Chapter X

"Work! for the field far reaches,
The laborers' hands are few;
The world's great need beseeches;
There is something for thee to do.
O, linger not, idly dreaming!
The golden moments speed;
While the sun's broad rays are streaming,
The summons to labor heed."
--S. A. STOWE.

The _haute volée_ are to-day in a quandary. A highly gifted man has been invited to deliver his lecture entitled "The Shady Side of Modern Culture." His name is distinguished, and his theme an unusual one. When one is daily satiated with honey, a little mustard or caviare is desirable. The large hall is crowded. There is not an empty seat in the crimson plush chairs of the circle. All are eager to hear, from his own lips, this renowned professor's views in behalf of the working classes, as they had been promulgated in his interesting, original books. He enters, and takes his place behind the speaker's desk, his great, full eyes sweeping over the audience with searching glance. There before him sit those who pass their time in worldly dissipation and sensual enjoyments. There they are, in elegant gowns, fashionable hats, and velvet wraps. There they sit, with happy, contented faces. What matters the rain to them behind their closed windows? In long rows before the hall stand their expensive equipages, for their delicate feet may only tread inlaid floors. What a different picture the speaker has witnessed in his intercourse with the poor! What a contrast! Here luxury, there beggary. He gazes as though he would penetrate the hearts of his hearers. Then he recollects the time has arrived for him to begin to speak; for in one brief hour this assemblage must separate to dress for a party, or they will be too late. If his lips are somewhat bitterly compressed, his heart is even more so when he thinks, "They have little time for the poor, and I must embrace it, to drive, if possible, an entering wedge into their consciences."

With earnest tone he begins: "To the especial glory of Christianity, which we may here designate 'the kingdom of God,' belongs (after its inherent nature) the outward exercise of its sublime calling; that one dominant, universal, regenerating influence which it exerts not only upon solitary individuals, but upon the social life of communities, upon all mutual action in the struggle for gain among men. Christianity is not doctrine alone, but histories, and histories of awakened life, and a life, indeed, that is designed for the cure and regeneration of the old faith."

Then the speaker showed, in a few brief touches, the progress of this kingdom during the past thousand years, which was still far from its end, having to call forth from sin many who were reluctant to be embraced within its fold. He then reverted particularly to the situation at Berlin. How many complaints were heard everywhere over the condition of affairs in the city. But he did not wish to offer denunciation like those, who uttered it only to shake the dust from their feet of this great Sodom-like city, and then depart out of it. He desired to present unbiased facts, gathered after an unprejudiced, critical examination of the lower classes, in order to awaken sympathy in their behalf. Numbers should speak; statistics and police reports testify.

We shall not follow the lecturer step by step, and only extract a statement relating to the condition of Berlin tenements. "In the basements are 11,985 homes, containing 55,942 occupants. Dwellings of four or more stories in height number 7,260, with 31,699 inmates. Besides these, 87,641 persons live in underground cellars. What wretched abodes for body and soul! But further: There are in Berlin 6,228 abodes, consisting of one room, each occupied by six persons; 4,041 rooms, with seven occupants each; 2,328, with eight; 1,160, with nine; 508, with ten; 196, with eleven; 65, with twelve; 43, with from thirteen to twenty occupants in each room. And the picture these numbers reveal," added the speaker, "shows also that 13,771 people have no kitchens; they cook, live, sleep, eat, and often work, in the same room, Winter and Summer. In the same room where a young life awakens to the light of the world, frequently lies the dead body of another, while the daily employment is pursued in the midst of this death and life. How can such family life prosper?"

But enough. We shall pass over that part of the address in which the speaker begged the assistance and personal services of the rich. One fact may, however, be stated. He imputed to women of all ranks a great part of the blame for the low, depraved condition of many of their own sex. "Your love of luxury," he said, "your expensive apparel, your diversions and pleasures, have eaten downward like poison. Naturally every woman imitates those who occupy a grade above her. Instead of seeking to do noble deeds, women of influence and position look scornfully upon poor fallen girls in their sin and shame. And here it is worth while not to look with resignation for the strong rolling effects of an avalanche, but to work, with consideration and hope, to succor and rescue where this is yet possible."

At length the professor's discourse was ended. It had been followed throughout with breathless interest, even with agitation and emotion.

An hour later we find the greater part of this audience assembled at the residence of Counselor Wurtzel. Most of them had cast off with their garments the effects of the lecture; they were now in full evening dress. But what a welcome theme for conversation the address afforded!

"I must confess," remarked Lady Von Herbig, as she reclined upon a luxurious satin divan, "I find it rather disagreeable to have such dark pictures presented to us. What if one should dream of them at night?"

"Yes; such men usually apply their colors strongly," said Herr Von Lenkseuring; "they are so regardless of the highly strung nerves of the people before them."

A languishing glance of approbation from Lady Von Herbig rewarded the young man, while she lightly fanned herself.

"I do not think it is so bad as he represents," said Lady Von Wurtzel, the hostess. "Certainly one hears and sees nothing of such misery."

"And I maintain," interrupted a lady who rustled in satin, "that it is of little use to arouse desires in such people, which they have never felt. One must always remember that they have been very differently reared from those in our class."

"There lies a democratic sentiment," piped an elderly, prim-looking gentleman, in nasal tones. "It only excites the rabble to pay them so much attention, and gives them a claim to offer complaints. And as for the class of women for whom he interceded, and whom he would have assisted, there is nothing better for them than the whipping-post."

"What do they want of us?" began another society woman. "We have so much to do already; the obligations of our every-day life are so exhausting. I am convinced that the majority of these so-called poor women do not have a tenth part of what is required from us. Our homes, our social duties, our position--O, we have duties to fulfill of which these creatures have not the remotest idea."

"Yes, indeed; that is true," said Wulf, softly. "People become hard through voluptuousness. Visiting becomes duty, dress and finery important affairs."

"You are right," responded Arnold Von Kahring, who stood near. "I am disgusted with this masquerade; but I can do nothing either here in high Olympus, or yonder in the world."

"Papa gives annually a large sum to the Society for the Improvement of the Poor," added a young woman; "if every one did the same, the need would not be worth talking about."

"The Nurembergers hang no one, then they have them," retorted Arnold sarcastically; but the fair maiden did not understand the allusion.

Sibylla had remained silent until now. In spirit she was in sympathy with wretched rooms in which eight or ten human beings were penned together amid life and death. And she asked herself whether art would exercise its heavenly calling in such places, whether it would elevate and console. Her nature was too practical to answer this question affirmatively, and she was too noble to assert it against the truth. Wulf approached her.

"Fraulein Sibylla, what effect has this much-talked-of discourse had upon you?"

"It has exasperated me," she replied.

"May I ask why?"

"Yes, I will tell you. I can not bear to have such misery pictured to me when I am not able to alleviate it. I believe every word is true. The statistics and the professor's honest face affirm this. But, tell me, what is the use of presenting such horrible scenes to me--scenes that make me shudder against my will? I love the blue sky and the sunshine."

"Would it not be possible to help?" asked Wulf.

"On that point the learned professor has not clearly spoken. Evidently he knows no way. But that is what these gentlemen do: they thunder down upon us poor sinners, and then go their way."

"One might call upon him, and ask him direct questions," said Wulf.

"O, you are not in earnest, Herr Ericksen! He would send us on the street with a package of tracts, and say I must wear the dress of a deaconess and wash all the old women's feet. No; we are both, honestly speaking, much too great ease-lovers for that."

Sibylla was right. Impressions had been made on Wulf's heart, but he did not have the moral courage to put them to the test.

"It is terrible to know that twenty or thirty thousand women and girls come to Berlin annually to seek work. Police reports confirm this. I ask you what is to become of them?" said another aristocratic dame.

"Most of them find what they seek," replied the wife of a rich manufacturer. "My husband employs, in his factory alone, over six hundred girls, and their work leaves nothing further to wish for. Their labors are light and they can earn, if they are very diligent, nearly four dollars weekly."

"O, I am glad to hear that!" exclaimed Lady Von Kaiser. "Early this morning the manager of an employment bureau called upon me to beg situations for respectable girls. She has had them under her personal supervision since their confirmation. When they are fourteen years old and ready to help themselves, she finds great difficulty in procuring positions for them. Could not some of these girls enter your husband's factory?"

"My dear," replied the manufacturer's wife, graciously, drawing nearer to the speaker, "I am sorry to say to you, send us no respectable girls. Those in our factory are all fallen."

"But do you make no efforts in their behalf?" exclaimed the kind-hearted baroness, affrighted.

"Could you not, in your position, remedy such a condition of affairs?"

"Thank you!" heartily laughed the informant. "What would you have me do? I told you they are all fallen."

The lecture was also being discussed by the younger people. They talked with great animation, and resolved to take action immediately. Lady Von Kahring was elected chairman, and it was decided not to separate before something was determined upon.

"Our young folks," she said, "have to-day, for the first time, had presented to them a glimpse of misery of which previously they had no conception. With susceptible, tender hearts, they wish to help with all their youth and strength. They declare they will not enter upon dancing until something has been decided."

Her words appeared to give universal satisfaction among the company. To-day a fresh breeze had passed over the stagnant water; but a few older heads were doubtfully shaken.

"Doing and repenting--no, no!" echoed another. "We must first make the necessary inquiries, and gain correct information of the affair."

"We must deliberate slowly," suggested a third. "When we meet again we can decide further."

"Only let there be nothing rash," said a thoughtful voice.

"Enthusiasm is no fish-commodity, which one pickles for a year," came from the rear of the room.

Scarcely any one heard the remark, but Sibylla writhed beneath it, having recognized Dr. Uhlhart's voice. O, how repulsive it was for her to think that she was in accord with him in so many opinions! Had not the very same words entered her own mind that he had just uttered?

The young people seized the word with enthusiasm and became increasingly animated. Soon the opposing element was silenced. Resolution after resolution was passed. "We will hold a lottery;" this was lost. "A bazaar will not be profitable as there have been so many recently."

"How would a masquerade ball do?" suggested a young officer; "admittance two dollars. That would insure a handsome amount."

"No, no; we have just danced for the benefit of poor, starving families," interposed a lady.

A lively discussion followed, in which the object to do good was lost sight of in the endeavor to combine pleasure with it. They from whom the idea of doing good had emanated had never dreamed that they could be deviated in such a way.

Lady Von Kahring still held the chair. Finally it was decided to have _tableaux_ in a hall which should accommodate a large circle of acquaintances; admission tickets should be issued at a high rate, and surely no one would refuse to be interested in _tableaux_.

"What do you think will really be the expense involved by those that participate in this affair?" Wulf asked, turning to Sibylla.

"Not less than twenty or thirty dollars apiece," she replied.

"If this amount were only offered now for the good cause," continued Wulf, "we should be taking a speedy step forward."

"Ah! but there would be no enjoyment in that," maintained Sibylla. "O, please let them have this pittance of joy! Don't you see how delightfully they all amuse themselves in the very anticipation?"

"And the unfortunates for whom all this will be done will never be thought of again?"

"Of course not," laughed Sibylla; "and I, too, shall hear no more of them, for I can not help them. Happy is he who can forget when he can not alleviate!"

But what says Herr Bolton, the wool-merchant, all this while? Standing up and clearing his throat, he announces in a loud voice: "Such a laudable undertaking as the one under consideration deserves the co-operation of every worthy person. In view of the expense attendant upon the project, allow me to place in your hand, Mrs. President, the sum of fifty dollars. Please, please no thanks," he added graciously. "I know it, and where these come from there will be more to follow."

Around Sibylla's mouth a scornful smile played. Wulf observed it, and said:

"He seems to be a very worthy person."

"Yes, his worthiness bores me to death," replied Sibylla.

The conversation continued upon the working-classes, social questions, etc. The subject must be an important one to have taken such a hold upon the participants. _Pros_ and _cons_ were advanced briskly; in general every one seemed to take a pride in the discussion. Wulf said very little. It affected him painfully to see these serious topics treated by those present so lightly and superficially.

"There is a refractory spirit among the common people," said Bolton, petulantly; "they no longer obey, but only make claims."

"Well," interrupted Lenkseuring, who was persevering in his endeavors to converse with Olga, "where are the laws and penalties for such actions? Let them be administered strictly, instead of so carelessly."

"O, I wish," said Sibylla, "the speaker himself could be laid hold of and kept strictly, so that for a year he might not deliver his falsehoods to poor Olga."

Wulf's glance rested upon Olga. She was so young, and appeared so infatuated with that flatterer. If she only had a mother to warn her before it should be too late! Olga's condition grieved Wulf inexpressibly; but he made no reply to Sibylla, who looked at him with surprise.

"Here in the city," remarked the old Baron Von Kahring, "people are worse off than elsewhere. They hear so much about 'man's rights' and their 'claims,' that they make demands which formerly they never dreamed of doing."

"But should these demands be wholly ignored, even if they go beyond the limit?" interposed Lady Von Kaiser.

"Certainly; entirely so," emphasized an old excellenz. "Rest assured, from my personal experience, the common people have every thing they need."

"But there is real want existing."

"O, may be in isolated cases; but what they do not have they never miss. This talking to them only gives knowledge of their deprivations."

"And you must not compare the lower classes with us," said Arnold at this juncture. "They have, indeed, eyes and ears, as we have, but they see and hear very differently."

"Yes, indeed!" flustered Lady Von Herbig; "these working people can not feel the same as we do; they never have great thoughts."

Wulf had listened with increasing indignation. At length he said:

"I beg pardon; but history and experience teach otherwise. Stein, for example, in one of his essays says that nobility is not acquired through birth, but by merit. The most beautiful period of German history knew nothing of hereditary descent. Archbishop Williger Von Mainz was the son of a poor woman, and Duke Billing of Saxony was the son of a possessor of seven hides of land. Please also recollect Fox, Livingstone, Luther, Neander, and many others--they were all poor children."

"O, well, I grant," said the hostess, "that here and there such examples may be found. And when any one such child of the common people does a great deed, we are very willing to overlook the misfortune of his birth."

"Misfortune of birth!" Wulf arose and stepped backward a few paces, his hand reaching toward a chair as if he would hurl it in defense.

"But, madame," said the sharp voice of a young lieutenant, "is it not true that the fact of being one of such children must be very uncomfortable? When innate crudeness comes in conflict with natural refinement, the process of passing from one to the other is best settled by us in complete withdrawal."

Some laughed, others looked embarrassed by these rude words. It had become very still, when Wulf said in a clear, calm voice:

"I am not the man to remain silent under such aspersion. I am a working-man's child. My father was a fisherman, and lived by the labor of his hands, as I have also done."

These words flashed over the assemblage like lightning. Silence fell everywhere.

Many approved Wulf's words, but waited to see their effect upon others. He stood there calmly, while a triumphant expression played over Dr. Uhlhart's face. Suddenly--O, the second terror was far worse than the first!--suddenly Sibylla arose, walked toward Wulf, extended her hand, and said in a clear, kindly tone: "You are perfectly right."

But the working-man's child did not compromise himself. Instead of cavalierly kissing the proffered hand, he drew himself up as to an equal, and simply said: "Thank you."