CHAPTER II.
TWELVE MEN.
Pranken, who remained true to Sonnenkamp, was often full of solicitude. At times he looked very strangely at his friends, but did not give utterance to his projects. Sonnenkamp knew that something was going on. He knew through Lootz that Pranken had several times received letters with large seals, one bearing the seal of the Court-Marshal's office, another that of the Ministry of State. He would have liked to ask him whether negotiations were pending, with a view to the attainment of the longed-for dignity. He looked at him inquiringly; but Pranken remained reticent. Sonnenkamp even pressed him not to disdain his assistance, saying that he was wise in some things, even though he had acted imprudently.
Pranken said that there were things which he must decide for himself, and which he hoped to put through successfully. He hinted that the world, even the little world of the city, was made up of different factions.
As he condescended to say no more, Sonnenkamp resolved to have recourse to an old method, and one which could here be very easily employed. He would obtain by theft, through the agency of Lootz, the letters which Pranken had received. He rejected this course, however. Yet once, when Pranken had ridden in haste to the railway station, just after he had received another large letter, he went toward his room. He would have no go-between. He could surely get possession of the letters, and Pranken was no doubt careless enough to render unnecessary breaking open any locks or picking them.
In a sudden attack of loyalty, however, he turned away from the threshold.
Pranken returned, bringing the news that he was in danger; but earnestly begged to be excused from giving any particulars.
Sonnenkamp embraced the excited young man, and made him promise not to engage in any duel without his knowledge.
Reluctantly Pranken gave him his hand upon this, and departed.
While Eric was yet at his mother's, Sonnenkamp came thither with a letter in his hand. He first expressed his joy at seeing the Professorin so full of new life; then, saying that he had a letter from her friend, he handed her one written by Professor Einsiedel, and added with a smile:
"These learned gentlemen have very good memories. I had forgotten having invited the man."
The Professorin read Einsiedel's letter, in which he said that he should not be lecturing next winter, and was ready to accept Sonnenkamp's invitation, and to take up his abode for some time at Villa Eden.
As the Professorin smilingly gave back the letter, a gleam of furtive triumph shot from Sonnenkamp's eyes. Then this new specimen of humanity, this puritanic infidel, has her own private affinity. Perhaps she felt the malicious glance; for she said, in a very decided manner,—
"I should be very glad to have the noble man come to us. His visit would be a great deal to me, and, perhaps, to others also. In the first place, I know of nothing better for Roland; for you, Eric, are so entirely accustomed to him, that you do not now offer him that support which he, perhaps, may need for a long time yet."
Sonnenkamp's countenance relaxed. It was nothing after all. This woman seemed in truth noble and pure; for she was not so prudent, no one could be so prudent, as to assume forthwith such a mask of virtue. He was not a little astonished, however, when Eric, with all sorts of excuses and pretexts, gave it as his opinion that it was not wise to transport the Professor's delicately organized nature at this time into their stormy life.
Just because Eric sought so earnestly to defend himself against such a suspicion, it became clearer to Sonnenkamp that he did not feel justified in bringing any new person into close relations with his family.
Inwardly chafing, but yet smiling with an excess of friendliness, he said that he would invite the Professor, and would leave him free to stay either at the green cottage or at the villa.
The mother gave her voice for the former.
Sonnenkamp nodded very approvingly. He summoned a servant, and ordered that no one should interrupt them. Then, addressing both, he said that he had something momentous to discuss with them; that it was a step which concerned his inmost soul, and which alone could make him wholly free.
Eric and his mother trembled. Did Sonnenkamp already know? He, meanwhile, seated himself calmly and began:
"Noble lady, you have done a great thing for me, and now I commit into your hands, and your keeping, my fate and that of those who belong to me."
He made a pause and then proceeded:
"From out of the midst of the riot one thought has remained with me. It was of sudden birth; and now the question is, how to carry it out. Already on Sunday, when I was going to church, where the beggar insulted me, it was my intention"—
"Pray, do not forget what you were going to say," interposed the Professorin. "Permit me to interrupt you with a question."
"Go on. I am ready."
"Does the source of all your wealth lie in that?"
"No, not a sixth of it. Even my enemies know that."
"Then please proceed. You had begun, 'as you were going to church'"—
"Yes, then it was my intention, in spite of my unbelief, to confess to a priest. I acknowledge, Herr von Pranken was not without influence in this matter; but it originated, nevertheless, with me. This institution of the confession in our church is a grand thing. Offences for which no earthly judge can punish, for which no clause is to be found in the law, are blotted out; we are absolved from them by a man filled with the divine grace by consecration, sympathetic, considerate, who neither knows nor sees the penitent, yet who hears the breath of his quivering confession; who is so far from him, and yet so near!"
The Mother looked down.
"Wonderful and ever new, how the man can speak of such acts!" she thought.
Sonnenkamp felt what the lady thought of him, and exclaimed,—
"Look me in the face! Yes, noble lady, you hindered the execution of my purpose."
"I?"
"Yes, you; for, thinking better of it, I said to myself that I would tell you all, gazing at your open face, and that you had the power to absolve and to blot out; but no, you, too, have it not."
The Professorin breathed more freely.
Sonnenkamp continued,—
"You once let fall the word—I know not whether you spoke it or I—but it was uttered, and so it stands. 'In the new world, where the laws are not yet so firmly established, they summon a jury of neighbors.' I wish to summon a jury of free men, before whom I will stand openly. They shall judge me freely. I wish to unite trial by jury with confession, and I vow to fulfil what these men shall enjoin upon me as a means of expiation. Having returned to Europe, I owe the European world either a deed of atonement, or else the endeavor to convert it. Do you comprehend my meaning?"
"Perfectly. Here must be something redeeming, in submission to the verdict of an assemblage of free men."
"I see that you understand me fully," said Sonnenkamp with great serenity. "And now give me your advice. Whom do you propose as members of this moral jury, as we may call it? In the first place, I must refuse Herr von Pranken. He is my son, and cannot be my judge."
"I should not be able to name any one without reflection. Please—I am yet too weak. This deliberation, this seeking, this thought-travelling, causes me physical pain."
"Then calm yourself. Herr Dournay, you have heard all—Have you, though?" he repeated, on observing Eric's abstracted glance.
"Yes, indeed, every thing."
"And now, whom would you propose?"
"First of all, the most sensible of men has to-day himself announced his arrival."
"Well, well, I accept him. And then?"
"Herr Weidmann."
"Weidmann? He is the uncle of my most bitter enemy."
"But on that very account he will be just."
"He was an abettor in the production of Herr Crutius' newspaper article."
"From that imputation he is cleared. He charged Prince Valerian expressly to tell you that he disapproved of Herr Crutius' conduct throughout."
"And even if Herr Weidmann were your enemy," put in the Professorin: "it is just your enemies whom you must seek to conciliate."
"You are a wonderful woman: you shall have your way. You shall see how thoroughly in earnest I am. So, then, Herr Weidmann; and who else?"
"Count Wolfsgarten."
"Accepted without opposition. Go on!"
"The Justice."
"Also accepted."
"Then I should like to plead for a man whom you, perhaps"—
"Only speak out plainly. Who is it?" cried Sonnenkamp impatiently.
"The field-guard."
"The field-guard?" laughed Sonnenkamp. "For all I care! And I give you the Doctor at once, into the bargain. But now, Herr Dournay, set about it at once: the business must be begun immediately."
"Who will remain with Roland meanwhile?" Eric would have asked, but restrained himself, in obedience to a sign from his mother, who seemed to have divined the question he would fain have asked. She nodded. "You can leave Roland and Manna to me," she seemed to say.
"You have entirely forgotten our good Major," she said aloud, in a cheerful tone.
"Because he is understood as a matter of course, and also the Priest," replied Sonnenkamp.
Eric named, besides, Prince Valerian, the Banker, and Knopf. The number was full.
Sonnenkamp urged that not an hour should be lost, and Eric ordered a horse saddled.