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CHAPTER XII.
AN OPEN COURT AND AN OPEN INVENTORY

The fireworks were still crackling and snapping in their ears, the dazzling lights still gleaming in their eyes, and the music of the band still sounding in their recollection, when they were obliged to make ready for appearance at court, as witnesses in the affair of the burglary.

Pranken remained with the guests at the Villa, having undertaken to show them the recently purchased country-house.

Sonnenkamp, Roland, and Eric, and also the porter, the coachman, Bertram, the head-gardener, the little "Squirrel," and two gardeners repaired to the county town to attend the trial. They went by the house of the Wine-count, now styled Baron von Endlich, where the remnants of fireworks were still visible, scattered here and there; the house was yet shut up, the family still sleeping their first sleep as members of the nobility.

Eric spoke of the beautiful and genuinely pious conduct of the priest towards the prisoners. He was a living example of the grand doctrine that religion required one to interest himself in the stumbling and the unfortunate, whether they were guilty or innocent. The Doctor, on the other hand, maintained in a very droll fashion that it was an extremely beneficial thing for the Ranger to pass, once in his life, several weeks within walls and under a roof.

There was little else said; they reached the county town in good season.

Sonnenkamp went to the telegraph office, in order to send some messages, one of which was directed to the University-town for the widow of the Professor.

"At that time – does it not seem to you as if it were ten years ago? – at that time it was very different from to-day. Don't you think that there were villains also among the singers, perhaps worse ones than those in prison yonder?"

It pained Eric grievously that Roland must be initiated so early into the bitterness and the dissensions of life. They went together to the court-house.

The president and the judges occupied a raised platform; on the right sat the jury, and on the left, the accused and their counsel; the room was full of spectators, for there was a general curiosity to hear the mysterious Herr Sonnenkamp speak in public, and no one knew what might be picked up in the way of information.

The dwarf, the groom, and the huntsman sat on the criminals' seat. The dwarf took snuff very zealously, the groom looked around imploringly, and Claus held his hands before his eyes.

The dwarf looked as if he had had good keeping, and thriven under it; he gazed around the ball with an almost satisfied bearing, as if he felt flattered that so many people concerned themselves about him. The groom, whose hair had been very nicely dressed, regarded the crowd with a contemptuous glance.

Claus seemed to have pined away considerably, and when the dwarf wanted to whisper something to him, as he sat there at a little distance from his fellow defendants, he turned away displeased. He looked up to the space occupied by the spectators, and saw among them his wife, two of his sons, and his daughter; but the cooper was not present. The children appeared to have grown since he had last seen them, and they were dressed in their Sunday-clothes, in order to witness the disgrace – no, it must simply be the honor of their father.

The huntsman moved restlessly on the seat, and spoke to his wife with his lips, uttering no sound. He meant to tell her to be undisturbed, as in a couple of hours they would go home together.

Sonnenkamp, Eric, and Roland were in the witnesses' seat.

Roland sat between his father and Eric, to whom he clung as if he were afraid. Knopf sat next to Eric, and nodded to Roland.

"Before the law the testimony of all men is equal," said Roland in a low voice to Eric, who knew what was passing in Roland's mind.

His pride was a little touched that the testimony of the porter would be of as much account as that of his father, but he had quickly overcome the feeling.

The indictments were read. It had been found, on further investigation, that one compartment of the closet built into the wall, separate from the great safe, had been opened with a key and then closed again; a considerable sum of money had been taken from it, the greater part of which was found in the groom's possession.

At his own request, Sonnenkamp was summoned first, to identify the stolen property.

Roland straightened himself up, when he heard his father give his testimony in so plain and gentle a manner.

Sonnenkamp expressed regret that people should meet with misfortune, but justice must have its course.

He was dismissed. He had already made his bow, and was about to leave the courtroom, when the counsel of the accused groom asked the President whether he intended to let Herr Sonnenkamp off from testifying as to the amount of gold and valuable papers in the closet; if Herr Sonnenkamp did not know this, he could not tell exactly how much had been stolen from him in the part that had been broken into.

The whole assembly was breathless. Now it would be seen what was the amount of Sonnenkamp's wealth, reputed so immeasurable. A perfect silence prevailed for a time; it was broken by Sonnenkamp's asking whether the court could oblige him to testify on his conscience as to the sum, or whether he could reply, or not, as he saw fit. The President said, that he must express the opinion, that the amount of what was stolen was certainly of great importance in reference to the sentence to be imposed upon the accused.

Again there was a pause. Sonnenkamp unbuttoned his coat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and taking out a little memorandum-book, he approached the judge's seat, and offered it to him, saying: —

"Here is an exact inventory of the notes payable to bearer, of those payable to my order, and of the sum in specie."

When half way up the steps of the platform where the president and the judges sat, Sonnenkamp stopped, for the defendant's counsel now cried: —

"We have an open court, entirely open, and there is nothing which the Herr President is to know, and we to be ignorant of."

"Well then," said Sonnenkamp, turning round, "it shall be told openly: Twelve millions of paper payable to the bearer, three millions to my order, and only two hundred thousand in gold coin. Is that satisfactory?"

A bravo was uttered by the spectators, and the President was obliged to threaten them with clearing the hall, if it were repeated.

Sonnenkamp descended; he had desired to leave the court-room at once, but now he seemed otherwise determined, for he took a seat again on the witnesses' bench. Roland cast down his eyes, and tremblingly seized hold of Eric's hand, which he held firmly. There was a low talking among the crowd, a movement this way and that, so that the President was obliged to command quiet by violently ringing his bell; and Sonnenkamp left the hall.

The head-gardener gave his testimony, which was scarcely listened to. When Eric was summoned, there was again silent attention.

Eric narrated the whole story, and the huntsman's uniform expressions of bitterness at the difference between the rich and the poor, but protested that he regarded the man as incapable of committing any crime against society.

A strange whispering pervaded the whole assembly when Eric narrated the inquiry of Claus: What would you do, if you were the possessor of millions? The question had now, in a manner, gone forth to the whole world.

Knopf was summoned. He offered first a written testimony of the old Herr Weidmann, with whom the huntsman had lived several years as a servant, who testified to his uprightness, his incapability of any deceit, much less any positive crime. Then Knopf added from his own knowledge, how the huntsman was always racking his brains over many matters which he could not master.

Roland was summoned, and advanced with an erect attitude to the witness-stand; Claus nodded to him.

Roland could not be sworn, as he was a minor; but it made a good impression when he said in an unembarrassed voice, that he considered his word as good as an oath.

He identified the articles that had been stolen from him; he asserted that his father's rooms had been locked, but he should not be willing to swear to that, as he had not been near those rooms for several days before the burglary. And now, without being asked, he expressed his conviction that Claus could have had no participation in the crime.

The huntsman got up at these words, and the forester, who sat behind him, obliged him to sit down again, putting his hand upon his shoulder.

The evidence against Claus seemed to be only as the receiver of stolen goods. The two others could make no defence, and each sought to lay upon the other the guilt of the burglary.

Eric was recalled, in order to testify more in detail concerning the huntsman's request to be shown all over the house, a few days before the robbery. When Eric had sat down, Roland got up and asked: —

"Herr President, may I be permitted to say one word more?"

"Speak," replied the President encouragingly; "say all that you wish to."

Roland stepped forward quickly, with head erect, and said, in a voice that had now a full, manly tone, —

"I here raise my hand in testimony, that my poor brother here is as innocent as he is poor. It is true he has often complained that one man should starve while another gormandizes; but before God and man I declare that he has often said to me: The hand must wither that grasps unjust possessions. Can a man do that, and then go away by night and break into another's house, and rob? I beseech you, I conjure you earnestly, to declare that this man is as innocent as all of you are; as innocent as I am!" He ceased, standing as if he were rooted to the spot, and for a while there was a breathless stillness in the assembly.

"Have you any thing more to say?" asked the President. Roland seemed now to wake up, and said, —

"No, nothing more. I thank you." He returned to Eric, who grasped his hand; it was cold as ice, and he warmed it in his own. On the other side, Knopf also tried to grasp the hand of his former pupil, but he could not, for he was obliged to take off his spectacles, which had become wet from the great tears rolling from his eyes.

The proceedings were brief. The Headmaster was one of the jury, who now withdrew into their room for consultation. After a short absence they returned, and the head-master, who had been chosen foreman, laying his hand upon his heart, announced the unanimous verdict: —

The dwarf and the groom, guilty; the huntsman, not guilty.

Outside, in front of the court-house, as his wife and children, – the cooper among them now, – crowded round Claus, Roland pressed up to him and seized his hand.

The huntsman turned from them all, saying that he must speak to young Weidmann, who had been one of the jury; the young man came up just then, and Claus cried out to him, with a great flow of words, that he must tell his father that all his troubles were wiped out, since every one had heard what Herr Weidmann thought of him.

Young Weidmann went to Eric and congratulated him on having formed such a pupil; others came also to offer congratulations and shake hands. Eric begged young Weidmann to remember him to his father, and say that he should soon pay the promised visit to Mattenheim.

Knopf stood in the midst of a group of people, begging them not to spoil the boy with their praises; and, in his effort to keep others back, he refrained from going himself to shake hands with Roland.

Sonnenkamp appeared, and all took off their hats to him respectfully. Here was the man possessed of such incredible wealth, and he wore a coat like other people, and had to stand on his own feet. Sonnenkamp seemed a prodigy to them all. How was it possible for a man to possess such wealth? But there were some knowing scoffers who declared that Herr Sonnenkamp had overstated his property, and others, still more knowing, who were willing to swear that he was even richer than he had said, but they were hardly noticed. Sonnenkamp, greeting all around in a most friendly manner, went to Claus to congratulate him, and then called Roland aside. Roland stood before his father for the first since he had learned his great wealth; his eyes fell; looking up to him seemed like looking up to a high mountain, but Sonnenkamp laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, and told him that he might drive home alone with Eric, as he was himself obliged to remain in town to wait for a telegram.

Roland begged Claus and his family most pressingly to ride home with him; the huntsman refused, but Roland urged it so warmly that he at last yielded, and entered the carriage with his wife, leaving the children to walk. Roland took the released prisoner in triumph through the town and villages; the wife was embarrassed at riding in such state, but Claus himself looked round without constraint, only saying several times: —

"All has gone on very well without me, and will do very well, when I am across the ocean."

To Eric he expressed his determination of emigrating to America with his family.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE MAJOR MAKES A CONQUEST

The same sun that shone at Wolfsgarten, where Bella was maintaining a severe internal struggle, and that shone through the lowered green shades in the court-room upon the bench of the accused, glimmered also through the closed Venetian blinds in the quiet sitting-room of the Professor's widow in the University-town. Eric's mother sat by the window filled with flowers, in the piano recess, at her silent work, thinking of her son; it was a subject of constant thought with her, why he had to enter upon a mode of life so out of the ordinary course.

She often looked up sadly to the portrait of her husband, which seemed to say to her: My child, both of us entered upon a path in life out of the ordinary course, thou even more than I: and that is transmitted as an inheritance from generation to generation; we ought to rest content, as thereby we keep a firmer hold upon the spirit of our son, and though he may be thrown down to the ground by fortune, he can never be held there permanently.

So did the mother console herself; and Eric's letters were also a source of consolation. He had made a faithful report to her, then he excused himself for the irregularity and haste of his letters, on the ground that he must forget, for a time, himself and everybody else who belonged to him, as only in this way could he hope to gain possession of another soul. At first he mentioned Clodwig and Bella frequently, – his home feeling with these friends, and the happy realization of a state of tranquillity; then, for a while, there was nothing said of Bella, except sometimes a brief greeting from her at her request. The mother had not noticed this, but aunt Claudine, who seldom said any thing unless her opinion was asked, and then had something to say very much to the purpose, did not hesitate to remark unreservedly, after Clodwig's and Bella's visit, on being asked what impression it had left, that she had noticed a certain restlessness in Bella's look, and she feared from the manner in which she had looked at a likeness of Eric, taken when he was young, that there was here a more than common interest. The mother was forced to assent to this, for she had also noticed how deeply interested Bella had been in making inquiries concerning Eric's youthful years. But she said further to her sister-in-law that Bella was an artist, at least was more than a common dilettante, and had observed with the eye of an artist the picture, that was exceedingly well painted; a considerable sum had already been offered for it in order to be put into an art-collection.

There was stillness in the abode of the two ladies, who lived almost as quietly as the flowers which throve so well under their watchfulness and care. The postman, brought a letter in Clodwig's neat handwriting, in every word of which the man himself could be discerned, so neat and regular were the letters, with no stroke hastily made, and none too elaborately precise; the whole had an appearance of uniformity, and the lines were straight and at an equal distance apart, though the paper was unruled. A feeling of pleasure was awakened by the mere sight of the letter, and the contents were such as to strengthen this quiet satisfaction. He said that the Professor's widow would lay him under an obligation of gratitude by accepting an invitation to make a visit of several weeks. He appealed to the friendly relations with her deceased husband, and the beautiful renewal of them in his intercourse with Eric, who gave to him a youthful friendship such as he had scarcely dreamed of. Lastly, he appealed to their mutual personal acquaintance, and there was a written smile when he added, that, during his whole life, he had never made a demand upon the heart which had not met with a response, and he prayed her now not to shame him in his old age. He closed by saying that he entreated the mother of his friend Eric to permit him to call himself "her friend Clodwig." There was no formal politeness in the letter, and yet it was full of a delicate friendliness.

Bella had hastily scratched underneath, in a coarse hand, a request that the mother and aunt would honor her with a visit; she said that she wrote only a few words, as she felt sure that she should be favored with the intimate intercourse of the respected mother and the amiable aunt. In a postscript she besought them to bring with them Eric's music.

In the letter there was enclosed a second one from the Doctor, who claimed to have been a scholar of the old Professor. He offered good-humoredly his professional services, and there was only one brief sentence in which he suggested that it would be a protection and a safeguard to his young friend Eric, to be again under the eye of his mother.

This awakened in her many thoughts, and she resolved to accept the invitation. Sonnenkamp's telegram was delivered.

Just as she had finished reading this, there was another knock, and the Major entered.

When the mother saw him, at first she was frightened, not recognizing him, as she looked at the red face, the short, white hair, and the decoration on his breast. For a moment it seemed to her that he was some messenger of justice, who had come to execute some commission or other, she knew not what, that endangered Eric's welfare.

The Major did not mend matters at all, when he said, —

"Frau Professorin, I come to execute a warrant of ejection; but I am not indeed to drive you out of Paradise, but to shut you up in the Garden of Eden."

He had been making up this pretty speech during the whole journey, and he had said it over inaudibly to himself certainly a hundred times: and now it came out so clumsily, that the good lady trembled so that she could not rise.

The Major cried: —

"Don't get up; everybody knows that there's no ceremony at all to be made with me. I don't desire to incommode any one; I greatly prefer that people would sit when I enter. Isn't it the same with you? One feels sure in this case that he doesn't make any disturbance."

"Have you come from my son?"

"Yes, from him too. Observe, I'm not one of the best people in the world, neither am I one of the worst; but there's one thing I can say to my credit, that I have never in all my life envied anybody but you, and you I did envy when you said, 'my son;' that I did envy you for. Why can't I say this too? If I only had such a son as you have!"

Now there was tranquillity at last. The Major delivered a letter from Sonnenkamp and the Cabinetsräthin, and desired that the letters should be read immediately, as they would render it unnecessary for him to say anything.

The Professorin read, and the Major watched her countenance while she was reading, with peculiar marks of quiet satisfaction.

The Professorin bade him welcome, and called her sister-in-law, who came in.

The blinds were opened, and the instreaming light shone upon cheerful faces.

"What shall we decide upon doing?" asked Aunt Claudine.

"There is no longer any question of deciding; we accept the hearty invitation."

"Which?"

"Of course Herr Sonnenkamp's."

"That's right," said the Major with a broad smile. "Will you allow me to light a cigar? Did your husband, now gone to his eternal home, smoke too?"

"Yes, indeed."

Aunt Claudine had quickly lighted a match, and held it up to the Major with her delicate fingers.

"That's fair! that's fair!" cried the Major. "You've given me fire, and I promise to go through fire for you."

He was very happy over this turn, and he puffed away yet happier.

There were, of course, a great many things to be got ready, before they could set out. The Major promised that Joseph should come and bring everything away after they had departed; not one thread should be left behind. He then withdrew for a few hours, in order to pay a visit to some brother free-masons.

At midday, the Major was riding with the two ladies in a first-class railroad car towards the Rhine, and he was as proud and as happy as if he had carried off the army-chest of the enemy.