Chapter XXIX

"Go thou forth,
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm!"
--ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Thy name is my name, thy honor is my honor, thy life is my life; "whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."

The solemn word was spoken, the union for time and eternity made. Wulf had taken Sibylla as his wife to their home. The brief betrothal had been followed by a quiet wedding. There was no wedding journey to distract the mind. From the church the young couple had gone directly to their home, where Theodora had met them. How different from what Sibylla had once imagined! To the young maiden a trip to Frankfort was not even good enough; there should at least be one to Italy, and thence toward the East, the cradle of all art!

But far more beautiful was it now in her quiet home; and most beautiful it was to sit by her husband's side, who was the dearest object on earth to her, receiving all from him, and giving him herself.

"How much my mother would have loved you!" said Wulf to his young bride. "You would have helped me to thank her for all she did. She rescued me as well by that heroic deed, at a time when mere words would have been unheeded."

Sibylla was very happy in these four walls. She is rich, indeed, who provides and cares for the man she loves. Wulf's profession called him frequently from home, and led him so much among the poor that he obtained the sobriquet of "The Poor-doctor." He heard this with pleasure, and observing how regardlessly the so-called common people were treated by his colleagues at times, his heart was uplifted.

Wulf cast no reflections upon his professional brethren; they must live so; but he made a vow to help and share what he had with all; neither to avoid place nor effort, neither inconvenience nor ingratitude, in order to fulfill his great mission.

He kept his promise, and Sibylla was his true helpmate. When the doctor prescribed a soup for the sick, he sent them to his wife; and if they needed a pillow for their straw pallet, it was safe to say Sibylla would provide it, always ready as she was with thread and needle in hand.

A physician has opportunities for knowing the resources and circumstances of many families, and stands in close relationship at their side. He can act and advise; and where Wulf opened a way, Sibylla furthered it with kind heart and friendly hand. Yes; the Herr-doctor had truly a Frau-doctor for a wife.

If he came home weary, his first glance met Sibylla sitting at the window, waiting for him with blushing cheeks; and the evening hours passed amid cozy companionship, more beautiful than any of which the young wife had ever dreamed. She resumed her old art; drew and painted, often more venturesomely than correctly, Wulf thought. They sang and played together: it had always been Sibylla's ideal for young married people to sing together.

But they were not always alone. The home-circle widened. To one and another Wulf had said: "Come to see us; we shall be glad to have you." "We will come, for we love to," was the frequent response, and the sociability which shaped itself in Dr. Ericksen's dwelling was only an extension of the home-circle.

Invitations which sprang from mere courtesy, and stood formally prepared all day with polished exteriors for every body--mere forms, such as one accepts with _ennui_--were never given, much less received. The friendly circle which gathered around Sibylla and her husband, in which Theodora was always an honored and welcome guest, afforded true refreshment for all participants.

Even more than this; for while the most interesting intellectual conversations were found, there were not wanting suggestions for all kinds of charities to do good. Wulf at one time related an especially needy case in his own practice, which awakened his friends' sympathies, and at another time opened ways for worthy beneficence in other directions.

"These gatherings bring much and cost little," said Sibylla, triumphantly. "O, how much time and money for costumes and table-service we expended once, from which nothing resulted but a heavy head and an empty heart!"

And yet there was a little rift in their happiness. It appeared very small, even immaterial. Only Sibylla observed it; and yet at times the thought arose whether this little rift might not widen and widen, until the music of both lives should grow mute.

Sibylla had, as we already know, recognized the fact that every thing which did not spring from the deepest spiritual source could not give solid hold and peace. When she only looked at her husband--when she learned to know his work more perfectly, his earnest efforts, his thoroughly excellent life, his noble self-sacrificing deeds (and this latter had been the last stone of oppression in her own experience)--how far above her he stood! how she could look up to the man she loved! "Whoever acts as he does," she thought, "must be more than a good, brave man; he must be a Christian." And when he attended Church service with her as often as possible; when he talked with undisguised admiration of his mother, and with deep emotion of the lovely pious Ingeborg, Sibylla felt not only her outward, but especially her inward life was secure in him.

"O God, let me not die, not die now," she prayed one night out of a joyful heart; "for I am too happy!" And yet she felt this truth deeply, that Wulf only tolerated from her the deepest question she presented. He assented, and she could not agree with him. She endeavored to cast the thought aside, but that did not bring peace. She wanted to have her beloved all in all, to share every thing with him, even this, and to ask the question herself in the simplest way.

They were walking out together. Wulf was deeply moved by the result of one of his cases; a patient had died, wholly unexpectedly to him, from an apparently simple headache.

"Was the death so unexpected to you?" asked Sibylla.

"To-day? Yes; I was not at all prepared for it. That serious results might happen in such cases I knew, and had consulted with another physician. It was an effusion of blood to the brain. I pity his poor wife and orphaned children."

"Did the man know he was about to die?"

"No; certainly not. Such information would only have done harm, and hastened the result."

"And yet if he had known the fact, it would have been good for his immortal soul."

"Dear Sibylla," exclaimed Wulf, straightening himself up, "if we regarded the souls of all our patients of more consequence than their bodies, who could be a physician?"

"Yet the soul is worth far more," rejoined Sibylla.

"Yes; but who knows that for a certainty?" sighed Wulf. "O child, I would not becloud you with mysteries; but if you knew how often science and faith stand diametrically in opposition! The heart might sometimes, it is true, accept as truth what the understanding must reject, but the fundamental maxims of science are so clear--even if not wholly satisfactory. What is the soul? The power to think? Animals also think; therefore we stand upon a certain equality with them."

"But does not the soul's power to rise mentally higher and higher make the difference?" argued Sibylla.

"Yes, indeed; for the thoughts of animals never make progress," replied Wulf; "and yet when one sees for the thousandth time (as in the calamity to-day) how one little drop of blood in the brain can render all thought impossible, must we not conclude that the brain is the sole organ of thought? I can not explain it to you--God be thanked, you would not understand it--but believe me, it is difficult for the heavy foot of man to keep away from the abyss, which a woman with her light tread scarcely touches upon."

There was a pause, when Sibylla resumed:

"But if every thing else ceases to exist, the soul of man is immortal. That is no hypothesis, but a truth which no science can controvert."

Wulf smiled--sadly, it seemed to his wife.

"Controvert? No; but science can and does clear away the theories of immortality, as well as others of the Bible, when they are not thoroughly uniform in their results. Some think the world itself will be further and further transformed, always becoming greater; that it is even now making incomprehensible strides, and will never be utterly destroyed. Others believe in the passing away of the world in which all will be swallowed up in eternal nothingness."

"O, the heathen thought so two hundred years ago," interrupted Sibylla. "If this is the product of modern science it has certainly not made any progress."

"Only with the difference," asserted Wulf, "that now science will prove what the ancients only dimly imagined. Still what is worth proving at all is worth proving thoroughly. The naturalist proves that in every movement of the human body a portion of mechanical strength passes away in heat, from which again only a part of this is transmuted back. If, then, the universe be left undisturbed by this flowing off in physical process, all energy must finally pass away into heat, and the possibility of any further change is cut off, and there will be a perfect cessation of every process of nature, and the universe will be condemned from that time forward to eternal rest: that is then the end."

"And a quiescent chaos to all eternity!" exclaimed Sibylla. "That would be the result: the beginning a quiescent chaos--the end a quiescent chaos. Why, then, resolve a world out of it? Why, then, this life, with its pains, its efforts, its desires, its aspirations? Why, then, the fear of death? Why did we not remain in chaos?"

"I have now an answer to such questions," replied Wulf. "It was to love you, Sibylla, to possess you, and to ease the pain of this poor life the one for the other. That is, indeed, worth living for."

"O no, no!" cried Sibylla; "that would be only a short, even though a generous, intoxication of the senses. Wulf, you do not believe what you say. Think of sweet Ingeborg's heaven, of her happiness. Was that a delusion?"

"If I had only heard of it I should have answered decidedly, yes; but as I witnessed it myself, I can not say so. Dear Sibylla, please keep your own thoughts. It makes me happier in every case than these dry discussions; besides, they are better. I can not help it, but I do not desire our friends, or especially one I love, to share my views."

"Dear Wulf, you are far, far better than your words. You are also nearer to God than you think. Then how can you act as you do? Your heart believes entirely different from your head. You have intrenched yourself to such an extent in certain opinions that you accept them without trying to harmonize them with your other views, and so the opposing factions in your head, being uncontroverted, do not observe that they do not mingle their elements. All this materialism which you have been expounding to me to-day is not you at all."

How gladly Wulf heard this sentiment from those lips! But "women must believe, and men must know," he thought to himself, resolving at the same time never again to attack Sibylla's faith.

The latter, when she sat alone in the evenings, reflected over the wonderful ways they had both been led. In this very way art had stood sharply opposed to Christianity, just as science and religion now were in conflict, to Wulf's mind. She could not close her eyes against it, and felt that his opposition must only be vanquished through the mighty power of the Holy Spirit. "But he is ten times better than I am, and he will soon conquer," she concluded. How little she dreamed what was about to occur!

It was on the fourteenth of July that Wulf entered her room at a very unusual hour and more animated than customary. "Do you know? have you heard," he exclaimed with enthusiasm, "that there will be war? It is now certain; there is no other redress."

For weeks war-clouds had been gathering in the political horizon. Now the dull, rolling thunder came from Ems, and indicated the outbreak of the storm. Wulf related the disturbance King William had experienced at Ems, and how he had defended himself. His eyes flashed; unconsciously he clenched his fingers. "I shall return soon; I have no more time," he said, as he hurried off.

Why did Sibylla turn so pale? Was she thinking of all the indescribable horrors that war has in its train? or did she, in imagination, already see the enemy's troops marching through the streets, relentlessly vindicating the conqueror's rights?

O no; nothing of these. Before her mind with unerring certainty was the thought, "Wulf goes with the king," and all other considerations vanished.

"Would I have it otherwise?" she asked herself. "Should I not reproach a young, sturdy man, with no other call to hinder, if he did not take the sword for his country's honor? Should I not do the same if I were in his place? Yes; and even if I could go with him and remain beside him I should fear no danger."

Sibylla's hot tears fell upon her sewing. Her happiness was so young, so new; she had lived so long without her beloved, had been too miserable without him, not to wish now to keep him with all her might. She murmured that God should permit this war, and yet the fealty of a German woman was aroused, and she felt that life without honor was no life. She struggled long with her emotions and finally said: "Ah well! I shall never be a hindrance in the path of glory to one I love better than myself. My entreaties and tears shall not restrain him; I will weep no more."

Wulf returned. He had not become any calmer. One could see he had under consideration an important event in his life. Yet every thing went on outwardly as usual, as though he possessed the deepest inward peace. The war news spread from lip to lip, and every heart arose against French usurpation.

"As yet every body continues his business; but how long will it be before all these lusty workmen will be converted into soldiers, and Berlin become a vast military hospital? We shall finally conquer, but we must be prepared for any thing," said Wulf, earnestly.

"When are you going?" asked Sibylla.

"Sibylla!" Wulf looked at his wife, but needed no explanation of her inquiry, which was blessedness at this critical moment.

"O, Sibylla!" he continued, "that I go, that I hazard my life, is nothing. But to give up our happiness together, so full, so unspeakably rich, is something; and yet I do it gladly. I would not die, but conquer. How could I remain here with you, and permit others to go forth to the battle? The French shall realize that we fight for our noblest possessions, for our king, our Fatherland, our honor, our wives!"

"Have you, then, already taken steps to this end?" said Sibylla.

"No, not yet; I felt I must consult you first. Besides, the declaration of war has not yet been promulgated. To-morrow the king comes to Berlin!"

Sibylla wept no longer; Wulf was beside her. But no sleep visited her eyelids that night. It was something different to rejoice over the heroic deeds of others, to admire valiant action with enthusiasm, from giving up now her dearest one--the only one she could call her own in all the world.

The next evening husband and wife were at the railroad depot, where the king was expected to arrive. No newspaper had announced his coming, but a multitude of people welcomed him. And when he came, so earnest, so anxious; when he looked upon his subjects, thoughts like these doubtless stirred his heart: "How much sacrifice this war will cost! Will there be one of this throng exempt? Will it not entail pain and misery upon all?" Then a loud "Huzza!" rent the air, and an enthusiasm rarely manifested was the people's answer to the king's mute question, with the cry: "King William, on to Paris! King William, on to Paris!"

It was a moment such as comes but once in a century. That was no ordinary "Huzza!" ready prepared for homage, but like a mighty stream which had been flowing peacefully, and now suddenly bursts through gigantic bulwarks, bringing ruin with its deafening roar and heaving foam, and which, knowing its power, goes its way unhindered.

Wulf and Sibylla returned home in a serious frame of mind. A deed had been accomplished this day which they had been permitted to witness. That great events should take place, which would form a part of the world's history, they both realized, and with them all Germany.

The following day the army was put in motion. Wulf had never served. When he had been drafted in the past an insignificantly lame foot had gladly been offered in defense, that he might not be interrupted in his medical career. Now all was changed. He desired to enter the service as a volunteer, and sword in hand defend the Father-land.

He applied to a military bureau, but there was no vacancy. Like an enkindled thought the king's proclamation fell upon the crowd. Enthusiastically, the young, the mature, and the gray-haired thronged the ranks. The university emptied itself. Who can write the college history, which ought to be perpetuated in pen of brass, of those who went forth from thence to the battle-field?

Tradesmen and artisans left their shops; for who would buy and sell when the noblest possessions were to be acquired? The laborer left his work; the artist hastened from his studio, the assessor from his office. Enthusiasm flamed high. With some it was a wonderful passion; in all the harmony was deep and true, while a righteous indignation permeated every German breast.

"_Lieb Vaterland, kannst ruhig sein,
Fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein._"

The next morning Wulf was presented before an officer, well known to him. He shrugged his shoulder and said: "It is not possible. See the crowd; every one wants to be first."

But Wulf was not to be discouraged. He applied to another regiment, with the same result. "Well, then," he said, "if I can not go as a private soldier with naked weapons, I shall try to go as a physician." As such he was readily accepted. Every one felt it would be a bloody struggle and that many surgeons would be needed. To Wulf it seemed easier as a common soldier to meet the enemy, and to endure wounds; but it was really more beautiful and Christ-like to bind them up.

Sibylla was glad in the depths of her heart when she received this intelligence, as Wulf would not be placed in such immediate danger, although she was perfectly aware that he would not shrink from the most imminent risks in the performance of duty.

"O, can not I go with you? Can I not do something to help this great cause?" she sighed.

"You can, and you shall," replied her husband. "Women will have much to do at home. Let us each one serve in his place."