Das landhaus am Rhein. English
CHAPTER XII.
ORESTES AND IPHIGENIA.
Two steamers, one bound for the valley, the other for the mountains,were standing in the stream at a little distance from the island. Inthe one bound for the valley was Roland. In answer to his impatientquestion why they did not land, the captain silently pointed to theisland, where a procession of priests and nuns were following a biercovered with flowers, and borne by girls dressed in white. The voicesof children, as they sang, rose on the clear Spring air. Roland's hearttrembled; what if his sister----?
"It must be a little child," said an elderly man standing near him;"the bier is so small; those young girls could not carry it otherwise."
Roland breathed more freely; he knew his sister must be among themourners.
He had landed, and was standing on the bank beside the boatman, who wasto row him over to the island. The man shook his head and saidsoftly:--
"Not yet, not yet; but perhaps you are a relation of the child?"
"What child?"
"A little child has died in the convent; oh, such a beautiful child! itmade one happy only to look at her. The Lord God will have to make butlittle change to turn her into an angel."
"How old was she?"
"Seven, or eight at the most. Hark, there they come!"
The bells rang out into the Spring air, the smoke of the incenseascended, as the procession moved along the shore.
The boatman took off his hat, and prayed with folded hands. Roland,too, stood with uncovered head, and with a sudden shock he thought:Thus might I have been borne to the grave. Such a weakness came overhim that he was obliged to sit down; he kept his eyes fixed upon theisland; the procession went on, then disappeared, and all was still.
Now they were sinking the young body in the ground; the birds sang, nobreath of air stirred, a steamboat came towards the mountain; all waslike the figures in a dream.
The procession came in sight again, singing, and vanished through theopen doors of the convent.
"So," said the boatman, putting on his hat, "now I will row youacross."
But Roland, unwilling to surprise his sister before she had had time torest and compose herself, asked to be allowed to remain a while longeron the shore. It was well he did, for no one in the convent so felt apart of her very self taken from her, as Manna. Dear little Heimchenhad held out for a whole year, seeming to grow more cheerful, andmaking good progress in her studies, but in the Spring she faded, likea tenderly nurtured flower too early exposed to the cold.
Devotedly, day and night. Manna nursed the child, who with her wasalways happy. A foretaste of heaven seemed granted little Heimchen; shelooked forward to it as to a Christmas holiday, and often said to Mannathat she should tell God, and all the angels in heaven, about her. Thenext moment she would beg Manna to tell her about Roland.
"I saw him running with his bow and arrows, and oh, he was sobeautiful!"
Then Manna told about Roland, and could always make Heimchen laugh bydescribing how his little pups tumbled one another over and over. Thephysician, and the hospital nun, who was almost a doctor herself, urgedManna to take more rest, but she was strong, and never left her post.In Manna's arms the child died, and her last words were:--
"Good-morning, Manna, it is no longer night now."
Manna's experience had been manifold. She had seen a novice assume thedress of the order, and had seen a fellow pupil enter her novitiate;yet was it all only a strong, free, joyful self-sacrifice. Now she hadwitnessed the death of a child, a little human being, dropping softlyand silently from the tree of life, as a blossom falls from the stem.
It was Manna who, at the lower end of the bier, had helped to bear thechild to the grave, and thrown three handfuls of earth upon the coffin.She did not shed a tear until the priest described how the child hadbeen called from the earth, as a father might summon his child from aplay-ground where it was in danger, and keep it safe in his home; thenshe wept bitterly.
On leaving the cemetery, she went once more to Heimchen's empty bed,and there prayed God that she might enter into eternity as pure as thatlittle child. Then she grew composed, feeling the time could not be fardistant when, after a short return to the excitement of the world, thegreat Father of all would summon her away from this play-ground intohis sheltering mansions. She seemed already to hear voices from thenoisy world without, calling her once more to return to it. She mustobey them, but made a firm resolve faithfully to return into this, herone, only home.
She descended to the island, and took her seat under the pine-treewhere she had so often worked. There was the little bench on whichHeimchen had sat close by her side, almost at her feet. Manna sat herelong, trying to imagine the distractions which life could bring to herin this one year, but she did not succeed. Her thoughts would return toHeimchen, and she found herself trying to follow the young soul intothe eternity of Heaven.
Suddenly she heard steps, and looking up saw before her a youth who waslike Roland, only much taller, and more manly. She could not stir fromher seat.
"Manna, Manna, come to me!" cried the boy.
She rose, and with a loud cry, brother and sister fell into oneanother's arms.
"Sit down by me," said Manna at last. They sat together upon the benchbeneath the pine-tree, and Manna, pointing to the smaller bench, toldof Heimchen, and of her often wanting to hear stories about Roland, andwhen she came to tell how the child had died of homesickness, shesuddenly exclaimed:--
"Our whole life, Roland, is nothing but homesickness for our heavenlyhome; of that we die, and happy is he who dies of it."
Roland perceived that his sister was in a state of overwroughtexcitement, amounting almost to ecstasy; and speaking in a tone ofquiet and manly decision, he told her that she must first come back toher earthly home. He told her of his having acted in a play, and havingbeen photographed in his page's silk dress; of the order his father hadreceived; and, finally, of a secret his father had confided to him, andwhich he could not tell.
"Our father told you a secret?" asked Manna, her face growing rigid.
"Yes, and a beautiful, noble one; you will rejoice with me when youhear it."
Manna's features relaxed.
Roland told her how he had fancied himself with her all through hisdelirium, and that she ought to feel only happy at his being stillalive.
"Yes, you are still alive," cried Manna, "you shall live. All isyours."
He reminded her that to-morrow was his birthday, and that his own wishwas that she would let him take her to their parents on that day.
"Yes, I will go with you," cried Manna, "and it is better we should godirectly."
Hand in hand, the brother and sister went to the convent, where Mannatold the Superior of her intention to go home with Roland. In a stateof feverish excitement, she then hurried to bid good-bye to all herfellow pupils, and all the nuns, went into the church and prayed, andfinally made Roland go with her to Heimchen's grave.
Roland observed a long, straight row of gravestones withoutinscriptions, and, on asking Manna about them, was told they marked thegraves of the nuns.
"That is hard," said Roland, "to have to be nameless after death."
"It is but natural," returned Manna; "whoever takes the veil lays asideher family name and assumes a sacred one, which is hers until herdeath, and then another bears it."
"I understand." said Roland. "That is giving up a great deal. The nameof the nun cannot be written on the gravestone, nor the family nameeither; yet there must be a great many of noble family buried here."
"Yes, indeed; almost all were noble."
"What should you say if we should be noble too?"
"Roland, what do you mean?" cried Manna, seizing him violently by thearm. "Can you speak of such a thing here and now? Come away; suchthoughts are a desecration to the graves."
She led him out of the little burial-place and as far as the gravelpath, when, suddenly leaving him, she turned once mor
e to the cemeteryand knelt down by the grave; then she rejoined her brother.
Lootz was standing with the luggage ready; Manna stepped into the boatwith Roland, and the brother and sister were borne up the stream towardtheir home. All in the boat gazed with a pleased curiosity at the pair,who, however, sat quietly hand in hand, looking out upon the broadlandscape.
"Tell me," urged Roland, "why you said, when you were going to thatconvent, that you, too, were an Iphigenia?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Oh yes, you can; I know all about her. I have read the Iphigenia ofEuripides, and of Goethe, too, by myself and with Eric, and you arelike neither of them."
"It was only---- ah, let us forget all about it."
"Do you know," cried Roland, "that Iphigenia became the wife of thegreat hero Achilles and lived with him, on the island of Leuce, ineternal blessedness?"
Manna confessed her ignorance, and Roland described the copy of thePompeian fresco that Eric's mother had showed him, where Calchas, thepriest, is holding the knife, Diomedes and Odysseus are bearingIphigenia to the altar, and, her father, Agamennon, hides his face,while, at the command of Artemis, one of the nymphs leads in the stagthat is to be sacrificed in Iphigenia's place.
"How many things you have learned," smiled Manna.
"And Eric told me," continued Roland, "that the sacrifice of Iphigeniawas just like that of Isaac, and all the other sacrifices we readabout."
Manna's face darkened; that was the foundation of a fatal heresy.
"Stop, now I have it," cried Roland. "Ah, that is good! There are stilloracles in the world. Orestes had to fetch his sister from the templeof Tauris, where she was priestess. That is it! You divined it! Thatwill delight Eric; ah! how it will delight him! But stay! WhenIphigenia and her brother were on board ship I am sure he must haveplayed off all sorts of silly tricks to amuse her, and I am sure shelaughed. Have you quite forgotten how to laugh? You used to laugh somerrily, just like a wood-pigeon. Do laugh just once."
He laughed with his whole heart, but Manna remained unmoved, and,during the way, sat buried in her own thoughts. Only once, when theboat came to a sudden stop in the middle of the stream, she asked:--
"What is that?"
"That is the very question I asked Eric when we were going up the rivertogether, and he showed me up there a heavily-laden freight vessel,which would be overturned and sunk by the commotion of the water, ifour steamer did not moderate its speed. Oh, there is nothing he doesnot know, and then he said: Remember. Roland, that we should do thesame thing in life; we must not rush on our own way, but must think ofthe heavily-laden voyagers on the stream of life with us, and take carethat the waves we raise do not overwhelm them."
Manna stared at her brother. She could trace the influence of a man whoused the actual as a symbol of the ideal, and she became herself, in ameasure, conscious of that power which in every outward aspect of lifeseeks and finds the underlying thought. She shook her head, and openingher breviary, began diligently to read it.
"See the sunlight on the glass cupola," cried Roland, as it grew latein the afternoon. "That is home. Perhaps they have guessed at home thatyou are coming back with me."
"Home, home," breathed Manna softly to herself; the word soundedstrange to her on her own lips, as it had done from Roland's. Sheclosed her eyes, as if dazzled by the reflection on the glass cupola.