CHAPTER IV.
THE IRON MUST ENTER THINE OWN SOUL.
For a long time neither uttered a word; at last the Professorin said,--
"You seem to be called to a higher life, from having been obliged inearly youth to suffer so hard an experience, and to feel deeply thediscord among men."
"I? How?" asked Manna. "What do you know?" She trembled.
"I know," answered the Professorin, "that you have suffered under thatcruel burden which weighs upon your great and noble father-land."
"My father-land? I? Speak more plainly."
"It pains me that I tear open a wound which is scarred over, but thisscar is a mark of honor for you, and it is not your fault, my child,that you are set in the midst of this life-struggle."
"I?"
"Yes."
"How? Tell me all; what do you know?"
"I mean that it should elevate you to have been obliged to bearhumiliation and bitterness in your own person; it gives you a loftierconsecration."
"Tell me plainly what you mean."
With an altered tone, like the hiss of a serpent. Manna spoke sharplyand angrily; her gentle eyes sparkled restlessly.
"Heaven knows," said the Professorin, "I would not wound you; no,protecting and blessing you, would I lay my hand upon you."
She tried to place her hand on Manna's head, but the girl shrank backand cried:--
"Tell me distinctly, who knows it? What do you know? Pray speak."
"I know nothing, except that you had to suffer severely on yourentrance into the convent; that two American girls took you for ahalf-blood, and would not associate with you."
"Yes, yes, that's it! Now I know why they examined my nails, and AnnaSotway stood by, Oh, it's well! it's well! I thank thee, holy God, thatthou hast suffered me to experience this. In myself, in my own person,I was to feel the suffering that a slave feels in being examined! Whydid they not open my veins? I thank thee, O God! But why dost thousuffer them to worship thee, and then to scorn thee in thy creatures?Then it was not because I tried to be reverent and obedient, no, butbecause I was of pure blood, that I was tolerated here! Pah!"
It was a different being who spoke these words, and cried aloud in thewood:--
"Ye trees, why does each of you grow after its kind, and blossom andgrow green and flourish, warmed by the same sun, and with the birdssinging in your branches? Alas! alas! where am I?"
"In the right path," answered the Professorin. Manna gazed at her as ifshe were a spirit, and she continued:--
"A pure spirit is speaking again through you, my child; you have spokentruth. When Lessing said, 'I would not have all trees covered with thesame bark,' he had no presentiment that his spirit would manifestitself anew here in the cloister, in a child just waking to life. Hispure and holy spirit is between us now, my child, and I think Lessingwould say: Forgive them; they will learn that God alone is constant,while the races of men are only the ever-varying, ever-returningfigures of a dream."
Manna appeared hardly to have heard her, for now she grasped her armasking:--
"Did you not tell me, that you were specially in the confidence of mymother?"
"Yes."
"And has she told you the secret too?"
"I do not understand you."
"Speak openly with me. I know all."
"Your mother has told me no secret."
Manna seized the cross on her breast convulsively, and gazed silentlybefore her for a long time.
With heart-felt earnestness, the Professorin expressed her deep regretat having moved her so greatly, and her desire not to force herselfupon her, but to be her true friend.
Manna made no answer. At last she turned and kissed the lips of herstartled companion.
"I kiss the lips which have spoken the dreadful words, and all therest. Yes, I must experience it, I, myself. I believe that I am nowfirst consecrated as the sacrifice."
The Mother stood helpless before this enigmatical being, and Manna atlast promised to be quite calm. She seated herself on a bench whichstood under a fir-tree, leaned back against the tree, and gazed up atthe sky.
"Why," she said to herself, "does there now come no voice to us fromthe air? Ah, I would so gladly follow it forth over mountain andvalley, to darkness and death."
Manna wept; the Professorin reminded her of her promise to be quitecalm, but the girl declared she could not, it grieved her so to be tornfrom this place, which she must leave, since she could not be true init. She would be living falsely, because people had not been true toher.
Now, for the first time, the Professorin understood that Manna hadknown nothing of what had passed, and she shuddered at what she haddone. She mourned over having so disturbed Manna's young soul, sayingthat she could never forgive herself. And now Manna turned, and triedto calm and console her unhappy companion.
"Believe me, pray believe me," she cried, holding up her clasped hands,"only the truth can make us free, and that is the dreadful thing, thatthe park, and the house, and all the splendor are lies--No, that I didnot mean--but one thing I beg, do not repent, when you have left me,that you told me what you did; it does not hurt me, it helps me. Ah, Ibeg--it helps me. I had to know it, and it is well."
The Professorin composed herself, and as she praised Manna's truthfulimpulses, the girl shook her head, saying:--
"I will not be praised, I do not deserve it; I do not deserve the wholetruth, for I am hiding something myself."
The Professorin felt what a heavy weight she had brought upon thechild, and she explained to her how the Superior had cured hertroubles, like a physician who does not tell his patient all. Mannagazed wonderingly at her, as she said:--
"I am sorry that I too have not been quite sincere with you."
"You too?"
"Yes, I have not told you that your father came here with me; that heis waiting for my return on the other shore, and hoping that you willgo home with us."
Manna rose and sat down again, hastily. "The father hides from hischild and sends strangers!" she murmured to herself. "Come with me tothe Superior," she suddenly exclaimed.
She seized the Professorin's hand, and drew her towards the convent.Heimchen came towards them, crying:--
"No, Manna, you must not go away and leave me here alone."
"Come with us," answered Manna, taking the child by the hand.
She went to the Superior and asked permission to go with Frau Dournayto her father, who was waiting for her on the main-land.
"Send for him to come here."
"No, I would rather go to him."
Permission was granted. It was difficult for Manna to free herself fromHeimchen, who could be pacified only by Manna's solemn promise toreturn.
Manna sat gazing into the water while they were in the boat. With FrauDournay, she entered the garden of the inn, where they found Sonnenkampand Pranken sitting in the shade of the arbor.
"You are going home with us?" cried Sonnenkamp to his daughter.
She received his embrace, but did not return it. Pranken greeted Mannajoyfully, and as she extended her hand to him, said smiling:--
"I have hardened my hand, but my heart is still soft, perhaps toosoft."
Manna cast down her eyes. There was some merry jesting about the mannerin which Pranken had settled himself here in the neighborhood. Hedescribed pleasantly how his new life struck him; there was a freshvigor in his bearing, and a tone of warm feeling in all his words. Hesaw with satisfaction what impression his deportment made upon Manna,who said, at last, that she believed she might speak openly before thisgentleman and lady, who were not really strangers though not members ofher own family. She was not yet quite resolved, but she felt a reallonging to leave the convent very soon, or still better, not to returnto it again, letting her father or the Professorin go over to saygood-bye for her.
"May a friend say a word about it?" asked Pranken, as Sonnenkamp loudlyexpressed his joy.
Manna begged him to s
peak, and he explained that, as a friend, he wouldurge Manna to act properly and worthily; whatever might have passed, itwas Manna's duty not to break too abruptly the close and holy tieswhich had united her with the convent, and, above all, with theSuperior; hardness and ingratitude towards others left a weight andbitterness in the soul. He must believe, that, as Manna had entered theconvent from her own wish and a pure resolve, she would leave it in allkindness and friendly feeling. It seemed to him the right course thatManna should return for a short time, to take leave of her companionsand the holy sisterhood quietly and considerately. He repeated, thatthough he desired nothing more earnestly than to have Manna return tothe outer world as soon as possible, and as fully as possible, still heconsidered it the duty of a friend to save from remorse and inwarddisquiet one to whom he stood in any near relation. There was more thanexcellence, there was a real nobility, in Pranken's manner as he saidall this, and various were the looks and thoughts of the three who werewatching him.
Sonnenkamp was angry, and yet he said to himself: "After all,aristocratic blood knows what's the proper thing."
The Professorin believed that Pranken meant to win Manna anew by thesenoble sentiments; Manna herself was quite subdued.
"You are right," she exclaimed, as she extended her hand and heldPranken's firmly. "You show me what is right. I thank you, and willfollow your advice."
Sonnenkamp was beside himself as he saw his dearest wish againdisappointed; but still greater was his astonishment, when theProfessorin expressed her acquiescence.
After Manna had begged Pranken to avoid any meeting with her until shereturned home, they all walked down to the shore, and the two ladiesreturned to the island.
Heimchen, who had wept constantly, had already been put to bed, and wasstill mourning that Manna had gone. Manna went to her and found hercrying, and her pillow wet with tears; she dried her eyes and talked toher till she went to sleep; and while pacifying her, and promising allsorts of good things, she became calmer herself.