Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg Castle

by Adolf Hausrath

The Magister had returned to Heidelberg with a feeling of deep shame. He had been received in a most friendly manner, but if asked how he had spent his holidays, he turned pale and answered evasively. The friendliness with which the common people greeted him, oppressed him. "They have so good an opinion of thee," he said to himself, "which thou dost not deserve." Since he had admitted his unworthiness to himself by his foolish flight, and affirmed this acknowledgment in the confessional and in a written declaration, he knew himself as if portrayed. His inward impurity if but only of a negative kind had become external and practical, and it seemed to him as if thereby the intended sin had been in reality committed. Involuntarily he sought to discover in the face of each acquaintance whether his flight was known in Heidelberg, and yet he dared not make the slightest allusion to it, lest he should himself betray it. His secret ever on his lips, he feared that he himself might reveal it. Ever listening to hear it, terrified by any accidental word, guileless did he wish to live among the guileless, and nevertheless he ever thought of his sin, and the most insignificant allusion drove the blood to his heart. Thus did he sojourn among men, humble, fearful, modest, nevertheless full of suspicion and mistrust, with that shy manner peculiar to nocturnal animals by day, an image of an evil conscience worthy of all pity. Besides this an especial punishment caused by an accidental circumstance, of which no one had the slightest conception, was reserved for him. There are new melodies which spread like epidemics, for a while rule the market, till finally they are as totally forgotten as their predecessors. The newest melody for the time in Heidelberg was the Gavotte of that jovial Huguenot Henry IV. of France: "Oh! thou beauteous Gabrielle," heard played by Paul on the day when he took flight to Speyer. The baker's boy who left the warm bread of a morning at each house, whistled in shrill notes, "Oh! thou beauteous Gabrielle." The cobbler's boy who carried the boots and shoes repaired for his master's customers took good care that it should not be forgotten. From out of the open windows was heard the "beauteous Gabrielle" in whose honor the maidens of the Palatinate let their passionate thoughts pour forth. The "beauteous Gabrielle" was played of an evening by the bands in the public gardens, and drunken students sought their beds late after midnight humming the tune of the "beauteous Gabrielle." If this eternal repetition became wearisome to nervous people, it connected itself ever in Paul's mind with his downfall. If his thoughts had once freed themselves from the comfortless recollection of his imprisonment, of his guilt, of the overwhelming consciousness of having been a perjured priest, immediately the hated melody made itself heard, and he saw himself in the ignoble position of a priest compelled by his evil conscience to take flight, and the words of his unknown monitor sounded in his ears: "Fly for all is betrayed." He had once met on the street the red-headed boy to whom he had confided his message to Lydia. The boy had saluted him in an evidently derisive manner, and Paolo blushed to the roots of his hair. He feared to find in every peasant wench the bearer of his warning and meet a second person who knew of his sin. Every mocking gesture, made by some uncouth pupil of the college during the hours of instruction quite decomposed him. He could not free himself from the feeling that he was being watched, being spoken of. He continually fancied himself abused and as he looked aside pale and agitated, when people wished to greet him, he was in reality treated with less friendly feeling than before, in the which he only saw a confirmation of his opinion, that a universal contempt was felt for him. By day and night he thought over whether it could be proved that he had betrayed the clergymen, whether he in case of an inquiry could deny the appointment made with Lydia. All his thoughts were concentrated on this point; he was hurrying towards depression and monomania. A coarser nature would have easily set aside trespasses which as a fact had never been committed; his melancholy disposition supplemented the evil. In his own eyes he was not like other young men who had stumbled, but a priest who had broken his oaths, and violated his consecration. For God punishes heavily the sins of men, the more their moral conceptions are developed. None can enjoy at one and the same time the pure pleasure of ideality and the debasing joys of sensuality; for the proverb "quod licet bovi non licet Jovi" avails also when inverted. "Thou hast wished to purchase pleasure outside the limits of the law, and purchased thereby sorrow," said he to himself. "Thy just punishment has been meted to thee and only in so far as thou deservest it." And yet it seemed to him as if in early days much injustice had been done to him.

Accompanying this feeling was his grief for his lost love. Since Klytia had become another's, he felt for the first time, that his sentiments towards the sweet fair child had in reality been more than a sensuous dream of his passions. He might have been so happy, wherefore had he repelled this happiness? His love became serious, when however it was too late.

Weighed down by all this mental pressure he soon became quite another man to the public. The Jesuitical tirades, by which he had formerly excited the wonderment of the young came no more from his lips. Since a genuine feeling had found admission into his heart, the pious phrases fell away from him as withered leaves. The living seed of life, budding in him, cast out all that was false, fictitious or mendacious. He prayed much for himself, in the pulpit the words seemed to choke him. Even when following the coffins of those whom he accompanied to their last resting place, he felt himself void, inwardly dried up and wretched. It was no reality to him, that the sorrows of those left behind and for whom he prayed filled his heart. They might go and beg for aught he cared. It was no verity to him that the fate of the deceased in another world troubled him, he might go down to Hell or to Heaven, as it might please God. Sorrow for sin is egotistical and destroys all feeling of pity for the grief of others. One single wish filled his breast as he walked behind the hearse in his black gown, to be himself within that narrow coffin about to be imbedded in the cold still earth, above which bloomed the trees and flowers, the birds sang, and clouds by day passed over so lovingly, on which at night the moon shone so quietly and peacefully. All the spiritual commonplaces, with which he had formerly drawn forth the tears of those attending a christian's funeral, were now wiped away from his memory. Since that a veritable feeling now ruled him, sorrow for his lost happiness, he experienced no longer those fictitious emotions, those false sensations. The veneration of others, for him a sinner, weighed him down to the ground. Every salutation due to his position, told him that he was a liar, and he felt ashamed of an office, from which his heart was so far distant.

As he was once again preparing himself to hold divine service, this feeling over-mastered him. "And wherefore dost thou not break loose from these bonds?" he asked himself. "Who has told thee, that this can be thine only vocation? Why willst thou not prove which is stronger, a fate, which years ago seized upon a mere boy, or the riper will of a man?" For the first time he determined to act without consulting Pigavetta, and to resign his office without reference to his superiors. Though in so doing he did not free himself, yet it was one lie the less.

"Magister Laurenzano requests to be relieved from his spiritual functions," said at a sitting of the Church council held in the Auditorium of the former monastery of the bare-footed monks, the President Zuleger, a young Bohemian. "This is to be regretted on account of his oratorical talent, but as spiritual duties are not obligatory with his professorial chair at the College, the request must be granted." The others agreed. "Conclusum," said the President to the Secretary, "the request is granted, with the hope nevertheless, that Magister Laurenzano will of his own accord from time to time preach the Gospel to the parishioners. Fiat decretum, but let it be written out in a friendly manner," added the President. The Secretary also did his best. But we, who know Magister Laurenzano's mental disposition, can hardly condemn him, for not giving way to the wishes of the honorable Collegium. Whilst Paolo thus apparently separated himself from the work of God, divine Grace had begun a work in his heart, which through repentance and sorrow refined him into a new man. The Magister did not speak with his spiritual tyrants about his fresh plans. He waited to see, what orders would be given to him. But Pigavetta appeared not to notice Paul's disappearance from the pulpit, in fact he acted as if Paul did not exist.

CHAPTER IV.

The sitting of the Imperial Diet being at an end the court of the Kurfürst returned amidst the thunder of cannon fired from the Trutzkaiser to the Castle at Heidelberg, which during the meeting had been only opened for the accommodation of noble guests. The remaining groups of those returning home passed at the same time through the town; they were Polish, Transylvanian and Hungarian Magnates, who had ordered servants and horses to be sent from their homes to meet them in Heidelberg. A contagious disease broke out in the hostelry where the servants had slept, laying all the inhabitants of the house on the sick bed. Erastus was called in, examined the patients, who besides having a violent fever, had their faces, breasts and arm-pits covered with blue, violet and evil looking pustules. The swarthy complexion of the physician turned ashy-pale when he noticed these symptoms, but without saying a word he ordered a spunge dipped in vinegar to be brought, which he fastened to his mouth. He caused his assistants to do likewise, and carry the sick to the Gutleuthaus, a hospital lying outside Heidelberg, which in former days had been founded for the use of the returning Crusaders affected with leprosy. The inns, in which the filthy guests had tarried were closed, the rooms disinfected with alkalines, the beds were burnt, and the doors nailed up. No one was to be permitted to enter the infected rooms for six weeks, with the exception of the medical assistants, who were from time to time to renew the means employed for purification. The population of the afflicted district was severely visited. The matter was hushed up so as not to injure trade, but every one knew that it was the plague, and the unclean guests who had introduced it were shunned. The eight patients lay together in the Gutleuthaus at Schlierbach, six died and but two recovered. These two were inhabitants of the neighbouring villages Schönau and Petersthal. Thoroughly fumigated and provided with entirely new clothing they were permitted to return to their homes. They found it to be to their own advantage not to speak about the malady from which they had recovered, as otherwise no one would have taken them in. But one of them had placed his infected worthless clothing in a bundle which he brought back with him to his home. The other had exchanged the new boots of one of the dead for the inferior pair given him by the authorities of the hospital. Eight days after their return the pest broke out in these two villages with unheard of violence. The mother of the Schönau patient was the first to take the sickness and die, followed by the sister who had watched over her, the clergyman who had administered the sacraments, the women who had dressed out the corpse and those who had attended the burial. The guilty wretch who had caused all this evil, naturally kept silent. He quickly packed up his bundle and left for Schwaben. The same thing occurred in Petersthal. Inhabitants of these villages went from house to house in Heidelberg, offering fruit, vegetables, pine wood, cones, and straw-mats for sale. The physicians reported fresh cases of the plague in all parts of the town. A general fear seized the population. One morning it became known that the court had left for Mosbach. Great was the discouragement of the citizens at this ruthless step, for which the young wife of the Kurfürst was blamed. Whoever could, followed the example thus set. Erastus and his medical colleagues urged the magistrate to stricter measures. All communication with the infested villages was forbidden, the University and schools were closed. The hospital was set aside especially for plague stricken patients, and everyone infected with this terrible sickness was carried thither. A violent thunderstorm which dispelled the evil vapors, aided by a high tide which cleared out the sewers enabled them to obtain the mastery. The Court returned to the Castle and Heidelberg resumed its usual aspect. But even after the disappearance of the epidemic, a victim died here and there of the disease from which they had imagined themselves now free. The cause lay in the continuation of the plague in the neighbouring villages, which in the anxiety to save the town had been neglected. Heart-rending were the accounts heard, but the exertions of the officials were limited to the provision of food, the strictest quarantine being maintained. He who wished to leave to render assistance, could only do so by promising not to return. Erastus finally managed to carry an order through, that the Magistrate and certain physicians should visit the various localities, bringing with them especially medicines, clean clothing, and linen. As the Magistrate fell ill on the day appointed Erastus placed himself at the head of the Commission to see what might be done to abate the evil. Ten of the hospital laborers accompanied them with spades and axes in a second cart. A third cart was loaded with wine, food, lime, and other disinfectants. The physicians found the nearest village still as if all were dead. All the roads leading from the mountains were barricaded and the peasantry armed with hallebards and weapons mounted guard to prevent the entry of the inhabitants of the valleys. The Commissioners were only permitted to pass their carts through with the greatest difficulty, and in spite of the mandate given by the Kurfürst, the peasants declared they would not suffer one of the gentlemen to return that way, as the plague did not seem to trouble itself about princely mandates. They continued on their way through this still valley of death. Here and there a stray beast browsed on the green pastures. The houses of the peasantry above seemed to be abandoned. The Commissioners entered one. A hen seeking for grain in the empty court was the only living being. The doors were broken in, the shutters burst out. Objects which plunderers had not been able to carry off lay scattered on the floor in wild confusion. Further on they found a dead body lying at a little distance from one of the roads to the fields. Where death had overtaken him, there lay the miserable being. The physicians gazed in horror at the wild distorted features of the corpse. "Death caused by the bite of a poisonous viper, or a rabid blood-hound appears in the form of an angel of peace as compared with that effected by the plague," said Erastus. In the next farm they saw a peasant sitting before his door on a bundle of straw. His face was flaming from the inner heat, the eyes gleamed feverishly, he shaded them continually with his hands to avoid the light. "Why do you sit here, instead of being in bed?" asked Erastus.

"I have no one who will bring me water."

"Where are your laborers?"

"Gone."