"Unruly blasts wait on the tender Spring;
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing."
--SHAKESPEARE.
We know already that Wulf has returned from Jena. His life there had
been very different from the one at Berlin. He had learned the free
life of a peasant. And now, finally, he was prepared to become
entirely self-reliant. From year to year he had returned to Berlin,
in order to complete his medical studies; but now the consideration
of a home of his own was feasible; and the hope of having Sibylla as
its presiding genius, which had been dark so long, need not be
further discouraged.
But he could scarcely hope to find her still free, as Dr. Uhlhart had
long since informed him that Sibylla and Arnold were destined for
each other, and he had no opportunity of confuting it, as he kept
aloof from society, because he was studying diligently, and because
he was too proud to enter again this circle.
But Sibylla was free--and now the announcement of Arnold's
engagement! Wulf could scarcely believe his own eyes. He felt that
he should like to know what impression this news had upon Sibylla,
and therefore hastened to the Herbigs', where he found Arnold
introducing his betrothed to Sibylla's mother. The prospective
bridegroom was constrained and ironical as usual. Albertina was
stiff, every single lock of her hair moving automatically. The
conversation consisted of the most commonplace remarks, except when
Sibylla animated it. She was in her brightest spirits, and her humor
flew like sparks around. The bride looked frightened. The scene
made a painful impression upon Wulf. Was Sibylla endeavoring to show
Arnold the marked contrast between herself and his betrothed? He
spurned the thought; and yet--and yet!----
The young couple soon withdrew and Lady Von Herbig began to air her
opinions.
"She is a stiff stick! I did my best to interest her in poetry,
flowers, and music; but she had absolutely nothing to say. O, O, the
young women nowadays have no minds! When I was young----"
"Mother," interrupted Sibylla, "they don't marry minds in these
days--only what surrounds them."
"My child, love----"
"Love, love!" exclaimed Sibylla; "poor love! What do men call love?
To one it is a good horse to ride; to another, a well-furnished table
to tickle his palate; to a third, a rose that he sticks in his hat.
What matters if it be withered before evening? He throws it away,
and plucks a fresh one. Now, do you know what love is? It is a good
asylum for the aged."
Wulf had never seen Sibylla so excited. Like a sword, the belief
pierced his soul that she loved Arnold. If he had been permitted to
look into Sibylla's heart he would have judged otherwise. She who
read with sharp insight the souls of others was to herself an enigma.
She had never made it sure to her own mind that she loved Wulf; but
she knew she felt different beside him than with any one else. She
could tell him all her childish struggles; and she knew that he
understood her inmost thoughts, even those she detested and with
which she never desired to be alone; she could consider fearlessly
with him, and when he was near she felt sheltered. But to the
question, "Do I love him?" the clever girl had no answer. That he
enjoyed her society was natural, but he had never said or done
anything that she could interpret to be deeper sentiment. She
detested hypocrisy and affectation, and for this reason she inwardly
looked up to Wulf; but Sibylla had never spoken of him to others.
This young woman so frank and ingenuous, who appeared to wear her
heart on her tongue, had, deep in her being, a closed room into which
no one dared to look. One keen, penetrating man's glance she justly
feared--that of Dr. Uhlhart.
Violently moved by the scene with him, she was yet obliged to listen
to her mother's most fulsome praises of this odious one, as well as
her lachrymose reproaches over Arnold's marriage. Suddenly she
ceased to praise the doctor and to lament Arnold, and began to sing
the good qualities of Herr Bolton, the wool-merchant. Sibylla
hearkened--of this one she had never indulged a thought. What could
this mean? He made visits, and was received with exceeding
friendliness by her mother; so much so, indeed, that Sibylla had
sometimes thought Herr Bolton might have taken her father's place.
O, he was so amiable! She soon learned to know the different
varieties of his sheep, and was already familiar with the special,
noble race of "Arabian fat-tails." Finally, when Herr Bolton had
spun out his virtues, his money, and his flocks, he laid himself at
Sibylla's feet, which acceptance should give her an entrance to this
paradise. A short, firm, decided "No" was Sibylla's answer.
Herr Bolton was confounded. That he would be rejected, he had never
dreamed. But Lady Von Herbig knew how to console him. It was only a
girl's modesty, she said; a young woman's embarrassment, the evidence
of a beautiful spirit. She told him how the cavaliers in olden times
sought to win their beloved, and allowed no opportunities to escape.
If he could not set free in open battle, like a second Siegfried, his
Brunhilde, he might still be permitted to wait patiently for her with
true German fidelity. Until the beloved should assent, until the
dear image relent, be calm and angelic!
Her words fell upon good ground; for Sibylla's "No" had made the same
impression upon Herr Bolton's prosaic nature that his rare old wines
did upon his head: for the instant it cooled him, only to inflame the
more. But there followed sorry times for Sibylla. She would have
greatly preferred the raging storm to the continuous, monotonous
single drops that fell upon her head. Such a dropping was the
constant plaint of her mother; how she had always hoped to find
happiness in her old age through her only daughter; if she were to
die now (and she felt this event was not far distant), she should be
obliged to leave her child friendless and alone in the world; how she
must perforce eat her bread among strangers, and be deprived of the
luxuries she now enjoyed. Then followed a long, poetic picture of
country life, contrasted with a terrible dependence upon others; and,
intermingled with these pathetic laments, came the reproach that she
had not deserved this from Sibylla,--usually closing the scene with a
hysterical spasm of weeping.
Sibylla would have replied indignantly, or left her presence, if her
mother had not been so wretched-looking and so constantly ill. But
two things found an echo in her heart: First, that she had given her
mother, who had no one else in the world, very little joy; and,
secondly, from childhood she had always had her own way, denied
herself nothing, and worked little or none. She trembled for her
future, which promised only labor for others and a want of the
luxuries to which she had been accustomed.
In spite of all this, however, she maintained her "No;" and Cavalier
Toggenburg must "wait until the beloved assent." What would Sibylla
have done if she could have guessed that Herr Bolton had made Dr
Uhlhart his confidant, and the latter had especially encouraged him
to persist in his endeavor?
Life went on its way. Visits were exchanged, and made to the Art
Museum. Upon one occasion Herr Bolton and Wulf accompanied Sibylla
and her mother to the latter place. While the wool merchant and Lady
Von Herbig were admiring a fruit-piece, Wulf and Sibylla were
standing before a painting which was attracting much attention,
entitled "The Chase after Happiness." A rider rode upon a bridge
which led to happiness in the distance, pictured upon a soap-bubble.
Happiness was depicted as a beautiful, sensual woman, from whose
vesture fell gold-pieces. She held a crown in her hand, upon which
the rider's eyes were fixed; but not his eyes alone: his whole
reaching figure, the outstretched right arm, the eager, extended
hand, the far-stretching horse--all representing a picture of
fearful, consuming passion. A noble, womanly figure had thrown
herself in the way--in vain! He did not heed her, but rushed on
madly in pursuit of the decoying happiness. But the wild man shall
not attain it. Beside him, distant but a few inches, rides death,
whose grasping hand will more certainly seize the hunter than he the
distant goal. One more step: the bridge ends in a frail rafter, and
horse and rider are plunged into the abyss--death with them. Smiling
"Happiness," however, remains calm, only to allure many others to
venture and--to lose.
Sibylla looked at the harrowing picture a long time. Finally she
said softly, pointing to the rider, "I am he;" and her lovely
countenance attested the anguish of her soul.
"O, Arnold, what have you lost!" cried Wulf's heart in deep emotion.
But was he not just such a searcher after happiness, to which all his
strivings and endeavors aimed? What he had formerly hoped to attain
hovered threateningly serious, but at such a distance that he no
longer recognized its power to attract him. He looked around. Every
body, all his acquaintances were in pursuit of happiness. To be sure
no one recognized himself in the picture; all hurried by it. Sibylla
alone had the courage to be true. This hunger after happiness, which
dwells in every human being, she had professed to tear from her soul,
from its deepest foundation; and now she had cried out for it with
wild intensity. At this moment Lady Von Herbig and Herr Bolton
approached.
"O, horrible!" exclaimed the former. "I can not bear to look at it;
it affects my nerves!"
"The colors are loud," remarked her companion; "but it is rather a
good animal picture."
Sibylla turned her head away contemptuously.
At another time Wulf asked Sibylla if she believed any one was
perfectly happy. To his surprise she replied:
"Yes, there are such persons; and I know one especially."
"Who is it?"
"Theodora Von Kahring. She is happy. It is true her manner of life
would not have the same result with me; her happiness would not be my
happiness; but O, I would that her peace and her devotion were mine!"
"It is well," said Wulf, "that we can not all build happiness under
equal conditions. One finds it in enjoyment whose attraction is
certainly its fleetness; others find it in the regular employment at
their own firesides; while others obtain it in sacrifice and
renunciation. And does Fraulein Von Kahring really belong to this
latter class?"
"No; O no, indeed!" exclaimed Sibylla; "no trace of sacrifice or
renunciation! That would always repel me. She is--how shall I
describe her?--no sacrificing Iphigenia, no lovely Leonora, no
celestial Mignon, and even no industrious, domestic Charlotte,
because she has something of each. Most of all I might liken her to
Dorothea. She is so simple and yet so profound, so pure and true, so
diligent without worrying over work; always from within and without
so calm, so devout! The piety that I admire! She is not beautiful,
but exceedingly handsome; neither is she poetical, and yet she has
the poetry of the _Niebelunglied_, which no one understands. And now
I shall also tell you what she is: No lyric song, no tragedy, no
ballad, no comedy, but a true, hearty folk-epic!"
Wulf listened to the animated speaker with wonder. Would there be
revealed to him this day a glimpse of Sibylla's twofold nature?
As a serious thought in the midst of a playful song affects us
singularly, so Wulf was moved by this exhibition of the light-hearted
Sibylla, who had on this occasion shown so much intelligence and
observation, coupled with the longing desire for a higher life. He
decided to approach this Theodora, who, he knew, corresponded with
Ingeborg. Just then Sibylla exclaimed in a different tone:
"But if happiness is not always reached upon a quick horse, neither
will it come to us if we stand too long waiting for it. In olden
times the romancers ushered it with the sound of trumpets and
cavalry, but that day is passed. In real life it comes so that we
first recognize it when it is lost to us. Naturally nothing can be
more sublime, because we are so pitifully small."
Wulf was silent. With prophetic instinct he realized that his own
happiness or unhappiness was indissolubly bound up in the beautiful
being who stood before him.
"I am the son of a working-man," he had said upon a memorable
occasion, and he was proud that he had done so. Having written to
his old uncle, the teacher of his boyhood, about the affair, the
school-master had replied:
"It is not difficult to perceive that you have acquired and begun to
put to use practical knowledge. A physician stands between two
strata of society, which at present are separated from each other by
fixed limits--the rich and the poor. Your profession brings you in
contact with both; but, my dear boy, your uncle would rather see you
a physician to the poor. Sickness brings misery to all, but the rich
have ways and means for its alleviation. I am sure you will never
give the preference to a mere question of money. Besides, do not
bury yourself in your books and post-mortems, but keep your eyes wide
open to living beings and issues. Shall you have no intercourse with
distinguished people? you may ask. I can not tell; but I think you
have been inclined to observe the higher classes with prejudice. At
first they appeared altogether perfect to you; now they seem wholly
despicable. Truth lies in the medium, and I am convinced that when
you are older you will find many good traits of character among those
whom now you condemn. Still I simply wish to advise you now to look
at circumstances from the working-man's stand-point in your own
neighborhood; opportunities at Berlin will not be wanting. And never
forget the truth (while it is unnecessary to impress it at all
times), that your father was an honorable man of toil."
How vividly was all this recalled to Wulf's mind at this time! No,
he would never forget it; and had he not already sought the
acquaintance of the common people? It was on that account that his
life had recently been so changed. But he was no longer susceptible
to slights and neglect. Of late his evil star, Uhlhart, had
accompanied him in such visits, and knew so well how to converse on
the "social question;" but all these wanderings and this intercourse
had been in the same places--the beer-saloons. There Wulf had sat
willingly, for the good cause; but how often he was in a dilemma, in
the mornings when he returned home with confused head and brain! He
did not know then how he had been induced to gamble, as he detested
cards, and thought he would only continue until he had recovered what
had been lost. In this he succeeded for a time, but soon lost again,
and was obliged to begin once more for the sake of honor. Alas! no
friendly hand restrained him from the awful abyss--only Uhlhart stood
beside him. And bear this in mind--had the winds or the birds
revealed it?--Wulf's former acquaintances soon knew all that he did,
and more besides.
The mistake which he made was one of the results of his investigation
of the working-classes. Another was the conviction that among the
poor, in addition to actual need, there was rampant rudeness,
presumption, and vileness as well; that between them and the better
classes stood no bridge nor bond of love. They stood opposed like
bitterest enemies--on the one side, absence of love and haughtiness;
on the other side, hatred and consuming envy.
There was to-day a knock at Wulf's door. The shoemaker brought his
boots. He seemed to linger, and finally said hesitatingly:
"The charge is one dollar and twenty-five cents."
"Ah!" replied Wulf; "call around to-morrow to get the money."
"My dear sir," said the man entreatingly, "please pay it now that I
may buy my children's supper."
"Supper!" exclaimed Wulf; "your wife will have that ready long ago."
The poor fellow's face grew still more pitiful as he added:
"My poor wife has been sick in bed for the past seven weeks."
"What is the matter?" asked Wulf, sympathetically.
"I do not know, sir."
"Have you no physician?"
"I have no money to pay either doctor or apothecary? The poor-doctor
has called to see her, but he can do nothing," concluded the man,
gloomily.
"My dear friend," said Wulf, "I can not give you any money to-day,
but I hope to do so early to-morrow; but I am a physician, and will
go with you to see your wife."
Here was another picture of the folk life which Wulf experienced. He
found a room similar to those described by the distinguished
professor in his lecture. It was in a cellar, damp and partly
lighted. Here the shoemaker worked; here his wife lay sick; here his
six children had grown up; here, in a corner, stood the bed of an
apprentice, who must bear his part of the expenses. Wulf immediately
turned his attention to the wife, whom he hoped to relieve. But who
should pay for the medicine that he prescribed? Who should supply
the nourishing food which ought to accompany it?
When Wulf thought of this, he cursed every unnecessary expenditure he
had made. With quiet rage he also thought of the feasts squandered
by the rich. O, for only a crumb here from the overflow! Was there
no medium to convey it from luxury to this cellar? Yes, there was
one.
Theodora Von Kahring entered the little room, and it became clear to
whose influence the people here were contented and patient. She
seemed well known here, and all hands were outstretched joyfully when
she came. Every thing she said was so kindly, and while she was
passing from one to the other, an encouraging word here, and as if by
magic a supper there for the little ones, there was in it no trace of
condescension; it was not the lofty mistress, but the family's
motherly counselor. Wulf was so confused that he sat by the wife's
bedside until Theodora had been gone for some time. How friendly she
had greeted him, rejoiced at his coming, and expressed a hope they
might often meet in this mutual way!
"Mutual way?" thought Wulf; "does her way lead to the gambling-table
to win money? But I never should have dreamed she could come among
such people so unaffectedly. Even the sick woman's face lighted up
when she saw her gentle expression. O, why are physicians so chary
of friendly words?"
If Wulf had gone out with Theodora, he would scarcely have believed
his own eyes, for Sibylla awaited her without the door. She often
accompanied Theodora on such visits, helping her with money; but she
had not overcome her aversion to enter as yet.
"Do not judge young Ericksen too harshly," said Theodora as she
related the circumstance to Sibylla; "perhaps he is now in evil ways,
but it does not follow that he will be ruined."
Several days later most of the young people with whom we are
acquainted were assembled at the residence of Lady Von Kahring. Wulf
had also accepted an invitation, as there was to be all kinds of
merriment on the evening before Arnold's nuptials. For the first
time in a long while he met Sibylla. She had just declined to pose
as Ximene, but she suddenly changed her mind and declared herself
ready to do so. Wulf's heart beat loudly. He alone knew the reason.
A glance from her had plainly imparted to him that he was expected to
take the oath, and that she would stand with him alone. But Wulf was
to learn still more. Sibylla said confidentially to him:
"I have really consented to take part in these festivities, with no
pleasure on my part. I pity poor Arnold. I have always taken an
interest in him, for he is better than he seems. But I wish he could
have had a different wife from this Fraulein Kouzky. It will really
be a marriage where they will appear as husband and wife only in
public."
Was this prospect so rosy that it brightened Wult's countenance? His
brown eyes lighted up as if he had found entrance to the Enchanted
Princess. But Sibylla did not observe his beaming face. Her glance
swept over the assembly; then she added:
"This season would seem to be a very promising one. Sometimes an
entire Winter passes without any thing occurring of interest; then
again one is full of events. Christmas is almost here; by that time
we shall have another wedding under the tree."
"Whose, pray?" asked Wulf.
"Herr Von Lenkseuring will marry Eugenie Von Kahring in a fortnight.
Ah! fourteen days reveal much. It is just that length of time since
Olga Von Steinfels has been forsaken. The star of the Kahrings
shines forth in the ascendency now."