CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRST RIDE.
Manna was extremely gracious towards everybody, and no one would have suspected that this graciousness had pride for its basis. Every one appeared to her so poor, so forlorn, so trammelled! Whenever she was spoken to, her thought of the speaker was, "You, who say this, are but a child of the world;" and whenever she took part in any pleasure excursion, there was the perpetually recurring suggestion, "You yourself are not here, you only seem to be here, you are in a wholly different world, yonder, far above."
Every one was charmed with her friendliness, her gentleness, her attentive listening, and yet only a part of herself was really taken up with all this; she was elsewhere, and occupied with other interests.
No one ventured to exert any influence over her; but the Doctor agreed with Pranken and her father, that she must again ride on horseback.
A new world seemed to be disclosed; inside the house, there was singing, dancing, playing, and outside, too, all went merry as a marriage-bell. Manna took pleasant rides on horseback with Pranken, Eric, and Roland in the country round. Sonnenkamp also, mounted on his great black horse, frequently joined the party. Their ride was full of enjoyment, and they received on all sides marks of respect, not only from those who had been the recipients of benefits through the Professorin and Fräulein Milch, but also from those who were well off and independent in their circumstances. Wherever they alighted, and wherever they reined up, there was always some fresh proof of the pride which the whole region felt in such a man as Sonnenkamp.
One day Manna, Pranken, and Roland, Eric and Sonnenkamp, were riding along the road bordered with nut-trees.
"Herr Dournay is right," exclaimed Manna, who was riding in advance with Pranken and her father.
Manna said that Eric had made the remark, that nut-trees were much more beautiful, and that it was a stupid and prosaic innovation to set out lindens and other common trees along the roads; that the nut-tree belonged to the Rhine, was beautiful and productive, and at least gave to the irrepressible boys a fine harvest time.
As she rode along she tore off a leaf of a nut-tree.
For some time her voice had been different; it was no longer as if veiled with tears. Turning to her father, she continued:—
"You can bring this about. Set out a nursery of nut-trees, and give to all the villages round as many nurslings as they can make use of."
Sonnenkamp promised to carry out the idea, and unfolded a plan which he had much at heart, of establishing general benevolent institutions, the first of which should be a fund for the widows and orphans of boatmen.
Manna stroked her beautiful white pony, to which she had given the name Snowdrop.
Pranken was happy that the horse proved itself worthy of its mistress, and voluntarily extending her hand, she thanked him for his care.
"Now trot. Snow-drop!" she cried, chirruping; and with Pranken on one side, and her father on the other, she rode boldly, rising in the saddle.
They now came in sight, of an advancing procession. Manna reined in so suddenly that she would have been thrown over her horse's head, had not Sonnenkamp held her by her riding-habit. They dismounted, and Roland and Eric were also obliged to dismount. The grooms led the horses, and Manna walked with the procession. Holding up her long riding-dress, not proudly, but humbly, she sang aloud with the pilgrims, and Pranken also. Eric was silent.
At a chapel by the way-side Manna knelt down, and Pranken also knelt by her side. When she arose, she was amazed to see that the rest had gone, leaving Pranken and her together. They were waiting in a pathway through the field, not far off, with the grooms who were holding the horses. The procession moved on, and Pranken and Manna were left alone. The murmur of the pilgrims was heard in the distance. Pranken held his hands folded together, and looked at Manna as if praying.
"Manna," he began, he had never called her Manna before. "Manna, such is to be our life. We acknowledge the grace of heaven, that we, possessed of wealth and inheriting noble names, can occupy a lofty position, but are ready every moment to unite ourselves with our brothers and sisters who walk the holy paths in coarse shoes and barefoot, and to put ourselves on a level with them. Manna, thus will we live!"
He took her hand, which she allowed him to hold an instant, and then drew it away. He continued:—
"I have never yet told you that I too have wrestled with the holy resolution to renounce the world, and to assume the priestly vow. You also, elevated and pious, have struggled, and have returned to the world. I place my heart, my soul, my soul's salvation in your hand. Here, on this consecrated spot, come with me into the chapel." He seized her hand, and at the same moment, Eric cried:—
"Fräulein Manna!"
"What's the matter? What do you want?" exclaimed Pranken.
"Fräulein Manna, your father wants me to tell you that yonder is a boundary-stone convenient for you to mount your horse."
"I shall not ride again, I shall walk back to the house," replied Manna; and turning round, whether she knew that Pranken was not following her, or did not know it, she went on with Eric. After they had gone some distance, turning round she saw Pranken still standing motionless in the place, and she called to him to come with them.
In spite of all urging, she would not mount her horse, but walked the whole distance in her heavy riding-dress.
She said nothing; there was a strange look of defiance in her countenance.
She locked herself in her room, and wept and prayed for a long time.
The struggle had come sooner than she thought, and she seemed to herself all unarmed. Pranken had a right to address her in that way. And would it not be better that she should enter into life? At this thought she looked around, as if she must ask Eric what he thought of this conclusion, what opinion he would form of this fickleness. Again she looked around, and it seemed to her that Eric had come into the room with her, and still she was alone.
It was a severe conflict, and only this one point was gained, that she would no longer allow herself to be robbed of herself by such distractions.
A boat-sail upon the Rhine had been appointed for the evening. Manna, who had promised to go, now positively declined. She stood at the window of her silent chamber without opening it, and she wished that it was grated. She saw the gentlemen and the ladies go down to the river, and heard Lina singing a beautiful song accompanied by a fine manly voice.
Who is that?
It is not Pranken, nor Roland; it can be no other than Eric.
On the boat, Lina requested Eric to sing the "Harper's Song," set to music by Schubert. Eric considered it entirely inappropriate to sing aloud here, in a joyous company upon the Rhine, the plaint of a sorely burdened soul breathed out to the lonely night.
But Lina persisted, and Eric sang,—
"He that with tears did never eat his bread."
The rowers stopped rowing, and Eric's voice thrilled the inmost soul. He paused, and then sang the words,—
"Ye lead us onward into life. Ye leave The wretch to fall; then yield him up, in woe, Remorse, and pain, unceasingly to grieve; For every sin is punished here below."
Schubert's air closes without any musical cadence, just as Goethe's words give no final solution. The strain, "For every sin is punished here below," filled the air as the boat glided past the villa. Manna heard the words, sank down, and covered her face with both hands.
Hour after hour passed away, and then some one knocked at the door. Manna waked from the sleep into which she had fallen in the midst of her anguish. It was quite dark. Roland and Lina were calling her name. Overcome by weariness of body and soul, Manna had not been able to keep from falling asleep, and now she joined the rest of the family, as if in a dream. It seemed to her as if it were morning, and yet it was night. She had a feeling of oppression in the society of those around her, all of whom looked upon her with loving eyes.
In order, as it were, to recover self-possession, she proposed another sail upon the Rhine by moonlight, and she asked Lina to sing.
Lina rejoined that she could not sing so beautifully as Eric, and that he ought to sing.
"Do sing," Manna said to him. "I cannot sing now," Eric replied.
The first request she had ever made of him he positively refused to grant. Manna was vexed at first, and then she was glad of this lack of friendliness. It is better thus; there is no reason why he should interest you in any way; you must again take the proper position in regard to him. And in order to show that she did not feel hurt by the refusal, she was more animated than she had ever been before.
When they returned from the excursion, Sonnenkamp met them as they were getting out of the boat, and told them that Sevenpiper had informed him, lest they should be taken by surprise, or be away—but no one was to know anything about it—that he was to be waited upon by the boatmen to-morrow evening, to thank him for the benevolent institution he had established.