The following morning the sun shone brightly on the small bow-window of the room in the castle, in which Felice Laurenzano now dwelt. The Otto Heinrich building stood before him in the bluish mist of the early morning, and behind in vague outlines the Königsstuhl. The balmy air of the park surrounding the castle poured in through the open window, and the full notes of numerous birds sent forth an invitation to come out and enjoy the freshness of the morning. In a cheery mood the young man dressed himself, keeping ever before him the façade which was about to become the future work of his life. But to-day his first duty must be to seek out his brother whom he had not seen for so long, and who now occupied an official dwelling in the Convent (Stift) at Neuburg.
The appointment of the young Jesuit to the Convent Neuburg, at that time protestant, had a history. The Convent situated within half an hour of Heidelberg was so rich and lay so immediately under the eyes of the Kurfürst, that it was impossible for it to escape "reform." Even Frederic II. had stretched out his hand in that direction, whilst Otto Heinrich had insisted on processions and clausure being done away with, and granted the nuns permission to secede from their vows. Over those that remained a counsellor of the Palatinate had been appointed as Inspector, who confiscated the church property for the benefit of the Palatinate treasury leaving to the ladies a meagre annuity. Thus far the "reforms" had not been very serious. When however the Inspector endeavored to alter the mode of life of these old ladies, he learnt to know a power of resistance in these obstinate and headstrong females against which he could not cope. As everywhere else, the nuns here clung with greater tenacity to the old ways than did the monks or priests. The female mind took no pleasure in the dogmatic discussions of the reformers, and the reformation deprived these pious ladies of everything for the which their hearts yearned, their particular dress, the regular life, to which they were so accustomed, their beloved pictures, and moreover the great consolation of their solitary lives--their songs. To sing and attend mass, had been up to that time their sole occupation, and thus in peaceful retirement had they been happy. Evenly proportioned between Ave Maria and Salve Regina, their days had peacefully succeeded one another. But now a turbulent throng raged around their gates, and the haughty spiritual advisers of the Kurfürst forced themselves contrary to all regulations within their walls, to explain to them, that this existence was opposed to the Gospel and to destroy their peace by forcing them to hear theological arguments. Terrified out of their quiet life, the helpless dames burst into the bitterest complaints against the tyranny which forbade them the use of consecrated salt, wax-candles, and all things pertaining to the glorification of God, and also refused to suffer them to sing "Regina cœli," or "Maria mater gratiæ." Moreover these proud new fangled Theologians with their wide white neck-bands permitted the youngest novice to confute their Domina out of the Scriptures, the servants were urged to break the commands of the church, and when the child of the convent miller, whom the old ladies had loved and petted, died, no one dared to administer the last unction to him, he was allowed to die "like a beast" and was buried without incense or holy water. That Satan himself had incited the wicked Luther and the hellish Calvin to such misdeeds was a moral certainty to the good nuns, who never wearied praying for help from any native or foreign protectors. Should then another Church Counsellor appear from Heidelberg and order the Domina and her flock to set forth their complaints, the new negotiations produced about as much result as had the old. Either the gentleman was received in solemn unbroken silence or the old ladies all shrieked at him at one and the same time, so that he could only report in Heidelberg that they wished for a renewal of the former status and met with truly diabolical opposition the word of God. Otto Heinrich now appointed a special Preacher to convert them, but they protested against this breach of conventual propriety. The Preacher occupied the pulpit during the principal church service, but only preached to empty benches, and scarcely had he left the church than the nuns trooped in with holy water and incense, and consecrating the church anew, they held a service of their own. The Preacher closed the church, but they sang all the more lustily in the refectory. The Inspector confiscated their song-books, they looked in all the corners for old ones and shrieked to Heaven till their wearied old throats gave out. These books were likewise taken away, but they sang from memory. Sometimes they read the Horæ in one room, sometimes in another by closed doors, and their "Salve Regina" never sounded louder or shriller than when the Inspector and Preacher raged outside and demanded admission in the name of the Count Palatine. When the two gentlemen had thus been beaten off, then the Domina and her ladies sent a complaint to the Kurfürst, that the men, whom he had introduced into their nunnery, had attempted to force their way into the nuns' cells to spite their virginal chastity, honor and other laudable qualifications. Out of revenge the Inspector took the clapper from the bell and cut the ropes so that they could no longer toll the "tempora." Then arose a loud wailing and sobbing all through the convent, and the Inspector grinned as contentedly as if he heard the most delectable music, but in the evening when he climbed into his bed, he found it as wet as if the rain had poured through the roof, and when he strode down the steps the next morning in a rage, to insist upon an inquiry in the matter of this outrage, he trod on some peas which caused him to fall so heavily as to produce a painful lump. This mode of life seemed to him so miserable and unprofitable that he resigned the place and returned to Heidelberg. As the Preacher was now left alone he comforted himself in his solitary chamber at the furthermost end of the convent, with a beaker of wine; but the Domina took note of every little dissipation which he thus enjoyed, and drawing up an affidavit which was signed by many unimpeachable witnesses of both sexes, sent it off to the Chancellory at Heidelberg, who reproved the poor man so severely, that his life likewise became a burden to him. Otto Heinrich had considered the struggle carried on under his eyes in the light of an excellent joke, and whenever he was informed of any new tribulation undergone by his Inspector, the stout lord, who measured three feet and a half across the back from shoulder to shoulder, laughed so loud, that the large dining room of the new Court shook again. But he was succeeded by Frederic III., who looked more seriously at the "damnable bigotry of the Mass." He caused certain of the most obstinate among these female insurgents to be seized and sent to the hospital at Dilsberg in order to nurse the sick soldiers of the fortress. Old Domina Brigitta was also deprived of her pastoral staff, and the prioress Sabina of Pfalz-Zweibrücken was only permitted to retain her position on promising to keep the peace, and because she happened to be a favorite cousin of the Kurfürst. The reform of the Church and Convent was however now carried on in the most ruthless manner. The ladies had to give way to violence as they could not do otherwise. Outwardly the Stift preserved an evangelical appearance, mass was no longer celebrated, the songs in honor of the Mother of God and of the Saints were heard no more, the preaching was protestant, and the elements were distributed in both forms. The number of schoolchildren was increased, and the nuns were compelled to teach them reading, writing, and the female accomplishments. This the new Abbess had to permit, but at heart the older generation of nuns remained Romanists and privately hoped for better days.
The new Domina herself was a kind-hearted, rather old-fashioned lady. She was in reality as catholic as the others, but she loved peace and wisely avoided a conflict with those in power. When the Pfalz inclined from Lutheranism to Calvinism, public attention became less and less directed to the Stift. The ladies now hoped to be able to return to their former practices if they could only get rid of the Preacher. Domina Sabina managed at last, owing to her influence with the Church Council of the Kurfürst, to have the old drunkard as she called him dismissed from his office. To avoid fresh conflicts, the Kurfürst ordered that the ladies should choose from among the clergy of the town the preacher most acceptable to them. Long had they consulted and hesitated, at length they elected Master Laurenzano of the College of the Sapientia, who was capable of imparting instruction in the foreign languages to the young ladies committed to their charge. "My pious cousin has chosen the youngest and handsomest of the lot," sneered the Kurfürst, as he nevertheless granted their wish. "They will however thus become quicker reconciled to the new doctrines," he thought. This time he had not seen the matter in the right light, and however sharp the old gentleman appeared, in this case he had been taken in. In the meanwhile he gave orders that Master Laurenzano should at times preach in the castle, "so that one might taste the food on which the Dames were fed, for this was not the affair of a cap full of flesh, but of the eternal welfare of the soul."
Paul's conversion to Calvinism was something new to Master Felix, and the rôle of preacher appeared to him all the more grievous, as he had gathered from Pigavettas' remarks, that the new faith had only been assumed, to spy on the heretics. The education in the Jesuits' college had ever been in Felix's eyes a fate attended with all good to himself, but with much tribulation to Paul. Thus together with his love for his younger brother, there existed a feeling of pity and commiseration, which rendered him kind and yielding towards the excitable young Priest, who often aroused his mental indignation, but also called for much sympathy. Whether Paul had taken oaths binding to the order, Felix knew as little, as what to make out of his part of calvinistic preacher. "Poveretto," he sighed, "I have never understood this reserved brother of mine, nevertheless Erastus' way of speaking, showed me plainly, that something still exists to be comforted, perhaps cured. Poor Paolo, yonder planetary Deities must have formed a complex conjunction at thy birth."
Thus saying Felix threw his cloak over his shoulders and pulled the brim of his Raphael cap well down so as to protect his eyes from the sun. He moreover began to hum his favorite song, but the Nina, Ninetta, Nina, involuntarily stuck in his throat as he entered the gloomy gateway of the watch-tower. "One goes in and out of here like the prophet Jonas," muttered he with a feeling of discomfort. "Do not the pointed spikes of the drawn up portcullis project over the round, dark moat as do the teeth of an open-mouthed shark? Sincerely do I hope that these jaws will never snap behind me." Only after leaving the fortress behind him did his heart feel lighter. The towers of the town arose out of the morning-mist, as Felix gazed over at the beauteous plain beyond. In the marketplace, opposite the chief church, he exchanged a few friendly words with the host of the Hirsch, paid his bill, and after finishing his breakfast, walked down the street towards the Neckar to the covered wooden bridge which led to the other side of the river. At the other end Felix had to give his name and the object of his stay in Heidelberg to the watchman of the guard tower, before being allowed to issue through the gateway. The mountains of the Neckar valley tinged with a deep blue lay before the youthful wanderer and with charmed gaze did his eye roam from the nut-trees which lined the road to the green fore-land of the river, whose emerald waters glistened in thousand circles, or dashed white crested against the large granite blocks, which according to the legend a young giant had pitched down from the Heiligenberg for a wager with his father, who himself had however hurled them straight across to the so-called Felsenmeer. To the left of the road beauteous lilacs hung over the garden-wall, or, sweet-smelling elders in which the finches built their nests were to be seen.
"Since I turned my back on the snows of the Alps," thought the young artist, "I have never seen any landscape which reminds me more of Italy than does this valley with its chestnuts and vines. Who would have expected so much beauty, that gorgeous building opposite, this Neckar valley at my feet. I am a child of Fortune, therefore am I named Felice." And he drank in deep draughts of the air laden with the perfume of the newly-broken up sod and the fragrant rape-fields, borne to him on the wind. Whilst thus dreaming of the delightful sensation of being one of the lucky mortals, a division of the road caused him to remember that he hardly knew whether he would reach his destination by following this path, and he therefore stopt to await a peasant, who had stood by his side whilst he gave his name at the Bridge.
"You cannot have heard much about Heidelberg," said the old man, "if you do not know where the Neuburg lies? Come along with me, you wish to visit your brother, the Italian parson?"
"How do you know that Magister Laurenzano is my brother?"
"Why he is as like you as two peas, only he is thinner and pale, but a fine speaker, you must hear him in the pulpit, he is like a dancer on a tight-rope."
"You have heard him?" asked Felix rather shocked at the comparison.
"That I have," rejoined the old man. "As I went for the first time to the Court chapel, I saw in the pulpit a tall young man of about six feet, who raged, wept, wrung his hands, and threw himself from one side of the pulpit to the other, in a way that quite frightened me. What can have taken place, I thought to myself 'Oh! what a total depravity of the human heart!' I heard him call out as I sat down. Have they whacked him, thought I, or broken his windows, or stolen his cabbages? For it did not seem like preaching, but quite natural. Then he said again: 'Dearly beloved, such was the hardness of heart of the people of Israel against Moses.' Ah, thought I, if that is all the matter, that happened a long time ago. I had thought from the way the mannikin carried on that the parsonage was on fire."
Felix looked attentively at the old man. "You are no peasant?"
"I am a miller."
"Is yonder house the convent?"
"No, that is where the novices had their hair cut before entering into the cloister. Now kindling material (Lohkäse) is made there. It has been turned into a tan-yard."
"You do not appear to be a friend to the Catholics?"
"I was a Catholic at the time when everybody else was catholic."
"And then you became a Lutheran?"
"And am now a Calvinist, as we are not allowed to remain Zwingliites."
"Did you change willingly?"
"One was obliged to do it."
"And when the Pfalzgraf Ludwig becomes Kurfürst, what will you be then?"
"One must take things as they come," said the old man with a sly smile. "After Ludwig comes another Frederic. You know what our Sovereign said, 'If Jack does not do it, Freddy will.' One must know how to wait."
Felix did not quite believe in the passive resignation of the weather beaten old man, for there was a cunning look in his eyes, and his whole appearance was not one of stupid dependence.
"In my country," said the young man carrying on the conversation, "we say that at the present time in Germany a cock-chafer can fly over three different national churches, but it appears to me that if he only lives long enough, he need not even fly. Religions here seem to change like the weather."
"That is good as producing change and movement," said the old man laughing. "When I lived in the town, every Parson had his special idea concerning the holy sacrament, and each of my eight children had his separate Parson. Harry learnt that the Body of the Lord was in the bread; that is not enough, argued little Christina, he is with, in, and under the bread. Parson Neuser told Christopher that it was there in the Presence and that we received it through eating. Parson Greiner however taught Jack: circa circum, round and about, not in the bread but close at hand. Do you understand?"
"Were the customs then," answered Felix evasively, "as varied as the opinions."
"Oh yes," said the old man, "the year in the which we had at one and the same time both the Church Counsellors of the old Count, and those of the new, was an amusing year; then had every church its own ritual. Hesshusen enclosed the host in the tabernacle, consecrated it, turning his back to the congregation, ordered them to worship the wafers and handed these to the communicants over a communion cloth, so that not a single crumb should be lost, and what remained was buried as in the good old time. In the Convent, mass was once more celebrated. In the Church of St. Peter they wished to become Zwingliites as is Erastus the Physician to the Kurfürst. Then they kept their seats on the benches and the bread and wine was handed round as in a tavern. In the sacristy the Deacon reclined with twelve others to celebrate the Lords' supper, so that everything should take place as at Jerusalem, and once the assistant-clergyman brought a soup-tureen filled with wine and crumbled the bread in it, and said they must dip the hand with Christ in the dish, that alone was a veritable communion."
The Italian crossed himself.
"That must have been a beautifully peaceful church, when every Preacher did as he chose," said he.
"Well, not exactly peaceful. Hesshusen wished once to snatch the cup out of Klebitz's hands on the altar steps of the Holy Ghost, and these two right reverend gentlemen blackguarded each other before the church doors in such a manner that the market-women of Ziegelhausen and Bergheim learnt quite a collection of expressions. The following Sunday however the Superintendent-General got into the pulpit, excommunicated the Deacon, and forbade the congregation to have any intercourse with him. No one should eat or drink with the excommunicated man, and the authorities were compelled to deprive him of his office. Then you should have seen how the Heidelbergers went for each other."
"Now you see, man," said Felix angrily, "what comes from doing away with customs thousands of years old, when every man insists on doing what passes through his head."
"The Turkish religion is also a thousand years old and yet comes from the devil."
"But what is your creed, as you are neither catholic, lutheran, zwinglian, or calvinist?" asked Felix. The old man looked at him cautiously and then said in a low voice: "The spirit must act, not the sacrament. Water availeth not, neither do bread and wine. The Spirit must come from inwardly. They have many Bibles in Heidelberg, but they only look at things from the outside, not inwardly in the spirit. Therefore the confusion."
"You do not then belong to any Heidelberg communion?"
"You do not possess the truth," replied the old man. "You baptize children who do not know the difference between good and evil, or what yes or no is, and then you say, they have renounced the Devil. Thus you begin with a lie."
"Well but for this reason children are confirmed at a riper age."
"A pretty ripeness. Go to the Sunday-school, when the boys sing out in lusty tones, as if welcoming summer, 'For whether we live, we live unto the Lord, or whether we die, we die unto the Lord,' or cheerily shriek out, 'O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me out of the body of this death?' You should be ashamed to teach children to babble the Holiest name like heathens, and to turn the whole affair to ridicule. Language used by children without thought is the beginning of lies. Dogs learn to chew leather when fastened to smeared thongs. You confirm them, when they are twelve or thirteen years old, not because the spirit moves them, but because it is time and customary. That is not an introduction to the church, but to the dancing saloon. The Parson preaches, not because he is urged on by the Spirit, but because he is paid for doing so. Like a quack he says on Sunday, what he has just learnt the day before. As I go home Sunday nights and see the lights in the study of the rectory when the two parsons and the two deacons are preparing their sermons, I cannot help thinking: they are not ashamed of lying. Verily they no longer know it to be a lie, when they stretch out their arms and call upon the Lord in heaven in a state of ecstasy, and repeat all the time what they prepared the day before, and lower down sits the Parson's wife, who has heard him reading it aloud, and she does not feel ashamed either. And others there are who preach in the Chapel of the Stift, and call so earnestly on the Lord, that the hearts of the poor nuns sink quite low under their tight bodices, and then they go over to Heidelberg to the Holy Ghost, and call on Him again in exactly the same words, so that he may the better remember them, because the Almighty is rather forgetful. Is it not so?"
"Well, but man," replied Felix indignantly, "how would you have a church without a priest, or how could you have service on Sundays, if the preacher did not prepare his sermon?"
"Come to us, and I will show you."
"Who are you," said Felix.
"When you come to Ziegelhausen, ask for Werner the miller of the Kreuzgrund, and you will be shown the way. You are a Romanist?"
"I am."
"And your brother is still one at heart?"
"Who says so?"
"When you see him greet him from Werner the Baptist, and if he only knew what a treacherous thing speech is, would he not let the mouth overflow with things, of which the heart is not full. He will however not do so much longer, says the Baptist, because no man can deny the truth without danger to his own soul. If he only wishes to eat well as he has done up to the present, let him remain where he is, but if he wants to sleep as he formerly used to, then let him come to Werner the Baptist, who will procure for him that stone on which the Lord has written his name, which no one knoweth but he who giveth it, and he who receiveth it." The old man had drawn himself up, and his eyes flashed. The strange mocking peasant was no longer there, a prophet in the coarse dress of the country stood before the young Italian. "Fare you well," he added drily.
"Thank you, Father."
"No cause for thanks. Here is your path. Do not however pass through the big gate, but along the wall, the door leading to the chaplain's apartment, is in the corner tower. He is not allowed to live near the ladies, and it would be better if he did not live here at all. Fire and brimstone should not be brought so close together. Everything in your communion is wrong, as if the Devil himself was your Superintendent." Saying so the old man hastened on his way.
Felix looked after him for some time. "Things are much worse here than I thought. I left Venice willingly, because the severity of the holy Inquisition cut me to the quick. I cannot drive from me this scene: poor men torn at the rack, led down to the Lido and forced unto a board spread between two gondolas. Then thus carried out to the Laguna, when one boatman rowed to the right, the other to the left, the board falling and the two poor fellows sinking in the troubled waters. It was a horrible sight. But come what may, my beautiful Italy must never be allowed to attain to such a condition as exists here. What have I not lived to see! The holiest chapels profaned, irrecoverable treasures of art destroyed by coarse hands, the churches as bare as stalls, altars and fonts shattered, organs broken to pieces. No mass of Palestrina's, no Miserere addresses itself to those poor men, no picture by some pious master speaks to those blunted hearts! Therefore do their Theologians rage and argue as to how the Incomprehensible in the inconceivable mystery is to be comprehended as if the mystery did not consist in our not being able to grasp it. I can endure all: bad music, inartistic pictures, statues by Bandinelli, but when I hear this heretical twaddle, then do I think, that a lunatic asylum as high as the tower of Babel should be built in which all heretics should be locked up, till they recovered out of disgust with one another." Thus thinking the young man proceeded on the way which had been pointed out to him, and already saw before him the gate in the corner tower of the convent wall, when the merry, teazing sound of girls' voices roused him from his dream.
The young artist was about turning to the gate pointed out to him by the miller, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by a crowd of young girls, who ran out laughing and screaming from behind the convent wall. So full of fun were these maidens that they never saw the young man coming towards them. Several had joined hands and surrounded a beautiful fair-haired girl who vainly attempted to free herself from her persecutors. Her companions however danced only the more calling out: caught, kept.
"Let me out, or I shall tell the lady Abbess," called out the prisoner, who looked more like crying than laughing. Her obstinate jailors answered her by singing: "Wegewarte,1 Wegewarte, Sonnenwende, Sonnenwirbel," and danced around her till their hair waved in the wind around their young necks. The pretty maiden began to cry.
"Leave the Lieblerin," said Countess Erbach, "she cannot help it, she is bewitched."
"The bewitched maiden," called out the Baroness von Venningen.
"Wait till we make her a wreath of chicory flowers," called out Baroness von Eppingen, "with which to crown her. That will suit her well, the blue flowers and the fair hair."
"Bewitched Maiden, lend me thy locks, I should much wish to be gazed at so tenderly by those well-known black eyes during lesson-hours," called out Bertha von Steinach.
And again they surrounded the weeping girl, and their cheeks glowed with life and supercilious arrogance, and they danced around her singing: "Wegewarte, Sonnenwirbel." Others in the meantime had plucked certain blue flowers which grew by the wayside, and stuck them in the clothes of their victim, as well as in her fair hair. The rich curls of the prisoner fell down at which she shrieked out with rage.
"Now, Clara, don't be so rude," cried one of the maidens. Then suddenly they became aware of the presence of the young man, who looked on at the spectacle with mingled feelings of curiosity and displeasure. The handsome stranger hastened towards them with quick steps as if he would release the prisoner. Immediately the impudent jades scattered and raced back towards the court of the convent. The prisoner followed also slowly and bashfully, whilst rolling up her golden hair with her delicate white hands. Thereupon one of her wild companions banged the door in her face and called out: "Much pleasure, wayside-loiterer, go round to the tower-entrance, no bewitched maiden is allowed through here." And loudly laughing the maidens were heard racing off. The angered girl stamped her small foot and turning round, beheld the tall handsome stranger, standing so close to her, that she drew back affrighted.
"Now are you my prisoner, beauteous maiden," said the stranger laughing.
The pretty young creature cast a look out of her large blue eyes still wet with tears at the handsome man, then raised her head a trifle higher and said: "My companions can make me a prisoner, but not you. Go your way and give me place."
"Certainly, beauteous maiden, if you will however point my way out to me. You are certain to know where Master Laurenzano lives." An angry blush crept at these words into the cheeks of the young maiden, as with a haughty movement of her shoulders she answered:
"You misapply what you overheard. You are no true knight. Make way there."
Horrified at the effect of his remarks Felix hastened to answer. "Do you feel insulted at my asking about that gentleman?" The young girl rudely turned her back on him and knocked at the door. Then it suddenly occurred to him, whose black eyes had been meant, and he felt a lively sympathy for the pretty child. "They do not hear you," he said, "and nothing was further my intention than to laugh at you. I am the architect Laurenzano, and only came to visit my brother who is your convent-preacher. As your companions have shut me out with you, I only beg of you to show me the gate, through which I can come to him, without breaking the rules of the Nunnery."
These words sounded so politely cold, that the poor young thing now felt, that she only had betrayed herself, as her wounded conscience alone had marked a rudeness in the stranger's remarks. Hereupon a new horror overcame her. What if the wretched stranger should relate to his brother what he had heard, and in what a silly manner she had behaved towards him. Again she stamped her foot, but this time through rage with herself. Her first impulse was to run away and hide. But the young lady in her overcame the school-girl. She quickly composed herself and determined on the contrary to set the young stranger right with becoming dignity, so that the bad impression might be eradicated.
"That will not be possible at once," answered she with freshly gained composure. "The Magister is just now attending the Catechism class of the younger pupils. If you will however wait here till it is over, I will take care that this gate be opened and you can enter here." With a gracious wave of the hand she intended to dismiss the young man, but as he nevertheless remained at her side, she continued with polite coolness: "If you prefer going through the main entrance, the sister portress must first announce you and ask the Lady Superior if she be permitted to allow a man within the precincts. It is all nonsense, but they go on here as if it were still a cloister, although they do not behave at all like nuns, as you saw for yourself. But wait, it is still better, if I run round through the main entrance, unlock this gate and thus save you the trouble of going round."
"I thank you, noble Damsel," said Felix. "Allow me to accompany you as far as the gate." She hesitated. She felt unwilling to be seen in the convent-yard together with this stranger, as this would only furnish a fresh subject of amusement for the aristocratic maidens: "No, no," she answered, "I prefer pointing out a shady seat by the pond, then keep your eye on the gate." But the thought entered her pretty little head, that she was bound to cause the scene, which this unwelcome listener had come upon, to appear in a thoroughly unprejudicial light, so that she might not in the end be questioned about it either by her beloved teacher or the Lady Superior. Gracefully she preceded the young man along the convent-wall, and his artistic eye watched this delicate pliant figure, her steady gait, her every movement full of natural ease. As she saw one of the flowers which had been plucked lying before her she angrily trod upon it with her little foot. "What has the poor Klytia done to you, that you thus treat it?" asked Felix with apparent innocence. "You witnessed all," answered she, "how those aristocratic young ladies abused me! I am here badly off, for I am the only one who is not of noble birth, my father is Counsellor Erastus, or Liebler as the petty nobility love to call him."
"Ah, my beloved patron," said Felix.
"You know my father? Oh, how glad I am. Is he not a splendid man?" rejoined the lovely child with a happy light in her blue eyes, whilst a flush of joy crimsoned her cheek.
"A noble man," affirmed Felix.
"Well, the Kurfürst sent me with the Countess Erbach, and the Ladies von Hemmingen, von Venningen and a few others here, in order that we might learn languages, history, and the Catechism, and get accustomed to strict discipline, and I know not what else, that high gentleman imagined was to be had here. As I am the only commoner, they treat me as an intruder and Fräulein von Lützelstein is by far the worst. She has alleged that when we take our Italian lessons from Master Laurenzano, I always turn my head this way and that way after him like a sun-flower, and then they make fun of me 'heliotrope, girasole,' you heard it yourself. But it is all nothing but silliness."
"Wegewarte, I heard them also call," said Felix slily. The girl blushed involuntarily. "That is the same flower," she answered gazing with an embarrassed look at the tops of the trees. "It is better for me to tell you everything, in order that you may not finish by relating a lot of nonsense to Magister Laurenzano. I had gone out to the meadow of the Convent, to pluck flowers, but only because I will have nothing more to do with the noble young ladies. Out of spite they followed after me and Baroness von Eppingen asserted, that I had gone to the meadow, so that the Magister might meet me on his way home, and then they called me 'Wayside loiterer' and made me prisoner. But," added she with an imploring look out of her childish eyes, now suffused with tears, "you promise not to say anything of this to the Magister, otherwise I must throw myself in the water. Rather than be thus disgraced I will jump into the Neckar. Promise me, will you not?"
The young man smilingly held out his hand. "I give you my word." Apparently greatly relieved she placed her right hand in his, which he did not hurry to let go, till she slightly blushing drew it back. As in some beauteous sylvan fairy-tale stood the fair innocent child before him. The peaceful pond, the dark trees, caused this bright light figure to stand out with double grace. Intoxicated with beauty Felix quite forgot the object of his visit, and only sought for some cause which might retain this lovely Being near him. Seeing one of the hateful flowers, which her companions had stuck in her hair, girdle, and the folds of her dress, still hanging to her skirts, he picked it up, saying: "Why have you given this beautiful blue flower, which we know as Klytia, the ugly names of Wegewarte and bewitched maiden."
"Well," she answered with childish astonishment, "you know that this blue thing opens its calix at the first ray of the Sun, and that its little head ever follows the course of the Sun, till evening comes when it folds itself up again within its leaves. On that account the story says that the blue flower is an enchanted Princess, which would gladly be noticed by the one she loves, the Sun-God, and therefore ever looks after him yearning for his love. Do you not know what Hans Vintler says:
'According to many the Wegewart was once a woman tender and fair,
Awaiting her lover with grief and despair.'"
The child saying this blushed again and continued with downcast eyes: "It is also said, that the flower brings luck, if found before sun-rise, but it must be immediately fastened to a twig, otherwise it runs away."
"That is indeed a naughty young woman," laughed Felix. "Can I now relate to you, what we know in Italy about the enchanted Klytia?"
"Willingly, but you must not tell anyone that you call the flower Klytia, for as my name is Lydia, they would at once give me that other name so as to teaze me."
"But I may call you Klytia." She shook her pretty head.
"Begin your story otherwise I must be off." Without sitting down she leant against the nearest tree and gazed thoughtfully at the peaceful pond. He began his tale: "The heathen poet Ovid says: In old, old times when all men were still as happy and beautiful as are now only a few fair Sunday born children, lived two maidens Leucothoë and Klytia. Both loved Apollo, the beautiful Sun-God. He however loved Leucothoë and his heart burnt so desperately for the beauteous maiden, that it was hotter than the rays of the sun-chariot, so that he singed the earth, stars and planets. The handsome God became more and more dreamy and the whole course of nature fell into disorder. He got up as early in the morning, as do children, after a visit from Santa Klaus, because he could not wait any longer so desirous was he to see his pretty doll. He went under too late of an evening because he could not tear himself away from her presence. No one knew anything more about the seasons, as the Sun-God remained in the heavens as long in Winter as in the Summer, for Leucothoë appeared charming to him at all times. In time he became melancholy mad, merely out of love. In mid-day he ceased to appear, other days he was pale and worn out and hid himself behind clouds. Now one time that in one of his love fits he had set before mid-day, the Father of the Gods remarked, that this could not be allowed to go on any longer. He would give him leave of absence every evening and a latch-key to the Olympian gate, in case he came home late, but during the day he must fulfil his duty punctually, otherwise he would make the brave and reliable Hercules, the Sun-God. The handsome Apollo knew very well, that Hercules at the best was only fit to be house-boots, but in his heart he was very glad that the good Father of the Gods had arranged the matter in that way. So of an evening, when he had reached the furthest western point, where the world comes to an end, he unharnessed his horses, and turned them out to grass on a splendid large meadow, telling Hesperus, the evening Star, which remains out in the heaven all night, to keep his eye on them. He himself then took a dip in the Ocean and then with a god-like celerity swung himself round to the Cape of Circe, where dwelt Leucothoë, assuming at once the appearance of her mother. 'Get out,' he said to the maidens attending her, 'I have something to say to my daughter.' As soon however as he found himself alone with the young lady, he threw off his disguise and fell at her feet in all the majesty of his glorious beauty. Leucothoë was frightened, but she could not withstand him, for he was a God and she only a poor mortal maiden. Thus he often visited her and heaven regained its usual orderly appearance, and everybody was contented, except the poor languishing Klytia. As the lucky God had no longer any glance for her, and her sighs were all wasted in the air, Klytia became sad and ill, and there was no longer any peace in her heart. In the daytime she would not come out. For she did not wish to see the God any more, who so shamefully snubbed her, only at night did she wander through wood or vale, telling her love to the chaste Luna who however looked cold and prudish, and would not hear of such complaints. It came to pass that once she passed by the house of Leucothoë and noticed how a brilliant light came through all the slits. Out of curiosity she crept up and placed her eye to a crack. Oh, how her heart sank within her, and how she cried in bitter dismay, for she saw the Sun-God sitting within near Leucothoë, holding her hands und telling her the most beautiful stories, whilst Leucothoë in an entrancement of happiness gazed into his glorious godlike face and beauteous shining eyes. Then Klytia fell into a rage, for she imagined that her playmate alone was the cause of the Sun-God's never looking at her or noticing her love. 'Look at what your daughter is doing,' she called out in the ear of Leucothoë's father, 'she is sitting in her room alone with a strange young man.' Just as the God was hurrying out, called by Hesperus, the strict parent entered Leucothoë's room; in vain she prayed for mercy. When Apollo returned, he saw before the house of his beloved a freshly made grave, which the servants were just levelling down. In this lay the poor maiden, whom they had buried alive. The hard father thought that by doing this his honor was avenged, and the despised Klytia imagined that now the Sun-God would turn to her. But men only run after maidens who flee from them, and despise those who are too froward. So Klytia became now totally unbearable in the eyes of the Sun-God. His looks were always fixed on the home of his former love, and as he gazed in hotter and hotter grief on the grave of the poor Leucothoë, a rare plant sprouted out of the heart of the dead maiden and broke through the earth. This was the Juniper, which filled the air with its fragrance in the sun-light, and breathed its soul out in the beams of the God. Thus the maiden by her death refreshed all the senses and renewed the health of all who drew in her breath. Klytia however, punished by the God with a look of fiery contempt, shrivelled up, her beauty died, and she turned into a wayside plant, trodden by every passer-by under foot. That which was best and strongest in her however, her love for the Sun-God brought forth a blue flower resembling the Sun in shape and when the God arises, it turns its flower-face yearningly towards him, following his course by day, and at night sinking down its wearied head. That is the story of the poor Klytia."
When Felix began his story he had not considered, what an injurious morality for the poor child lay therein; he had only wished to retain the pretty maiden by his talk. After he had once begun, he let the affair have its own way. He must get out of it and preferred to make a virtue of necessity; he assumed a more fatherly tone, and only when he saw how the poor child, herself like Klytia bent her fair young head and shivered as some delicate plant when roughly handled, did he hasten to bring his story to its close. But suddenly Lydia drew herself up, her small ear heard an approaching step behind the trees, she turned towards a lofty figure, which drew near in a dignified manner, and a betraying blush colored her cheeks. Felix recognized his brother. "Paolo," he called out. The young Magister heartily stretched out his hand to his long awaited brother, but Felix remarked how the burning eyes fixed themselves over his own shoulder on the face of the fair maiden. The young girl had in the meanwhile composed herself and saluting the brothers with a modest bow she passed on towards the convent. As Felix turned round to take one more look at the pretty fugitive, he perceived that she had done the same thing, and being caught in the act rapidly disappeared behind the bushes. Her fright had not escaped the practised eye of the artist, and with a slight shake of the head he entered into conversation with his brother.
Paolo who hated the high road, chose a path leading through the vineyards, from whence a view of the plain of the blue Rhine was obtained, and which finally led back to the Haarlass. Slowly did the brothers proceed on their way, both tall fine-looking men. The artist in the tight fitting costume of an Italian of that day, with the becoming Raphael cap, the Magister in a shovel hat with drawn up brim wearing the long robe of his profession, his fine sharp cut face surrounded by a platelike white ruffle. "The head of John the Baptist on a charger" involuntary thought the young artist, who nevertheless found that Paul's clear intellectual features appeared to great advantage out of this white Nimbus. "You carry your Nimbus round your neck," said Felix. But Paolo did not smile. Monosyllabic and hesitating was the information he gave. Whether he had made Profession in Venice was not to be ascertained, whether he had bound himself over to the Calvinists by some outward act, remained equally dark. To the question, whether he still held to the old belief, came the answer "as one wishes to think." Only one thing was clear, he was not happy. The bloom of health had disappeared from his face, which had become sharp and haggard, the eyes either looked covertly to one side, or were fixed with a piercing mistrusting expression full on the face of his brother. Out of humour the two brothers who after so long a separation had so little to say, finally followed each other in silence. Wherever the blue Klytia raised its head above the grass, the Magister plucked it. Felix thus knew, that the nickname given to Erast's daughter, was already known to her protector, but he found out also how it stood with his heart.
"You have a liking for the blue Klytia," said he kindly.
"The learned call it Chicory, it is used as an antidote to fever."
"Even against the fever of love?"
"What mean you?"
"Well, I heard, it hung on the sight of the Sun, as certain pupils hang on the lips of their teacher."
The clerical gentleman angrily threw the flowers among the vines beneath, as if they had turned into nettles. "Do not make such jokes, thou knowest I do not like to be turned into ridicule."
An unpleasant pause succeeded this excited speech, and to give the conversation another turn, Felix asked whether what Werner the Baptist had told him concerning the former use of the Haarlass had any foundation. "Foolery," replied Paolo. "Every child knows that the hair of the novices is cut off at the altar of the convent-church, and not at the boundaries of the convent property. Haarlass means 'hari lot' that is 'the property of the Lord of the Manor;' anything else is a poor joke."
Not to be put down Felix related what else the Baptist had told him. "A way will be found to get at this bold heretic," was the only answer of the Magister.
"When shall we meet again?" he then asked coldly as they reached the road.
"Must you go back already?"
"I have still much to do; if you find time, go of an evening to the Hirsch Inn. At the round table in the back room one meets the clergy of the neighbourhood. I am accustomed to go there also, so as to make the acquaintance of the worthy clerics of this land. We can there talk further over matters." Saying this he stretched out his small thin hand. His brother looked him earnestly in the face. But the Magister avoided the loving glance and directed his steps back towards Neuburg. "Can his heart really be dried up," thought Felix, "or is he only inwardly miserable?"