"It may be a duty lowly
That is unto thee assigned;
But toil, though poor, is holy,
If wrought with an earnest mind!"
The locality where we tarried last lay solitary and apart from all
communication with the outer world. A stranger rarely visited this
beach, and if a tourist chanced to be led hither, he made his way out
of it as expeditiously as possible. It was, therefore, quite an
event to the simple villagers when a family arrived from Berlin for
the Summer.
One Baron Von Kahring had rented a vacant cottage for the season.
The baroness, with her two daughters, had already taken possession,
in order that the elder daughter, who had recently been subjected to
a painful surgical operation, might recover her strength in the
bracing sea-air. She was not visible to outsiders, but a pavilion
had been erected before the cottage, where she reclined during the
day. Therefore the younger daughter was so much the more an object
of interest to the village folks. The father and a brother were
accustomed to spend several days at a time here, going back and forth
to the city.
Wulf had not yet seen the new-comers, but upon hearing the name
Kahring, he at once said to himself: "Can this be the family whose
son was at my uncle's?"
He was still unaware of the fact, when one day, as he was making some
repairs to his boat, he observed Arnold passing by.
There had been a very friendly, if not a very ardent relation between
the two, and now Arnold's appearance revived the recollections of
happier times. He sprang up, reached out his hand and exclaimed
cordially: "Arnold, you here?"
The baron's son looked up in surprise, not recognizing the sunburnt
sailor. At length he said: "Ah, I see. Do you live here?"
At a glance Wulf perceived that his former comrade's greeting was not
very encouraging, and the half-contemptuous expression with which he
contemplated Wulf's appearance and employment disclosed an immediate
key to his demeanor; and Arnold, who had been very glad at one time
to avail himself of Wulf's assistance in his studies, was not so
eager to communicate with him in a humble position.
Wulf desired to help him out of the dilemma, so he hammered away at
his work while Arnold stood near.
"Are you obliged to do much of that kind of work?" the latter finally
inquired, as Wulf began to fasten boards smeared with tar on the boat.
"As often as it is necessary," replied the worker, rather curtly.
"And are you not miserable in such employment?"
"Not at all."
A pause ensued, after which Arnold remarked:
"Well, I must go home. We shall often see each other, as we expect
to remain here for some time. Good-bye."
"Good-bye!"
Wulf worked energetically until his former companion was out of
sight. Then he threw down his tools, and stood gloomily with folded
arms. Why had he grown so pale? Had he unwisely over-exerted
himself after his recent illness? No; to-day, for the first time, he
keenly realized how his calling was regarded by one with whom he had
formerly felt to be on terms of equality. Never before had it
occurred to him that there was a dividing wall between men of the
world and himself, and that he was regarded by them as belonging to a
lower class. Here in this humble village he was superior, and if he
had been heart and soul a sailor, he would neither have understood
Arnold's contempt, nor, indeed, observed it.
But he felt it as painfully as if burning wax had fallen on his
heart; and even if there had been any thing to mitigate this
suffering, he was all the more disgusted with a calling which was
uncongenial to him.
Nevertheless he held his head so much the higher. If Arnold had
feared any undue familiarity from his former schoolmate, he deceived
himself. It was not Wulf that sought Arnold--quite the contrary.
The days which this city-bred youth was obliged to pass here were so
long and monotonous that he soon waived all distinction of rank, and
endeavored to gain the young seaman's companionship.
But the latter had little spare time, and did not encourage these
advances, which opposition only urged Arnold in his approaches.
Lady Von Kahring observed this, and took occasion to caution her son
against low associations. She, herself, treated Wulf, when she met
him with her son, with the condescending favor she showed to her
servants. It was not even agreeable to remember that Arnold had been
in daily companionship with a young fisherman at school, and that the
latter had been set up as an example for her son to emulate. She
therefore ignored this fact, in order to make Wulf realize his true
position.
But "the young fisherman" was so reserved, that neither her rigid
formality nor the young baron's behavior seemed to make any
impression upon him.
Eugenie, the younger daughter of the Kahring family, sought
Ingeborg's acquaintance. The captain's daughter met her in a sweet,
friendly way, and soon the two young girls were often seen on the
beach together, searching for sea-weed and shells, or climbing the
surrounding cliffs, and yet they had very little in common.
It is true Ingeborg listened attentively when Eugenie talked of the
splendid sights, the beautiful dresses, the theaters, the children's
balls, and her delight in the prospect of being introduced into
society the coming Winter. But all these great things belonged to a
world of which Ingeborg had little knowledge, and for which there was
still less attraction. How any one could spend day after day in such
frivolous occupation was incomprehensible to her, and "gallants" or
"beaux" were foreign words. Her father, her pastor, Wulf--were they
"gentlemen?" Eugenie chatted of this and that, and was indignant
when Ingeborg interposed a "Pshaw! that isn't true;" or, "Ugh! how
ugly that is!" or the earnest inquiry whether city people knew God's
commandments.
"Silly one! It isn't polite for you to interrupt me with such
expressions," Eugenie would interject, as she continued her
rhapsodical descriptions without further observing her companion's
astonishment.
Arnold accompanied the girls gladly, partly through _ennui_, partly
through interest in Ingeborg. What better could he do, unaccustomed
to being alone, than to play the part of a gallant? He had learned
to row a little, and often a boat carrying the three, passed Wulf at
his work, but he cast neither a sympathetic nor a contemptuous glance
toward it.
It was a bright, hot Summer's day. The sea lay calm and heavy as
molten lead. It was oppressively warm in the low-roofed cottage.
Arnold proposed to take his sister and Ingeborg out on the water.
They consented, and strolled to the beach.
"Listen!" said Arnold; "we shall try something new to-day. It is
tiresome to row in this heat. We will put up the sails."
"But there is no wind," remonstrated Ingeborg.
"No matter; we can take this little sail-boat and row at first, you
helping me steer. See? A fresh breeze will soon come when we get
out to sea."
And the breeze came. Suddenly, as if a myriad of sparkling
gold-pieces had been flung over the water, the sunbeams trembled here
and there upon its bosom.
"Hello, Wulf!" cried Arnold to the young fisherman at his work in the
distance; "shall we have any wind to-day?"
"More than we want," was the prompt reply.
"Arnold, I don't think mamma would like to have us go out in a
sail-boat; there might be danger," said Eugenie.
"Ah yes, when I did not understand how to manage one; but now it is
absurd to speak of danger. Still, in order that mamma may not be
uneasy, we shall push out from here; then no one will see us," was
the confident reply.
Ingeborg was silent. She had been out so often this way that she
gave it no thought. Eugenie was delighted with the novel pleasure,
and Arnold was so thoroughly imbued with the assurance of his own
skill and experience that the possibility of danger never entered his
mind.
Not far distant from the beach were seated Baron and Lady Von
Kahring, under the canopy of a tent, where their invalid daughter,
Theodora, reclined on an easy couch. Her gaze was directed out to
sea as if her recovery were dependent upon it. Lady Von Kahring was
writing, and her husband was reading a newspaper.
"This paper is four days old," he remarked petulantly; "one is a
veritable exile in this isolated spot."
"But we can not go east yet," replied Lady Von Kahring. "Besides,
you are always traveling back and forth to Berlin."
"Dear father, I am so thankful to be here. We could not have found
such a quiet place anywhere else in the world."
There was a deep silence. The baron continued to read, and his wife
resumed her writing. The wind came up, and drove a cloud here and
there over the sea. Suddenly Theodora raised herself on the couch
and appeared to follow a distant object with spell-bound attention.
Turning to her father, she said: "Please hand me the spy-glass." He
passed it to her without looking up. Theodora adjusted it to her
eyes; her face grew deathly pale, while the scar upon one of her
cheeks became livid scarlet, an evidence of deep excitement.
"Mother," she said quietly, "do not be alarmed, but yonder in that
boat are Arnold, Eugenie, and Ingeborg. The wind is up, and Arnold
does not know how to manage the sails--they go out farther and
farther. O, if a boat could only be sent quickly after them!"
Baron Von Kahring sprang up. The sailboat was near enough to give
evidence of bad management. It plunged so low into the depths that
even an inexperienced eye must know it was in danger of going down.
The mother cried out in terror, while the father called loudly for
Arnold to return immediately. Theodora wrung her hands in anguish,
seeing that the only means of rescue was not available. She made
desperate efforts to rise, when suddenly a little boat was seen to
push out from the shore. One of the men in it was rowing, while the
other stood up and cried in tones of thunder: "Arnold, bind the sail
fast." That this cry had been heard was evident, as the sail was
being worked, without, however, the desired effect. At the same time
a sail was quickly unfurled in the rescuing boat which the wind
filled, and the second sailor seizing an oar, the boat flew over the
water on eagle's wings.
But too late! A shrill cry of horror rang out from the lookers-on.
Arnold's boat had made a plunge down--down, as if to take leave
forever, and was not seen again. It had sunken, and the three
bright, young people it had contained were consigned to a watery
grave!
Lady Von Kahring swooned. Theodora gave her immediate attention,
while the baron hastened to the beach, where a number of men were
assembled, among them Captain Nielsen, Ingeborg's father. He did not
utter a word. He heard the expressions, "Too late!" "Brave boy!" but
his whole being seemed concentrated in his eyes transfixed upon the
water.
Finally he exclaimed with deep emotion, "He has them--all three!" and
now it was plainly seen that Wulf's boat (for he was the "brave boy")
contained several persons, and was turned homeward.
"Meet him," continued the captain; where upon four or five boats flew
from willing hands upon the sea, his own being foremost. Now they
reached Wulf, who, with beaming face, stood up in his boat, waved his
hat joyfully, and cried out:
"All safe and well!"
"Brave boy, you swim like a fish!"
A few minutes later all were on _terra firma_. Ingeborg appeared to
be the most exhausted, and her father carried her home in his arms.
Eugenie was more affected by fright, while Arnold looked deeply
mortified and crest-fallen.
"I reached them just at the right moment; the boat sank only a few
feet away. Three dives and they were all safe," said Wulf modestly.
When Frau Ericksen heard of the fortunate rescue her heart was glad.
Ah yes; here was something which only a sailor could do. Would this
adventure perhaps make her son more reconciled to his calling? No;
it produced an entirely different result.
After necessary attention had been given to the shipwrecked,
naturally the interest of all centered in Wulf. Captain Nielsen
pressed him silently to his heart and kissed him, but in his
speechless love lay a gratitude deeper than a thousand words could
have expressed.
The Kahrings, too, were unable to thank him enough, and they were
sincere. But Wulf was too great a sailor to comprehend wholly this
excessive flow of gratitude. He felt that he had only fulfilled
duty, and that he had done nothing extraordinary; but from this time
he liked the Kahrings better, their tact and kindness now making him
feel quite on equality with them. They cordially invited him ta
their home circle. Theodora particularly desired to see and grasp
the hand of her brother's and sister's deliverer; and Wulf, after
some inward struggle, decided to accept the invitation.
He was received with exceeding kindness, and treated with undisguised
cordiality; and finding the young man agreeable, they really enjoyed
his visits, partly through _ennui_, and partly through obligation.
Wulf's pride dissolved more and more under the warm rays of this
hospitable amiability, and he soon began to be quite at his ease
among them.
Lady Von Kahring was the first to suggest to him that he was too
gifted for his surroundings and position, at the same time urging him
to strive after higher attainments, and go to Berlin for future
improvement.
The word was spoken. It tore away the veil from the gloom in which
Wulf had been living. If the fact of his ability had not been
perfectly clear to him before, this conversation would have certainly
confirmed it.
It is difficult to get a glimpse into the heart where tumultuous
waves often roll higher than out upon the sea. Frau Ericksen,
Captain Nielsen, everybody here had the firm conviction that it would
be almost criminal for Wulf to become a "doctor." He, himself, had
endeavored to banish the ambition from his mind; and now he had been
led by circumstances into the circle of a family which, however,
superficial its aims, still found opportunity for higher interests,
and which moved amid very different forms and scenes from those to
which he had been accustomed. Once he might have been content to
live here without further aspirations; now it was evident that his
ignorance had deceived him. This only increased his unhappiness. It
is true he had, thus far, adhered to his resolution to labor
diligently without complaint to his mother. He had consequently
become more self-reliant, for absolute resignation demands thorough
self-reliance; but now this life, with its mental inertia, he
realized, must end. The bolt had been withdrawn from the chamber of
his soul; light had entered; the darkness was recognized to be indeed
darkness, and he craved the light.
One day, after a brief absence from home, Arnold returned with the
rank of an ensign. The long-dreaded examination had been happily
passed, and he was now an officer--a distinction which caused the
young man to appear outwardly as though he had really acquired some
new attainment.
Wulf was well aware that in point of actual knowledge he was vastly
Arnold's superior; and yet what was he?
The Kahrings now regarded the simple artisan as an agreeable
companion for the gay young officer in this seclusion, where nothing
better could be found for his diversion.
"Old fellow, what ails you anyhow?" Arnold asked frankly, one day,
his dejected-looking acquaintance.
"What ails me? Why, every thing that I haven't got."
Arnold looked up inquiringly. He had an affected loftiness of
speech, coupled with an indifference of manner toward every body; but
the unlucky boat-ride had inspired him with not only a kind of
affection for Wulf, but an instinctive respect, and he now approached
him somewhat cautiously until he knew what was his mood.
"Now tell me," he ventured, after a slight pause, "what do you really
wish for?"
"I wish for what I shall do, what I shall do! Go away from this
place. There is something within me that will not let me rest. I
can not overcome it. I was not made to drag out my life on this
sea-coast."
"Ah! the old aspirations revived," said Arnold with a laugh. "You
desire to be a great man, eh? Instead of wasting away your life
alone here, you would make a worse shipwreck of it elsewhere? Your
taste isn't bad!"
"What am I to do?"
"Come with us to Berlin. That's where one discovers for the first
time what life really is."
"I desire to learn----"
"Certainly, without that, you can do nothing, especially if you would
make money."
"It is not my ambition to be rich," retorted Wulf, proudly. "I
desire to study, because I long to improve myself; and learning to
know the great men whose minds enlighten the world, I would be like
them."
"You are too sanguine," replied Arnold. "That naturally proceeds
from your isolation here. Yes, yes: only learn to know men; the
sacred halo, which appears in the distance to be sunbeams, becomes
gold-pieces when you approach it. I tell you, to be rich is the true
wisdom of life. But come along with me now. Mamma wishes me to
invite you to spend the evening with us. It is disagreeable out of
doors. A thunder-storm is coming on; we must go in, where we can
have a further talk over our plans."
Wulf felt the warm blood mantle his bronzed cheeks. It was clear to
him what he must do. Two pictures were present to his mind. He saw
his old mother observing him with anxious eye, and he knew that every
body around her expected him to continue his father's business. On
the other hand, and most attractive, appeared the circle of
distinguished people awaiting his coming.
Although the Kahrings occupied a fisherman's cottage, they had
surrounded themselves with enough city comforts to indicate their
social position. Wulf saw, in vision, the bright lamp, the elegant
tea-service, the dignified, gracious hostess, the merry Eugenie; and,
quicker than cloud follows cloud in the sky, the first picture
vanished before the splendor of the second.
"Thank you, I will come. Good-bye until we meet," said Wulf.
Arnold looked after the tall figure. "An eccentric fellow!" he said
to himself; "still longing after school-benches. I am glad to be
free again, and out of a prison which only bothers my head. But what
prospect have I now? Nothing beyond." And the young ensign
sauntered off, smoking a cigar.
Wulf hurried to his mother's humble abode. She was standing by the
little window, looking out sharply for her tardy son. As she opened
the door for him she asked reproachfully: "What detained you so long?
See the storm coming. Hurry off to the boats that lie in the water."
More speedy work was seldom done. The boats were soon brought to a
safe place, and the young sailor, bathed in perspiration, re-entered
the room where his mother now came forward to meet him with more
affectionate solicitude.
"Now, my son, eat your supper."
How comfortable the place looked! Yonder in a corner was the old
canopy-bed, with its quaint designs; here was the stove whose
polished stone hearth depicted the history of paradise and the fall
of man, more forcibly than authentically. Around the two sides of
the room was a brown bench, which served the purpose of a chest as
well, and concealed all manner of things from view. There, upon the
table, a pewter oil-lamp lighted up the spotless cloth upon which was
spread the evening meal, to which Frau Ericksen again invited her son
with significant gestures.
Wulf waved his hand. "No, mother, I am invited to tea with the
Kahrings, and I must make haste or I shall be too late."
"Wulf," remonstrated his mother, "there is a terrible storm at hand.
Your dear father always remained at home with us during such times,
and read us a prayer."
"You can do that, mother, dear."
There was no reply. Wulf dressed hurriedly and hastened off with
"Good-night; the storm may not be so bad, but do not sit up for me."
What did he really lose by this action? He knew thoroughly well that
the evening at home would be precisely like hundreds and hundreds
that had preceded it. His mother would sit by the spinning-wheel
without saying a word; Karen would also sit there, and work just as
silently; Peter, the man-servant, would, if possible, be still more
quiet when he came in to mend his nets and listen to the storm.
Later on, his mother would read the evening lesson; after which they
would all exchange one tedium for another by going to bed.
How often he had sat there in utter self-denial; had read his books
longing for explanations to many questions! He had, it is true,
never attempted the frivolous indiscretion of any interchange of
thought. What understanding could his mother have of the things that
interested him? Was not her mental horizon limited, very limited?
She had been the wife of a brave fisherman, and had shown great
intelligence in practical things. She knew her Bible and hymn-book
thoroughly; every thing aside from this was beyond her sphere.
Little as these old, diligent hands were acquainted with the pen,
still less had the head any conception of the thoughts that animated
her son.
And Karen? She was just as pretty, good, and industrious a girl as
could be found anywhere. Her work was cheerfully done. She was
obedient to her mother, went to Church regularly, laughed with her
companions, and looked upon a certain tall young "Martin" with
undisguised pleasure. Surely, enough for her! Neither mother nor
sister had any conception of Wulf's feelings--it was impossible; and
he made no effort to explain the position. What could they be to
him? These were his thoughts.
As stars in a dark night glittered the windows of the little cottage
where the Kahrings resided, when Wulf approached it.
He was warmly received.
The baroness greeted him with: "We wait tea for you; the children
would not sit down without you."
Looking upon the stately lady who proffered her hand with these
kindly words, Wulf unwittingly contrasted his stout little mother's
appearance with hers. How it suffered by comparison! And now, while
without it was dark and stormy, within and around him every thing was
as bright and charming as wealth and cultured taste could furnish.
Instead of the howling storm was the cozy hum of the tea-kettle; and
while its music continued, Eugenie's voice rang out in unison with
the guest's, at the same time she played the accompaniments of his
quaint songs upon the piano. Who could be insensible to these
external comforts, pleasant formalities, and kindly words? Certainly
not the young man whose life had always been so barren of them.
"From my son I learn that we are to have the pleasure of seeing you
in Berlin this Winter," said Lady Von Kahring, during a pause in the
music.
"Thank you; I sincerely hope so, Madame," half stammered Wulf; "but
it is not positively certain as yet. So far as I am concerned, I
trust it may be so."
"O, nonsense! only come soon," interjected Arnold; "you learn nothing
here."
"My son is right. In a large city one has so many ways and means for
self-improvement," added Lady Von Kahring.
"May I knock at your door when I arrive there a stranger?" asked Wulf
modestly.
"One naturally does what one can to assist struggling young people,"
was the affable reply.
It was noteworthy how skillfully this lady could answer direct
questions in the third person.
"I can rent a room for you," said Arnold.
"And your bass voice will be an addition to our musical
association,'" added Eugenie.
The old baron, who never talked much, arose at this juncture to open
a window; but the storm prevented him. "What beastly weather we have
here!" he muttered. "Rain every day--a wretched way of living."
He was right, Wulf thought. It was also a pitiful way of living, and
he wondered how he had endured it so long.
After taking leave of this delightful circle, Wulf did not go
directly home. His blood was violently stirred; he felt that he must
walk and face the wind for a while. In his meanderings he approached
the little church-yard. There was his father's grave. Beside the
tombstone his mother had placed a similar one, with her name carved
upon it, leaving room for the date of her death. She expected to
pass away and leave no other record. But should he bury himself,
figuratively, in this secluded spot at the early age of nineteen? He
turned away with a shudder, and there determined to embrace the
profession which had been his ideal since childhood, and to inform
his mother of this decision on the following day; for she would
surely be asleep when he returned at this late hour.
But the mother had not slept. Many anxious thoughts had been
interwoven with her wool at the spindle, and although her lips had
remained silent, her heart had not been calm.
It was just as true as ever that she would have preferred to see Wulf
succeed his father in business; but she was neither so narrow as to
resist a legitimate struggle, nor so weak as to wish to keep Wulf
wholly to herself. It was only against the breach of an old custom
she contended. For an only son to act contrary to long established
usage was to her preposterous and unintelligible. On this account
she had removed him from school, in order to make him a sailor. She
had nurtured this error a long time; and who knows whether she ever
would have discerned it if his serious illness had not intervened?
But she had deferred the time for action until Autumn, then further
postponed it from time to time; and it was simply this that robbed
good Frau Ericksen of her sleep.
Meanwhile Wulf had changed. It seemed to his mother that it was not
only a desire for learning which animated him, but an ambition to
become famous; a longing for external things, which, to her mind,
were not worth the trouble; a continual ideality, a looking upon
people of fine manners through gold spectacles, accepting them as
noble and good and beautiful in the abstract. Yes; this she was sure
was the cause of his discontent; and that he looked down upon his
mother and sister burned her heart as a natural consequence. And,
then, must he go so unarmed into the world--into a great city of
which she knew nothing except by hearsay, but which at best seemed to
her a very Babel? Should he win or lose most there? Finally she
said: "Yes; he will gain wisdom even through harm. Now I can not and
will not restrain him any longer. He shall see for himself that
'_all is not gold that glitters_.' But my boy is good," she added
consolingly; "and if he goes away, he will come back to me again."