Severinus entered Cornelia's room one evening when they were to spend
the night in a peasant's house in the B---- forest. She was standing at
the window, gazing out into the sultry night. The sky arched over the
earth like a leaden-hued canopy; not a breath of air was stirring, not
a leaf moved on the trees; here and there a star gleamed forth where
the dense masses of clouds parted for a moment, and now and then a
distant flash of lightning glittered in the horizon, revealing the dim
outlines of the forest-crowned heights. "Severinus," she said, drawing
a long breath, as she turned toward him, "let us go out into the open
air before the storm breaks: the air is so oppressive here; perhaps it
is cooler outside."
"I have come to speak to you about very serious subjects: it will be
better for us to stay here," said Severinus. And now for the first time
Cornelia noticed his gloomy expression, and looked with anxious
expectation into his face.
"Cornelia, the time when your fate must be decided has arrived. The day
of election is approaching. I must not allow Ottmar to move forward
unrestrained upon the road in which he can only bring ruin upon our
church. If he is elected to the parliament, a powerful enemy will arise
against us. I have already told you what papers the order has in its
hands: they must be used now, if they are not to become useless. Let
Ottmar be a deputy; let him speak, and--as is to be foreseen--win the
masses, and everything we undertake against him will be in vain. The
last point of time is reached, when I must decide what is to be done."
"And that is a publication of his relations with Jesuitism, the
destruction of the toilsomely obtained confidence of his party, in
order to prevent his election. Am I not right?"
"Certainly."
"And do you not know that you will not convert a man like Ottmar by
such means, but simply render him miserable?"
"We wish to make him harmless,--nothing more."
"But you do far worse," cried Cornelia, indignantly. "You bar the path
upon which he might become a better man; hurt him back to the cheerless
void of a life without a purpose: perhaps even entangle him in fresh
snares of falsehood and hypocrisy; and thus destroy a nature which, in
its own way, might accomplish great things for the world. Who gives you
the right thus violently to interfere with an independent existence?"
"The same right which the government has to punish secular crimes, we,
as the representatives of the kingdom of God, possess against him who
sins against God and his servants."
"Severinus, when the government chastises, it represents the insulted
law, and uses honest means; but you avenge only your own boundless
pride, and your weapons are hypocrisy and deceit! Are you better than
he whom you punish?"
"Cornelia!" cried Severinus, with flashing eyes, "do you dare say that
to me?"
"I have never spoken anything but the truth all my life. You could not
expect me to call wrong right; and if God should descend to the earth
once more he would judge the zeal of those who commit sin for his
honor, and misuse his name for selfish purposes, far more harshly than
the errors of the men who have deserted him in form, but not in
reality."
"It is only natural that the child of the world should speak in her
lover's favor; and I will be patient now, as I have often been before.
I cannot ask you to perceive the sublimity of a subordination to the
will of a chief, as our order practices it. Our General alone bears the
responsibility; God will call him only to an account; and he can lay it
aside: for God is higher than the law, and whoever represents him on
earth cannot have his acts measured by the standard of earthly
justice!"
Cornelia gazed at Severinus long and silently. "You told me a short
time ago that you pitied me. Now I must answer you in the same words:
Severinus, I pity you! I am not angry; but you will perceive that from
this hour our paths must lie apart. If you deal a blow which will
destroy Ottmar's honest efforts, it is my duty to be at his side."
"Cornelia, it is in your power to avert this dangerous blow."
"How?"
"The order has determined to give up the papers to you at the price of
your conversion to Catholicism. The order feels itself justified in
resigning the pursuit of this faithless man; if it can thereby win for
the good cause another soul, which will be pleasing to God."
"Indeed!" cried Cornelia, fixing a piercing glance upon Severinus. "Is
it thus you advance your work of conversion?"
"We leave you the choice between the only church which can save souls
and your lover's prosperity, or his destruction and our hostility. Can
you hesitate?"
Cornelia stood before him with noble dignity. "And do you believe you
can win me over to a religion which sanctions such means? Do you think
to bribe me by any advantage--even the welfare of the man I love--to
deny that which is highest and most sacred to me: the knowledge of the
truth? No, Severinus; I feel I possess the power to make the man of my
heart happy without being compelled to save him from your persecution
by abjuring my own faith!"
"May you not trust to yourself too much? He whom we wish to ruin is not
so easily saved by any one, even the bold spirit of Cornelia Erwing!"
"Severinus, you frighten me! I never saw you in this mood before. I
feel as if in my sleep I had wandered into a tiger's den, and on
awakening found myself shut up alone with the terrible enemy!" She
paused and looked at Severinus; then growing calmer, shook her head:
"No, no, Severinus; that is a bad comparison; forgive me for it! Those
pure eyes give the lie to your threats; the dignity enthroned upon your
brow cannot suffer you to become the tool of a base revenge."
"Cornelia, you will never learn to understand the nature of Jesuitism.
I am no blind tool who mechanically performs what is imposed upon him,
but a living part of the whole, who abhors what injures the order, and
labors for its advantage. Our obedience is no mere form which we can
outwardly satisfy without real sympathy: it is an allegiance in spirit
and in truth, which makes the will it serves its own. Thus I hate
Ottmar, since he became faithless to his obligations towards us, as the
order hates him, and will destroy him as the order commands, if you do
not comply with the condition upon which we will spare him."
He watched Cornelia for a moment, then drew out some papers and spread
them upon the table before her. "Here are the documents which are to
serve us as weapons against Ottmar; read them, and convince yourself
whether they will be destructive enough to him to outweigh the
sacrifice you must make to secure his safety."
Cornelia looked over the papers, the very ones with which years before
Severinus had succeeded in intimidating Ottmar, and binding upon him
the chains he now wished to strip off. When she had finished, she gazed
sorrowfully into vacancy.
"This is certainly material enough to devise a snare for him. Oh,
Severinus, throw these papers into the fire, and I will revere you as a
saint!"
"It will only cost you a few words, Cornelia. Say, 'I will become a
Catholic,' and these papers are _yours_!"
Cornelia drew herself up proudly. "I have already told you that I would
drive no bargain with my convictions. This is my final resolution!"
"Noble woman!" thought Severinus, gazing at her in astonishment.
Cornelia gathered up the documents, restored them to the priest, then
clasped her hands, and gazed into his face with her irresistible charm.
"Severinus, give me these papers."
A long pause ensued. The priest was absorbed in watching the beautiful
face, and made no reply.
Cornelia took his hand; he started back.
"Severinus, for once, be more obedient to the law of love and
forbearance God has written in our hearts, than the stern commands of
your order; destroy these proofs of Heinrich's, and also your,
dishonor,--or give them to me that I may do so. You do not answer! Oh,
let my entreaties move you, dear, honored friend!"
Severinus covered his eyes with his hand, and exclaimed, almost
imploringly: "Cease, Cornelia; you know not what you are doing."
"I am well aware of it,--I am torturing you; for I am bringing you into
a conflict with what you believe to be your duty. I see the struggle
between your Jesuit's conscience and your heart. True, genuine manhood
will conquer; it will burst the fetters in which your whole life is
bound."
She rushed to the table, took up a light, and held it towards
Severinus, that he might set the papers on fire. A gust of air that
blew through the open window made the flame flicker to and fro,
and her light dress float around her like a cloud. As she stood thus
with the arm that held the candle raised high above her head, bathed in
the red gleam of the flickering light, in the earnestness of her
enthusiasm,--half pleading, half commanding,--she seemed like an angel;
and without knowing what he was doing he threw the papers towards her,
bent down, and pressed the hem of her dress to his lips.
"I thank you!" cried Cornelia. But ere she could gather up the
scattered papers Severinus recollected himself, and caught her hand.
"Stop! these papers are not yours nor mine; they belong to the order
which intrusted them to my care, and only an evil spirit could have so
bewildered my mind that I wavered in my duty." He made the sign of the
cross, pressed his hands tightly upon his heart, and softly murmured
the "_Anima Christi, sanctifica me_,"[1] then collected the papers and
went to the window. The rain was pouring in torrents; he leaned out and
let the cool water drench his head. "Extinguish, oh, extinguish the
fire!" he prayed, looking up with a deep sigh at the dark watery masses
of clouds.
Cornelia watched him with mingled surprise and grief. "Severinus, you
are playing a part with yourself, like all who hold ideas founded on
sophisms and principles contrary to nature; you must do so, at a moment
when your illusion forms so striking a contrast with the truth. I can
only pity you; but may God let those who made you a Jesuit,--who robbed
you of the world and the world of you,--reap the fruits of their deed!"
"Do not blame them," replied Severinus, turning calmly away from the
window. "They were my parents, and both are dead. I, too, have often
cursed them for giving me life; but since I became a Jesuit, I bless
them."
"Unhappy man, what secret weighs upon the past which you have hitherto
so closely concealed?"
"Disgrace, girl! To you alone I will confess it, that some day you may
think of me more kindly when we are parted. I have no name save that
the church gave me; no father save God; no home save the Casa al Gesu;
no human dignity save that of my holy office. If I had belonged to the
world, I should have been an outcast. But my parents turned the curse
into a blessing when they dedicated to Heaven the life they denied on
earth; and for the sake of that deed may God pardon the sin which gave
me birth!" He raised his head, while his face kindled with enthusiastic
feeling. "But I, Cornelia, will devote my strength, to my latest
breath, to that Jesuitism which accomplished the miracle of making the
child of sin the supporter of the highest and holiest cause, which
produces everything great and noble that can be done for the honor of
God, and desires nothing except by all means, both mild and gentle, to
lead men to heaven."
Cornelia gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, then suddenly looked
earnestly at the regular features of the handsome man before her.
"Severinus," she said, with strange eagerness, "who was your father?"
"I do not know; I never saw him."
"Did your mother tell you nothing about him? or did you not know her
either?"
"She could tell me nothing except how she loved him, and how he had
deceived her. His accent betrayed that he was a German, but he
concealed his name and residence. When I was scarcely a year old he
disappeared, and no longer gave my mother any signs of existence except
the remittance, through some unknown hand, of money for my education
upon the condition that I should become a priest."
"And your mother; what was her name?"
"Girl, why do you ask me all these questions?"
"You shall learn the reason after you have told me who your mother
was."
"I have no right to expose the name of the unhappy woman, and have
never mentioned it to any one."
"Not even to Heinrich?"
"I never disclosed the secret of my past to him."
Cornelia approached him; her breath came more quickly. "Was your
mother's name Angelina, Severinus?" said she, her voice tremulous with
some secret emotion.