But above in the castle, and below in Sonnenkamp's work-room, lights burned late. Eric sat gazing at the flame, and strange forms moved confusedly through his mind. There was Shakespeare's play, there were all the people who had listened to it; but more than all he tried to enter into Roland's mind; and it seemed a fortunate thing to him, that the boy's love of sport had driven away all wondering speculation from his mind. Action, action alone makes free. Where is it, the great all-liberating power? It does not show itself. Independent of our will, and of reflection, there is a great power in the Past and in the view of God working in it, which alone can bring forth the deed. The deed is not ours, but to be armed and ready is in our power.
At last Eric found rest.
Sonnenkamp paced up and down his great room like a prisoner. The lion's skin with the stuffed head lay upon the floor, and the eyes stared at him, till he covered the head with a part of the skin. He asked himself again and again what he ought to do. This Herr Eric was teaching his son to oppose him, and the Mother, who was always regaling them with sayings of her husband, preserved in spirit, forever calling up, as Pranken says, her husband's wandering ghost, the departed Professor Hamlet—no, she was a noble woman.
But why had he taken upon his shoulders this beggarly family, so puffed up with their own ideas? He could not shake them off, without attracting attention. No, he would make use of them, and then throw them away.
At last, a happy resolution quieted him. We must have new surroundings, new diversions; and then, straight to the goal! The day after to-morrow will be New Year's day. On New Year's day we will go to the capital. With this thought Sonnenkamp also found rest at last.
CHAPTER X.
PLAYING COURT.
The first thing in the morning, Roland wanted to carry the owl, which lay frozen outside his window, to Claus, who knew how to stuff birds.
All the events of the past day seemed to have vanished from his mind, leaving no trace, in the joy he felt in his splendid shot.
"Stop!" cried Roland suddenly, as he was stretching out the owl's wings, "stop; I've just thought of what a man said to me in my dreams; he looked like Benjamin Franklin, but he was thinner. I dreamed that I was going to battle; the music was making a great noise, discordant, and broken by shouts, and every now and then the man said: 'A good name—a good name'—and then there suddenly appeared thousands of black heads, nothing but black heads, a perfect sea of them; and they all gnashed their teeth, and I woke up in dreadful agony."