Villa Eden Part 228

The glee-club made its appearance with a band of music, and clear songs rang out from the pretty and graceful steamer which now came down the stream. The cannon were fired; the boat stopped; and hurried partings were made. Eric, Manna, and Roland kissed the Mother, who cried:--

"Be faithful to the end."

They were soon on board.

The steamer had pushed off, when a cry was heard. The dog Griffin had broken loose from the Cooper's hold upon his collar, sprung into the Rhine, and was swimming after the boat. She stopped once more; the dog was hoisted out of the water and taken along with them.

The party on sh.o.r.e waved their farewell signals, and were answered from the boat, as long as they could see each other; but for a long time after this, the gaze of the departing ones lingered on the Villa.

What will become of the house? What shall they be when they return?

What kind of life will there be established?

As Manna stood leaning on Eric, something came softly up to them.

The dogs, Rose and Thistle, had forced their way aboard. Roland, who had likewise been standing lost in thought, suddenly brightened up, for Griffin was also with them.

And now they had a fresh surprise. No one had noticed that the Major had not been among those who had bid them goodbye. He now emerged from the cabin with his wife. He was now making his wedding tour, and accompanied the wanderers as far as the Lower Rhine. It seemed as if they had with them a goodly portion of the home.

There was music on board, and the Major soon brought up the steward and stewardess, to whom he introduced himself and his wife, and Eric and Manna, as newly-married couples.

"Yes," said he to Eric, "you know I have been a drummer. I'll tell you the story some time or other. Yes, when you come back you shall have it."

At the station before the Island, the Major and wife disembarked. Here they had dwelt in the first days of their union, and here they wished to be again for a day, and to show themselves as married people to those who had then been friendly toward them. The Major still waved his hand from the row-boat, and strove to show a cheerful countenance, but the tears ran down his cheeks, and as he bent over the side of the skiff, they flowed into the Rhine.

Silently they glided on, and, as they pa.s.sed the Cloister Island, a flock of white doves were winging their way over it. The nightingales were singing so loud as to be heard, in spite of the continual plash of the paddle-wheels. The children of the Island were walking along the sh.o.r.e, two by two, and singing.

Manna sighed deeply, and wafted a greeting over to them.

No one imagined, who was pa.s.sing by, away, away to the New World.

When, at evening, the vessel stopped for the night, Eric remembered a sheet of paper which Weidmann had given him. He read it. It contained words from the close of Humboldt's Cosmos:--

"There are some races more civilized, more highly enn.o.bled by culture than others, but there are no races n.o.bler by nature. All are equally destined for freedom."

BOOK XV.

EXTRACTS OF LETTERS FROM AND TO THE NEW WORLD.

[Eric to his Mother.]

On board the BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

Our ship bears the name which my father always uttered with peculiar fervor.

My mother!

I am transformed into a life full of novel excitement. I have seen the sea for the first time. Now I am living upon it, and I seem to be writing to you from another world.

A joyful event ushered us out of the Fatherland.

As we drew near the sh.o.r.e, on the first evening, I espied a broad, benevolent, comfortable-looking man, at the window of the corner-house at the landing. He bowed to me, I returned the salutation, but did not recognize him. But when we were on board, he came up to us; it was Master Ferdinand, whom I had helped out at the musical festival.

I quickly told him our story, and he, with a despatch which could only have been inspired by disinterested kindness, collected his fellow artists, together with some cultivated amateurs of the town, and we sang and played far into the night.

With music in our souls we left the Rhine,--we left Germany.

Manna and Roland will write to you themselves; they are now on deck, reading the Odyssey: it is the only thing one ought to read here. All movement on the highways on sh.o.r.e, all household interests and surroundings, seem far removed.

Such a ship is a world in itself.

Herr Knopf, too, has had a wonderful meeting. He is writing to the Major: get him to show you the letter. One thing more I must tell you about.

We reached Liverpool at evening, and intended to rest there a day. On the next morning I was standing alone, looking at the harbor, and thinking how Liverpool was the first English port in which slave-ships were fitted out, when I was roused from my reverie over the changing events of history, by seeing an outward-bound vessel weighing anchor.

On the deck stood a man, who, I cannot doubt, was Sonnenkamp. He now wears a full beard; but I recognized him in spite of it. He has either been in Europe all the time, or else has returned here. He seemed to recognize me, took off his broad-brimmed hat, beckoned to some one, and a figure appeared which I could not recognize with certainty, but I think it was Bella.

I learned from the brother-masons, to whom Weidmann had given me a letter of introduction, that a man quite answering to the description of Sonnenkamp, was sending a shipload of arms and ammunition to some Southern port.

I dare not think how terrible, at this juncture, a meeting would have been.

Strangely enough, as I was walking with Manna at noon, through the city, she said to me: "I feel as if I must meet father here. I keep thinking he will come round some corner, on one side or the other!" I do not think I have done wrong in not telling her of what I saw.

Most agonizing is the thought that, perhaps, father and son may fight against each other in opposing armies. My consolation is, that Sonnenkamp, being an old sailor, will probably enter the navy.

Roland is the darling of the whole ship. He is indefatigably zealous to learn about the arrangement of the vessel, and about all the duties of the crew. He is busy with them first in one place, then in another, and I am glad to see that, by this means, all his hard thinking and speculation are driven away.

We have favoring winds.

Very merry, too, is the chirping and singing of the birds that Claus has brought with him. The blackbird strikes an att.i.tude on her perch, like that of a renowned singer on the stage, looks coquettishly round on the bystanders, and sings her "Rejoice in your life." You know she never gets beyond that: but we like to have it said and sung to us: "Rejoice in your life."

On the second evening out.

Now it is night. Manna is alone on deck, looking at the stars. What a wondrous world! Overhead the innumerable stars, and around us the boundless sea. I feel as if I must, on this voyage, let all hard thinking, reflection, and speculation take wings and fly away, in order that I may tread the soil of the New World as simply a man of resolute action. There has always been a vein of romance running through my life and nature. What is it that leads me thither, to stake my whole being in a great crisis of human history? No longer to be a mere spectator, but to act, to live, and, perhaps--no, mother, an inward a.s.surance tells me I shall come home alive from this conflict.

Home! Home! Oh, mother, my soul wings its way across to it, over the boundless billows of life: we are with you, and Villa Eden makes true its name. And yet, if Fate has otherwise decreed, be firm: your son has been perfectly happy; he has enjoyed all the fulness of life. I have had you, father, Manna, knowledge, pure aspirations, action. All has been mine.

Here I sit, and the billows bear me on. We rise and fall with the waves, and well for him who feels, as I now do, that the goal at which he aims is a good one.

It seems as if your hand were on my brow: I am well and free. And, oddly enough, I see myself in my mind's eye, transported to the University town again. Now it is evening; in the parlor at the "Post,"

the regular guests are seated, who meet there every evening, though, in truth, they cannot endure each other. They sit round a table covered with black oil-cloth, with their gla.s.ses before them, discussing the affairs of the world, telling anecdotes, and hoaxing one another, and then the talk turns upon that unsteady adventurer, Doctor Dournay. I am a fruitful theme for them. Tall Professor Whitehead lights a match, and says with satisfaction, "I always knew he would desert Science," and then the everlasting "Extraordinary" says--Enough! I was once on another planet, and believed myself at home there.