CHAPTER XI.
With the arrest of Sylvanus days of trouble began for the good Erastus. The report of a great unitarian conspiracy was purposely spread about by the adherents of the Church discipline, who threatened both the life and honor of their opponents. Sunday after Sunday Olevianus poured down the vials of his wrath from the pulpit against the blasphemers who trod the honor of God under foot, and against the Jurists and Officials whose pride refused to grant to the Church that which was due to Her. This was especially aimed at Erastus and the philologist Xylander, and re-acted the more on Lydia's father, who to strengthen his party against Olevianus had mixed himself up too intimately with the ever ambiguous Inspector of Ladenburg. It is true that these doubtful conferences were easy to explain through Xylander's admiration for Sylvanus' good wine, moreover the latter had always wisely kept back any writings which might have damaged him in Erastus' opinion; but no one would believe that explanation. For the time it was true the Kurfürst stuck faithfully to his Counsellor, but the latter knew well, how eagerly from all sides he was being maligned to his dull Sovereign. Oppressed by such cares Erastus had little time to trouble himself about his child. Lydia sat dreaming and alone at her work, she was right--she needed a mother's care. At times she went to the house of the Huguenot and was ever received kindly by Frau Belier, as the good woman was very glad to listen to something other than the strict doctrines considered fundamental by her calvinistic husband, but the chattering which accompanied the good lady's love and care, oppressed the silent thoughtful child, besides this the pet bird was an object of horror to her, which shrieked with screeching voice the name which contained all her joys and all her sorrows, and which the moment it had got this name well out, shook its feathers with satisfaction and added filou (rogue). Sometimes she met Felix there, who amused her after a manner by his jokes, who praised her beauty, and offered himself to her as cavaliere servente. That pleased her, as she sometimes ventured upon a side look at the shapely figure of the artist. Then she thought how much more imposing and handsome was the grave Magister. But she never repeated her confessions to Dame Belier. Speaking of her grief had only proved to be a poor means of stifling it. Her foolish heart found therein a basis for examining her connection with the Magister in all its bearings, and the more sharply the volatile little woman abused Paolo, so much the more did her own kind heart feel disposed to excuse the man so violently attacked. She, who believed in the melioration of wasps and therefore helped them out of her father's wineglass, and in the thankful disposition of sparrows, with whom she shared her breakfast, how could she give up the handsome clever teacher as entirely lost to her? In fact what had the young clergyman done that was so bad? Kissed her; she herself ought not to have permitted this, and the accusation of the imprisoned clergymen, that he had betrayed them, had never been proved. The real truth was that since the fiery Neapolitan had kissed her she had become sick at heart. She felt herself as if drawn by strong ties to the Stift. One day that her father had gone to attend one of those endless Church meetings, from which he always returned ill at ease, it occurred to Lydia how long she had put off paying the good Abbess a duteous visit. She well knew what had prevented her from fulfilling this obligation, and she daily reminded herself that it was now high time. That day she felt as oppressed as if she were doing some evil deed when she took up her veil and hung her gipsire about her. At one time hesitatingly, at another moment quickly did she walk along the road by the river in constant fear, of meeting him, who was in the whole world her one terror. Had she been obliged to wend her way through some thick wood, behind whose every tree lay a robber in ambush she could not have felt more terrified. With quickened breath did she mount the last step and when she reached the convent gate and inquired for the Abbess, her heart beat so rapidly and her voice sounded so low and broken, that the sister-porter thought that Lydia had come to deliver some sad news, and directed her with a shake of the head to the rooms of the Abbess. The most trying moment now came for Lydia. She was obliged to pass across the wide court under the very windows of the Magister. The bad man could do her no evil there, but perhaps he might see her. She experienced the same feeling as when she passed the butts behind the Castle, when it could never be known whether or not a bolt from a cross-bow would hit one full in the face, and she had a feeling of security when she finally stood in the shade of the narrow passage, and knocked with trembling hand at the door of the good Abbess. The aged Countess warmly embraced her, reproving her for having so long delayed her visit, whilst others, who lived much further away, had all visited her. Then she wished to know if her Father had really been the friend and advocate of the detestable prisoners and broke into passionate comments, as to the misery entailed on the Pfalz by the continual changes in Church matters. She did not allude in any way to the Magister, and having refreshed Lydia with a cup of fresh milk dismissed her with a motherly kiss. Happy and with a light heart did the good child hurry down through the court to the gate, and having sent her best greetings through the sister-porter to the inmates of the convent, rapidly descended the hill.
Where the path joined the country road she met an ugly peasant boy with fiery red hair and a cunning expression holding something in his hand. It seemed as if he were waiting for her, but before she could address him he said: "You have lost this," and throwing a parcel at her feet made off over the fields towards the vineyards. Surprised she took up the parcel. It was a silken kerchief unknown to her. As she unfolded it a note fell out: "Beloved maiden! Be to-morrow on the Holtermann an hour before sunset. I have much to say to you. Your father's happiness is concerned in the matter." The note was signed "L." Angrily did Klytia roll up the note. Was she the sort of girl with whom an appointment could be made at evening in the loneliest cross road of the whole neighbourhood? In her vexation she crumpled up the note and placed it with the handkerchief in her satchel. "An hour before sunset! Horrible! At the Holtermann--two hours from my father's house. Dreadful;" and with flushed face she hurried along over the bridge and through the town, till the steep Burgway caused her to slacken her pace.
The Magister, on the evening when he quitted Lydia and her father, found himself in a most painful state of mind. He felt triumphant, that the beloved creature had suffered herself to be enclosed in his arms without resistance, and his blood seethed when he thought of those happy moments, and yet he was ashamed of his own weakness, and uncomfortable at the expression of disgust, which Lydia had finally shown. That the prisoners had pointed him out as their betrayer also oppressed him. The bolt which he had shot from his safe hiding place, had rejoiced him so long as the quarry did not lie bleeding before him. Now that he saw heavy punishment facing the poor bound prisoners, the excited zeal which had caused him to consider it a duty to avenge the honor of God, suddenly disappeared. As an open accuser he could have demanded their condemnation at any moment, but his conscience accused him of having sped his deadly arrow as a hidden hunter concealing himself and ever to be concealed. This word spoken by him in secret had not relieved, but rather weighed down his soul. He could but notice that on all sides he heard disapprobation of the secret denunciation, nowhere a word of approval. He pictured himself as a criminal, who must ever lie concealed, for if once but the end of the veil now thrown over his actions was raised, the unreality of his position would be inevitably disclosed, and he shuddered to think, how many people were already possessed of his secret. Everywhere did he hear along the road of the arrests which had taken place, and it seemed to him as if those he met greeted him in a less friendly manner than usual, or purposely looked aside. Half forgotten innuendoes made by the clergy of the Hirsch and occasional references to his papistry now began to weigh him down, for the first time his conscience pricked him and was at variance. Whatever dogmas of his Order he might repeat to himself, since he saw before him the bleeding victims of his secret report, did not console his better self with mechanical references to a sworn duty. "I ought never to have allowed myself to undertake such a rôle" he murmured. "I shall serve the Order, but openly. I am a man, what necessity have I for concealment?" and carried out of himself by his rapid walk and by the flood of thought within him, he tore from his neck the plate-like ruff and hid it away, as if the symbol of a clergyman of the reformed Church choked him like an iron neck band. He struggled in his close cell through a restless night, in which the seven mortal sins contested for the possession of his soul. Distracted with wild passion he rose with fevered eyelids the next morning from his couch. The school was closed and no occupation was at hand to free him from the torture of his thoughts. The Abbess and presumably all the nuns knew what was going on within him since those profane exercitia. What could he preach to them? Mechanically did he perform his services. Together with the loss of the respect of his congregation did his own self-respect seem to abandon him. The work sickened him. Lazily did he wander about the woods surrounding the Stift, or he climbed up to the Benedictine Abbey of Schönau, to return after a short rest alone and sad through the old oaks to his room in the Stift. His sermons in the Chapel of the castle became more and more gloomy, replete with mournful lamentations over the human heart and the sins of the world. His images were mainly derived from the darkest situations of life. Often did the women and maidens gaze up at the melancholy preacher, who wished to drive away sunshine from God's beauteous world. He saw Lydia no more among them. The Ephorus of the Sapientia said contentedly to the Church Counsellor and Town-preacher sitting near him: "The Magister increases daily in knowledge." In this however the church elders were at fault. On the contrary, their protégé had never been so near his moral ruin as at the moment that he spake so bitterly of the world and of man. He who has lost his self-respect, possesses only half the power of resisting Evil. Since the Abbess had seen him giving way to weakness, since those immediately surrounding him did not hold him in so high esteem, since the congregation looked on him with suspicion, he neared the brink of the Abyss closer than ever. All seemed alike to him. Why should he not become like Sylvan, Neuser and hundreds of others, who in spite of their sins rejoiced in the approval of their fellow citizens? He also had hot blood in his veins, and his passions cried out for satisfaction, lust and love. He had sucked a sweet poison from Lydia's lips, which boiled in his veins. Day and night did he feel soft full lips and warm arms encircling him. The heart of the Neapolitan beat tempestuously under the pedantic garb of a german Magister. Of an evening he hastened to the town, where at the Hirsch he was received coldly, and kept at a distance. In his excitement he poured beaker after beaker of wine down his throat, to do as did the others, and then left earlier than usual to wander through the streets of the town in a fevered state of mind. His heated fantasy played him many a trick. He saw Lydia in every young form. Often did he think, that the women were luring him with their gaze, that each one who turned aside sought to entice him down a side street. Then did he clench his teeth, the blood rushed to his temples, and rapidly did he press forwards till he arrived breathless and with hurriedly beating heart to his room in the Stift. As the imprisoned stag in February tears with outspread antlers the ground, and with wild cry pants for the forest, so did the Man in Laurenzano bound down with hundred chains call for freedom from the spiritual yoke; and when gloomy and savage he came out of his room, the pious women hurried out of his way with affright, he seemed to them so ill and weird, and even Fran Sabina began to feel doubtful as to whether all the institutions of the old Church were as salutary as she had formerly considered them to be.
Such was the state of Paolo's mind, on that day when sitting by the window of his cell, as he saw Lydia entering the convent yard. He felt at once certain that she had come to see him again. The trembling doe which he would spare, came of its own accord within reach of his weapons. He must see her, speak to her, kiss her ... Quickly he seized his hat, and hurried forth outside the walls. But how could he address the maiden in sight of all the inmates of the convent, she, whose name was already coupled with his by the Nuns. Undetermined he stood there and the passion of manhood fought an ignoble fight with the cowardice of the priest. Laborers were tilling the ground around the vineyards; children carried bundles of faggots down from the wood. It was evident that no meeting was possible there; did Lydia wish to meet him,--and she must have come with that intention--it must be in some quiet sequestered spot. In his haste he could think of none other but the crossroad avoided by the common people for its evil repute, which lay above the Stift on the brow of the Heiligenberg and Dachsbau. There were they safe. That the innocent child would lose her reputation if seen in this notorious locality, did not trouble the disloyal priest, if he himself could only get there without being seen. Thus he made the appointment in a few hurried lines, wrapped the note in a silken cloth, and beckoned to a red headed boy who was apparently standing unconcernedly in the road. "Dost thou see the young lady, coming out of that gate? She has lost this kerchief! I do not wish her to know however who found it. Give it to her without betraying me and then run away at once. Come back then here and if thou hast exactly done as I told thee, I shall give thee a penny (groschen)." The boy scratched his red head and grinned. Then took the kerchief and ran across the fields, whilst Paul quickly turned towards the vineyards. When the boy returned, he handed him his reward. Conscious of having interpreted Lydia's wishes, Laurenzano returned satisfied with himself to his cell. Was not Lydia's acceptance of the kerchief an infallible token, that she assented to the rendez-vous? "Volenti non fit injuria" he murmured. It is true that with a priestly prudence he had added the words about the father. That was not right, it was devilish. But he comforted himself. "I was obliged to help her to overcome her feelings of modesty, so that she might have some excuse in her own eyes and in mine for following the dictates of her heart." Even the choice of the spot pleased him. He could by taking a lonely woodpath reach it unseen. No one dared to come near that place after dusk, and his passion depicted in burning colors how he might use to advantage this solitary meeting. The risk to Lydia, were she seen, was not considered by his priestly selfishness; it was a matter of course that his reputation, the reputation of a priest, of his office, of the church must be guarded above all, and this place was the easiest for him to get at. How deeply sunk in degradation was he, when he could call to mind at that moment without horror, a statement made by Pigavetta on the probable opinion of a learned teacher, that a monk was justified in murdering his mistress, if by so doing he could prevent the greater crime, namely the loss of reputation entailed on the cloister.
"I know she will come," he said to himself, "she cannot help it. Otherwise she would not be the bewitched maiden," and he smiled contentedly. Suddenly his eye fell upon the mirror of remembrance, which the Abbess had ordered to be taken back from the Church to his room, and the recollection of Father Aloysius came up before him. It compelled him as if drawn by unseen hands even in this his hour of temptation to look through the round glass. Feverish, burning with passion, with dark-rimmed eyes, and open sensuous month, did the face under the hood appear to him. He recognized the portrait of a broken down monk, against whom Father Aloysius had once warned him in Speyer, when giving him this curious memento. "My Son," had the worthy father said to him, "thou goest out in the world as a laic. Look from time to time into this glass, see that the expression of thy soul shows itself in thy features as befitting the garb to which thou art sworn." For a moment Paul was startled at his own appearance. But passion had subjugated every better feeling in him; with an oath he rushed at the casket and felled it to the ground. Glass and mirror lay in pieces before him. Hastily did he gather up the whole and shoved the shapeless bundle in a corner. He felt as if freed from some horrible goblin, and he hummed a popular air which he had lately heard. When our sinful resolves have reached a certain point, they seem to replace at times for a moment the quiet of an easy conscience. Feeling certain of success the Magister slept calmly and soundly for the first time for many weeks; but when he woke fresh and clear the following morning, his action of the previous day presented a totally different appearance. The fragments of the broken casket gazed reproachfully at him. The mirror of remembrance never answered its purpose better than now when lying in fragments before him. Sad and down cast Paul began to prepare himself for the evening service, which unfortunately he had to perform that very evening. Had he known how to reach Lydia, he would have cancelled the appointment, and he determined if it did take place, to remember in time the penitence which always follows every sin, and to seize this opportunity of separating for ever from Lydia.