Chapter VIII

"He that leaves out of this brief life eternal blessedness, deceives himself and builds upon the 'Rainbow.'"--FREIDANK.

Wulf has returned to Berlin. His heart beats high, and it seems to him as though he had just arrived home--his real home--to visit. He greets his books as old friends, and is delighted to be with them again. As he steps to the window and looks down on the variegated, active life-picture below, he feels himself a part of it. And all the dwellings around about, in which thousands of lives pulsate--how much joy and happiness they may conceal for him! They are both there, and it only remains for him to knock at the doors to find them.

But first he will seek happiness in work. Without being fully aware of it, he has learned much during the past few weeks. His mother's and sister's faithful discharge of duties has not been without its influence upon him. He is almost ashamed of himself when he compares his efforts with theirs. The world Wulf has indeed inhaled; but there is a good kernel in the boy, for he is his mother's son.

His work renewed, Wulf seeks his old friends, and before he is conscious of it he is again swimming in the current of society's tempestuous waters.

It is all just as of old--so attractive, so brilliant! People greet Wulf as one they had seen but yesterday. They inquire indifferently of his travels; in fact, they have not missed him. Has he become any more unworthy by having visited his home friends? Why is he cut with such cool recognition? A loadstone lies upon him to-day, and he feels himself a stranger among those he well knows. Conversation is carried on concerning the news of the day, what such a noted tenor sings, or such a celebrated actor plays. Wulf is not yet _en rapport_ with the times, and can not therefore join in it. Interesting matters are stirring in which he has no share. Has every body changed, or has he become different?

Yet there are several persons to whom Wulf's _entrée_ is especially interesting. Olga Von Steinfels is only too much gratified to see him again, and the place suddenly becomes attractive to her because he is present. How long her eyes have sought in vain for his manly form and bronzed face! What a sensation thrills her to think how this young man might influence her poor little life!

But he is seeking Sibylla, the undisputed queen, as usual, of all assemblies.

It is said of the rainbow that if it remained stationary a quarter of an hour we should never care to look upon it. Sibylla can not, therefore, be a rainbow, but rather a star, which one loves the more, the longer one beholds it. And yet, outwardly, she resembles the rainbow, with its continued changes of form and color, more than the quiet star.

Finally Wulf has an opportunity to approach her; but she greets him as curtly and lightly as ever; and the fact that she immediately begins a lively conversation with him is for the purpose of ridding herself of a disagreeable chatterer whom she will not permit to lead his prey so easily as he solicits.

"May I be allowed to escort Fraulein Sibylla to supper?"

"Thank you, I am engaged," she replies, coldly.

Dr. Uhlhart is standing near. He knows Sibylla well enough to be assured that she is not telling the truth. And now supper is announced, and the couples begin to form. He approaches her with, "May I be permitted?" offering his arm.

Sibylla is exasperated. Is she then so bound to him that he is able to wield her as he wishes? Proudly and haughtily she replies:

"Has not Dr. Uhlhart been standing near enough to hear that I am already engaged?"

The doctor bit his lips and stepped back, as Sibylla looked him steadily in the eye.

Wulf has heard nothing of all this, having been engaged in conversation with a professor. As the couples begin to pass out to the supper-room, Sibylla looks anxiously around for a rescuer. If only some old gentleman would come, with whom she could go informally. Uhlhart stood with sneering smile, enjoying her discomfiture. Wulf has just observed her; has she no escort? The next instant he is at her side, and she has taken his arm, the two bringing up the rear of the procession. Wulf's act had been so quick in perception that Sibylla made a remark she would have done to no one else. Her face beaming with pleasure, she exclaimed, "O, you have saved me!" and thereupon related her embarrassment. Wulf was happy--yes, delighted; and Sibylla permitted him to escort her when it pleased her.

Dr. Uhlhart observed the two with disapproving glance, and his heart nursed bitter thoughts.

Arnold Von Kahring also observed how happy Sibylla seemed to be with Wulf, and over his countenance flashed an ugly expression; but Arnold was an enemy no one need fear.

At table, chance placed Olga Von Steinfels and Herr Von Lenkseuring _vis-à-vis_ to Sibylla and Wulf. The latter chafed inwardly to hear the exaggerated compliments which Lenkseuring paid to the poor child beside him, who appeared to lend a too willing ear. He well knew it was Olga's fortune, not herself, that the flatterer loved, and he pitied the poor girl. But why should he care?

At this moment Lady Von Kahring, who was always an authority in spiritual matters, turned the conversation to a young clergyman who had been attracting general attention. He had introduced high liturgical views, and now the question was whether this kind of divine service would be acceptable to the Berlin Churchmen. While the different _pros_ and _cons_ were being advanced, Sibylla suddenly turned to Wulf and asked if he did not wish to defend the absent clergyman. He excused himself, and Sibylla continued: "You have surely admired our beautiful church from without?"

"Both from without and within. I have attended service there several times," replied Wulf.

"Ah, indeed!" she said somewhat satirically, and without waiting for further explanation she added with animation: "I am no friend of the Roman Catholics, but their custom of keeping their churches open daily is one I envy, especially if they be beautiful ones. With us no one can enjoy a beautiful church without taking with it a tiresome preacher."

Wulf looked up approvingly. He had often indulged the same sentiment; but he asked:

"Are all preachers, then, tiresome?"

"Naturally."

He was obliged to laugh at her frankness; but he inquired whether she ignored all the pleasure of divine service. Sibylla was silent a moment, then said:

"No, largely, and I may say on the whole, there is a certain churchly festivity there. The number of people assembled, the strangeness of the place, the organ music, and the singing, all these contain elements calculated to elevate; but the services should be shorter and more beautiful and artistic."

"For the ordinary person, the common people, this would be of little value," ventured Wulf.

"Do you think so? O, I am sure that art is not without its influence upon every body."

"But, I ask, how many people there are who have lost all sentiment for the beautiful? Do you not observe how every workman, every tradesman, undervalues it in his anxiety to make money in these realistic times?" interjected Wulf.

"When a child has heard and seen nothing of his mother for years, he may forget her for a time," said Sibylla, deeply moved; "but bring the child back to her, do you not think his natural love will be reawakened, and he will fare nowhere so well as in his mother's arms?"

"Nowhere so well?" reiterated Wulf. "Shall not, then, religion satisfy the ordinary man or woman best?"

"Try it," replied Sibylla, curtly; "and as certainly as we prefer joy to pain, just so surely will art make life joyous, and religion render life gloomy. I hesitated a long time to which I should give the preference," she added in a subdued voice, "art or Christianity; but I hesitate no longer. I feel that I am formed for happiness and I intend to enjoy life."

"You are in error," responded Wulf earnestly, "and you do not understand the essence of true art. Art and religion are intimately connected."

"I thought so once," interrupted Sibylla, "and for a long time sought to unite the two; but the fundamental ideas of religion contradict the essence of art."

"Both bring to greater perfection; both strive for harmony," persisted Wulf.

"O, I think," continued Sibylla, "art will do more than make people merely virtuous. That she can not and does not do; but she permits people to be happy, and this Christianity never allows. Where does the Bible exhort to pleasure and enjoyment? 'Deny thyself,' 'Thou shalt deny thyself,' is the everlasting precept. Our minister preaches nothing but self-denial, conflict, and sin, while art encourages happiness at all times."

How beautiful the young woman looked as she uttered these daring words! Wulf was not convinced by the latter, but he was continually attracted toward the fair speaker. Now he said:

"Still in every art lies a struggle for some principle, in order to establish a lofty thought or a spiritual ideal."

"Yes, indeed," responded Sibylla. "When I was at school a pedantic instructor declared to us his conception of the beautiful was 'spiritual substance in a more complete form!' But the thought is still a human thought, and the form not of the life of this world, which, according to the teaching of Christianity is destructive and sinful. Greek art makes the human body its ideal; but what says Christianity? Perishable dust, perishable and corruptible. Beneath a picture of life is the hateful form of death with the moral: Despise the beauty and good of this world; resign them for an uncertain hope in a nebulous future; torment yourself, destroy your dearest wishes--and all for what? For a faith which no one is sure whether it be true or not. We have the gods of the Greeks; their myths and sayings we must throw aside for a new light. Who shall assure us that just such a fate shall not await religion in later times? Every thing changes; one opinion controverts another. Where is truth?"

With increasing astonishment Wulf listened to the excited girl. Then he said:

"But how do you reconcile the thought of the end with happiness? There comes a time when life ceases."

"Is a short happiness then no happiness? Just because life flies so quickly I shall enjoy it. Besides it increases gratitude and praise to the Creator to rejoice in a world he has made so beautiful. I fulfill his will when I am happy."

A pause ensued. The views were new to Wulf; he felt that they were superficial, but he bade them welcome. There still lay in his heart a remnant of godly fear; but he decided to investigate both sides of the question. His studies had often said to him, "God's Word is not true," and life everywhere around cried, "We do not need it." He listened to these voices, but they had not mastered him. Something drew him away from them; but to-day this something was silent. Sibylla had spoken. What to think he scarcely yet knew. She continued:

"Narrow fetters and barriers, rigorous injunctions and commandments, are the methods to torture and embitter men. Art leads to freedom. She is the guiding-star of our intellect and our endeavors; she fills our hearts with her beauty, and remains our consolation in the misfortunes of our greatest calamities."

The supper-table had become deserted. Soon after, the guests separated to their homes. Who carried any thing with him from this company? Whose heart was richer, whose strivings nobler, whose love had grown warmer? Who had found refreshment from business cares? Who had gained one true friend? No one went away richer than he came; but did no one return to his home poorer?

When Wulf entered his chamber, his first glance fell upon a skull which lay on his writing-table. "So will you look in time," said something within loudly. "Then I shall enjoy life, if it be so short," he replied; "for enjoyment is life."