CHAPTER XI.
THE FIRST NIGHT OF A BARONESS.
"Yes, it's all very nice for him, he goes off on his pleasure, and leaves me here alone! What am I to do now?"
Thus Frau Ceres was complaining to Fräulein Perini, when Sonnenkamp, Pranken, and Roland were gone. With the hurry and restlessness of fever she was walking up and down the room, every now and then asking whether there was nothing to be done, and begging Fräulein Perini to tell her what she ought to do. The latter urged her to be composed, and asked her to sit down by her side, and fill out the ground at the other end of her embroidery.
"Yes," exclaimed Frau Ceres suddenly, "now I have it. I'll do something that will please him too; I'll embroider a sofa-cushion with our coat-of-arms. Besides, I have seen hassocks in the church with coats-of-arms embroidered on them; we'll have those too."
Fräulein Perini nodded.
"And something else yet!" said she.
"Really? Do you know of something else?" exclaimed Frau Ceres.
"Yes, it will be something well befitting your pious mind. You have already thought of it, only you have forgotten about it."
"What? what have I forgotten?"
"You intended, when the title was obtained, to embroider an altar-cloth at once."
"Yes, so we will. Did I ever say so? Ah! I forget everything. Ah, dear madame, stay with me always, advise me in everything. Have you a large, frame? Let us begin at once."
Fräulein Perini had everything ready, silk, worsted, gold-thread and silver-thread, frame and patterns. Frau Ceres actually made a few stitches, but then stopped and said:—
"I am trembling to-day; but I have commenced the altar-cloth, and now we will work on at it. You will help me, will you not?"
Fräulein Perini assented; she knew that she would have to do the whole herself, but Frau Ceres had now become somewhat calmer.
"Will you not send for the Priest, or hadn't we better go and visit him ourselves?"
"As you see fit."
"No, we had better be alone. Where is Manna, I wonder? She ought to come, she ought to be with her mother."
She rang and sent for Manna; but received for answer, that she had just gone to rest; she begged her mother to excuse her, she was very tired.
"But where is the Professorin? Oughtn't she to come and congratulate me?"
"She was with Fräulein Manna, and went home again," answered Fräulein Perini.
"She was in the house, and didn't come to see me?" said Frau Ceres, in an angry tone; "she shall come at once—this very moment. Send for her. I am the Mother, to me is honor first due, then to the daughter. Send for her, she must come at once."
Fräulein Perini had to gratify her, but with great caution, she impressed upon Frau Ceres the necessity of being quite composed and dignified in her manner toward the learned court-lady, who must not suppose that people would have to learn from her, at the outset, how to comport themselves in elevated positions.
"You should be rather quiet in your manner, Frau Baroness."
"Frau Baroness! Am I to expect that the Professorin will address me so?"
"Certainly, she is perfectly well bred."
Frau Ceres began once more to walk restlessly up and down the room. Every once in a while, she would stand still before the large mirror, and make a courtesy before some imaginary personage. The courtesy was very successful; she would lay her left hand upon her heart, her right hanging down naturally, and bend very low. On both sides of the mirror four branched candlesticks stood lighted, and once in a while Frau Ceres would put her hand to her brow.
"He has promised me a five-pointed coronet; it will become me, will it not?"
With an exceedingly gracious smile she bowed once more before the mirror.
Fräulein Perini heard outside the arrival of the Professorin; she went to meet her, and begged her to be very forbearing and circumspect with the much agitated Frau Ceres, and not call her anything but Frau Baroness.
"Why did you send me word that she was ill, and call me out in the middle of the night on that account?"
"I beg your pardon; you know that there are sick people who do not go to bed."
The Professorin understood how matters were.
When she entered, Frau Ceres, with her face still turned to the mirror, exclaimed:—
"Ah, that's good! It was gracious in you to come, my dear Professorin, very friendly—very kind. I am a good friend of yours, too."
She then turned round and held out her hand to the new-comer.
The Professorin did not congratulate her, nor did she call her Frau Baroness.
Frau Ceres now wished to know what her husband—but she corrected herself quickly and said: "I should say the Baron now; well—what has the Baron to do in town; must he pass a Knight's examination, and will he be knighted before the assembled multitude?"
The Professorin replied that there was nothing of the kind now, there would be simply a parchment patent delivered to him.
"Parchment—parchment?" repeated Frau Ceres several times to herself. "What is parchment?"
"It is dressed skin," said the Professorin in explanation.
"Ah, a scalp—a scalp. I understand. On it—will the patent be written with ink just the same as everything else that they write?"
She stared a long while before her, then after first shutting and again opening her eyes, she begged the Professorin to choose one of her finest dresses for herself; angry and astonished, the Professorin rose, but she sat down again hastily, and said that she was sensible of the kindness of Frau Sonnenkamp, but she no longer wore such fine dresses.
"Frau Sonnenkamp doesn't wear them any more either. Frau Sonnenkamp, Frau Sonnenkamp!" rejoined Frau Ceres.
She wished to remind the Professorin that she had not called her Frau Baroness.
"Have you ever known of the elevation of an American to the ranks of the nobility?" she asked all at once.
The Professorin said no.
When it was now mentioned that Herr Sonnenkamp had received the name of Baron von Lichtenburg from the castle which was rebuilding, Frau Ceres exclaimed:—
"Ah, that's it! that's it! Now I know! This very evening, this very moment, I will visit the castle—our castle! Then I shall sleep sound. You shall both accompany me."
She rang forthwith, and ordered the horses to be harnessed; both the ladies looked at each other, terror-stricken. What would come of it? Who knows but that on the road she might suddenly become distracted and break out into a fit of insanity?
The Professorin had sufficient presence of mind to say to Frau Ceres, that it would be much better to make the visit to the castle the next morning in the daytime; that if they went there in the night, it would make a great talk in the neighborhood.
"Why so? Is there a legend about our castle?"
There was indeed such a legend, but the Professorin took care not to tell it to her just then; she said she was ready to drive for an hour in the mild night, out on the high road with Frau Ceres; she was in hopes that it would quiet her.
And so the three women set out together through the darkness of that pleasant night. The Professorin had so arranged matters that there was not only a servant sitting beside the coachman, but also another on the back seat. She sought to provide against all contingencies. But this precaution was not necessary, for as soon as Frau Ceres was well seated in the carriage, she became very quiet, nay, she began to speak of her childhood.
She was at an early age left an orphan, the daughter of a captain on one of Sonnenkamp's ships, who had made long and very perilous voyages—yes, very perilous, she repeated more than once. After the death of her parents, Herr Sonnenkamp had taken her under his sole guardianship, and had her brought up by herself under the care of an old female servant, and of one man servant.
"He didn't let me learn anything, not anything at all," she complained once more; "he told me, 'It is better for you to remain as you are.' I was not quite fifteen years old when he married me."
She wept; but then, a moment after, clapping her hands like a child, she exclaimed,—
"It's all a story. It was another creature entirely that went through all this, that used to lie in her hammock all day long and dream out there, and now in Europe—but it is just as well, just as well, isn't it?" she said, and reached out her hands affectionately to the Professorin and Fräulein Perini.
"Do you think," she said, turning to the Professorin mysteriously, "do you think that our noble rank is altogether safe and sure?"
"After the decree is issued, everything is secure, but no one can say that anything is certain before it comes to pass; unforeseen obstacles may arise at the very last moment."
"What obstacles? what do you mean? what? what do you know? Tell me all."
The Professorin shuddered inwardly. The restlessness and terror, the wilful, overbearing, and weak nature of Frau Ceres were now for the first time made clear to her; here was a woman who sought to torment her husband by revealing to her child the father's past life.
With entreaties and commands Frau Ceres endeavored to get a statement of the possible obstacles, and she was only quieted by the Professorin assuring her that she knew of nothing definite. In spite of the darkness, Fräulein Perini noticed how painfully this untruth fell from the lips of the Professorin; in fact she was just able to let it pass her lips, because she felt herself in the situation of the physician who does not venture to tell his fever-stricken patient the bitter truth.
Frau Ceres lay back in the corner of the carriage; she went to sleep like a child that has cried itself out with temper. Fräulein Perini earnestly begged the Professorin to call Frau Ceres 'Baroness' when she woke up. She told the coachman to turn back; they were on their way home to the Villa.
Frau Ceres was hard to wake; they put her to bed. She thanked the two ladies sincerely, and smiled pleasantly, when the Professorin said at last,—
"I hope you'll sleep well, Frau Baroness."