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-G.o.d, 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 Leucothoe and Klytia. Both loved Apollo, the beautiful Sun-G.o.d. He however loved Leucothoe 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 G.o.d 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-G.o.d remained in the heavens as long in Winter as in the Summer, for Leucothoe 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 G.o.ds 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-G.o.d. 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 G.o.ds 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 gra.s.s 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 G.o.d-like celerity swung himself round to the Cape of Circe, where dwelt Leucothoe, a.s.suming 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. Leucothoe was frightened, but she could not withstand him, for he was a G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.s that once she pa.s.sed by the house of Leucothoe 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-G.o.d sitting within near Leucothoe, holding her hands und telling her the most beautiful stories, whilst Leucothoe in an entrancement of happiness gazed into his glorious G.o.dlike face and beauteous shining eyes. Then Klytia fell into a rage, for she imagined that her playmate alone was the cause of the Sun-G.o.d's never looking at her or noticing her love. 'Look at what your daughter is doing,' she called out in the ear of Leucothoe's father, 'she is sitting in her room alone with a strange young man.' Just as the G.o.d was hurrying out, called by Hesperus, the strict parent entered Leucothoe'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-G.o.d 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-G.o.d. 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 Leucothoe, 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 G.o.d. 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 G.o.d with a look of fiery contempt, shrivelled up, her beauty died, and she turned into a wayside plant, trodden by every pa.s.ser-by under foot. That which was best and strongest in her however, her love for the Sun-G.o.d brought forth a blue flower resembling the Sun in shape and when the G.o.d 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 a.s.sumed 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 pa.s.sed 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 Haarla.s.s. 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 gra.s.s, 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 Haarla.s.s 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. Haarla.s.s 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?"

CHAPTER VI.

The artist whose feelings of brotherly affection were deeply hurt, and who felt the happy expectations which he had formed of this meeting bitterly disappointed, hurried away at a rapid pace. The Priest looked after his brother with a sad dark expression, then sat down on a stone near the roadside and contemplated thoughtfully the deep waters of the river in which the dark firs of the Konigstuhl were now reflected. The flow of the water recalled to him the troubled waves of that Ca.n.a.l, in the which for so many years of his college life at Venice, he had gazed, and he thought of the sad morning when he found himself transposed from the small palace in the ever verdant garden in the Chiaia and the blooming orange groves of Naples, to the moist damp walks of the Jesuit college at Venice. Instead of the view over the gulf which sparkled with the coloring of the opal or emerald, he saw with horror the brown slime of the Laguna, His eye accustomed to range from the ridgy peaks of Capri to the n.o.ble lines of Vesuvius, now saw on the other side of the dirty ditch, a bare wall without windows from which water dropped down. Accustomed during his hours of recreation to play in the garden with his sister, watched over by the loving eye of a mother, he now found himself surrounded by about fifty boys, who looked as pale and strange as himself, who "for recreation" turned out in a long gloomy corridor, or were taken for an evening walk to the Lido, he at the tail of a long string of companions under the care of a teacher, not allowed to look to the right or left to see the beauty of the proud Venice. At first he thought that he should die in this world without light or mother's love. He had wept during the night time and spent the day in fruitless home sickness. His only occupation was, to pray in silence, as he had been told that it was in his power, to free the souls of his mother and sister from purgatory, and when he felt a melancholy resignation in his captivity, this was caused by the fact that every day which he spent in a convent, gave him ten days remission, which he could pa.s.s on to them. Then he became quick of perception in the hours of study, so as to understand the teacher more rapidly than the others and to render more surely and more clearly the subject learnt. The teachers themselves had repeatedly rea.s.serted that Paolo Laurenzano was their best pupil. For the first time he became more reconciled with his new life. As the grain of mustard seed in the Gospel the small triumph of ambition had fallen into the heart of the child, and this little seed grew into a mighty tree and all the pa.s.sions built their nests therein. Torn apart from all that had been dear to his child's heart, he now knew no joy exceeding that of study or the praise of his preceptor. His every endeavour, his only thought was the task of the following day. Whilst the others played _Boccia_ in the court of the College, or billiards in the dining-rooms, the favorite game of the Holy Ignatius, for Paternosters, or dominoes for Ave Marias, which the loser had to repeat for the winner, he pored over his books and writings. Only one pa.s.sion governed him, to excel the others, to be the best among good scholars. Whoever opposed him in this, became his foe, and he stole hours from sleep, from play, even from the supervision of the teacher to attain this end. A son of Naples he was a born rhetorician; especially adapted for the cultivation of oratory, and argument was the course of study followed in the school of the Jesuits. Here everything brilliant was cherished, everything which caught public attention: Latin declamation and disputation, poetry, the comedy of the schools, sophistical philosophy and bombastical oratory, in short all empty show which impressed the ignorant. It was in this very rhetorical display that lay Paolo's special gift, and when he, at some of the exhibitions, which were frequently performed in the interest of the College, hailed down his Latin with all the rattling velocity of a Neapolitan tongue on some weaker opponent, or pathetically declaimed in his sonorous soft voice long extracts from Vergil or Lucian, when he hurled down from the lofty rostra pompous speeches in sounding periods at the well-dressed audience, which applauded with the quickness of an Italian a.s.sembly every pointed ant.i.thesis, cheered every epigrammatic proposition, noisily acclaimed every school boyish twaddle, Paolo felt himself then to be not as other men are, and the proud tread with which he left the platform after the end of his speech might have served as model to the Triumvirate of Rome. Thus the education given by the Fathers had envenomed with the poison of self-love the blood of this gifted boy, it raged within him as a burning fire, and never left him a moment's peace. Something had ever to be learnt, something ever to be done, which none other could do, and he only felt happy in the task of increasing the difference between that which he could do, and that which the others could, so that none could be even distantly compared to him.

The education of ambitious minds, determined to render subject to themselves the sleepy mediocrity found in other schools, was ever a princ.i.p.al object of the Order, and this result of education had been brilliantly attained in Paul. He could be named a pattern scholar of the Inst.i.tution.

If on the one side the self-consciousness of the young man had been excited to a degree verging on presumption, so on the other side had the moral nature been rendered slavishly subservient. The Fathers of the Society had based the education of their pupils on the psychologically thoroughly correct idea that nothing brings man down to such unconditional dependence as consciousness: the superiors know thy whole past, they know all thy errors, thy secret inclinations and sins, thou art absolutely transparent to them. The first thing therefore that had been required of Paul as indeed of every other pupil on his entry into College, was a general confession, in which he had to mention not only his faults but his preferences. With a child's hand and with his hot southern phantasy had he noted down all his vices, and owing to the mental excitement caused by the death of his sister and his beloved mother, the despairing boy had portrayed himself as a young miscreant.

The Rector praised his candor and the severity with which he judged himself and recommended him one of the teachers of the establishment as confessor and spiritual guide. He then learnt from his school-mates, that the secret of the confessional usually observed so strictly did not avail in the College, but that according to the revelations made the confessor drew up his report to the Rector. He was henceforth called upon for a daily record of his actions, thoughts, and feelings, and a strict watch was observed as to whether a pupil kept back or omitted anything. At the same time an especial monitor was appointed over each individually, whose duty it was to watch, reprove, or denounce. This system was all the more pernicious as regarded the relation of the boys one towards another, as the accused was allowed to escape unpunished, if he could manage to prove the accuser guilty of the same misdemeanor, whilst if he could not the punishment was meted out by a powerful boy known as the "Brother Corrector." Under such perpetual supervision was Paul brought up, and at the same time educated in spying others. He was never allowed to enter into conversation, without also listening to what his neighbour was saying, and under no circ.u.mstance could he keep to himself anything that had come to his knowledge. In this manner the superiors obtained an information concerning their pupils which left nothing to be desired.

With one ear the confessions and self-made acknowledgments of the pupil, with the other the reports and tale-bearings against his school-mates being considered, each character lay exposed before them to its very roots. The pupils however learnt, to use Ignatius' own expression, as they grew older "the difficult art of watching over the portals of the senses" and in this way only did they preserve a sc.r.a.p of freedom, of self-dependent reflection, of private conscience, a little of the individuality which the inner man always demands, whenever they succeeded in rendering themselves as impenetrable as possible both to teachers and companions. Paul was naturally of a frank chivalrous disposition, but these good qualities shrivelled up in the glow of ambition, fanned by his teachers. In perpetual contest to preserve the first place against his fellow-pupils, he had opponents who were dangerous to him, and it was natural that this ambitious child judged them more harshly and represented them in darker colors than those who acknowledged his superiority without jealousy, and whose mediocrity was to him a foil to be wished for. If he unsparingly, in his sinister ascetic humor, denounced his crimes, should therefore his rivals make themselves out to be better than they were? Eagerly did he watch, listen, spy, denounce, and if one of the rivals was once again through a lucky tale-bearing brought to the "bench of misfortune" or the "corner of disgrace" he felt a detestable contentment. He was therefore anything but loved by his colleagues, and the nickname "the Censor" which they had bestowed on him, expressed the mixture of respect and distrust they felt for him. It was only with time that the young zealot perceived how that he, by every romantic confession he made concerning the devilish abysses in his inner self, had fashioned so many chains which fettered him to the Society of Jesus; for based on these confessions the Rector drew up his reports to the Provincial of the Order and these communications ever increasing accompanied the pupil on his way through life. Wherever an Affiliated might go, he could not escape his past life, whether he settled in the new or old world. Everywhere the eye of the Order was fixed upon him, everywhere was he accompanied by his former confessions, in which were marked out the dark points of his life, everywhere was a fresh book opened for his every deed. Did any one of those entangled in these toils feel a desire to break away, he knew but too well, that the Order had it in its power to destroy him morally. But these paroxysms had not yet been felt at that time by Paolo. He had been filled with a consciousness of the importance of the Order, and he knew, that he had been called to a most brilliant career in connection with a Society spread over the new and old world. The training which he had received rendered him thoroughly aware of his superiority over the rest of the world and over those children of man addicted to the ways of simplicity. Accustomed for years to spy and be spyed, he had a.s.sumed a self-command which protected him like an impenetrable iron mask against any attack. It had long become a second nature to him, to utter no word that might be used against him, and even as little to let any escape which he might use against another. Kindly feelings and interests he knew nothing of All that he had brought with him from his father's house, love of family, home, and brother, had been consumed by the blast of ambition. G.o.d made the heart of man straight, but it learns many arts in the school of ambition. As a fresh, fantastic, good and beauteous child had Paolo entered College, he left it a pale, ambitious overwrought champion of the Church. He was in his twentieth year, when the Rector of the College declared his education completed, and the school awarded him all the prizes which it had to bestow. It is true that he knew nothing of that inward satisfaction, which usually accompanies the attainment of such an object. The vocation of his life had been up to that time to be _primus omnium_, and he would have preferred remaining thus for the rest of his life. He had no family who desired to render his gifts of use for this or that interest. The exhortations of the Holy Ignatius to speak of relations only as relations which one formerly had, and the doctrines of the order that the dependence on flesh and blood was one of the strongest chains with which Satan bound us to earth, met no opposition from him as orphan. Homeless as he was, he agreed to become a novice, and was placed among the "Indifferents" who still had the choice open of returning to the world or remaining in the church. The study of philosophy and theology was continued, broken into by services in the hospitals of Venice, by pilgrimages to neighbouring spots famed for miraculous appearances, and by begging in the town, all which duties Paul went through with the same self-negation, which his ambition and contempt of men and life infused in him. At one moment in the sick room holding the crucifix before the closing eyes of some dying man, at another patiently in school repeating texts and prayers suitable to the lisping lips of children, teaching in the churches the catechism and imparting religious instruction, going from house to house begging for alms, or alone in his cell, fasting, praying, and scourging himself. His exemplary zeal brought it to pa.s.s, that at the termination of his first probationary year, the Rector declared, that he should be allowed to undertake a sphere of work outside the college, which the General who had arrived that very day from Rome would point out to those about to quit. Immediately, after that this communication had been made to him, Paul was conducted to the Oratorium of the College, where he found the whole inst.i.tution a.s.sembled. The scholars sat in close rows before the very rostra from whence Paolo had uttered with his young lips so much venerable wisdom. The women and maidens of Venice crowded the seats a.s.signed to the public, and near the walls thronged citizens and n.o.bles and even many members of the highest offices of the state. Under the platform numerous wealthy and n.o.ble patrons of the College paid homage to the General present from Rome, who clothed in his cardinal's robes, acknowledged with austere condescension the salutations of the Signoria. On this day also, did a scholar ascend the rostra to greet in a well turned latin Ode the General as the honored guest of the house and to praise his virtues.

According to the programme another address should have followed, but these _curialia_ did not seem tasteful to the severe old man. He made an imperious sign of the hand and himself ascended the tribune. The stately prince of the Church, a tall ascetic man with harsh features and fiery eyes began in a hard loud voice a powerful sermon on the text "the harvest is plenteous but the laborers are few." He drew a picture of the duties of the Church in the lands of the faithful and of the heathen, in the new and old worlds, by Turks and by Idol-worshippers, and described the wants of the copper-colored heathens, who to-day like the Macedonian of the time who appeared to the apostle at Troas, called to the scholars of the Inst.i.tution "come help us." Going into details he stated that the mission in Malabar had lost through a rising of the population half of the messengers of the Faith lately send out. For those who might be called upon to fill up these vacancies, the same martyrs' crown and the same eternal life, awaited. Then he called out ten of the pupils by name and asked them: "Are you willing to go to those heathen coasts, to teach Christ, to preach and to die?" The ten young men stood up and answered with one voice: "Yes, General." A shudder ran through the a.s.sembly, and in the benches occupied by the ladies no eye was dry. The old man continued: "In Vera Cruz the yellow fever has carried off two thirds of our Convent. The College is empty.

The pestilence has ceased, but will return next summer with double severity. The Rector proposes the following Novices to fill the vacancies," and again the hard old man read certain names, in a harsh voice. "Are you willing to sail thither, to preach the Word, and to die, if such be the will of G.o.d?" The young men had risen from their seats and they also answered: "Yes, General."

"Worse than heathens or pestilence," continued the aged Cardinal, "is the heresy which rages among the savage nations of Germany on the other side of the Alps. Those whom we send thither, must be armed with all the weapons of the mind, they must perhaps for a time even lay aside the garb of the holy Ignatius and each await his especial danger." A number of names were then called for this service, among them that of Paolo Laurenzano. These young men likewise answered the question as to their readiness, with one voice: "Yes, General."

"You have sworn, my dearly beloved Sons," proceeded the Cardinal, "to die for the sacred cause of the Church. That is not however the most difficult, it is on the contrary the easiest part of your task. Much more difficult is, that which from this hour is inc.u.mbent upon you, to live for the Church. To live as if you lived not. You know the vows, in which you have already been approved through the noviciate. In place of poverty many of you will enter into palaces and rich abbeys, and perhaps you will be commanded to share this luxury for a season. In this apparent wealth you will observe your vow of poverty, if you, as the Apostle says, enjoy as if you enjoyed it not; if you are, to use a comparison made by our Father Ignatius, as a column, which suffers itself to be clothed or unclothed, decked in rags or precious stones, without remarking or knowing anything about it, without requiring, or desiring anything. Then indeed in spite of overflowing tables, purple and fine linen you will be observing your vow of poverty. Others on the other hand will have in the woven huts of the Indians, or in the basket houses of the Mongolians scarcely enough to cover their nakedness or appease their hunger. There will be times when a stone will be their pillow and a handful of moss their food. If however at those moments, they direct their attention to trying to render their lot easier, or if they, instead of being devoted by day and by night to their mission, rather let their hearts yearn for the few things which they still have, so will they break their vow of poverty, although they are poor. That they should inwardly free themselves from any joy at possession, is that, which their vow requires of them."

"Secondly our Founder wished his disciples to shine through the vow of obedience. Therewith the outer is not alone meant, that you should unconditionally perform that which is commanded you. In this manner the dog obeys his master, there would be nothing excellent in that. But that obedience should rank as a virtue, the inferior must make the will of his superior his own, he must sacrifice his own insight, so that he should not only will, but also think as does his superior, and he must hold as right and true all that the latter orders and thinks. All your courage depends on the simplicity of blind obedience. 'Incomplete subjection,' says the holy Ignatius, 'has two eyes, but for its own destruction; complete subjection is blind, but in that consists its wisdom and completeness.' You should be filled with a blind impulse of obedience, as Abraham was, when willing to slay his only son, because to obey he considered as a delight. The obedience which made him righteous was that he did what appeared wicked to him, because commanded by G.o.d, for goodness is not in itself good, but only because G.o.d has commanded it in his law. Abraham moreover knew that this law did not bind G.o.d, and he wished for no personal comprehension, no will, no love, no conscience, when G.o.d had spoken, only obedience, and therein consisted his righteousness. Whosoever therefore will oppose his own inward light to the Light of the Order is a fool, who wishes to look at the sun by lamplight, and he who suffers from qualms of conscience at the orders of his Superior, should remember, that it is one of the great privileges of our Society, that the members, who are scrupulous by nature, may according to papal a.s.sertion calm themselves on all points by the decision of their superiors. That is however the highest step of obedience, which we all have to endeavor to reach, that such scruples may never arise within us, but that a complete uniformity of understanding between our Superior and ourselves may take place, so that we are of one mind, of one and the same will with him, that we hold all that he orders to be reasonable, and take his judgement only as the rule for our own. If in obeying thou dost not subject thy reason as well as thy will, so is thy obedience then no complete burnt offering, in that thou hast not offered thy n.o.blest part to G.o.d, thy reason, and a sacrifice, in the which thou keepest back the best for thyself is not acceptable to G.o.d."

That was the blessing with which within the same hour Paul left the College, without taking any long farewell, to begin his journey in company with a stately and older member of the order, who called himself Doctor Antonio, over the Alps to the seat of the Bishops of Speyer. All this appeared to him as a dream, and the suddenness of his freedom came over him almost as a terror. With closed eyes the young man pa.s.sed through the fairest cities of Italy and the smiling plains of Verona. In vain did the peach-trees stretch out to him their ruddy blossoms, and the citrons on the trellis-work were past by unnoticed.

His eye was entirely turned within himself and on the duties which awaited him. A feeling of incapacity and fear of the future entered for the first time the breast of the learned youth. To cheer him up, his older companion a lively man with sharp, mobile features enumerated all the privileges to which Paul had a right even as a young novice, member of the Society of Jesus. He could absolve in all cases, even in those where the Bishop had refused to grant absolution, he could declare sh.o.r.e-robbers, convict-slaves, and heretics free from excommunication, he could dispense from vows in case a pilgrimage to Rome could not be undertaken. Even engagements entered into on oath he could declare null and void, in case they militated against the welfare of the Church.

Should he finally attain to the higher ranks, he could then grant dispensation from all church punishments even for those given as penalties for schism and heresy, yea even for the falsification of apostolic letters, he was then in a position to invest with the effect of deep penitence an insufficient repentance and to turn mortal sins into venial, not to make any mention of the profound mysteries of the Sacraments. All this he might and could do, or should soon have the power to do, and instead of being proud thereat and raising his head several inches higher, he dragged along weary and heavy-hearted by the side of his talkative companion, who inwardly thought that he did not see why in Venice they had set so much importance on this melancholy dreamer. Reading their prayers, or exchanging monosyllables the two sons of Loyola had ascended the steep rocks at whose base foam the green waters of Lake Garda. Then it came out during the evening at the inn at Arco, that Brother Paul had not even noticed that during the day they had pa.s.sed through water, and over rocks and snow. His companion shook his head and thought: he will indeed become a Doctor Ecstaticus.

The following day he therefore altered his tone and whilst wandering through the dreary Sarcathal to Trent, Father Antonius began to praise the especial protection, which the gracious Mother had ever extended over the Society of Jesus. The Madonna had herself watched over the blessed Ignatius during his last illness, as she now shielded his Sons under her mantle. She appeared lately in a vision to a brother in Catalonia, who was so entranced at her unspeakable beauty that he was seen floating in the air stretching his arms out towards her. In the Collegio at Rome lived a holy penitent in his cell without any food whatever, for the holy Virgin appeared to him night after night and suckled him at her breast as if he were an infant. Countless miracles could the loquacious Father relate, worked by pieces of her veil, or the fair hair which St. Mark had brought with him to Venice. Maria should therefore ever be an object of especial veneration for the order, for like the Pope she wore a threefold diadem. She was the daughter of the Father, the mother of the Son, the bride of the Holy Ghost. Without her G.o.d had not been able to create the world, for had she rejected the angel Gabriel, the Son could never have become man, mankind could never have been redeemed, and G.o.d could not have created the world without everlasting torment, which his love would have forbidden Him. Therefore did the whole world worship Mary, and the stars were only the large rose-wreath, which the Angels completed, and the milky way the ta.s.sels thereof In the rocky districts natural temples to Mary were to be found which even the wild beasts reverenced, and lately a young shepherd discovered one of these Madonna images in a stalact.i.te cavern in Rhaetia, by following one of his sheep, who daily at Vesper-time disappeared into this cavern, and the youth was astonished to see how the lamb bowed its knee and bleated at the altar of Mary as if to greet her. The water which was gathered from this cavern was efficacious against fever and gout, against fires, and it healed demoniacs. Yea it even worked on the soul, for a violent sinner who for years had neglected his easter duties, drank of this water without knowing it, and immediately the blessed potion took effect and he hastened to the confessional.

Father Antonio had almost talked himself out of breath in his praise of Maria, for the way up hill was steep. As he now stood still and inquired of the silent novice what he had to say in reference to all these miracles of the kingdom of Grace, the latter quoted as answer a verse out of Tibullus to Isis the Mother of the G.o.ds. "That thou canst, testify all the tablets, which hang painted to thy honour around the Temple." By this Father Antonio knew that this silent youth was no mere visionary, and from Trent through the bare valley of the Adda to Bolseno, whence Father Antonio diverged towards the snow-covered Pa.s.s of the Brenner, the conversation became monosyllabic. Only on the other side of the Alps, behind Innsbruck, did the companions break into a lively quarrel. They had remained in the town quietly, as Brother Antonio had business to attend to. His purse was as he said, quite empty, and to his astonishment Paul found himself woke up at early dawn and bidden to hurry away, as the innkeeper must be robbed of the amount of his bill. The Novice raised no opposition, but when his Superior left the door, he laid on the table one of the two gold pieces, which had been given him in Venice to defray immediate necessities, so that the innkeeper might find his expenses paid. Father Antonius must have suspected something of the kind. He returned to the room, to fetch something that he had forgotten, and when they reached the mainroad he quietly opened his cloth, and added Paul's gold piece to the few farthings left therein. Paul in a rage insisted on returning to give to the hotel-keeper what belonged to him, Antonio asked on the other hand: "Is it better that our holy missions should suffer delay, and perhaps hundreds of souls more be sent to h.e.l.l, or that this tavern-keeper should lose a few shillings? Let us choose the lesser evil, and by cheating a scoundrel, it is very probable that we become more pleasing in G.o.d's sight."

"But if he follows after us, and accuses us before the magistrate of the next village," replied Paul angrily.

"Then we can swear that you laid a gold piece on the table to satisfy his demands."

"But how can you deny having taken it up again."

"When I deny it, I think within my own mind to 'taken up' to add the words 'and not put in my purse,' for as you see I wrap it up in this piece of cloth."

"These Dominican tricks are known, and you will be required to swear without any mental reservation."

"Even in such cases one can swear 'without unjust reservation,' for mine would be especially just, as I am acting in G.o.d's cause."

"And do you imagine to be able to bring the heretics back to the cause of G.o.d with such miserable casuistry?" asked the enraged Paul.

"No, my son, I am not such a fool, we shall convert the Germans, by lighting such a fire in Germany, as will cause the angels to draw in their toes, and melt the stars in Heaven."

"You have your own peculiar way, of caring for Germany's happiness."

The old man laughed. "Do you think I have climbed these rocks to make Cimbrians and Teutons happy. I will once more bring back the Roman dominion which the Emperor Constantine bequeathed to the Pope, so that we do not, when Christ returns as Caesar, as depicted by Michael Angelo in his Last Judgment, or as Emperor on a white horse, as the revelation of St. John describes him, have to appear before Him and say: '_Salve semper Auguste_, but we have lost the two Germanies.' If however you hold to rendering people happy, go over to the Waldenses."

Paul was silent. It was impossible to take this man seriously, but it cut him to the quick to see such a fantastic Being wearing the dress of his order. As however they sat down to breakfast in the next village, sounds of loud voices were heard at the door. The two pilgrims recognized the voice of the tavern-keeper of Innsbruck, who was inquiring about them. "Give me your purse," said Brother Antonio coolly, "that I may satisfy him." Unwillingly Paul handed it over to him and Antonio disappeared. A short time afterwards the magistrate of the village appeared with the inn-keeper and began cross-questioning Paul. Paul knew from this that his companion had run away and cheated him out of his money; calmly he ripped from out of the lining of his cloak one of his last pieces of money which he had secreted there, and paid the reckoning. He was thus luckily able to say that through this means he had escaped without imprisonment or bodily chastis.e.m.e.nt. His desire to overtake his escaped companion, was naturally not very great.

Instead of travelling north towards Munich, as his companion had proposed, he took a western course through the Vorarlberg towards the Rhine valley, and arrived at the College at Speyer even before the allotted time. The Rector heard his report coldly, and said: