Part 36 (2/2)
”Convince you!” cried Severinus, starting up. ”If the whole gigantic structure of our religion, whose foundations certainly do not rest upon air, the marvels of our wors.h.i.+p, the words of the fathers of the church, the historical proofs of our traditions which reach beck to the time of the establishment of Catholicism by Peter himself, could not convince you, there is nothing left for me to say.”
”All that, my friend, even granting that they were proofs, could not make me forget the causes of the Reformation. The Reformation is the mother of my faith.”
”Ah, do not utter these words in the same breath! What had your Reformation in common with faith? Were your dry, philosophical Melanchthon, your rough, sensual Luther, your chiding, physically and morally starving Hutten, representatives of a religious transformation?”
”They were men who had the courage to appear before the hypocrisy of your degenerate priesthood as they really were; who did not seek the halo of sanct.i.ty in the denial of human nature, but honored G.o.d and his wisdom in his laws. Besides, we too do not lack sainted martyrs, and the flames that consumed a Huss branded an eternal stigma upon your church.”
”I cannot argue with you about the means the church was permitted to use against such apostates. I will only tell you, my child, that the Reformation of the sixteenth century was nothing more than a secular insurrection against abuses in the church, which unfortunately cannot be denied. But a secular revolution can never create a religion, and therefore Protestantism lacks the positive character the human heart needs, and where it strives to appropriate it, becomes a monster, for it is and remains nothing more than a--protest against Catholicism.”
”Our Reformation was not to create a religion; its purpose was merely to free one already existing from abuse and error. Its task was to restore Christianity to its original purity, and if it did not wholly succeed, if in Protestantism it has only produced a transitory, imperfect form, we still thank it for the highest blessings of civilization, and most precious of all, that freedom of conscience which permits the dissatisfied mind to choose its own religion.”
”And this much-praised 'freedom of conscience' leads directly to want of principle, and becomes the destruction of all virtue, all religion!”
cried Severinus, indignantly. ”The human race cannot dispense with a positive church discipline without falling into anarchy. And in you, Cornelia, unhappily, I have already had an opportunity to learn the effects of this emanc.i.p.ation.”
”You have learned, Severinus,” interrupted Cornelia, with n.o.ble pride, ”that I resisted evil with the same power with which I now repel the flattering allurements of a church adorned with all the magic of fancy and attraction of rites, because it is at variance with my own convictions. Is this a want of moral discipline?”
Severinus walked on beside Cornelia in silence. The sun had risen higher in the heavens, and the bell for ma.s.s rang from the neighboring convent. Severinus paused and gazed long and earnestly into Cornelia's eyes. ”Girl, does not that innocent voice fall upon your ear in tones of touching warning, like the pleading of a mother calling to her lost child?”
”Do not be such a bigoted Catholic to-day, Severinus,” said Cornelia, gazing at him beseechingly. ”All the joy of this earthly life is stirring in my heart, and must I constantly argue with you about the best means of reaching heaven? Oh, let me enjoy with a thankful soul the rich abundance of happiness my Creator has poured out for me! Do not cast the black shadow of your religious harshness over the sunny picture of this day. Severinus, my dear, gloomy friend, be mild and gentle. Look at me as kindly as you used to do. See, see, there is the glimmer of a smile upon your face! Ah, it has already vanished again!
What a pity! Ever since the news of Ottmar's going over to the liberal party brought me back to Germany, and filled me with the blissful certainty of being reunited to him, you have become a different person.
When I lost him, I gained you; and now that I am to gain him once more, I lose you. When I felt miserable and lonely, you were as loving and patient as a father; but since I have been animated with new hope, you have retired coldly into yourself, and you have hidden yourself behind the walls of your work of conversion.”
”My task, Cornelia, is only to aid the afflicted; the happy do not need me.” Severinus looked silently up towards heaven. His eyes were bloodshot; his wasted face, bronzed by the Italian sun, glowed with fervor.
Cornelia laid her clasped hands compa.s.sionately and beseechingly upon his breast. ”Severinus, you are suffering; I see it.”
For a moment he pressed her hands closely to his throbbing heart, then hurled them away, with an expression of horror, and hurried off.
Cornelia looked after him in astonishment, but did not try to follow, for she felt that the emotion which moved him was a secret she ought not to fathom. She turned towards the rural inn where she lodged, and now observed for the first time that one of the artists who came to the island to sketch was seated an a little hillock not far from the spot where she had been pacing with Severinus, and recognized him as the very person to whose talent she owed her first picture of Ottmar. She approached, and he hastily concealed in his portfolio the paper upon which he had been working.
”You only arrived yesterday evening, and are already sketching the scenery, Herr A----. Is it not a little hasty?”
”I have already made myself familiar with all its details,” said A----, with evident embarra.s.sment. ”I am very much hurried, because I would like to finish the picture in time for the exhibition at H----.”
”Then I will not detain you, but wish you all possible success. Au revoir, Herr A----.”
”I will do myself the honor of waiting upon you at a later hour, Fraulein Erwing,” said A----, bowing respectfully; and, as Cornelia turned away, he drew out his sketch, and eagerly continued his work.
Cornelia entered the public room, to ask if the newspapers had arrived.
It was full of active life. Some twenty young artists were standing together consulting about a trip they were to take; most of them handsome young fellows, with large beards, boldly-curved Calabrian hats, open s.h.i.+rt-collars, and the general adventurous negligence of apparel with which the young representatives of the laws of beauty seek to remove the pedantic stiffness of modern costume.
A general ”ah!” echoed through the room at Cornelia's entrance, and a movement took place which made the dense clouds of tobacco-smoke that filled the low apartment whirl as if driven by the wind. The hats were removed; the beer-gla.s.ses noiselessly set aside. All crowded around Cornelia.
”Fraulein Erwing!” cried one, to whom a waving red mane and widely-dilated nostrils gave the appearance of a lion, ”we have at last caught you without your black guardian! You must yield to superior force, and let us steal your face. We are a terrible band of robbers, and a person for whom we once lay snares does not escape us so easily.”
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