"It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind."
--SCOTT.
"Sibylla, my child, the air is warm, and I think the east wind has
made it more pleasant; will you not go out for a walk?" said Lady Von
Herbig to her daughter.
As the latter did not reply, she continued: "I dislike to have you go
alone; but you know I can not endure the morning air."
Sibylla glanced somewhat derisively toward the clock, which pointed
to 12.15.
Wholly undisturbed, Lady Von Herbig added: "You have not been out
to-day; the roses on your cheeks will be faded. Ah! if Madame
Dormieux were only here, we might have some French conversation
together!"
"I am thankful she isn't," rejoined Sibylla; "this German original
sin is as odious as death to me."
The mother dropped her knitting-needles in her lap--a signal for a
long dissertation.
Sibylla observed it. Ah! how gladly her mother took up any thing to
discuss it at length; and Sibylla was her particular point of attack,
perhaps on account of her opposition. Therefore, she sprang up
suddenly with, "I will go."
Lady Von Herbig knew she must say very quickly what was in her mind,
for her energetic daughter was already at the door; so she reserved
the controversy upon her beloved "French" until another time, and
only exclaimed: "But dress warmly; your dark-blue wrap will make a
lovely effect against the first white snow. And listen: don't go
under the Lindens, I beg of you. The young officers----"
"Are seated in the Academy at present, and can not harm me. After a
while I shall not be permitted to look out of the windows alone."
"O, these young folks!" sighed Lady Von Herbig, after the departing
one; "how very different they were in my time! Now they look boldly
into the world; then I looked with downcast eyes; and when my darling
Herbig passed by, it was _ma chère bonne_ who always informed me of
the fact, but now----!"
Sibylla had hastily donned hat and mantle; but whether it was the
"dark-blue" one or not I can not say, as she thought very little
about such "effects." The world and her heart seemed so empty to-day
that not even her Apollo Belvidere could have made the spot sunny.
She hurried by "the Lindens," when suddenly a friendly "Good morning,
Fraulein," met her ear, and Herr "Wool-merchant" Bolton stood before
her. He was exactly the very person to restore her disturbed
equilibrium. She endeavored to walk on quickly, but with rustic
_naïveté_ he held her fast, and begged to escort her.
"In the name of every thing, what shall this wool-sack do in the
museum?" thought Sibylla.
Still he held his position, and would not leave her side.
"I beg pardon, but I must do some shopping here;" and before the
confounded man could recover himself, Sibylla had vanished.
But he could wait, and Sibylla observed with terror how he remained
without. "You or I," she said to herself. "I don't get hungry
easily." Then she almost distracted the poor salesman. Nothing
pleased her; she wavered; she rejected, until her purse was
exhausted; then finally left, to the deliverance of the clerk.
Herr Bolton waited for her a long time. It would have delighted him
to promenade with such a charming young lady; indeed, it had even
occurred to him that she would be quite suitable to have on his arm
as a wife, not only on the street but through life. She knew how to
entertain so well; and he was often so much in need of amusement.
Sibylla had now reached the museum, and was finally within the sacred
precincts of art, from which she hoped for relief and consolation.
She had often experienced the power of genius; but she desired not
only this. In her strong, energetic nature and best hours she would
prove its high moral claims, and bring comfort out of discomfort when
the latter was particularly disagreeable to her. Sibylla wished to
know the truth of every thing; to be stirred by the beautiful; to
make herself so beautiful within that every expression, every action,
every motive, should be beautiful; to show forth the sentiment of an
artist who once said: "Genius is the necessary result of the
production of the beautiful, and precludes the idea of difficult
duty." But what a contrast there is when one steps out of the still
halls of the museum, and the conventionalities of every-day life
grate upon the ear again--people running hither and thither with
sugar-loaved hats and cabbage heads! Precisely just such a contrast
lies between the quiet, dreamy aspirations of a maiden's heart and
the duties which her position enjoin upon her. At times Sibylla's
heart was very bitter when she saw the superficiality of the people
around her. She could not understand it; and yet she had
understanding enough to perceive that many of those who were without
artistic culture, and even without good taste, were better than she
was, and ah! perhaps happier!
Her thoughts reverted to Theodora, whom she loved, and upon whose
deeds she looked reverentially. And yet sometimes she wished she had
never known her, as she had stirred within her so much dissension.
By her side she made the best resolutions, which, alas! she never
carried out. The day before, Theodora had quoted a sentiment from
Goethe which she could not get rid of. It was: "How can one learn to
know himself? Never by self-examination alone, but by action.
Strive to do your duty, and you will soon know what manner of man you
are."
Ah! Sibylla did not need to make the trial for the first time. She
said honestly: "There is nothing in me but to play on the stage of
this life; but yet there must be a time when I shall become
different."
She had sauntered a long time among the pictures to-day, and her soul
had grown calm. Suddenly she saw Wulf in one of the galleries,
hastening toward her with evident pleasure.
Like an old friend, this proud, cold girl greeted him. She could
give no reason for her feelings, but she was glad to see him again.
And did he not wear a Spring flower in his button-hole? A Berlin
gentleman would scarcely wear such a promise of Spring in Winter; and
so, if Wulf was no ideal, he now seemed even a little provincial.
But Sibylla could endure any thing better than affected, artificial
manner.
The first greetings over, they looked at some pictures together.
They stood before the portrait of a Spaniard who looked dark and
sinister, and who, although he had a demoniacal semblance, one could
not escape the expression of his eyes, which seemed to follow
everywhere.
"I am afraid of that picture," said Sibylla; "and sometimes it seems
to exert an evil influence in my life."
"Fraulein, I tell you never to marry that man," said Wulf, laughing.
Sibylla shuddered.
"How foolish to say that! He lived hundreds of years ago, and
frightens me!" and she laughed herself over the idea.
"I know, Fraulein, I know," cried Wulf; "I know whom he resembles!
Dr. Uhlhart. Not the mouth, nor the nose, nor the eyes; but the
expression is his. Isn't it so?"
Sibylla assented with lightning rapidity.
"Why haven't I had eyes to see that long ago?"
But speak of the wolf and he is not far away. Just at this moment
Dr. Uhlhart passed and greeted Sibylla. Both were astounded. He
could not have overheard what they had said; but like pictures so are
people: there was candor in it.
"Strange!" said Wulf. "I have not seen him for a long time, and yet
he passes me by coldly. One never knows how to take people here."
And as if to verify his words, Sibylla suddenly became formal and
constrained.
Ah! she had forgotten, during the first moments of seeing him again,
the evil reports she had heard concerning Wulf, and she did not feel
at liberty to ask him whether they were true or false. But having
seen Uhlhart, all these base slanders had been revived, and she bowed
coldly. Wulf realized that something had entered between them. Was
it the shade of the Spaniard? Dr. Uhlhart gnashed his teeth. He had
observed the familiarity between Wulf and Sibylla, and was well aware
what her first thoughts would be after his intervention. Had he not
related to her the worst stories, and put them in their strongest
light? Had he not marked the blush and the expression of contempt
which flitted across her proud face? Had she not continually
thereafter avoided the mention of Wulf's name? And now he was
scarcely returned before she had apparently forgotten every thing.
A year had passed and Dr. Uhlhart had made no advance. Did he love
Sibylla? Yes; as deeply as a thoroughly egotistical person could
love another. She was the only one that resisted him, and who filled
his heart with a wild passion. It had gone with him in his downward
course. In the presumption that his inner impulse represented him at
his best, he pursued it; but for want of more moral integrity he
always went to meet greater neglect. He also felt assured that his
life would not run off to sand, but that it would end in a swamp, or,
still more probably, in an abyss. But he did not wish to perish
alone. Self longed for companionship even in destruction. Sibylla
should be beside him; he would possess her, not for the mere sake of
ruining her, but to make his own way more agreeable. Besides, he
could not bear the thought of seeing her belong to another. That she
would be unspeakably miserable with him and indescribably happy with
another was clear to him; but what did he care?
Who was the man with whom Sibylla could be happy? Uhlhart's keen
discernment had long ago discovered what she herself did not know.
It was Wulf Ericksen; and that Wulf loved her, Uhlhart knew, although
the young fisherman had never uttered a word. For this reason he had
endeavored indirectly to prejudice Sibylla against Wulf; and when the
latter left Berlin Uhlhart breathed more freely, for now the field
was clear to himself. But why, then, did he not attempt to win
Sibylla at once? Simply because the wily doctor feared a refusal.
It is true he had "clear sailing" with her mother, who believed
Uhlhart to be rich, while in reality he merely had a moderate but
sufficient income; and it would have pleased Lady Von Herbig to see
them united. But he did not wish to marry the mother--it was the
daughter; and because she was the aim and struggle of his life he
feared to take the decisive step.
But it must be done. Once he had cherished a hope. He knew he
exerted an influence over Sibylla which she could not always resist.
She felt that he knew her thoroughly, she who could pride herself as
a sealed book to people generally. She feared him; she humiliated
herself to him, and on this account he laid the foundations for a
victory.
The lights are burning brightly this evening in the Kahring mansion.
Let us glance into one of the apartments. First, it is noteworthy
how Baron Von Kahring, who sits near his wife, is devoting himself to
the cold Northern Light which yonder, in the person of Fraulein
Albertina Kouzky, streams forth its pale beams. Her millionaire
father is always flattered when the high aristocracy condescends to
notice his daughter, and we find Baron Von Kahring wholly
transformed. Usually he is taciturn, even sinister; now he evinces
so much amiability that, if his wife were not continually
transcending him, one would imagine him to be a suitor. He is
striving to draw his son into the conversation; but Arnold is
absorbed with Sibylla, and does not heed his father's dark glances.
"Fraulein Sibylla, you were at the museum to-day?" says the young
baron.
"Yes," replies Sibylla, suddenly turning to look at him.
"And amusing yourself?"
"Amusing?" she repeats somewhat contemptuously. "What an expression!
do I go there for amusement?"
"I beg pardon, Fraulein; but do you not find enjoyment in nature?"
"The highest art is indeed nature, and that is achievement," replies
Sibylla.
Herr Von Lenkseuring, "the greyhound," enters the room with great
springs. He immediately seeks Eugenie Von Kahring, to whom he is
playing the _rôle_ of a sighing lover. As her eye-glances are
unattainable, the world has nothing further to offer him, but to
assume the attitude of a tragic hero just as he drains the poisoned
cup, and awaits his end with stoical repose.
Sibylla, being beset by Arnold and Dr. Uhlhart, looks annoyed.
"Please sing something for us; I long to hear your voice," says the
charming Lady Von Kahring.
Sibylla would fain decline, which is not usual with her, for her
heart is stifled; but her mother presses upon her a troop of
assurances which she finds it useless to gainsay, and she walks
toward the piano. By so doing she will at least be rid of her
besiegers.
"Perhaps Lady Von Kahring has some favorite song?" she asks,
listlessly.
"Favorite? O no; and yet, if I may choose, let it be 'The Erl-king.'"
Sibylla shuddered. She sang the part of the child; who would take
the other was assured. Seating herself mechanically, she is unable
to divine why she is so listless. Is it too warm in the room? Have
Dr. Uhlhart's piercing eyes burned her soul? O, if she were only at
home! Then follow the first wonderful chords and a gentleman's voice
behind her begins:
"Who rides by night this woodland so wild?
It is the fond father embracing his child,
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,
From the blast of the tempest to keep himself warm.
'My son, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?'"
And Sibylla responds:
"'O, father, see yonder, see yonder!' he says;
'O, 't is the Erl-king, with his staff and his shroud!'
'No, my love, 't is but a dark wreath of the cloud,'"
Answers the voice.
But now Sibylla shrinks within herself, as Uhlhart continues in
siren-like tones:
"'O, wilt thou go with me thou loveliest child?
By many gay sports shall thy hours be beguiled;
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,
And many fine flowers shall she pluck for my boy."