VI.

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." --AS YOU LIKE IT.

It was now Winter in Berlin; but the season was much less severe than on the sea-coast. Did the many closely crowded houses restrain its power, or did the smoke which curled up from so many thousand chimneys frighten the wind back to its home-country? Whatever it was, Wulf had never experienced such warm, mild weather at this period of the year. From without and within he was so comfortable. Did he realize that much of this warmth was due to the pleasant intercourse which had banished his feeling of solitude?

He was standing before a table in his room. Two letters had just been received. One read: "Herr and Frau Professor Ferri beg the pleasure of Herr Student Ericksen's presence at an afternoon tea, with dancing, at eight o'clock, Thursday evening."

The other note was simply: "Frau and Major Von Eckluhn would be delighted to have you take tea with them to-morrow evening."

At both places Wulf had scarcely made his first call--and already invitations came! He would not have been human had he felt no agreeable sensations over so much attention. Besides, he was by far too well pleased with "society" not to be attracted thither again and again. At first it had appeared to him only a kind of chaos, veiled in light and splendor. Gradually emerging out of the confusion of names and faces, Wulf began to be much attracted and interested in the distinguished people around him. He began already to speculate in his own mind whether he should accept this or that invitation; where he should meet this or that person; and to calculate accordingly the most favorable outlook for merely an agreeable or a very delightful evening. Meanwhile invitations multiplied. Wulf often wondered and asked himself what key had opened to him, an apparent stranger, the doors of so many distinguished residences. He never dreamed that rumor had falsely imputed great wealth to him; and Lady Von Kahring did not contradict it. If she had introduced Wulf, for her son's sake, she preferred to patronize a rich youth rather than a poor one. Besides, Wulf's presence was very attractive--only twenty-one, but exercise, wind, waves, and self-reliance having externally matured an early manhood, he was really an ornament to any assemblage. It is said that in England stately-looking military men are sometimes hired for funerals, christenings, weddings, etc., in order to give additional _éclat_ to the occasion by their imposing presence. Is it, after all, very different in so-called society when a person without merit becomes fashionable for a little while, only to be cast aside without reason, like the hat of a former season?

Accordingly, here at Berlin, every body in the highest social circles became duly excited to see and seek after any new-comer who was ingenuous and entertaining; and Wulf was correspondingly happy over the attentions received while every thing he did was accepted and admired, which fact was very pleasing to his _amour propre_. It also engendered great self-possession of manner; for it is easy to be amiable when every body is agreeable and kind around us.

Let us accompany Wulf this evening, in order to learn something about the people with whom he associates.

He has been invited to a reception at the privy counselor's from Wurzel. His toilet had demanded more care than usual, but it is fortunate for him that no variety is required in this regard among gentlemen.

The servants are no longer embarrassing to him by their imposing behavior; in fact, he scarcely observes them. His first greetings being over, with quick, eager glance Wulf seeks Fraulein Sibylla Von Herbig, who, above all others, has made more than a fleeting impression upon him. His keen eye fails to discover her, and he stations himself as near as possible to the entrance, to note her coming. Meanwhile he revolves in his mind the comparative beauty of all the lively, friendly young ladies present, and continues to wonder over their luxuriant tresses and stylish, rich costumes. Just now Fraulein Von Kahring bows to him as to an old acquaintance, and he hastens toward her as gracefully and securely over the polished inlaid floor of the drawing-room as if he had always been accustomed to its smooth surface, and would rather stumble over the rough boards of a sailor's dwelling. Near Fraulein Von Kahring stands a blonde young gentleman, who is always to be found beside her or some other lady at every church, every theater, every fair, every concert, every party.

"Allow me to present Herr Von Lenkseuring," says Eugenie to Wulf, who finally learns the name of the gentleman whom he has so often seen invariably attired in brown pantaloons.

Then Sibylla Von Herbig enters. She is a daughter of the widow Frau Colonel Von Herbig, and she is always surrounded by a bevy of admirers. Why are so many attracted to her? Is it her indescribably beautiful oval face with its southern tint, her raven hair and brilliant dark eyes, or the animated conversation which she carries on?

Every one acknowledges her intellectual superiority, and although her words are often sharp and sarcastic, and at times seem merciless, her influence is fascinating, for she is never tiresome.

Wulf hastens toward her, but the "greyhound," as Herr Von Lenkseuring is called, is there before him and says:

"Fraulein Von Herbig, you were not on the ice yesterday. I looked for you in vain."

"No, I was not there; but the skating was fine?"

"I do not know; I only looked for you."

"I am sorry," replied Sibylla, curtly; "to me the ice is the principal thing."

Herr Doctor Uhlhart, a young man, thin and ugly as Mephistopheles, besides being feared on account of his sharp wit, stands near Eugenie also, and can not forebear addressing a remark to her.

"Fraulein Eugenie, how do you do? How are you enjoying this season?"

"O, I am delighted," replies the young _débutante_. "We are out constantly; during the past nine days we have attended twelve parties."

"A multitude of parties, therefore, constitutes the degree of your happiness," pursues the young doctor, with a bitter laugh.

Eugenie looks up ingenuously.

"And do you not enjoy parties? You are always to be seen everywhere. Why do you attend them?"

"O, my dear Fraulein, you forget what Goethe says:

'The world is a salmagundi; We eat it every day and Sunday."

Whether we relish it or not is another question. And, then, I come here because it amuses me to see how people satisfy themselves with empty baubles."

Eugenie looked up inquiringly, and was relieved when a lady approached her, and interrupted the conversation. She did not understand this young scoffer, whose penetrating eyes pierced her like a knife; but his quick perception divined her thoughts, and he withdrew to join Sibylla, whom he had known for a long time, and who, by virtue of this long acquaintance, permitted him to use with her a somewhat familiar tone of address.

"Finally," he said with a sigh of relief, as he sank into a chair beside her, "finally by a human being. For one hour I have aimlessly floated around in my tub like Diogenes:

'Here it is serious, there it is gay; Hatred to-morrow where love is to-day;

and still, like Diogenes, I roll around my tub incessantly. O, no answer? I thought the great Goethe would reply for you."

"You still carry about with you that terrible blade," says Sibylla, rising; "but listen to what Goethe says in such a case: 'What satisfies the heart and mind in conversation so much as the noble soul which speaks through the eyes? Comes to me that one yonder with spectacles, I am still! still! for I can not talk common sense with any one through glasses.'"

While Dr. Uhlhart's countenance grows more and more sinister, Sibylla suddenly observes Wulf standing near. He has overheard her last expressions and can not forbear laughing heartily. As every natural laugh is contagious to her, she immediately turns to Wulf, and Uhlhart walks away, piqued. He is perfectly aware that Sibylla will tolerate no innuendoes in her presence.

"You are astonished at our book pedantry and quotations?" said Sibylla. "Ah, well, Dr. Uhlhart and I are somewhat notorious for our Goethe-ism, which, by the by, is the only thing we do agree in. During long, tiresome intermissions we amuse ourselves quoting Goethe to each other. Do you also share in our Goethe worship?"

"Yes, indeed," assented Wulf zealously, inwardly vowing to study the great poet hence forth more than ever.

"And are you familiar with our current literature--I mean, especially, the latest?"

"I regret that I am not," confessed Wulf. "My studies, together with Berlin's innumerable attractions, leave me little time for such things."

He determined, however, to subscribe at once to the nearest library, in order to acquaint himself with this field.

"Pity," laughed Sibylla, "great pity! I should like to guess with you what novel Herr Von Lenkseuring has just read."

"How should we be able to fathom it?" responded Wulf.

"O, very easily. You see, he always deports himself like the hero of the last book he has read. Now, he is the quiet, thoughtful observer; then, again, the prude; now enthusiastic from top to toe; then an especially embittered, misanthropic hypochondriac. He was most lovely when he had read Freitag's 'Debit and Credit.' Then he personated Fink--Fink thoroughly--only it was a pity the nature was wanting to him. But now he must have been reading a romance of chivalry, where the cavalier hero was perfectly _comme il faut_; for only see him: he consumes himself in amiability. If he would only read something else soon! for I am sure he can not hold out very long in this way."

Wulf laughed so heartily that Sibylla contemplated him with genuine pleasure.

"But suppose he had no particular favorite, what _rôle_ would he assume?" inquired Wulf eagerly.

"O, I shall rejoice in the day when he will simply play the fool--himself," exclaimed Sibylla. "It is all enigmatical to me," she continued in playful seriousness, "whether, indeed, all his heroes invariably wear brown escarpins; for of Herr Von Lenkseuring it may justly be said: 'Changeable in mind, but true in color.'"

They go to supper. Wulf is happy to escort the beautiful Fraulein Von Herbig. At her left is seated a wealthy gentleman from the provinces, Herr Bolton; _vis-á-vis_ Dr. Uhlhart has stationed himself, with the sword always in his eyes. His neighbor is a rosy young, bashful, but pretty _ingènue_, Olga Von Steinfels, who has just made her _entrée_ into society this season.

But the richly laden table, nevertheless, represents a veritable famine. Nothing there will stimulate any worthy conversation. It is approached as the _table d'hôte_ of a public inn. People sit beside one another as strangers. There is no deep tone of interest, no sign of the true inner life, no pulse-beat of sincere regard. There may be deep spiritual natures among many of those present, but there is no outward manifestation of the same. One is beautifully nourished here upon the superficiality of society's higher grade; one presents a pleased expression of countenance, is immeasurably friendly toward others; but not one single golden word will be uttered: all will be false coinage continually.

Host and hostess are amiability and kindness personified; but while they are able to entertain a company which has no immediate connection with the family, comprising for the most part strangers bound together by no ties of sympathy, they can not impart to it any warm, intimate domestic tone; and they have no desire to do so. The guests are received inwardly and outwardly in the parlor. Family rooms are not shown. Perhaps, indeed, there are none; they are all empty and bare, to serve the purposes of "society."

Lady Von Kahring is an admirable person to revive a drooping conversation.

It has occurred to her at this time to project a splendid bazaar for the benefit of the poor. She, herself, will direct every thing. The young ladies shall paint and embroider; influential wealthy people have already promised their assistance. The court-decorator shall have charge of the decorations; gentlemen will buy; there will be a raffle, a lottery; and other attractions can be added, which will fill the treasury.

Every body is in ecstasy over it. Lady Von Kahring has acquired for herself the reputation of having the interests of the poor at heart; but the need has risen to such an oppressive height during this Winter, she argues, that the work must be taken up more thoroughly and systematically by all the noble ladies, as an example that they shun no duty or sacrifice.

A playful expression of incredulity may be seen in Sibylla's face; but she bites her lips in order to conceal the tell-tale smile.

Wulf is a novice concerning bazaars. They appear wholly commendable to him. He can not, therefore, understand Sibylla's want of interest, and quietly asks the reason.

"It is wicked, but I can not help it. I see, in my mind's eye, Herr Von Lenkseuring, as its good genius, capering around every booth. O, if he had only wings to bear up such a praiseworthy enterprise wholly! And then I think how charming we shall all be as importunate sales-ladies in white or heavenly-blue costumes. Please, Herr Ericksen, do not fail to buy something from me. When we bring to the good deed so much self-sacrifice, you must not hold back!"

Wulf is bewildered. What kind of a girl is this Fraulein Sibylla?

But Lady Von Kahring and other elderly ladies deliberate long and earnestly over the affair. It has so many sides, and has already reached a culminating point. Many of the managers rejoice when they see in their mirrors that night persons who belong to the noblest and most magnanimous of their kind. Indeed, a maiden lady who is distinguished for her spirituality, already expresses herself with holy unction concerning the "work in the Lord's vineyard," which no one dares to evade.

"I am also a worker in the vineyard," exclaims Herr Bolton, as he empties a glass of wine as fast as Sibylla refills it.

Wulf hears the shameful blasphemy with burning heart and head. He would resent it, but even more shocking is it to him when Sibylla looks upon the man with smiles.

"Fraulein Sibylla, how can you suffer such audacity?" he says reproachfully, adding: "He addressed that remark to you."

"What would you? With wolves one must howl or----" and Sibylla grew serious as she continued: "Do you imagine this Philistine, so near to me and yet so remote, knows that he has uttered any thing unbecoming? He thinks he had made a _bon mot_. No; I should hesitate to begin a contest here. The fundamental rule of society is never to disagree with any one."

Wulf pressed his hand to his forehead, thankful that he had escaped committing an unpardonable offense.

"When I contend," continued Sibylla, "it must be worth the while. Besides, with such a one as that--the spirit has flown, the dregs remain!"

Dr. Uhlhart had followed the lively conversation between Sibylla and Wulf with the closest attention. Unfortunately he has not been able to catch much of it, as he is obliged to give a share of interest to his fair neighbor, who timidly offers an occasional remark. He has become accustomed to regard Sibylla as his especial companion at these evening parties, because she was the only one sympathetic, gifted person on intellectual equality with him. He was far too clever to feel satisfied with society's beaten track; its hollow intercourse, inward deceptions, etc., disgusted him, although he was a participant in them. His disagreeable manner repulsed most people, and he revenged himself by keeping every body at arm's length as far as possible. He was, indeed, unusually talented, but his immeasurable self-conceit caused him to make the most imperious pretensions. A premature knowledge of the world, together with a good share of self-indulgence, had not tended to make him very amiable. The world, therefore, either ignored or avoided him. This galled him, and laid an encrusted hate upon his heart, out of which stone the water of human love and kindness seldom sprang.

Sibylla was the only one who could perform this miracle. So beautiful an objector, and one with so keen an intellect, was rarely found among women. These qualities, added to a long acquaintance, enabled her to comprehend this hard and yet weak heart. But her pride towered high over the domination which Uhlhart at times endeavored to exert, and she had an especial delight in showing him that she was free from his influence. She realized her power over him and his dependence upon her--weaknesses which no true woman will suffer; and she inwardly detested the man whom she could twine around her finger, and who trembled before her. But she enjoyed Wulf's fresh personality. It amused her to see with what undisguised pleasure he enjoyed things which had grown wearisome and insipid to her; and Wulf not only delighted in her lively conversation, but every thing he experienced was heightened in attractiveness and interest by her assistance, she seemed to have such a true, clear view of people and their surroundings.

But to return to our company. Dr. Uhlhart had made the unwelcome discovery that Sibylla was not troubling herself about his dark, disapproving glances. He therefore decided to begin an interesting conversation with his little neighbor, Olga Von Steinfels. He was confident he could talk well; but what was the trouble? She is quite taciturn now, and he can not fail to observe that she only turns to him occasionally, while heart and ear are fixed upon Wulf, who, having once addressed her, is rewarded with a blush and sustained attention. Dr. Uhlhart bites his lips. What does he care for such an upstart? But he will not permit any one to detect his discomfiture.

Herr Bolton is now conversing animatedly with Sibylla upon sheep's-wool. He seems to think that war and peace, Winter and Summer, exist solely for his wool. "I and my wool," "My wool and I," are the two poles around which the earth revolves. Sibylla is politely attentive, although she is scarcely aware of what he is saying. But he is interesting to her as an example of the race of genuine Philistines, who, in every thing that happens, find only material for the aggrandizement of their own little selves, and in this instance whose highest interest culminates in the rocking risks of a wool-dealer's cradle.

Wulf listens to the conversation devoutly for some time, until it becomes apparent that Sibylla is only carrying on a lively banter with the self-important wool-merchant, and he can scarcely refrain from laughter.

Arnold Von Kahring has been sitting at the extreme end of the table. The cloth having been removed, he hastens to Sibylla. Wulf is somewhat surprised to find that the young baron does not appear to observe him.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself very much, Fraulein Sibylla."

"Why should I not?" she replies.

"There is such a charming simpleton here, and therefore, as usual, plenty of laughter," interjects Dr. Uhlhart sarcastically.

"And would you condescend to observe such a one?" retorts Sibylla pertly.

At this juncture the clock is observed, and the discovery made that it is high time for the company to disperse--a fact that had been ignored too long on account of the agreeable intercourse. The host and hostess beg every one to remain; but, difficult as it may be to separate, this is impossible; so they exchange compliments and depart, as they came, strangers to one another. They sought nothing, and found it.

But has no one lost any thing?

Host and hostess have made their final courtesies at the door. The latter sinks exhausted into an arm-chair, while the former draws a profound breath of relief and exclaims:

"Thank God, the drudgery is over. I thought they would stay forever!"

"Wurtzel, I entreat you," whispers the wife, shuddering, "do be still. They will hear you; they are not out of the hall yet."

With a gesture of horror Herr Wurtzel checks himself.

Let us accompany to their homes some of the well-known guests.

Wulf has not been able to recover himself altogether in his small apartment. He is still in the glittering salon, and finds it difficult to rid himself of its gay impressions. But when his solitary life at the beach recurs to him, he can not refrain from instituting a comparison between his mother's humble cottage and this elegant mansion. What a contrast! The one so poor, the other so rich! How happy he is to have learned to know all these great people. It is true he had not witnessed their deeds; but had he not heard their conversation, their plans and resolutions, which inspired him with enthusiasm? Wulf reflects upon all this, and then rejoices that Sibylla has been invited on the morrow to the Kahrings. No one else has interested him so much.

But Arnold Von Kahring is wondering how he can give Wulf a sleep-potion, to render him unfit for society during the coming twenty-four hours. There was a time when he preferred him to all others, but to-day Wulf is not only intolerable, but very much in his way.

Herr Bolton, the merchant, is soon fast asleep, resting as sweetly on his downy bed as if he lay upon his darling wool-sacks. He dreams of the latter, and then the sack is transformed into a head, which bears the resemblance of Fraulein Sibylla Von Herbig.

Olga Von Steinfels can not find rest. She sits by an open window, thinking of all the romances of princes, cavaliers and heroes that she has read. The best and handsomest to her mind is Herr Ericksen. How pleasantly he had spoken to her, more pleasantly than any one else--or had any one else spoken to her at all?

Lady Von Kahring is considering the preparations for her entertainment on the morrow. So many bottles of champagne must be ordered, and so much fire-wood for the open hearth. When she reckons the number of guests and the amount of gas to be consumed, both of these orders must be increased. With such thoughts she falls asleep, and in her dreams the wood has been ignited, and her house can not be saved with the precious bottles of champagne.

Dr. Uhlhart is still sitting in a drinking-saloon. He seldoms returns home before morning. He can not sleep until then. He is angry with all the world--O no! he is too _blasé_ for that; he despises it. The voice of his soul echoes his favorite blasphemous verse:

"In the ocean of my life, Rocks and whirlpools I defy; My own _self's_ the guiding star; My own _self's_ the God on high."

And Sibylla? Well, she is just Sibylla.