"What shall I do? Who will solve the question? What can I do? Who
will give me a trial? What must I do? Can I do any thing
uncomplainingly?--So much work for a shroud!"--PFATEN.
"How was that?" said Sibylla to herself one Summer evening, as she
entered the great city of Berlin with her trunks and luggage. "Did
not the professor in his address assert that before three years there
would be twenty-four thousand women entering Berlin asking for work?
Well, in this year there will be one additional."
She had rented a small apartment, and entered a new segment of life.
Sibylla had no relatives, and her husband only step-sisters, who
lived in distant countries. Her attorney had kindly suggested a
place as companion to an old lady, but she had declined it. She felt
that she must be alone and independent, in order to throw off any
disagreeable impression which might arise in the exertion of
self-maintenance. If the rosy morning which she inwardly hoped for
were to be followed by a clear day, it must find her untrammeled.
She was now twenty-two years old; but it seemed as though she had
been ten years from Berlin, she felt so aged and self-reliant.
Sibylla not only wished to work, but her slender purse absolutely
enjoined it. Of all her old acquaintances she would look for none.
The only one for whom she longed--Theodora--was in a foreign land,
and she had not heard from her in a long time. Sibylla had
corresponded with no one during her period of suffering. She could
only have done so at the cost of revealing the acts of her husband,
and she was too proud for that. She also avoided the old circle for
fear of meeting Uhlhart. Perhaps she was safe in this regard, for
the unforeseen end of his cruel play had even frightened him. Still
from both, the seclusion in which she lived concealed Sibylla in the
great city.
She applied for work to a large upholstery establishment, where
carpets and tapestries were manufactured, and was able to put to
practical use the art of drawing, in which she was proficient.
Instead of being obliged to sew, she designed patterns; and as this
work paid better than any other, she gained a living by exercising
great industry and economy. She had never dreamed, when she drew
these designs in other days, that these Greek arabesques would in the
future provide her bread and butter; and when the first embarrassment
of the position was passed she took pleasure in it. But an active
spirit like Sibylla's could not be satisfied always with such a life
and employment. Her heart-promptings asserted that she must do
something more.
A glance at the wholly useless life which she, as a girl, had led,
and which now appeared in a very different light, naturally produced
a reaction. She had learned to love and fear God in her trials and
affliction. She had seen his strong hand in calamities, and still
felt under its pressure. She desired to do good. Had she wasted
opportunities in the past, now she would seek reparation in work.
Had she exalted ethics and art above heavenly things, now she would
consign them to a very small part of the earth, seeing that neither
truth nor goodness depended upon them, although they were made the
means of temporal deliverance; and as they had once been the motto
for joy and satisfaction, so now her device should be: Sacrifice and
denial.
Poor Sibylla!
The company with which she was engaged employed three thousand women
and girls. As the work was distributed at certain hours, she must
needs come in contact with the employees. At first this was not
agreeable, but she endured it as a part of the imposed
self-sacrifice. One day a pale young girl sat beside her, counting
her wages. "O," she said, sadly, "only ten silver groschen for a
pair of such fine shoes!" and with a sigh her eyes filled with tears.
"Work as hard as I may, I can not finish them in two days."
"If you don't like the work," said a superintendent, "I know plenty
of women who will be glad to take it."
"Must I make twelve pairs of such shoes?" asked the girl. "Can not
you pay me something more?"
"We have fixed prices," was the cold reply.
Sibylla had listened sympathetically. She followed the pale
work-woman, talked kindly to her, questioned her as to her earnings,
and heard the following: She was the daughter of a humble officer
who, at his death, had left behind a sick wife, a younger sister, and
herself, utterly penniless. The former had only been taught to make
fine underwear for ladies by hand; but sewing-machines came into
use--she was too poor to buy one--and was obliged to give up
competition with it. She herself had learned cutting of garments,
and had been able to earn enough to supply their table and fifteen
groschen a day. The other sister remained at home, as their mother's
physical condition did not permit her to be left alone. "What shall
we do," she said, "when I earn so little? And yet I am glad even to
have regular work."
"How have you managed to live upon such small earnings?" asked
Sibylla, in astonishment.
"Until now we had a number of valuable articles we could sell; but I
have begun to carry our linen and the things we do not actually need
to the pawnbroker's. This can not last long." And the poor girl
wept.
Sibylla was deeply moved. Heretofore she had only regarded as poor,
ragged, miserable-looking people; but here was one beside her in
respectable attire. Why must there be want while she, Sibylla, had
spent her money on so many foolish, useless things? When the color
of a ribbon no longer pleased her, although worn but once, it had
been thrown aside, and she had wasted sums of money, more than enough
to have sustained this family for a week, upon expensive perfumery,
highly scented soaps, and other accessories of the toilet-table. Ah!
how she lamented her selfishness now!
She parted from the poor girl with friendly words, and I can well
imagine there was that evening more happiness in that dwelling than
its walls had echoed for many months. The postman brought a letter
containing money, and as the sick woman opened it with trembling
fingers a five dollar gold-piece fell from its folds, with a note
containing these words: "An old debt."
Sibylla desired to make amends for former failures. She assisted now
whom and where she could, even more than she was really able. She
deprived herself in order to give to the poor, and there came an hour
when she could calmly enjoy an appeased longing for some new,
interesting book, for good music, for her cherished museum, having
denied herself the pleasure because she regretted the time squandered
which she had bestowed upon them.
Sibylla's doing was beautiful; yes, beautiful as a marble statue,
which in a favorable light seems to live. We look at it as though
the splendid form must move and the warm blood pulsate through it;
but it remains cold and immovable, and with gruesome horror we turn
away, rejoicing that beings are near us, less beautiful outwardly, it
may be, but in whom loving hearts throb.
One day passed as the other; one month as its forerunner; out of the
months there came a year.
But Sibylla was not happy, not contented in her doings. She was
painfully impressed that she did not do these things gladly; that
every step was a continual self-denial. Yet even this was atonement
for her trifling early life; and perhaps in this way she might also
make amends for the blame she attached to herself against her dead
husband. It had gradually become clear to her that, having promised
love and fidelity at the altar, she should have given them; but from
the first she had gone her own way, unmindful of the happiness and
salvation of the man who was her wedded husband. What she had done
later did not eradicate the first error. And, besides, there was one
other recollection which gave her bitter pangs--what she had done to
Wulf. She had known her influence over him: how had she exercised
it? To the susceptible youth who had sought the truth, she had
scornfully and derisively asked, "What is truth?" and then answered:
"Joy is truth; happiness is truth; all things else are gloomy
specters, who must not venture to approach youth. Pluck roses while
they bloom!" And Wulf had eagerly listened to wisdom from such pure
lips. But she had often asked herself: "Would he have sunken so
deeply, would he have cast overboard his best treasure, his faith, if
I had not pointed out to him the way?" Such reflections burned her
as fire. All her good works could not now extinguish the brand she
had kindled in Wulf's heart. She had committed an unpardonable
wrong; and who might know how far this influence had been extended
beyond him, and how many others been hurled to destruction?
"It is the curse of bad deeds,
They ever bring forth bad weeds."
If she could only see Wulf, could tell him how false all that she had
believed to be pure gold had proved; if she could only give him her
testimony that she recognized the value and truth of Christianity
even though she had not been made happy thereby! But why were
happiness and the truth eternally divorced? Whosoever seeketh after
happiness will fall into an abyss, as the rider; whosoever seeketh
after truth will languish in a desert; and Sibylla's brain grew weary
over the mystery. She concluded with: "Rather work; then go out
among others unhappier than I. Seeing another's misery enables us
better to endure our own." Her poor and her sick became her
consolation; but she cared for them; not from love, but rather to
escape the thoughts in her own bosom when she felt desolate and
lonely.