"Therefore still hell and devil?" cried Edmond after a long pause. "However mildly you spoke and sentenced at first, the priestly condemnation follows in the end. Oh thou unfortunate Cavalier and Marion! and ye unhappy children, on whose lisping tongues Satan himself laid the name of the Lord, and the awaking to repentance."
"What then shall we call that?" said the old man mildly, "which works directly against God? We require not certainly that fearful figure, which perversity has imagined, in order to represent him personally; we need not indeed ascribe to him those tremendous attributes, which the miracle-seeking has invented, fabulously enough, but so much the worse for us, the weaker, the more powerless he in himself is: how feeble are we then to permit ourselves to be so ignominously overcome by this shadow, this delusion, this inefficiency, this nothingness? How our priests may censure these suggestions and represent them as devilish I know not, but it suffices for me, that I have experienced in myself, that such a feeling of all our energies may exist in us in divine love, which then does not proceed from God, but from his despicable adversary, and of which we must beware, because we, the image of God, through our own demerits are, as it were, only shadows of shadows."
The old man arose, and walked several times up and down the garden, to subdue the emotion, which these recollections had excited. Edmond remained behind in deep thought, and compared the narrative of the pastor with his own experience. Should he now view them in an other light, or wish them effaced from the career of his life? He would have been more satisfied, could he have heartily embittered his feelings against the old man, towards whom, however, inclination as well as the intercourse of soul in which he had spent his youth with his own parent attracted him. The pastor came back smiling, and seated himself again by the side of the subtle investigator. "It cannot be otherwise in life," recommenced he, "each sentiment, each society, each disposition and friendship has its history, all ascends, attains the highest summit and falls again. Thus had the most delightful concord in our singular intimacy already vanished, before we had been able to perceive a change. The impetuous Lacoste had conceived a violent passion for Lucy, and the gentle, pious creature felt very unhappy on that account, although she at same time became reserved towards young Beauvais. At first the latter was embarrassed at this, then vexed and irritated against Lacoste, to whom until now he had been greatly attached, whilst he thought that a secret inclination for this impetuous man had thus visibly estranged his bride from him. In this mutual constraint, the two friends avoided each other, they were however compelled to meet in company: An explicit communication and reciprocal understanding seemed impossible, so that the rancour took even deeper root, especially with Lacoste, who, after some time, made but little effort to restrain from publicly betraying his aversion to Beauvais. But the state of my own feelings was such, that I was soon disqualified from observing others around me. Euphemie's brother, the pride of his family, fell into an illness, which had all the appearance of consumption, and now the parents thought of marrying their daughter to a man of distinction, that through her their name and large fortune might be perpetuated in the world. When Euphemie first spoke to me on this subject, she was wholly unembarrassed; her voice was as firm and steady as if she were speaking of a friend. I felt as if she were relating to me a silly improbable tale, so pure, exalted, and unattainable had my fancy painted her. I could almost just as easily have persuaded myself that a scheme of marriage was projecting with the evening star. But at night, on my solitary couch, the aspect of affairs took another form: Again was I doomed to learn, and how painfully! to know myself and the world. Is she to belong to the world? I asked myself, wherefore then not first to me? To me, to whom she already belongs, as my soul dwells in hers!
"The concealed ardour, which until now had slumbered in the sweetest intoxication, burst through its bud and blossomed, and shone forth like a rare flower, which unfolded a thousand purple leaves. I felt now thoroughly, for the first time, that what until then I had considered merely earthly, was of heavenly origin. I deemed myself called upon in my pure love to renew as a real sacrament, the sublime symbol of marriage, in such holy perfection as it is seldom, perhaps never, found on earth. Euphemie was terrified at my plans, my ardent persuasions, and my enterprising spirit. The more her hesitation, her timidity increased my passion, the more did I appear to her a strange being, whom until then she had not known at all. She was to be awakened from her peaceful repose, thus my love desired it, but she was shocked at the thought of grieving her parents in any way, to oppose them was with her an unnatural sin, and all that I urged about elopement, force, and death, only confused her delicate mind, as in the roaring of the waterfall no speech can be heard. My high wrought passion grew almost to frenzy; that she did not love me, that I was hateful to her, that already she turned her affections on her bridegroom, whom I jealously cursed, menacing to kill both him and myself: to all these frantic expressions she listened with a suffering and endearing patience. Thus then was this heaven destroyed for me, and black demons grinned on me from the same places, where before my intoxicated ear had heard the flapping of angel's wings, from whence formerly a sweet smile from a radiant countenance bloomed on me like roses sparkling with dew in the rosy light of morning.
"Verily my soul becomes young again, when I think on those days. Oh! he grows not old, who lives only in the solitude of his recollections, as I do. With poor Lacoste things went on still worse than with myself. He wasted away, and wished for death. Often did he call upon it with fearful words. There was something heart-rending in his look. My friend Beauvais had also become pale, his youth was evaporating. Oh! there is nothing so terrible as to be compelled to doubt the worth of the beloved object; that gives more pain than despised affection. And in these pangs the hapless man was now perishing. Lucy was a puzzle to me also, when I was able to direct a look at her, she as well as Euphemie were constrained and timid, sought, and at the same tine avoided solitude, longed to pour out the overflowings of the heart to each other or their beloved, yet could not find the time, or perhaps, could not exert sufficient courage. All the same men, who, but a short time previously sounded in concord together like heavenly tones, now screamed in yelling discord against one another; the apparent sanctity had changed into human folly, and each understood the other as little as himself. The elder Beauvais seemed to guess a little the horrible confusion, for he frequently looked at us all with dark and penetrating glances.
"At length this twisted knot disentangled itself again. Euphemie's brother began to recover, the former projects were brought forward again, and my overwhelming passion was compelled to give place by degrees to a calm resignation. This only was the case, for I was determined to make good my supposed rights, until I perceived that the delicate Euphemie must perish in this storm; Lucy at length declared herself for Beauvais, and it was discovered, that his too intimate intercourse with Lacoste was alone the cause of her reserve towards him. The fear had risen within her, that he himself might be inclined to the free-thinking opinions of his rival. So great was her love to her church, that she had resolved, rather to sacrifice her dear betrothed than to live in the proximity of persuasions, which she considered as utterly profane. And it is true, the more zealous we were to recognise truth and divinity in one form only, the more did Lacoste seize every opportunity to express his incredulity. Indeed, however, miserable he felt within himself, he sought by a certain vanity to avail himself of every occasion to prove his strength of mind in mockery, and in violent bursts of passion, his wretchedness had given such a bitter turn to his feelings, that sometimes he stood amongst us like an inspired prophet of Atheism, used such singular similies and figurative expressions, in a language so touching and elevated, that the pious maidens turned away from him with inward terror.
"We had all ceased to weep, we were reconciled and of peaceable, quiet hearts, when Lacoste entered in the midst of our pathetic emotion and religious conversation. Beauvais made known to him what he had learned from Lucy, and that he (Lacoste) must quit our society in order that he might not disturb the happiness of the lovers and their approaching marriage, perhaps even render it impossible. This blow fell unexpectedly on the unfortunate Lacoste; his whole emaciated, care-worn frame trembled violently as if in convulsions, he was unable for a long time to find words, and when at last they flowed from his colourless lips, he tried to persuade us, that such a sentence of banishment from former friends was at least too hard, that he was not able to subdue his passion so quickly, or entirely to get rid of his persuasions, but that he combated both, and would strive against them with still greater energy in our company. But Beauvais was on this day armed with manly courage and resolution, his intercourse hitherto with Lucy had made him too unhappy; he insisted on the immediate departure of the peace-destroyer; the Abbé Aubigny sided with him, the gentle Euphemie was anxious, and Lucy herself the most decided; I also joined in this chorus, and we all unanimously declared, as with one voice, that the godless one should no longer linger near us; it was our duty, the love of Christ itself required of us to banish him, because through his intercourse with us, our religion would be sullied, perhaps even endangered. When Lacoste perceived we were firm in our religious zeal, he left off prayers and humiliations, and a tremendous fury overcame the mortified man, his eyes flashed fire, and he cursed himself and us with the bitterest execrations--that we might never find happiness, that misery might pursue us, that Beauvais might reap nothing but grief and sorrow from this marriage, and that he might live to see calamity, distress, and crime on his dearest children."
Edmond sighed deeply. "Thus," continued the priest, "did the wretched man leave us, and rushed like a madman out of the house; but a short time only was requisite to recall us to our senses, and to penetrate us with a burning shame. In the most devout temper of mind, in feelings of the purest love, as we fancied, we had been cruel towards a fellow brother, towards a friend, who deserved forbearance and compassion, although he might have strayed into the path of error. Beauvais was the first to recollect himself, and was angry with himself and all of us; he rebuked us as inquisitors, who condemn in cold blood to the stake all those that differ in opinion with them. A messenger was quickly dispatched to his residence in town, but he had already in his fury departed thence, no one knew whither. He had smashed to pieces everything in the house there, and with his gigantic strength had so ill-used a young waiter, who had attempted to appease him, that the unfortunate lad had been given up to the surgeons as dead. He had so cut his head with tables and chairs that he threw at the defenceless boy and crushed both his legs, that it was doubtful whether he would recover. If we had first been ashamed, we would now have concealed ourselves in the caverns of the earth, when we learned that this young lad, bred up in the most ordinary manner, and without any information, as soon as he had recovered his senses, during excruciating tortures from the dressing of his wounds, had prayed to God for the man, who had injured him, that he would forgive and succour the unhappy man, who must have been inexpressibly, infinitely wretched to have been prompted in his sorrow to fall upon an innocent person. Who is the true Christian? we asked ourselves, who the professor of the religion of love? Ah! we were so zealous, we thought we had learned so much, that we were able to teach the profoundest doctrine, we looked down daily with contemptuous pity on those who were less enlightened, who were not susceptible of our sublime emotions,--but now we were forced to confess to ourselves, that we were yet standing on the other side of the commencement; it was just, that we as miserable scholars, should be compelled to go for instruction to a young and ignorant waiter at an inn.
"I will conclude. Before my friend had yet celebrated his marriage, my Euphemie took the veil. On the same day, we had thus arranged it, I caused myself to be received into the bosom of her church. At first I intended to become a monk, but as I had delayed, I suffered myself to be consecrated a priest at a distance, and was transferred to this solitary part of the mountains. Since then, I have never heard of my friends, of Euphemie; I even wished to avoid ever seeing them again, that I might not renew the pains of deep, vital wounds. And yet it is but weakness, to turn away from the path of sorrow.--It had become dark, and the two friends repaired to the lighted room, to partake of the little evening meal. The young peasants who had been there before, reentered, and led with them a young and beautiful girl. The latter shewed the pastor the flowers and the ornaments, with which they intended on the morrow to adorn the image of the mother of God. 'Now, at last,' said the young and happy Caspar, 'is the time come, reverend sir, that I can lead home my Louison, my bride. You know very well how she desired to spend to-morrow's festival still as a virgin, in order that she might be able to carry our Mary, and sing too. It has been sorrow enough to me, to be compelled to defer my happiness for so long a time; but for once she has persisted in her pious obstinacy. Well, truly it is precious to have such a christian wife, such a holy treasure. All is well, that everything has been so prosperous as yet; for who can tell what evil may come between, when man places his fate on such trials as these, and binds himself to hours and days. However everything is already arranged for the wedding, and all danger and fear is surmounted.' 'How thou talkest.' said the blushing Louison, from whose eyes laughed her approaching happiness; and the fulfilment of all her wishes. 'I have been friendly to thee for two years past, but must I on that account love the mother of God less? Ah! the history as it has come down to us, is too affecting, and therefore we must be thankful towards her. Look you, my strange young gentleman, before the village stood here, there was nothing far around but field and forest. No vine, no olive-tree was to be found here. Then went a poor wood-cutter, who had come from a distance into the wild forest to cut down a tree for his trade. And as he applied his hatched to it, he heard a sigh, and as he listened, a singing. A light appeared in the gloomy forest, and above in the tree, in the oak trunk, there sat as if in a hollow the mother of God, and commanded him to build a church on that very spot. The man made known the miracle, the wood was cleared, and behind the altar of our church stands still the same old oak trunk, in which the holy virgin already dwelt from time immemorial as a testimony and a remembrance. Thus was our good church founded, thus has the village risen, and men have drawn near the beloved spot, for our Mary would not thus dwell in solitude any longer. Look Caspar, thus but for our gracious mother, there would be no house, no man here, and our dear parent's house, and I, and thou would not be in the world, and upon this spot of earth, and for all this must we be thankful to her.'
"All well and good," said Caspar, "but just because she is so amiable, she would certainly have granted us with all her heart, our happiness a long while ago. God and the saints are not like us men, who are so ambitious on one little point, that we neglect true honour." "Is it not true, Caspar," said Louison, laughing, "if thy new jacket with shining buttons had not been ready, thou wouldst willingly have deferred the wedding?" Thus laughing and jesting they withdrew again to go and seek the clerk with whom they wished to consult how best they might attach the flowers and garlands to the altar. The old man felt happy that his penitents loved to approach him with this child-like confidence, and respected him just as much as a father, while at the same time they fearlessly associated with him in play and merriment. Edmond was grave and melancholy; when it was time to separate to sleep, he abruptly asked the priest, as he grasped his hand: "Well, reverend sir, did you then afterwards in your station find that happiness of which you dreamed in your youth?"