CHAPTER II.
DEMONSTRATION OF RESPECT FROM ABOVE.
A flash of lightning in the night-sky makes us fully conscious of the darkness, and our eyes are blinded. So it was after the departure of the Prince and Princess; every one sought to avoid the eye of another, every one went his own way, but no one spoke out his vexation and disappointment more frankly than the valet Joseph, and the steward agreed with him; the latter could not say much, because his mouth was full of the delicacies which had been removed from the table, but he nodded silently, and became very red in the face. Joseph said:—
"Not to leave a single gratuity behind them! What is there left of the whole show? Nothing; and at Court there isn't a table better laid and served, or more handsomely provided. They ought to be ashamed of themselves! Not to leave a single penny for the servants!"
Such was the fact.
No one, except Aunt Claudine, of whom nobody had thought, could find any good reason for satisfaction.
Sonnenkamp pondered and speculated how he could have brought about the change in the Prince's gracious mood. His inmost soul rebelled against being so dependent on the whim or the glance of another—he, the man who had ruled so absolutely over all that came in his way. He tormented himself till his head burned, to think over the whole course of the visit, and at last he thought he had found out the trouble; it was only a hitch at a glove which had shown it, but that was doubtless the sign of annoyance. He had told the Prince how delighted he should be to drink new health from the same spring as his gracious highness, and, when the Prince looked at him inquiringly, he had added that he also was going to Carlsbad, where he should have the happiness of beholding his Prince's face every day. Yes, that was it; the Prince had cast a hasty glance of astonishment upon him, and given his glove a twitch.
Sonnenkamp acknowledged to himself that he had made a decided blunder in not using more reserve; for nothing of the Prince's journey to the Baths was yet officially announced, and his mentioning it had been premature, and showed some private source of information. He was more vexed at the caution and self-restraint that one was compelled to observe, than at his own want of tact. Could not the Prince have taken it pleasantly? Had not a good, and, as he himself thought, a most graceful turn been given to his allusion?
The thoughts of the self-tormentor went further, and new tokens appeared. Had not the Prince said to Aunt Claudine:—
"Everything seems so thoroughly pleasant here; here I find nothing disturbed from its usual course."
The Prince was evidently offended that any secret preparations had been made for his reception; it probably seemed to him that he was surrounded by spies.
And now Sonnenkamp's wrath broke out anew, not against himself, but against the Prince, who ought to remember how long he had lived in a foreign land; and the Professorin ought to have managed matters better, for she had been a lady-in-waiting at Court; and Pranken ought to have managed better, too, for was he not a chamberlain?
Sonnenkamp fumed with rage over the whole business, and now, for the first time, it struck him how strange it was that these people should treat all this humbug of rank so seriously; they knew that it was humbug, but its very existence depended on their vying with each other to keep up the appearance of entertaining religious veneration for the humbug.
For a little while Sonnenkamp thought of giving up the whole scheme. Why should he be ennobled; why should he enter the Court circle, and put himself under a lasting obligation? He was proud of possessing an independent nature, and now was he to allow himself to be put in uniform, and to measure every step, every movement, and every word, according to the court etiquette? He would rather remain as he was, proud of his own position, and show openly the contempt which he felt for the whole body of nobles.
Then he felt with pain that he had already gone too far; a retreat would be a mere disgrace. And how long he had consoled Frau Ceres with this hope, how far he was bound for Pranken's sake, and, more than all, for Roland's! What was to become of the latter, if he was not raised to the nobility? Were Roland and his descendants to be impoverished again? No, rank must be won. On the boldly earned property an entail should be laid, so that generation after generation of his descendants should never be stripped of rank and wealth; the villa and the castle should remain an inalienable possession in the family.
Something of his own past life rose in Sonnenkamp's memory, and he said to himself aloud,—
"You owe it to your child to turn aside from him what has brought you to this pass."
Calm and resolved he went back to the house, and appeared to all highly gratified with the visit. Indeed, when Joseph told him that the Princess' party had not left a single present for the servants, he gave him a handsome sum, saying that it had been entrusted to Pranken; the servants would spread the report far and wide, that the Prince had been at the villa and left large gratuities for them; this would rouse the envy of the neighbors, and the envy would carry the report still farther, and the best of it was that they would all be deceived.
Sonnenkamp whistled softly, a sure sign that he was particularly cheerful and contented. He devoted himself with special attention to the Aunt, praised her modesty and the Prince's insight in knowing how to value her as she deserved. It seemed really to delight him to see people decline praise which really tickled them excessively.
On the next evening but one, when the Aunt and Manna went out upon the flat roof to look at the stars, they found an excellent telescope placed on a movable stand. When they thanked Sonnenkamp for this surprise, he asked in return only one favor, that Fräulein Dournay would accompany the family to Carlsbad; but she declined positively, as the Professorin also did.
Pranken had come back; he thought it absurd to appear offended, and to do this tutor the honor of looking upon him as a rival. He was made happy by the unconstrained and cordial greeting he received from Manna, who treated him with more familiarity than ever before.
"I am glad," he said to her, "that you have something of the sphinx in you, like other women. I was mistaken in you, and am rejoiced that I was mistaken. What is puzzling and constantly offering new problems, keeps life fresh."
Manna did not understand him, but she asked for no explanation; she only told him with regret that the Aunt and the Professorin were not going with them to Carlsbad. Pranken thought this very proper, and Manna looked at him in surprise when he spoke of the pretensions of these Huguenots.
"And Herr Dournay," he added, "will he stay behind also, declining as firmly and decidedly as he did to go to Vichy last year?"
"I don't know," answered Manna. "Papa," she called out to her father, who came up just then, "is Herr Captain Dournay going with us to the Baths?"
"Certainly. He belongs to the family, and understands that he does; he has not objected for a moment."
Pranken was in some embarrassment; he took this compliance quite as a matter of course, and added that perhaps Herr Captain Dournay—emphasizing the title, would find his friend, the negro Adams, the Prince's footman, at Carlsbad, and would be able to perfect the intimacy which he had begun here. Pranken hoped, perhaps, to bring out some cutting remark about Eric, but, to his surprise, neither Sonnenkamp nor Manna answered a word; he was forced to wind up the subject, by saying that these atheists and democrats must of course disorganize all social arrangements, and fraternize with a negro; it was only praiseworthy in Herr Dournay to act consistently with his principles.
Bella and Clodwig only just made a passing call, to say that they were going to Carlsbad and should be very glad to meet their friends there.
Bella was especially animated in her expressions of pleasure at the idea of meeting them constantly for weeks together; she promised herself and her friends great enjoyment, and was enough at her ease to say jokingly to Eric, that if a charity-concert was given, at which she played, he must sing.
Eric assented, without the least embarrassment.