Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg Castle

by Adolf Hausrath

CHAPTER V.

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?"