XV.

"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."