Felix made his way towards the Schloss, Paul towards the bridge. The young Priest saw naught of the metallic gleam of the moonlit river, naught of the mist, which rolled in fairylike play around the valley, he was full of the blasphemies, which he had heard, of the plans of the wicked Priests, who wished to swell the army of those who deny the holy Trinity. It seemed to him not improbable, that all the influential and important men, who that day had gathered round the table, were secret allies of the Arians, But with one blow would he destroy this nest of Satan, this was his inward vow, and if he had known but one sentiment of mercy, when the cause of G.o.d was in question, it would not have availed in this case, opposed to the thirst for revenge of the Neapolitan, who had apparently treated the vulgar insults of these coa.r.s.e men with contempt, whilst in reality his heart was fired with the desire, to pay them back in his own peculiar coin. Sylvan especially, that handsome man vain as a peac.o.c.k, was the princ.i.p.al object of his wrath, a man who had been granted the highest honors of the Catholic Church, and who to-day openly admitted the fundamental principle of all gregarious animals, ever to hasten thither where the best pasturage was to be found. As soon as Paul had reached his room, he drew up in a secret cypher a full report of what he had heard on this memorable evening. "Up to the present," thought Paul dipping his pen, "I have only slain small foxes and wild boars, who were desolating the vineyard of the Lord, to-day has a spotted royal stag, who breaks through the forest with spreading antlers, received an arrow in his heart." With a feeling of triumph did he lie down, to be in readiness to forward his letters the first thing in the morning from the town to Speyer.

CHAPTER IX.

The sun was setting and still Felix remained on the topmost boards of his scaffolding, to examine the cornice and the cracks in the walls which appeared to require filling up. At the midday meal he had heard that Erast's daughter had returned home, and who knows whether this news had not brought back to his memory the most perilous portion of his undertaking. At all events, whilst he was examining the pilasters, consoles and figures, the remembrance of the fair maiden at the Stift came back to his recollection more than once. Two hundred feet above ground, standing on a narrow plank, he looked straight in the face of the grave Serapis, then he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, and bethought him that this was not a good place for a reverie, and shaking his head, said: "If I make a false step to-day, and come to the same end as did Phaeton, no one but the fair Klytia is to blame, for whosoever has once seen this maiden's sweet smile, will be haunted by the remembrance of the dimple in her cheeks, even if he ascends as high up as to the planetary Deities. Those old gentlemen have some knowledge of these matters." As he was preparing to come down, he recognised the fair maiden of whom he was thinking, standing in person before him close to the window.

Klytia had in reality returned from the convent to the home of her father, and had curled up her little nose in no small degree when she perceived the scaffolding before her window and the dust in her room.

In spite of the sad recollections of that day in the Stift she felt lonely at home. Even the farewell she took of the good Abbess was more painful than she had thought it could be, and her anger against her companions quite disappeared when they wished her good-bye amidst kisses and good-humored jokes. She sat at her high window and gazed through the scaffolding in a dreamy manner at the distant Rhine valley.

The Neckar flowed like a silver thread through the plain, whose fields were white for the harvest; in the distance the blue Haardt mountains were to be seen, the blossoming acacias on the slopes of the Jettenbuhl filled the air with perfume, and to the right and left the flowering chestnuts dotted as if with a white powder the dark-green woods. Around the Heiligengeist the closely built houses seemed like sheep surrounding their shepherd, and the two towers on the bridge standing on either side of the river seemed hospitably to invite the inhabitants to cross over. It was the same lovely picture which had formerly so delighted her, but now it possessed no longer this charm; her joyous heart had remained behind in the convent, and her entranced glance lingered on the tower of the bridge as if through this gate all her happiness--pa.s.sed in or out she knew not which. As she now sat at her window over her work, she felt what was lost to her: "If my mother were but still alive," she thought, and a tear dropped from under her eye-lashes. However much she loved her grave father she could not confide her feelings to him. She had been shamefully deceived. The man, whom she had deified as the best on earth, had proved himself to be a wicked angel in the garb of a good shepherd, and the insult which he had offered her, had sorely stricken her maiden heart. What did it avail, that she had _bonam conscientiam_, as the good Abbess was wont to say, it seemed nevertheless to her as if she had done some wrong in suffering a hypocrite to have so much influence over her, and as she thought of the terrible moment after the evening _exercitia_ in the Chapel, the blood flew to her cheeks, and she bent over her work while indignation and shame struggled within her. Whilst thus deeply wrapped up in thought and painful reminiscences she was startled from her work by seeing the shadow of a man pa.s.sing close to the window on the scaffolding. She was so accustomed to live here in profound solitude, that she rose up terrified, as at the most did a sparrow fly against the window or a pigeon settle on the coping. The head of the man was above the window so that she could only see up to his shoulders. A man at such a moment would have thought how shall I rouse the house; a woman would have feared lest the poor young man should fall from his narrow plank into the depths beneath. Lydia was still too much of a child for either, and as the first fright pa.s.sed away, she was filled with curiosity to see the head appertaining to those young feet. A sudden presentiment shot through her mind. It seemed to her as if she saw them wandering over the meadows of the convent and treading upon certain blue flowers. Quickly did she spring up to shut the window; but Master Felice had already recognised her: "Ah! so you are back, n.o.ble maiden?" said he cheerily. "I greet you from my airy height."

"You will fall," said Klytia anxiously, "please finish your work, it makes me giddy."

"Oh, here I feel as comfortable as does the ant when swinging on a pine-cone. How fresh the air is! Allow me to sit down." And he leant his back against a beam, nursing one of his knees between his hands, while the other leg swung backward and forward over the scaffold.

"Have you much to do in this dangerous situation?" asked Klytia, who in her terror had almost begged him to get down through her window.

"A pretty good deal," replied the architect laughing, "I must cobble Serapis' boots, Jupiter's eagle will be _minus_ a tail if I do not treat him to a little mortar, Cupid is in danger of losing his head, for which you are perhaps responsible, Faith and Hope are in pretty good condition, but Charity has lost her nose, and Samson must have a new jawbone of an a.s.s. You see, that you could hardly remain in this Schloss without me."

"Do go, how can you joke in such danger."

"By the eyes of the Madonna, I do not joke. Do you wish for a Cupid without a head, and a Charity without a nose?"

"I do not wish to have anything to do with either, but so that I may not keep you any longer in your break-neck position, permit me to shut the window."

"No, as you have asked for permission, that I cannot suffer. Rather give me a more gracious farewell, by telling me at what hour evening service begins in the Castle-Chapel? I should much like to hear my brother preach, as he has become so sparing of his words since he has come over to you."

"Magister Laurenzano preaches?" asked Klytia terrified, her heart seeming to stop.

"Yes," replied Felix smiling, "and do you know when?"

"Evening service begins at six," said Klytia shortly, "and I hope you may get down in safety," and with hasty trembling hands she closed her window. Felix looked after her in astonishment, and then shaking his head he began his journey downwards lost in thought. Klytia had hastened to a back room, as if she felt there better protected from her own thoughts. She arranged the room, but soon forgot where she had placed the different articles, so that she had to look for them again.

Sad and discontented she sat down once more to her work. The little room felt close, for the rays of the setting sun poured into it. She re-opened the window. Outside all was still and Felix had taken away the ladders, so she felt secure from intrusion. With beating heart she took up her work. Never again would she see the man, who though bound down by dark vows had nevertheless sought her love. Soon the first among the worshippers came out of the doors of the Castle which led across to the Chapel. Her female friends looked up at her to see whether she would not join them. She drew back into the room. The bells began to chime. It was the only church music, which the Kurfurst permitted "for the nonce" as he said, even the organ had to give way to the general reformation. Klytia heard the booming tones with heavy heart, it seemed as if they tolled for a funeral, whether her own, or his, she knew not. When the bells ceased, and all around was silent in the large court, a sudden shiver pa.s.sed over her, it took away her breath, she felt she must hasten into the air. Outside she heard the singing, and as in a dream she took her hood and cloak, and prayerbook in hand, she as if drawn in against her will, entered into the house of G.o.d in which preached this terrible man, and crept into the last row near the door where she hoped to remain concealed from his diabolical gaze. Was it the magic of the bells, that had drawn her thither, had the Psalms possessed that power, or had she gone to seek him, from whose eyes she sought to shield herself by hiding behind the pillar?

The clergyman ascended the pulpit and read out the prayers. As Felix after a while looked in the direction where sat Klytia he noticed that she had moved more forward in her seat, and now endeavoured to catch Master Paul's eye.

Felix looked around the lofty Chapel in an absent and disgusted manner.

Was this the celebrated Church of the Heidelberg castle, the wealthiest at that time of all the Rhenish provinces? The high gothic arches had been whitewashed, the paintings ruthlessly daubed over disclosed themselves, however, here and there to the practised eye of the artist.

A large spot at the entrance marked the place, where the font had once stood, another in the chancel the broken down altar. Without any regard to the architecture of the building the benches had been grouped in a square, in the middle of which stood, a most ludicrous object to Felix, "the honorable table." A part of the congregation turned their backs to the chancel which remained unused without Altar or Crucifix. The colored windows had been replaced by plain gla.s.s, and angrily did Felix gaze through those at the blue sky, as he asked himself what could have become of the famed gla.s.s paintings, to restore which known Masters had spent great portions of their lives? Even the old Heidelberg school of singing, which had once possessed a building of its own at the foot of the Schlossberg had disappeared. The people shouted in chorus, as appeared best to each individually. When the singing was over, the Preacher read out his text in a soft, melodious voice and laid the book aside with a graceful motion. Then he pa.s.sed his white hand over his pale lips and began his sermon. His silvery melodious tones rang through the Church, at times like the monotonous melancholy murmur of a fountain, at other times rising to the majestic roll of thunder, but in the midst of the loudest blast of this rhetorical hurricane, the voice suddenly once more a.s.sumed a low loving tone which doubly touched the heart. These homiletic sounds moved Felix in no sense. He looked at the disposition of the benches, he thought to himself, how otherwise they would have looked if dimly lighted by the colored windows of the chancel filled with the smoke of incense, buried in the shadows of dark side chapels and the semi-light of deep niches. Gradually he mastered his indignation sufficiently to turn his attention to the words of the Preacher, who moved about the pulpit with the confidence of a trained orator and the innate grace of an Italian. He had bent over the edge of the pulpit, the white ruff stood up, and he resembled with his outstretched arms a bird about to take its flight. In speaking colors he described the dangers of life, the dependency of the defenceless heart. A world of despondency lay in his mournful tones. "Nowhere a consolation or support, not in ourselves for the heart is a hardened, deceitful, unreliable thing; not in others, for they are like unto ourselves; not in the world in general, for it belongs not to the good, but to the wicked. Where then is a refuge, salvation, a sure foundation on which we may depend?" A pause aroused the expectations and gave the oppressed hearts time to become conscious of their own anguish. Then the Preacher continued with a movement of the hand, which showed how near the blessing was at hand. "Behold the Church, thy mother, thy guide, thy protector and consoler under all difficulties."

Felix out of humor looked about him. "We all know how that is done,"

thought he. He again watched the congregation. The few men were heedless, the children restless, but the women hung with all the more attention on the lips of the young orator. When Felix again listened his brother was depicting the punishment of the other world. "They will be tortured through all eternity, says the Scriptures. How long is an eternity?" he then asked with as steady a look at his congregation as if he required of them a positive answer. "Let us suppose that this high lofty mountain lying towards the east, be made of polished steel and that every thousand years a bird came and pecked with its little beak this steel mountain and then flew away. How many thousands of years would it require ere the mountain was pecked to pieces? Or let us suppose that a large lake stretches from these hills here to yonder Haardt mountains, and that every thousand years a gnat came and sucked up through its little trunk as much water as it required to still its thirst, how many thousands of years would this little insect require to suck up the whole lake? When the bird has picked away the mountain, and the gnat drunk up the lake, that will not even be a millioneth part of an eternity, the Scripture however says: they will be tortured throughout all eternity."

"Humbug," murmured Felix to himself and for the first time in his life he felt a sort of repugnance towards his brother, for whom he usually had had only the tender feelings of a friend and father; he looked up with a sort of displeasure at the tall young figure which with bowed knee almost disappeared within the pulpit, then again rose up quickly with outstretched arms, and sank backwards as if he had been stricken to the heart with a deadly blow, only to repeat once again with uplifted hand "Only the Church, preaching, and the word."

"That comes from having done away with organ, colored windows, and male choirs, they must crack up with immoderate praise the excellency of wares for which no mouth now waters, whilst in the Church, as we adorn it, the heart draws up men with it." As finally the speaker with a thorough knowledge of his subject produced a final homiletic storm, and the entire fullness of his voice reached its highest developement, Felix awaited his Amen with impatience and when the congregation after a song of praise left the Church without the usual organ accompaniment, but amidst the hasty trot and shuffling of the school-children and the loud remarks of the men, the Italian felt himself colder and less satisfied than at any time when leaving after Vespers.

As he came out of the door of the Church into the court filled with the rays of an evening sun, his look fell at once upon the tall figure of the Counsellor Erast who was waiting for his daughter. He wished to pa.s.s on with a polite bow, but Erast stopped him with the friendly inquiry as to how the reformed service had pleased the Papist.

"Monotonous melodies badly sung," said the Italian evasively. He felt he was not called upon to preach the gospel to the heathen. But the Counsellor was in his own waters. "Ah so," said he, "you do not know our musical canon. We observe Calvin's Inst.i.tutio in this matter.

'Attention is to be paid', says the Genevese teacher, 'that the ear does not strive more after the melody than the spirit after the meaning of the words. Songs, which are calculated only to produce a pleasing impression and to delight the ear are not suitable to the Majesty of the Church and must be displeasing to G.o.d.'"

"Quite the contrary," answered the Italian dryly, "if the Almighty only possesses the slightest ear for music, he will exclude these people from the celestial choirs if only on account of their inharmonious shrieks. The singing is only fit for h.e.l.l."

Erast laughed. "And the Magister's sermon, did that find grace in your sensitive ears?"

"Had the House of G.o.d been left as our forefathers built it," said Felix, "no excessive oratory would be needed to lead souls to G.o.d."

"We are accustomed to be edified by the word, not by pictures, symbols, and all kinds of singsong," rejoined Erast smiling.

"By the word," cried Felix angrily. "Do you then believe that the chanted word is not the word of G.o.d? And the question remains still the same whether the Maestro of Palestrina does not rather disclose to me the meaning of the word and imprints it deeper in my heart, or whether Parson Neuser, Suter, or whatever these gentlemen are called whom I lately met sitting round the table at the Hirsch do so. Perhaps you also have seen at St. Mark's in Florence the picture by Fra Angelico of the two disciples inviting the Saviour disguised as a pilgrim to tarry with them, for the day is far spent and night is at hand. You could hear many sermons on the disciples at Emmaus from your celebrated Church divines before obtaining a conception of the text, which Fiesole places before you in so impressive a manner. He who has seen the look of the Saviour in that picture, will be accompanied through life by this look, as by the best text out of the Bible."

"I also have spent many a profitable hour in your churches," said Erast, "but I have remarked how the best pictures as well as the worst are reverenced by the people as idols, and the worship of the only true G.o.d is lessened thereby. I know the picture in San Marco well, and as you state, no one who has seen the gentle features of the Master and his disciples can forget them. I have seen however other pictures, which I can just as little forget. As for instance the horrible Sebastian, Roche and Mark in the hospital at Venice. When the Lazareth fever broke out in consequence of the filthy management, it was not combated by fresh air, pure water and lime, as we do it, but new lights were lit to the three Patron Saints. If nevertheless people died, then the Saints were insulted, spat upon, beaten, then everything was held to be done. No one thought of practical earthly measures. That is a consequence of mixing religion and art together. For this cause did I move no hand, when all the pictures here were done away with, although I felt grieved for many a work of art." The Italian perceived well the seed of truth which lay in these words, but he was as horrified at the heretical sentiment as if the claw of Satan had laid hold of him. He made the sign of the cross, and remarking, that Erast smiled contemptuously took up the discussion excitedly.

"The people ever remains the people," said he sharply. "Since they no longer seek help from images, they do believe the more in witches and magic in the which G.o.d's worship acquires nothing. You cannot be ignorant of the fact that in the small Geneva, Calvin has burnt more magicians and witches than have been burnt during our life time in the whole of Italy. It is therefore better for the people to turn for aid to the images of the Madonna than to Satan. In the matter of lights and choirs you have not even the excuse of misuse, or has the organ also tended towards idolatry?"

"We do not go to Church to see lights and hear music, but to ponder over the sufferings of the Lord."

"Sir," said the artist in a voice trembling with excitement, "I happened to be in Rome last Easter in the Chapel of the Pope, as on the day previous to the death of the Saviour they recalled to our minds, according to our form of worship, the sufferings of the Lord. The choir gave expression to the feeling which fills the soul at the thought of the terrible crime committed by mankind on Christ. That was no singsong, it seemed as if a deep wail pa.s.sed over the whole earth and heaven on account of the blasphemy and evil of the world, and we wept likewise. And the lights which had been lit had no charm for us. One after another were they extinguished by an invisible hand. The last was borne away behind the altar. The Church was dark and only Michel Angelo's colossal figures of the last judgement loomed forth in the background. But this gradual extinction of the lights affected us more deeply than the best sermon could have done. I trembled, in my excitement I raised my hand to save the last flickering life-flame of the Saviour, and as the last light disappeared, then did we understand what the Scripture saith: 'The light shone in the darkness, but the darkness apprehended it not.' The pure and beautiful life of the Saviour was extinguished before our eyes. Believe me, I felt at that time the sufferings of the Lord more deeply, than if I had been in your Reformed church, and a red-faced man had stood up in the pulpit and had spoken in the coa.r.s.e voice of a drunkard of a suffering which he comprehended not."

"If the preacher does not believe, the case is bad everywhere."

"If, if," cried Felix pa.s.sionately, "real belief has ever been rare on earth. And does not even your Church Counsellor Ursinus himself state, that he scarcely knows six Christian clergymen in the Palatinate?"

"What does Ursinus know, who seated behind his study table continually finds objections, and who for years has seen nothing of the world but the road from the Sapientia college to the clerical Library in the tower?"

"Well, what I have seen myself does not convince me that these gentlemen can ever replace Michel Angelo, Raphael and Palestrina."

"In spite of these Masters we are far ahead of you in true culture,"

said Erast calmly.

"In true culture!" cried Felix angrily. "Look on this building. The culture of your people in these matters was incited by our Masters, then came the great heretic of Wittenberg, the horrible demon sent by the Wicked one to destroy you, and since then what have you done?

Catechisms, confessions, pamphlets, books on subjects which none can know, and all your lives pa.s.sed in wrangling, strife, and discussing unprofitable subjects. Only keep on in this way, and you will never again behold such edifices as that of the departed Otto Heinrich, but only continual bloodshed, hate and never-ending strife."

"Young man," replied Erast, "you have been only a few weeks in Germany, and do you therefore think yourself competent to speak a lasting judgement on our land? Look only at our schools, how the young people grow up Catechism in hand, know the words of Scripture, learn reading, writing, and the ten commandments. Look into the homes of our citizens.

If we can once succeed in introducing in every house the Holy Scriptures, the German translation by Martin Luther, so that every man at any hour can take up the word of G.o.d, then are your sensuous means not necessary. Perhaps you find this proceeding coa.r.s.e and plain, but that our people light no candles to the Virgin so that their children may regain their health, but rather seek a physician, that they do not go halves in matters of stealing and robbery with images of the Saints, arises from the fact, that they are edified by the word of G.o.d, which tells them what G.o.d wills, not by images, lights and music, when every man thinks of the desire of his heart, the one of the good and beautiful, the other of murder and thieving."

The calm man was beginning to work himself into a state of excitement when luckily Lydia came up. She appeared disturbed and her eyes shone feverishly bright. She listened to the conversation in silence, but heard the Artist rather with her eyes than with her ears.

"How like him, he is," she thought.

"And what do you say?" now asked Felix politely.

"That the one does not exclude the other. G.o.d's word remains throughout eternity, and when men are thoroughly imbued with it, then perhaps can they return again to images, lights, and organs."

"Thoroughly a woman's decision," said Felix laughing, "or shall I rather say: a judgement of Solomon?"

"No, Sir painter. The wise Solomon was a man, and therefore said, _either_, _or_, and ordered the child to be cut in two parts, the Queen of Sheba would have said: you shall both have the child and in this way does the world go on best."