the boat, and were rowed toward the island. Every tree,every bench, every shrub, greeted her like a long-vanished Past.She cast a melancholy glance at the beautiful round seat on thelanding-place, where she had so often sat with Heimchen. Now wet leaveslay upon the bench.

  They reached the convent.

  Manna sent her name at once to the Superior, but received the answerthat she must first remain an hour in the church, and then come to her.

  Manna understood what this meant; but did the Superior, then, alreadyknow of her defection? She went towards the church, but remainedstanding at the door, without entering. She feared the picture within,knowing that she could not do otherwise than raise her eyes towards it,and yet that must not be. She turned round again, and went out towardsthe park. She heard the children in the house playing together; sheheard singing in another class; she knew how all were sitting; she knewevery bench; approaching the fir-tree where she had so often sat, shesaw that the seat was no longer there. On the kneeling
-stool whereHeimchen used to sit, lay withered leaves. "To Heimchen," said a voicewithin her. Turning back, it seemed to her, in passing the convent, asthough she were guilty of rebellion and sin in not having obeyed theSuperior's command. She came into the churchyard. On Heimchen's gravestood a cross with this inscription in golden letters:--

  "The child is not dead, but sleepeth."--Mark v. 39.

  "How?" cried Manna. "Why these words here? They are spoken in Scriptureof that child who was re-awakened on its death-bed, but not of a buriedone."

  She sank down upon the grave, and her thoughts grew confused: she lostall consciousness of the passage of time. At last, composing herself,she turned back toward the convent. Admitted into the reception-room,she was still obliged to wait alone; the pictures on the wall seemingto withdraw into the distance if she looked up at them.

  At last came the Superior. Manna, hastening toward her, would havethrown herself upon her neck; but she stood rigid, winding both ends ofher hempen girdle around the forefingers of her right and left hand, sothat the rope cut into the flesh.

  Manna sank down at her feet.

  "Rise," said the Superior severely. "We suffer no vehemence here. It isto be hoped you yet remember this. Have you been in the church?"

  "No," said Manna, rising.

  It was long ere the Superior spoke. She probably-expected Manna toacknowledge her transgression; but Manna could not utter a sound. Everything that she had experienced, and that was now within her, seemed tocrowd upon her at once.

  "I came hither," she began at last, "in order to leave no sorrow inyour heart, Reverend mother, at my ingratitude. Your treatment of mehas been most noble: you have"--

  "No praise. Nothing about me. Speak of yourself."

  "My memory must not be a grief to you. I came to beseech you"--

  "Why do you hesitate so long? Speak out! What do you wish?"

  "Nothing save your faith in the honorable struggle through which I havepassed. I could not do otherwise. I am betrothed to Eric Dournay."

  "How, to whom? Did I rightly understand you? Is Herr von Pranken dead?You are--But no. Speak!"

  Faithfully and openly did Manna acquaint her with all that hadhappened, standing erect, and speaking in a firm voice. When she hadended, the Superior said,--

  "So you have not come to do penance?"

  "No."

  "For what, then?"

  Manna, grasping her brow, said,--

  "Have I then not clearly confessed that I do not feel myself culpable?I came in order to offer you thanks, heartfelt thanks, for the goodwhich you did me in time of need, and my memory must not be a sorrow toyou. You yourself once told me that the battle which I must fight withlife would be a hard one. I have not sustained it, or rather--only, Iimplore you, be not wounded. Grant me a peaceful resting-place in yourmemory."

  "Do you wish that, even now? Yes, that is the way with the children ofthis world. Even the suicides demand a consecrated grave. You are dead,and can have no grave in our holy ground. You stretch out your hand forreconciliation, but of what sort? Your hand is not clasped."

  A lay sister entered, bearing a request from Fraeulein Perini to beadmitted into the presence of the Superior and Manna.

  She entered.

  "Have you any thing to say?" asked the Superior, turning towardsFraeulein Perini.

  "Yes. Here stands Fraeulein Manna. I remind her before you, worthymother, of a sacred promise which Fraeulein Manna obtained from me."

  "A promise? From you?

  "Yes. You, Fraeulein Manna, extorted from me a promise to hold you fastwith all manner of punishments and of bonds, if the spirit of apostasyshould ever gain a foothold in your soul. Did you not. Manna?"

  "I did."

  "And now?" asked the Superior.

  "Now I belong to myself no longer. I no longer call any thing my own:no possession, not even myself. I cannot give in expiation what is notmine."

  The three women stood long in silence. Finally the Superior said,--

  "Have you confessed to the Priest?"

  "No."

  The Superior had turned away, and spoke with averted face:--

  "We force you not. We bind you not. We could; but we do not wish to.Go, go! I will see your face no more! Go! Alas, what a hell you bearwithin you! The trace of your footsteps here shall disappear. No, Iwill hear nothing more. Go! Has she gone? Do not answer me. DearPerini, tell me--is she gone?"

  "She is going," replied Fraeulein Perini.

  "Where is my sister?" they suddenly heard Roland's loud voice saying.

  The door was thrown violently open. Roland, quickly perceiving what hadbeen going on, cried,--

  "You have humiliated yourself sufficiently: come with me." He seizedManna by the hand, and left the convent with her.

  When they were in the open air, Roland said he had been unable toendure the suspense any longer. He had feared lest Manna would allowherself to be maltreated, enduring unkindness as a penance.

  "And that you must not do, even if you could bear it yourself, forEric's sake. You must not allow Eric's betrothed to be insulted andabused."

  How Manna's eyes shone as she gazed into Roland's glowing countenance!

  "It is over," she said. "A whole world is swallowed up behind me. It iswell that it is over."

  Fraeulein Perini remained some time longer with the Superior, thenfollowed Manna. Sitting beside her in the boat, she said in a peculiarlow whisper,--

  "I was obliged to say that. I could not do otherwise."

  Manna held out her hand, saying,--

  "You only did your duty. I am not angry with you. Forgive me."

  Manna knew not how she had left the convent. Only when she embracedRoland did her tears begin to fall. On their homeward journey she didnot go below, but sat on the deck beside Roland, looking at thelandscape with her great black eyes wide open.