CHAPTER VI.
HONOR LIES BLEEDING.
Sonnenkamp's decoration was lying at Pranken's feet as he entered, and the first thing he did was to stoop down and pick it up. Joseph left the room. Pranken balanced the decoration as if it were a heavy weight. Sonnenkamp seemed to be waiting for Pranken to speak first, and when the latter said, "I congratulate you," broke in:—
"No, no—do not. I thank you for coming to me again. I thank you sincerely—very sincerely. You meant well by me."
"What's this? Meant well? I don't comprehend."
Sonnenkamp stared at him; the whole city, the coachmen on the streets knew it, and can this man be ignorant? Does he want to gull him?
"Have you read the Journal?" inquired Sonnenkamp.
"The Journal! No; what's in that?"
Sonnenkamp reached him the paper.
"Here—my diploma of nobility," he said, turning round and looking out of the window while Pranken was reading. He did not want to look at the man's countenance.
There was a long-continued silence in the room, and then Sonnenkamp felt a hand upon his shoulder. He turned round quickly. What's the meaning of this? will the haughty young nobleman have a personal struggle with him?
"Herr Sonnenkamp," said Pranken, "I am a nobleman-—-"
"I know—I know. Take your hand off of me, you'll soil it."
"And I am your friend," proceeded Pranken calmly. "I cannot approve of what you have done to provoke such a publication."
"Be brief, I've already heard sermonizing enough to-day."
"Herr Sonnenkamp, I always go counter to the public sentiment; I respect you, notwithstanding, and I love your daughter. I am almost glad that I can show you by a sacrifice how my intention-—-"
"Herr von Pranken, you do not know what you are doing. Your friends, your family-—-"
"I know the whole. Pooh! the virtuous people may let the stones alone which they would willingly throw at us. Whoever merely winks with the eye shall receive my challenge."
"I admire your courage, but I cannot take advantage of it."
"Not take advantage of it! You have no right to decline it. I am your son as well as Roland; I stand by you, and now it shall be shown who has genuine nobility and bravery. I admire you—but we'll drop this now. Has Roland got back yet?"
"No."
"Then he has gone with the Ensign to the dinner. I will go for him."
Sonnenkamp looked at him in amazement as he drove off; he could not comprehend it. He was now alone again. He mentally accompanied the messengers he had sent round the city, and out to the pleasure-grounds. His thought went out in search of Roland, but did not find him, any more than the messengers did. Roland had gone with the Cabinetsrath's son, as Pranken had conjectured, to the military club-house, where a number of the garrison officers, after the laborious review of the forenoon, had ordered a dinner. There was a great deal of merriment and drinking, and they drank the young American's health. Roland was one of the liveliest among them. There came in a straggling guest, and cried, out in the midst of the uproar,—
"Have you heard? The slave-trader has been caught with a paper lasso."
"What's to pay?" was, called out.
The new-comer read out of the paper:—
"A proposal, with all due deference, for a coat of arms and a device for the ennobled slave-trader and slave-murderer, James Henry Sonnenkamp, alias Banfield, of Louisiana.
"It would give us peculiar satisfaction to run a parallel between the young nobility in the two hemispheres; to live on the labor of others is their motto; 'thou art born to do nothing,' say the young nobility of the Old as well as of the New World. The Americans have also a superstitious belief that there is some peculiar honor in being ennobled. Not because we share in this belief, but rather in order to do something towards removing it, we have written to America for information about a certain Herr Sonnenkamp. We have hitherto been silent, and we should have been silent longer and forever, out of regard for the children of this outcast, for they do not deserve to bear the load of guilt. We are no friends of the nobility: we regard this institution as of the past and as dead; but the nobles are our German fellow-citizens, also, and a part of our nation. As citizens, merely, we have no power to thrust out a man from our community, and we should have felt obliged to let this man alone; but now, we are ready to furnish the evidence that the man who calls himself Sonnenkamp, and lives at Villa Eden, has been one of the most merciless slave-traders and slave-murderers. Then proceed, O German nobles, and ennoble him,—give him a coat-of-arms. The heralds of our editorial office recommend as a device-—-"
"Stop!" screamed out the Ensign, for Roland had fallen senseless from his chair.
He was carried out of the room, and restored to consciousness. Fortunately, a carriage now drove up, from which Pranken got out. Roland was lifted into it, and they drove to the hotel.
Shaking with a fever fit, and wrapped up in a soldier's cloak, Roland sat in one corner of the carriage. He would occasionally open his eyes, and then close them again.
Pranken told him that he ought to despise the world, but Roland was silent; once only he heaved a deep sigh and exclaimed,—
"O Eric!" They reached the hotel. Joseph was waiting before the door. The first word that Roland spoke was a request to be left alone. He went up the steps with Joseph.
"You are to go to your father," said Joseph.
Roland nodded, but when he had gone up-stairs he hastened to his room and locked the door.
Joseph went to Sonnenkamp and told him that Roland had returned.
"He is to come to me," he said.
"He has locked himself in."
"Has he his pistols with him?"
"No, I have them with me."
Sonnenkamp went to Roland's room and knocked; but there was no answer. He begged and entreated Roland to answer him, but Roland made no sound.
"If you do not open immediately, I will shoot myself before your door!" cried Sonnenkamp.
Pranken, who was with him, said:—
"Roland! Roland! will you be guilty of the death of your father?"
"Open! open!" moaned Sonnenkamp before the door.
The bolt was drawn back, and Roland stood rigid, looking at his father, who stretched out his arms toward him; but Roland remained motionless, with lips pressed together, and eyes glaring like one insane.
"My son!" cried Sonnenkamp. "My only son! my beloved son! my child! forgive me! forgive me!"
Roland rushed toward his father, grasped his hand, and wept over it.
"Oh, my child, your tears on my hand! Look,—this wound, this scar,—look, the tears of my child heal it, the tears of my child alone!"
Throwing himself upon Roland's breast, he exclaimed:—
"You, my son, you will not despise your father!"
While he spoke, his heart throbbed violently, and, for the first time in his life, Roland saw his father weep. He embraced him and wept with him.
Father and son then sat opposite each other speechless and motionless, until at last Roland said:—
"Father, there is one way of salvation—only one way of salvation!"
"I am ready, speak, my son."
"I know it, father—I know it! That sublimest One said to the youth, 'Go and give away all that thou hast, and follow me.' And Parker has said that this disgrace must be wiped out; and Benjamin Franklin would say: 'Thou art free, be not a slave to thyself!' Cast all away from you, father, let us be poor—poor! Will you?"
"I thank you, my son," replied Sonnenkamp; he was easier when he saw that Roland had relieved his feelings. "You have a stout heart, a bold spirit, you have noble courage; Herr Eric has taught you well—grand—brave—I thank him—I thank you—that is fine—that is right—the best!"
"Then you agree to it, father?"
"My son, I do not wish to make any pledges—not any; but I promise you, that you shall be satisfied with what I shall do; just in this moment I cannot determine anything."
"No, now; this very moment! it is the grandest, the only moment! It must be done now! After this moment is death, night, damnation, distraction, misery! Oh, father, you must be strong! I will work for you, for my mother, for Manna, for myself! And Eric will be with us! I know not what can be done, but it will-—-do cast everything away from you!"
"My son, whatever I have of unrighteous possessions, so called, those I will put away. I consider you, my son, no longer in your minority, you are more, you are my brother, you are a man, you are judge of my actions, you are to give your directions—everything with you, through you, out of your pure, your blessed heart, out of your unbroken—yes, your friend Eric, our friend Eric, shall also determine—but let us not come to the final determination at this moment."
And again father and son sat opposite to each other in silence, until Roland began:—
"Father, let us go home to-day."
"No, not to-day. We must both, first of all, get some strength."
Pranken had withdrawn into the adjoining room; he now sent Joseph to say that it was time for dinner. Roland was shocked at the idea of eating anything now; but Sonnenkamp swore that he would not put a morsel into his mouth, although he was almost famishing, if Roland did not sit with them at table, and eat at least a few mouthfuls. Roland yielded.
The Cabinetsrath's place was empty, showing what henceforth would be wanting to their table-enjoyment. Pranken beckoned to Joseph, who understood what he meant and quickly removed the plate.
Sonnenkamp now said that he expected the Cabinetsrath would probably give up the Villa he had received; and Roland now learned how bribery had been employed, and how corrupt and selfish men were. Sonnenkamp took particular notice what an impression this made upon Roland, and a triumphant expression passed over his countenance. It's well so! Roland is to become acquainted with the whole baseness of human beings, to find out that all people are more or less abject, and then what his father has done will gradually seem to him of less account, and be painted in fainter colors.
A choice table was set, but the three ate as if they were at a funeral repast, with the corpse lying in the next room—the mortal remains of worldly honor. Neither gave expression to the feeling which each of them had; they ate and drank, for the body must have nourishment, in order to bear up under this new heart-ache.
Father and son slept in the same chamber, but neither spoke, for neither of them wanted to keep the other from sleep, which would alone wrap them in oblivion.
"Don't give up!" said Sonnenkamp at last, as he fell asleep. Roland slept also, but after an hour he awoke and tossed about restlessly. The darkness seemed to stand like a black wall before him, and he sat up as if in delirium.
To lose one's senses, one's reason—yes, to lose them! they are suddenly gone, you know not when, you know not where; you only know they are not here, and they are no longer in your power. But if you could only find them! Your thoughts are no longer under your own control; they come and go, they combine and disperse according to their own pleasure; and yet you inwardly feel that this will not last, it cannot last; that the time must come when you will once more have the mastery.
"If it were not night! if it were only not night!" groaned Roland to himself, as he awakened in a wandering mood from a short hour's sleep. For the first time in his life, he awoke in the night distressed and sad at heart, with the whole world dark and impenetrable before him.
"Oh, if it were not night! if it only were not night!" he said to himself again. He thought of what Eric's mother had once said: "In the night-time everything is more terrible; day comes, and with the daylight all sufferings, both of the body as well as those of the mind, are less formidable; the eye then looks upon the things of the world, and the sunlight illumines and enlivens everything."
"It will be day again!" he comforted himself at last, and sank away into sleep out of all his brooding fancies.
Early in the morning they started with Pranken for the Villa.