From town to town, and from house to house, stories are narrated of the narrow escapes of the inhabitants, who saved themselves with resolute strength from the ingulfing flood, or with the last energy of despair reached the shore, many being dashed with violence upon the bank.
He who comes an entire stranger from abroad, and makes his home here, can feel assured that it is at his option to cultivate an acquaintance with the old residents, or to remain by himself. The continual current of strangers, coming and going, allows him who remains to abide in complete isolation.
Whose is that beautiful country-house yonder, which looks to the passer-by, with its tower gleaming from a distance, like a white swan nestling in the green bank? Travellers on the boats passing up and down the river often ask this question, and receive the reply, that the villa is called Eden, and that it is a real Eden, as far as one can judge from the outside, for it is all shut up and guarded, with spring-guns and steel traps the whole length of the garden walls. The servants have permission to show the house and park only when the owner is away on a journey, and then they take in a great deal of money.
One praises the wonderful stables with marble mangers; another, the hot-houses all in bloom; a third, the beautiful arrangement of the interior of the house; a fourth, the fruit-garden and the park, each one according to his own peculiar taste. The owner is a rich American, who has built this house, laid out the shady park, and changed the half-swampy, ragged, and uneven meadow, extending down to the river, into a fruit-garden that bears fruits of a size and beauty never before seen in this region. He was rebuilding, too, the ruined castle there on the height.
And what is the name of this man?
Sonnenkamp. Almost all his servants are foreigners; he visits only a few persons in the vicinity, and seldom receives any one as a guest; no one knows, indeed, who he is, or what he is. He has the finest horses, but he, his wife, and a female companion drive and ride out together, only at some convenient point to turn back again on the public highway.
On the morning that Eric rode to the villa, a large, thick carpet was laid by servants in morning livery on the west side upon the extensive gravelled square. A round table with green damask covering was placed near a many-colored pyramid of fragrant flowers, and on the table was afterwards set a large, ground crystal vase, with artistically arranged flowers and bouquets, and plates for four persons.
A side-table was placed near a blossoming copse of laburnums and variegated lilacs, and on it a large silver tea-urn with lighted lamp. A thin vapor soon went up from the urn. Two great rocking-chairs were put in suitable places near by.
A young man who stood aside, taking no part in the arrangement, looked out upon the landscape, where one could enjoy a view extending over the fruit-garden and the fountain, in whose basin two pairs of swans were swimming, over the meadows; and now he turned away from the prospect, inspected the preparations, and with the words, "All right," withdrew with the servants. The tea-urn steamed, and the chairs and table seemed to be awaiting the company.
A pert finch alighted upon the back of one of the rocking-chairs, and whistled to his little mate in the trees: "that was a fine set-out, and he would like, if he could, to do the same for his little ones."