CHAPTER XV.
A WHOLESOME ILLNESS.
She whom all depended upon, to whom every one repaired, sure of careand assistance,--she was now unexpectedly in want of assistanceherself, and was in a dangerous condition. The remarkable events andvicissitudes some had begun to overcome by means of their youthfulstrength, by stern defiance, and others by indifference; theProfessorin alone felt a constant gnawing at her heart day and night.
Eric had remarked several days before, although he ascribed it to thesudden shock she had received, that his mother, when he was walkingbefore her hand in hand with Manna, took everything cordially andkindly, but still dully, and as if weighed down by some feeling ofdepression. His mother was in the habit of seeking help from no one,she had always the power of assisting others, and in this doing forothers she always found renewed strength.
From the day on which Fraeulein Milch made that communication to her, ithad been different; she performed only mechanically the duties whichhad previously been executed with such freedom and animation.
From that day forth, she had determined to keep clear of everyluxurious indulgence which this ostentatious man might feel likeputting in her way, and this she would do in a modest and retiringmanner; from that day forth she looked upon herself as a travellerreceiving temporary hospitalities, for all the home feeling of comforthad been taken away from her. She was prepared at any hour to pack upall that she possessed, and all that was arranged in such a quiet wayabout her, and remove to some other place.
She had never in her life been troubled by regret, she had done nothingfor which she could reproach herself, or the memory of which was to beeffaced; but now she was beset by a constant feeling of regret.
Why had she been so thoughtless as to connect herself with such amysterious and disintegrated family?
Joy and grief affected her by turns, like one suffering under thedelirium of fever.
Eric's happiness in loving Manna and being so deeply loved, whichbefore had excited within her such a blissful pleasure, she nowlistened to and looked upon with an almost forced interest; and whenBella had so deeply mortified her, she could scarcely make anyresistance, for it seemed to her as if it concerned someone else, andhad no relation to herself. Thus she lived estranged from herself, butmade no complaint, hoping that everything would right itself. She hadno idea that there was an inward disturbance and distraction whichwould show itself on the first favorable opportunity. Now, when theneedy declined charity at her hands, that inexpressible sadness, solong hidden and repressed, broke forth. It seemed to her inexplicablethat her only son, her all in this world, was to be engrafted into thisfamily.
The Doctor had found the Mother in a state of febrile excitement; hegave her a composing draught; but the opinion which he expressed beforeEric, Manna, and Roland, had a still more quieting effect. The Mothercomplained that she had never known how much people could be atvariance with themselves and with others. The Doctor replied, with asmile, that people were not generally so nice in their housekeeping asshe was, and, referring to Sonnenkamp, said that there is such a thingas a zone of mind, or whatever else you may choose to call it, whichfurnishes organizations entirely exotic, but which nevertheless havetheir natural conditions, as our customary, everyday ones have. Theconstant solitary speculation and refining of thought, the recurring toher life with her husband, there thoroughly deep-seated melancholy ofthe noble woman showed itself in an increased sensitiveness andirritability; and it had reached such a point that fears wereentertained for her life; something might occur which would be theoccasion of suddenly extinguishing this flickering flame of life.
Eric, Manna, and Roland, trembling and apprehensive, surrounded theMother with constant care, and in this anxiety for another, there was agreat deliverance for themselves. The Doctor once said in the libraryto Eric:--
"If your mother had become sick on purpose, it would have been one ofthe wisest things she could have done; for it helps you all to getpossession of yourselves."
Sonnenkamp also expressed profound sympathy, but he felt provoked; itis not now the time for sickness, every one must now stand erect so asto bear up under the storm. After some days, however, he found theProfessorin's illness very opportune; it took some time to getaccustomed to the new order of things; he even admitted to himselfdirectly, that he would not regret it much if the Professorin shoulddie; that would produce a change of feeling, and in the mean whileeverything was getting better very fast.
Fraeulein Milch did not suffer Manna to devote herself entirely to theProfessorin as she wished to do, and she herself was the best ofnurses.
The Major went about in utter desolation. More than any one else, noteven excepting the children, he was the most deeply affected, perhaps,by the disclosure of Sonnenkamp's past life.
"The world is right; that is, Fraeulein Milch is right," he was all thetime saying. "She has told me all along that I don't know men, andshe's right."
In the mean while, he found a good place of refuge; he went to seeWeidmann, at Mattenheim, for a couple of days.