Part 27

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 shirt-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-glasses noiselessly set aside. All crowded around Cornelia.

"Fraeulein 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."

"Yes, but we must first have a fight, to decide which of us she will allow to paint her," said another, waving a staff in the air.

"Fraeulein Erwing," cried a little black-bearded Pole, with a shrill accent, "I will shoot the first man to whom you sit!"

"That is not necessary," growled he of the lion's mane; "we will all paint her at once!"

"Yes, yes!" cried many voices at the same moment. "That's a good idea! We will all paint her at once!"

"That is, if I will sit to you," laughed Cornelia, "for I have not yet resigned all right of ownership in my own face, gentlemen."

"Fraeulein Erwing," began the man of the lion's mane, with great pathos, "we do not know in what branch of Christian duty your reverend father instructs you, but he has certainly taught you that our advantages are only bestowed upon us that we may make them available for the profit and welfare of others; so you will perceive that it is your duty to pay the debt you owe Providence for your face, by using it to aid the development of youthful talent."

"Yes!" cried another; "you could not justify yourself before God if you displayed such a wealth of beauty to idle gazers, and grudgingly refused the struggling artist permission to use and perpetuate its lines in an inspired creation."

"You would make me unconscionably vain, gentlemen," said Cornelia, "if the fame of being the most beautiful on this little island were not so cheaply purchased."

A general "Oh, oh!" expressed the indignation of the enthusiastic artists at this modesty, and a torrent of eager protestations threatened to follow; but Cornelia cut them short by exclaiming, gayly, "Well, well, if you can make me of any use for a picture, I will give you a sitting; but one only, and at the utmost two hours long. So, whoever wants to paint me must take advantage of the opportunity."

"That is excellent!" they all cried, joyously. "It's a very short time, to be sure, but we'll see about the rest. But when may we draw you?"

"Whenever you choose, gentlemen. Perhaps the best time would be now!"

"Yes, yes; we will take her at her word," said one of the older ones of the party. "It shall be done now; and when the two hours are over, Fraeulein Erwing shall see the sketches, and decide which of us she considers worthy the honor of another sitting for the completion of her picture."

"But our excursion," said a tall lad, whose whole vitality seemed to have run into an immense length of limb. "Shall we defer our excursion?"

"Let your chicken legs take you where you like, man," thundered he of the lion's mane; "but don't say you are an artist, if you talk about excursions while our eyes are permitted a glimpse into the holy of holies of beauty."

"Let him go!" cried another. "He can't help it; all his vital functions are expended in the use of his feet. It will be one the less to take up the room; there are twenty-three of us without him. The number is still too large. I scarcely believe that there were ever so many assembled on the island at one time before."

A long debate now followed concerning the place where they should sketch Cornelia, while the latter had meantime obtained possession of the newspaper, and was reading it in breathless suspense. Suddenly she started. She had found what she sought,--Ottmar's name as a candidate for the H---- Chambers. Her face was suffused with a rosy flush of joy, and her eyes sparkled as she laid the sheet aside and turned towards the artists, who were disputing violently because some thought it too hot out of doors, and others considered the room too small.

"Gentlemen," she cried gayly, "peace is the first condition I shall impose if I am to sit for you. We will go out into the open air and look for some shady spot; if you all want to paint me at the same time, we shall certainly need more room than there is here."

The proposal was accepted, and the whole party went out with Cornelia. On a lofty part of the shore, not far from the inn, was a large open space surrounded with lofty trees, beneath which stood wooden benches and tables, and where, in spite of the heat, it was cool and pleasant. The eye could wander undazzled over the rippling lake and the beautiful island, which rested on the waters like a large green leaf. The light surges gently rocked the boats fastened near by; in one of them, under the spreading branches of an ancient linden, a peasant lad was extended sleeping comfortably, undisturbed by the loud bustle of the approaching artists. It seemed as if all nature was slumbering in her sunny noontide brightness.

"Well, gentlemen," exclaimed Cornelia, "is it not delightful here? Have we not shade, fresh breezes, and comfort?"

"Yes, yes," cried the artists in one breath; "we will stay here. Out with the portfolios, and let every one take his place and go to work!"

They buzzed about Cornelia like a swarm of bees which are about to settle and fly from one spot to another, now alighting, now rising again, now dispersing, and anon collecting at the same point, scuffling with each other about places, and filling the inexperienced observer with anxiety lest they should never get established. Such were the preparations of the artists at the beginning of their work. Here several were disputing about the profile, yonder a group wished to sit opposite to her, not unfrequently a slight skirmish decided the matter, and those who did not succeed in conquering a place climbed up into the trees and established themselves and their portfolios among the branches.

"We must form the narrowest possible semicircle," advised he of the lion's mane, who, as the possessor of the strongest lungs in the company, undertook the duty of organizing the party, in which, by means of a great expenditure of voice and unwearied energy, he at last succeeded; and when, with the aid of the trees, a half-circle was formed in the shape of an amphitheatre whose extremities could not even obtain a full profile, but merely a portion of the cheek and ear, the zealous artist first perceived that he had completely excluded himself. His nostrils dilated to an unprecedented size as his large eyes wandered around the circle, while his broad freckled hands were thrust helplessly through his unkempt mane. A shrill peal of laughter echoed jeeringly from the circle and the trees, "Richard C[oe]ur de Lion has no place!"

"Be calm, Richard," cried one; "we will get you into the exhibition after all. We'll paint Fraeulein Erwing as the lion's bride, and you as the monster!"

"Jeer away, you mocking-birds!" he thundered. "Because I am an artist, I thought more of the subject than myself, and I'll show you what an artist can do. I'll paint a neck and heir such as the world never yet saw!" and with these words he strode majestically on, seated himself behind Cornelia, and began to work with the must grotesque movements.

Silence now reigned while the three-and-twenty artists struggled in the greatest possible haste to perpetuate her features.

Cornelia had watched the tumult absently; her thoughts were wandering far away, and the stillness that ensued was most welcome. She could give herself up to her dreams undisturbed. "She is marvelously beautiful!" suddenly cried one of the younger artists from his perch in the tree. Universal applause answered this naive expression of delight. "The birds in the trees are singing your praises, Fraeulein Erwing!" cried another. "Doesn't that flatter you?"

"Oh, certainly," she answered, smiling as indifferently as if she had not understood the compliment paid her.

"The best likeness will flatter her most," growled Richard C[oe]ur de Lion from behind Cornelia. "Express your admiration by work instead of words, and she will value it more."

"Well growled, lion!" said the young enthusiast in the tree.

"Go on the stage and declaim verses; you are more fit for an actor than an artist," exclaimed Richard, without having the slightest suspicion that he was himself in his appearance the most theatrical of all; for naturalness, when carried too far, becomes as great a caricature as affectation, and the stage is certainly the home of caricatured forms.

"Come, gentlemen," cried Cornelia, laughing; "the time you spend in disputing you will lose in work; for I must tell you that I will not sit a moment longer than the two hours agreed upon! It is altogether too uncomfortable to endure the gaze of three-and-twenty pairs of eyes."

This threat re-established peace; for the artists once more devoted all their energy to their work, and henceforth nothing was heard but the wondering exclamations of several country people who stationed themselves here and there on the outskirts of the shaded spot to gaze at a proceeding utterly incomprehensible to them. The time agreed upon passed away, and Cornelia rose. Neither grumbling nor entreaties availed; she kept resolutely to her determination. The sketches were laid before her, and as she looked at them in succession she burst into a merry laugh. She saw her own face taken from some twenty different stand-points. "Dear me, can I be like all these?" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in astonishment. "If I ever knew how I looked, I should not from this day! Who can decide which of these many faces is mine? If this is, of course that can't be; and if this profile taken from the right is a good likeness, how can the one sketched from the left resemble me? The right side of my face must be entirely different from the left,--and that would be horribly abnormal. According to these profile views I should have two kinds of eyes, eyebrows, cheeks; nay, even my nose would consist of two dissimilar halves. Now, can you dispute this, gentlemen?"

The artists themselves could not help laughing as they looked at their pictures.

"Now you will get an idea of the variety and abundance of beauty your features possess, Fraeulein Erwing," said one of the oldest of the group. "When compared with you the majority of the sketches seem passable likenesses, although so different from each other that one would almost doubt whether they all represented the same face."

"A very pretty compliment to me--and an admirable defense of your colleagues," said Cornelia, courteously.

"But, Fraeulein Erwing," cried another; "you have not yet noticed a picture which is at all events unique in its way; and our C[oe]ur de Lion, with unusual modesty, has already been waiting a long time for your opinion."

He handed Richard's drawing to Cornelia, and all gazed at it in astonishment, for it was a master-piece. A woman's upraised head, adorned with a wealth of hair so boldly drawn that one felt tempted to pass it through the fingers. A few curls which had escaped from the braids fell upon a most beautiful neck. Cornelia looked at the sheet in amazement. "You are indeed an artist," said she, fixing her large eyes with winning kindness upon Richard's rugged face. He blushed to the roots of his tawny hair with delight. "Fraeulein Erwing," he exclaimed, "no praise ever made me so proud!"

"Yes, yes, C[oe]ur de Lion, Fraeulein Erwing is right," said several of the group; "this hair and neck irresistibly tempt the beholder to turn the head and see the face, which is concealed from us. You have produced a master-piece."

"If you go on so much longer, he'll get so vain that he will comb his hair to-morrow. Just see! he is running his fingers through his mane!" said others, laughing.

"Well," exclaimed the rest, "we will hope that at the exhibition Fraeulein Erwing's features will yet win the victory over the beauty of her hair."

Thus each was cheered by the conviction that he alone would obtain the prize.

"So you will not sit longer to any of us?" asked Richard, as he placed his sketch in his portfolio.

"No, gentlemen. I was in the mood to enter into your jest; but if you ask me in earnest, I must tell you that it would not be at all agreeable to me to expose my face to the eyes of the whole public. I am both too proud and too modest."

"Is this your final decision?"

"It is irrevocable," said Cornelia, with courteous resolution.

"Well, we will not be ungrateful. In these two hours we have at least fixed the outlines of your features," said one of the quieter members of the party.

But the others would not yield at once, and began to plead again.

"If you understood the spirit that animates these features, you would beg no longer, for you would know it to be vain," cried Richard, with his usual artless pathos. Then he held out his hand to Cornelia and continued: "I should probably have the best right to entreat you for another sitting, since I was so great a loser; but I will not ask it after what you have just said."

"I thank you for your delicacy of feeling, Herr Richard," replied Cornelia, with unconcealed admiration. "You may be assured that if I sat to any of these gentlemen it would be to you; yet if you understand the reason of my refusal, you will not be angry if I make no exception, even in your favor."

Richard buried Cornelia's hand in his prickly beard to press a kiss upon it. "Angry with you? Who that had the heart of a true artist could be? For, although we are not permitted to make portraits of you, we still owe you thanks for a type of beauty which will be of service to us all."

"Yes, yes; he is right," they all assented. "You have not only enriched our eyes, but our imaginations! Long live Cornelia Erwing! Hurrah!"

At that moment the sound of the dinner-hell echoed from the inn, and at the same instant Severinus's black-robed figure appeared, coming from the neighboring convent. The artists wiped the perspiration from their brows, for the noonday sun and their zeal had made them very bot.

"There comes your pious father!" declaimed the young enthusiast, who always spoke in quotations. "Now, brothers, let us fly!"

And partly fear of the "black coat," partly hunger, drove the noisy group to the table. They departed waving their hats, nodding, and singing; and Cornelia was still looking after them with a smile, when Severinus approached with a pale, gloomy face.

"Such ovations certainly do not prepare one for the church," he murmured, somewhat bitterly.

"Ah, Severinus! I am so happy!" cried Cornelia, frankly. "What open-hearted, gay, magnificent men they are! How I laughed! It is a pity you were not here! Tell me, Father Severinus,--you are sincere,--am I really as beautiful as they all say?" she asked, with mischievous naivete.

Severinus looked timidly away from her, and with a deep flush fixed his eyes upon the ground. "I do not know."

"You don't know?"

"I think only your soul beautiful, but not your body. Physical beauty is something so perishable that it is unheeded by one who perceives, and knows how to value, that of the soul."

Cornelia became embarrassed. She was ashamed of the want of reserve which had induced her to ask Severinus so inappropriate a question, and did not see the strange glance with which he gazed at her blooming cheeks and lips, and then clinched his teeth.

"Forgive me for disturbing your grave mood with such jests, my reverend friend; but I cannot help it. The gayety natural to my youth will sometimes assert its rights. I was very glad they thought me beautiful. The sight of a lovely face is always a pleasure to me, and the idea that my appearance could also rejoice the eyes and hearts of others pleased me. If this is vanity, is, at least, very innocent."

"Certainly, my child," said Severinus, and his tone gradually lost its assumed harshness. "I will not embitter the harmless little pleasures of your youth. I am sure they will not smother the earnestness of your nature."

"Severinus," said Cornelia, smiling, "isn't it a fact that you do not know what hunger is?"

"No, certainly not. But you seem to know; so come,--let us go to dinner."

Cornelia was glad to have put an end to the uncomfortable conversation, and hastened lightly on before him. Since her joy in life was once more awakened, and hope and cheerfulness again stirred within her, she felt Severinus's gloomy mood as a heavy burden. As long as she was at variance with her own heart and the world, the character of the ascetic priest suited her better than aught else; but now it began to form a disagreeable contrast with her mood, and cast a shadow over the newly-risen sun of her love. Yet she was too grateful to forget for a moment what consolation his assistance had afforded her in the time of her heavy visitation; so she maintained an unaltered, frank cordiality towards him, although he now began to torture her with a thousand contradictions and absurdities.

The scene with the artists, innocent as it was in itself, seemed to have made Severinus very thoughtful, in consequence of the pleasure Cornelia derived from it. Such impressions must be kept from her at any cost, for they were not adapted to aid his work of conversion. Even if he should remove her from the neighborhood, he could not prevent these young enthusiasts from traveling after her. He therefore went to the superior of the convent on the island, and, when he returned, brought an invitation from her to Cornelia to take up her residence in the cloister, "as it was not proper for a young girl, with an equally young companion, to remain in a country inn with a party of gay young men." Cornelia, who did not care where she lodged, easily allowed herself to be persuaded to fulfill Severinus's wish, and accept the friendly superior's offer. Her removal to the cloister took place immediately, and the astonished hostess told the artists, on their return from an excursion, that the beautiful Fraeulein Erwing had just entered a convent. They were beside themselves at the news, for who could doubt that the poor victim of the black coat had been brought here to commence her novitiate? Thus Severinus's design of spreading a halo of inaccessibility around Cornelia, and cutting off any intrusive pursuit, was effectually attained; but that neither she nor her companion should betray the truth in their unavoidable walks, it was necessary that they should be taken away with all secrecy. On that very evening Severinus excited Cornelia's interest in the B---- Oberland to such a degree that she herself expressed a wish to continue her journey as soon as possible, and he was merely fulfilling her own desire when he proposed that they should leave the Island at daybreak, not to return. As no one saw or heard anything of this departure, Cornelia was, and remained, in the convent, whose strict seclusion made any inquiries impossible, and the young artists grieved deeply that the world was robbed of so much beauty.

Meantime Severinus took the supposed victim farther and farther away, and several months passed so quickly in the constant change from one beautiful scene to another, and in grave but intellectually exciting conversation with Severinus, that she was not conscious how skillfully he managed to cut her off from all society. Priests and nuns were the only persons with whom she held occasional intercourse; and she passed them by with friendly indifference, which rendered any advances impossible. Severinus's hopes of a conversion drooped more and more; he could not conceal from himself that a sorrow was gnawing at his soul which exhausted his best powers, and felt, with increasing despair, that he should succumb himself before he could conquer Cornelia's resolute temper.

XXIII.

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH.

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."