CHAPTER XIII.
SOUR CREAM SWEETENED.
The Major had never been in better spirits at the table than to-day. He forgot to beckon to Joseph to fill up a second time his glass with the favorite Burgundy.
Frau Ceres smiled dubiously when the Professorin gave an account of the excellent people she had seen, the refreshing influence of the prospect of river and mountain, and the yet fairer one of such noble, genuine, domestic life. She added that she had but little acquaintance with other lands, but it was certain that no land surpassed Germany in real depth of feeling and generally diffused culture. Cities and villages, that were only empty names to the traveller whizzing by, concealed within them the beautiful and the best adornments of humanity.
"Nowhere, not in any place where church-bells have rung, has a better sermon been preached than that," said the Major to Eric. He then rose. "Now, the Mother—all of you drink with me—now, long life to the Mother; she enjoys life herself, and makes other people see life on its beautiful and fair side, and the Builder of all the worlds will bless her for it. My brothers!—I mean my—my—then, long life to the Professorin."
Never before had the Major made so long a speech at table, and never had he been so joyous as to-day. Soon after dinner he went towards home, repeating over to himself by the way the words of his speech, for he specially prided himself on being able to give it to Fräulein Milch word for word. All the reputation in the world is of no account if she does not praise him, for she has the best insight into everything.
When he reached the house, and Fräulein Milch complained to him that to-day her sweet cream had turned sour, and not a drop was to be got in the whole village, he signified to her by a wave of the hand that she was to keep silence, so that he should not forget his toast. Placing himself directly in front of her, he said:—
"This is the speech I made at dinner." Laadi looked up at her master, when she heard him declaiming with such energy, and when the Major had concluded, she signified by a bark that she comprehended him. The Major did not mean to tell a lie, but the speech was assuredly better, at least it was longer, as he rehearsed it now to Fräulein Milch, than the one he had made. She said, when he got through:—
"I am only glad that there were some good people there to hear you."
Fräulein Milch did not take to Herr and Frau Sonnenkamp; but she especially disliked Fräulein Perini.
"Why haven't you spread our beautiful white table-cloth?" asked the Major, when he surveyed the neat table set in the garden.
"Because the white is too dazzling in the sunlight."
"That's true; it's well. Mustn't I shut Laadi up? she's so demonstrative."
"No; just let the dog be loose."
The Major was quite in despair that he could not do something to show honor to his guests.
After a while he came back in triumph, for he had done something which was a great sacrifice for him; he had begged the Grand-master's cook to give him a pitcher of fresh cream. He scarcely ever borrowed anything, but to-day an exception must be made.
He managed to place the pitcher upon the table unnoticed by Fräulein Milch, and put his hand up to his mouth to keep himself from laughing outright, when he thought of the Fräulein's astonishment at finding sweet cream upon the table.
He did still more. He went into the sitting-room and dragged his great, leather-covered easy-chair into the garden, for the Professorin to sit in; but when Fräulein Milch came out, she surprised him by pointing out that the easy-chair would not bear the bright sunlight out-of-doors. They carried it back together.
"Sha'n't we go to meet them?" said the Major, who had taken out his spy-glass; "just look through,—stop, I'll alter it,—there; I think there's somebody in sight down yonder."
Fräulein Milch begged him to be quiet, and the Major looked now as if he were ready to weep. Laying his hand on Fräulein Milch's shoulder, he said,—
"It's hard—very hard—cruel—bad—very bad—very cruel that I can't say, Here, Frau Dournay, here is my wife."
Fräulein Milch wheeled about swiftly, and there was a freezing coldness in her whole demeanor.
"For Heaven's sake, what's the matter?"
The dog barked as if she would say, "What's all this? What do you look so angry for?"
"I'm quiet now—I'm quiet now! Be easy, Laadi," said the Major soothingly. He was so exhausted, that he was obliged to sit down; he tried to light his long pipe, but it went out.
He stood by the garden-fence, drumming with his fingers upon one of the rails, and lost in so deep a reverie, that the guests stood before him, without his having noticed their approach.
The meeting of the Mother and Fräulein Milch was not so cordial as the Major had hoped it would be. Each seemed to hold back a little, and they evidently gave each other a close inspection. But the Major laughed inwardly when he thought of the sweet cream, which Fräulein Milch poured out just as usual, without noticing it.
He soon tapped with his stump-finger upon his forehead, saying to himself,—
"She's much too smart to make any fuss before strangers. O, she's wise; one can't know how wise she is!"
How he would have liked to say that to the Professorin! But he resolved to speak as little as possible to-day, and leave the field wholly to Fräulein Milch.
Just the right subject of conversation did not seem to come up; but when the Doctor's wife was mentioned, Fräulein Milch expressed her respect for the noble woman, who had just the right sort of aristocracy.
"And what do you mean by the right sort of aristocracy?"
"It seems to me to receive every one's respect and honor."
"Exactly so, and that perhaps is still truer of Frau Dournay," interposed the Major.
It seemed to him that Fräulein Milch sneered a trifle, and it was not pleasant to him.
The Mother asked Fräulein Milch if she were a native of this part of the country.
She answered curtly in the negative.
At last an expedient occurred to the Major. Two strange horses must be left in the stable by themselves; perhaps they will kick a little at first, but they are soon on good terms. He busied himself in giving a long account to Eric and Roland of the vineyard, which would this year yield wine for the first time, virgin wine as it was called; they must go with him to see it.
The ladies were now by themselves. The Mother wanted to say something commendatory of Fräulein Milch, about whom she had heard so many favorable things; but this did not exactly suit her, and by a happy turn she referred to the strangeness of the change in her own life, and how much she needed help.
This was the right key to touch, for Fräulein Milch was in her element whenever she could render any advice and assistance. She took an unexpectedly deep view, saying that a firm position in life could be kept, so long as one's self-respect was preserved. The Mother was surprised at the tact and knowledge of the world she displayed. She expected to see a narrow-minded, frivolous, talkative housewife, and here was evidence of refined thought which could be the result only of deep and mature reflection.
She wanted to say, You are more than your circumstances would indicate; but she refrained, and expressed anew her satisfaction at the beauty of the landscape, which was continually unfolding hidden charms, and at the rich fulness of life, as revealed in human beings, who even in solitude cherished refined thoughts and noble sentiments. Fräulein Milch, who had seated herself with her cup of coffee a little apart from the table, now drew up nearer, and beginning with an allusion to Eric's discreet management, she proceeded to give a clear-sighted characterization of Herr Sonnenkamp and his wife.
She did not mention Fräulein Perini. She only expressed her regret that Herr Sonnenkamp, who was not really hardhearted, should have no systematic beneficence. She drew a picture of the necessitous condition of various people in the neighborhood, for she knew everybody for miles around. The Mother said finally:—
"I thank you; you remind me of a work which I had lost sight of, and which was the very reason of my coming here. If I have the disposal of Herr Sonnenkamp's charities, will you assist me?"
Fräulein Milch promised to do so; but she suggested that it would be very much more expedient for the Professorin to have the cooperation of the daughter of the house; in this way many good results could be secured. The girl, who was serious and earnest, would take again her proper place, and the immeasurable wealth of the father would have a secure and immovable basis if it were intrusted to the care of the daughter of the house.
The Mother's eyes gleamed as she looked, at Fräulein Milch; yonder the Doctor's wife, and here the housekeeper, are appealing to her to bring Manna out of the convent, and initiate her into an active life of common usefulness.
She made, very cautiously, further inquiries of the charitable and sensible housekeeper concerning the people in the neighborhood, but Fräulein Milch evaded them. She affirmed that she did not have the right view of people; she saw them on Sundays and holidays, when they were in a merry mood, singing, and going up and down the mountain with wreaths on their heads; but whoever was not in the very midst of this hilarious movement, whoever observed it from the window, or from behind the garden hedge, could form no suitable estimate of it; generally the whole seems one undistinguishable jumble, just as when one stops his ears and looks at people dancing, but hears nothing of the music.
The Mother led the talk back to Manna, and, forgetting her usual marked reserve, Fräulein Milch declared that Manna must have received some severe shock, as it was not natural for any one to go from the extreme of overbearing pride to the extreme of humility.
"I will relate to you one little incident of Manna, and you will know what she is. A stinging fly, a Rhine-gnat, as it is called, alighted on her hand, and sucked her blood; she quietly let it suck, and then said: 'The ugly fly! I have let it drink my blood without disturbing it, and just for that it has stung me.' Now can't you know what the child is from this little trait, supposing that they have not spoiled her in the convent? I can speak of the child with so much the more freedom, as she has a dislike to me, of which Fräulein Perini was the cause."
Fräulein Milch now launched out into a passionate invective against Pranken.
She acknowledged that her aversion to him arose from his making the Major the target of his wit, more than was attributable to youthful arrogance; he was both witty and supercilious. And it was so much the more remarkable that now he should pretend to be pious, and that too, before he had married Manna; there must be some deep-laid game here, not easily seen through.
Engaged thus in friendly intercourse, the two women got to know each other. Frau Dournay, with her naturally ladylike and easy bearing, imparted a great deal, without seeming to do so; Fräulein Milch, with her acquired culture, which did not sit gracefully upon her, in every communication of deep thought showed plainly the difficult steps by which she had made it her own. When the Professorin spoke with such ease and fluency, Fräulein Milch nodded, saying to herself; "Yes, forsooth! this lady has sat down at the table all spread, and been served by others, with all the means of culture, while I have had to cook my own food and to set my own table."
The Major saw from a distance the two women take each other by the hand, and he spoke to Laadi fondling words that he would like to have spoken to Fräulein Milch.
"You are a pretty creature, smarter than all the world put together—clear as the day—quiet and steady—not you, Laadi,—what are you looking at me so for?"
He returned to the garden, Roland and Eric following immediately.
As the Major was escorting the Professorin a part of the way home, she said:—
"I believe that I am acquainted now not only with the two best, but also the two happiest people in this region."
The Major remained some time standing in the same place, and looking after the departing guests; then turning his eyes upward, he said:—
"Thanks to thee, thou Builder of all the worlds! Thou knowest what I would say, without my speaking,—oh dear!"