The lay monk was a young man, on whose features lay the death-like
paleness of a deeply corroding and inward grief. Of the other I could
only say, that he was plainly, but genteelly dressed, and was
considerably advanced in years. They seated themselves on a stone bench,
with their backs turned towards me. I could understand every word that
they said.
"Hermogen," said the old man, "by this obstinate silence, you bring your
nearest friends to utter despair. Your dark melancholy increases; your
youthful strength is withered. This extravagant resolution of becoming a
monk, ruins all your father's hopes and wishes. Yet he would willingly
give up the hopes that he had formed, if, from youth onwards, you had
shewn any real tendency of character to loneliness and monachism. In
such case, he certainly would not struggle against the fate that hung
over him and you.
"But the sudden and violent change in your whole disposition, has proved
only too plainly, that some concealed and unfortunate event--some
mysterious adventure, at which we cannot guess, is the cause of your
melancholy; which cause, however remote, still continues to exercise
over you the same destructive influence.
"Your mind in former days was invariably cheerful, buoyant, and
disengaged. What, then, can all at once have rendered you so
misanthropical, that you should now suppose there cannot be in the
breast of any living mortal, counsel or consolation for your
afflictions?--You are silent--you stare only with your eyes fixed on
vacancy.
"Hermogen, you once not only respected, but loved your father. If it has
now become impossible for you to open your heart, and to have confidence
in him, yet, at least, do not torment him by the daily sight of this
dress, which announces only your perseverance in the most inimical and
fantastic resolutions. I conjure you, Hermogen, to lay aside this
hateful garb. Believe me, there lies in such outward things, more
consequence than is usually ascribed to them. Surely you will not
misunderstand, or suspect me of levity, when I remind you of the effect
produced by dress on an actor. On assuming the costume of any character,
he experiences in himself a corresponding change of feelings. Are you
not yourself of opinion, that if these detestable long garments did not
come in your way to confine you, you would be able to walk and run--nay,
to skip, jump, and dance, just as readily and lightly as before? The
gleam and glitter of the bright dazzling epaulet, which formerly shone
upon your shoulders, might again reflect upon your pale cheeks their
wonted colour; and the clang of your military accoutrements would sound
like cheering music in the ears of your noble horse, who would come
neighing and prancing with joy to meet you, bending his neck proudly
before his beloved master.
"Rouse yourself, then, Baron!--Away with these black robes, which, to
tell the truth, are by no means becoming.--Say, shall Frederick now run
and search out your uniform?"
The old man rose up as if to go. The youth detained him, and, evidently
quite overpowered by emotion, fell into his arms.--"Alas! Reinhold,"
said he, "you torment me indeed inexpressibly. The more that you
endeavour in this manner to awaken within me those chords which formerly
sounded harmoniously, the more forcibly I feel how my relentless fate,
as with an iron hand, has seized upon me, and crushed my whole frame,
mental and bodily; so that, like a broken lute, I must either be silent,
or respond in discord."
"These, Baron," said Reinhold, "are but your own delusions. You speak of
some horrible and monstrous destiny which tyrannizes over you; but as to
_wherein_ or _how_ this destiny exists, you are invariably silent. Yet,
be that as it may, a young man like you, endowed both with mental
energy, and courage which is the natural result of animal spirits,
should be able to arm himself against those demons--those invisible
foes, with their iron fangs, of whom you so often speak. As if aided by
divine inspiration, he should exalt himself above that destiny, which
would otherwise crush him into the earth; and, cherishing within his own
heart the principles of life, wing his way above the petty torments of
this world. Indeed, I can scarcely imagine to myself any circumstances
that will not finally yield to a patient, reasonable, and yet energetic
inward volition."
Hereupon Hermogen drew himself one step backwards, and fixing on the old
man, a dark, gloomy look, almost with an expression of repressed rage,
which was truly frightful:--
"Know, then," said he, "that _I myself_ am the destiny--the demon, as
thou sayest, by whom I am persecuted and destroyed, that my conscience
is loaded with guilt, nay, with the stain of a shameful, infamous, and
mortal crime, which I thus endeavour to expiate in misery and in
despair!--Therefore, I beseech you, be compassionate, and implore, too,
my father's consent, that he may allow me to go into a monastery!"
"Hermogen," said the old man, "you are now in a situation peculiar to
those who are disordered both in body and in mind--you, therefore,
cannot judge for yourself; and, in short, you should, on no account, go
from hence. Besides, in a few days the Baroness will return home with
Aurelia, and you must of necessity stay to see them."
A smile of bitter mockery coursed over the young man's features. He even
laughed aloud, and cried, in a voice at which my heart recoiled and
shuddered, "_Must_ stay?--Must _therefore_ stay?--Ay, truly, old man,
thou art in the right--I must indeed stay; and my penitence will be here
far more frightful than in the dreariest cloister."
With these words, he broke away, and disappeared in the thicket, leaving
the old man motionless, and apparently lost in the most gloomy
reflections.
"_Gelobt sey Jesu Christus!_" said I, pronouncing the conventual
salutation in my best manner, and advancing towards him. He started,
looked at me with surprise, and then seemed to call something to mind
that he already knew, but could not _clearly_ remember.
At last, "Reverend sir," said he, "it was perhaps to your coming that
the Baroness alluded in a letter received by us four days ago; and you
are sent hither for the benefit and consolation of this afflicted
family."
I answered without hesitation in the affirmative, and the stranger (or
Reinhold, as he has been styled) then immediately recovered that
cheerfulness which seemed natural to his disposition. We walked on
together through a very beautiful park, and came at last to a _boskett_
near the castle, from whence there was a magnificent prospect towards
the mountains.
On his giving orders to a servant, who just then appeared near us, a
plentiful _dejeuner a-la-fourchette_ was immediately served up, with a
bottle of excellent French wine.
On joining glasses, and looking at each other, it appeared to me as if
Reinhold watched me with great attention, and seemed labouring with some
obscure reminiscence.
At last he broke out--"Good Heaven! reverend sir, I must be grossly
deceiving myself if you are not Brother Medardus, from the capuchin
convent in Koenigswald: And yet, how is this possible? But, certainly,
there can be no doubt!--Speak only, I beg of you, and clear up this
mystery."
As if struck to the earth by lightning, I was, by these words of
Reinhold, quite paralyzed and overpowered. I saw myself at once
discovered, unmasked--accused, perhaps, as a murderer! Despair gave me
strength. Life and death depended on that moment.
"I am indeed Brother Medardus, from the capuchin convent in Koenigswald,"
said I; "and am now employed on a diplomatic mission as legate from our
monastery to Rome."
These words I uttered with all the quiet and composure which I was able
to counterfeit. "Perhaps, then," said Reinhold, "it is only chance that
brought you hither. You may have wandered from the high road. Or, if
otherwise, how could it happen that the Baroness became acquainted with
you, and sent you hither?"
Without a moment's reflection, but once more only _repeating_ words
which seemed by some strange voice to be whispered into my ears, I
replied, "On my journey I became acquainted with the Baroness's
confessor, and, at his request, I agreed to come hither."
"True," said Reinhold; "now I remember that the Baroness indeed wrote
somewhat to this effect: Well, Heaven be praised that it is so, and that
you have been induced to come to our assistance. I was, by chance, some
years ago, in Koenigswald, and heard one of your admirable discourses, in
which you seemed to be indeed gifted with divine inspiration. To your
piety, your unaffected eloquence, your true calling to be the champion
of souls otherwise lost, I can safely trust for the fulfilment of that,
which, to all of us, would have been impossible.
"I consider myself particularly fortunate, however, in having met you
before you were introduced to the Baron, and will take advantage of this
opportunity to make you acquainted with the circumstances of the family,
and to be perfectly sincere and undisguised, as is fitting before a man
of your sanctity and dignified character. It is indeed requisite, that,
in order to give the proper tendency and guidance to your endeavours,
you should receive from me hints on many points, on which (for other
reasons) I would rather have been silent. I shall endeavour, however, to
go through the whole in as few words as possible.
"With the Baron I was brought up from infancy. A certain similarity of
temper made us like brothers, and annihilated those barriers which
difference of birth would otherwise have raised up betwixt us. I was
never absent from him; and, accordingly, after his father's death, and
when he had finished his academical studies, he directly appointed me
steward over his paternal property in these mountains.
"I continued still to be his most intimate friend and companion; nor
were the most secret occurrences and circumstances of the house
concealed from me. The late Baron had wished for his son's connection by
marriage with an Italian family, whom he had highly respected; and my
patron so much the more readily fulfilled his father's wishes, as he
found himself irresistibly attracted to the young lady, who was by
nature beautiful, and by education highly accomplished.
"Seldom, in truth, are the wishes and plans of parents either so
judiciously framed, or so prosperously fulfilled, as in this instance.
The young couple seemed to have been born for each other,--and of this
happy marriage, a son and daughter, Hermogen and Aurelia, were the
offspring.
"For the most part, we spent our winters in the town; but when, soon
after the birth of Aurelia, the Baroness began to decline in health, we
remained there for the summer also, as she indispensably required the
assistance of physicians. She died just as, on the approach of another
spring, her visible amendment had filled the Baron with the most
delightful hopes.
"We then fled to the country, and there only time could meliorate the
deep-consuming grief by which he had become wholly possessed. Hermogen,
meanwhile, grew up to be a fine youth, and Aurelia became every day more
and more the image of her mother. The careful education of these
children was our daily task and delight. Hermogen shewed a decided turn
for the military life, and this constrained the Baron to send him into
town, in order that he might begin his career there under the care of
our old friend the governor of the fort.
"For the first time, three years ago, we again spent a winter together,
as in old times, at the _residenz_; partly in order that the Baron might
be near his son, and partly that he might visit his old acquaintances,
who had constantly beset him with letters complaining of his absence.
"Universal attention was at that time excited by the appearance of a
niece of the governor's, who had come hither out of the neighbouring
_residenz_ of R----. She was an orphan, and had betaken herself to her
uncle's house for protection; though _there_ she had a whole wing of the
castle to herself, had also her own private _economie_, and was in the
habit of assembling the _beau monde_ around her.
"Without describing Mademoiselle Euphemia too minutely, (which is the
more needless, as you, reverend sir, will soon see her, and judge for
yourself,) suffice it to say, that in all that she said or did, there
was an indescribable grace, refinement, and self-possession, by which
the natural charms of her beauty were heightened to an almost
irresistible degree.
"Wherever she appeared, all that were around her seemed to be animated
with new spirit; and every one, with the most glowing enthusiasm, paid
her homage. Indeed the more insignificant and lifeless characters
appeared in her company to be carried quite out of themselves, and to be
so completely warmed with fire not their own, that, as if inspired, they
revelled in enjoyments, of which till then they had never been capable.
"Of course, there was no want of lovers, who daily paid their court to
this new divinity. They were numerous and indefatigable in their
attentions. But meanwhile, one could never with certainty say, that she
distinguished either this or that individual from his competitors; but,
on the contrary, with a kind of playful, yet wicked irony, which
provoked without giving absolute offence, she contrived to involve them
all in a perplexing, but indissoluble, kind of thraldom. They moved
about her, completely under subjection, as if within the limits of some
enchanted circle.
"On the Baron, this new Circe had gradually and imperceptibly made a
wonderful impression. Immediately on his first appearance, she shewed to
him a degree of attention, which appeared to be the result of youthful,
almost childish, veneration. In conversation afterwards, she displayed
her usual skill, proving herself (in his estimation at least) to be
possessed of the most cultivated understanding and the deepest
sensibility, such as, till now, he had scarcely ever found among women.
"With indescribable delicacy, she sought for and obtained Aurelia's
friendship, and took such a warm interest in her fate, that by degrees
she began to perform for her all the duties of her untimely lost mother.
In brilliant circles especially, she knew how to assist the modest,
inexperienced girl; and, without being observed, to set off Aurelia's
natural good sense and talents to such advantage, that the latter became
every day more distinguished, admired, and sought after.
"The Baron took every opportunity of becoming quite eloquent in praise
of Euphemia; and here, for the first time, probably, in our lives, it
happened that he and I were completely at variance.
"In society I was generally a spectator merely, rather than an actor, in
whatever was going forward. In this way, looking on Euphemia as an
object worthy of investigation, I had considered her with great
attention. On her part, she had only, in compliance with her system of
not neglecting any one, now and then interchanged with me a few
insignificant words.
"I must confess, that she was, above all other women, beautiful and
attractive;--that whatever she said was marked by sense and sensibility,
(in other words, by _tact_ and by prudence;) yet, notwithstanding all
this, I was conscious to myself of an inexplicable feeling of distrust
and aversion. Nay, whenever she addressed her discourse to me, or her
looks by chance fell upon me, I could not escape from a certain
disquietude and apprehension that were quite overpowering. Her eyes,
especially when she believed herself unobserved, glowed with an
extraordinary and quite peculiar light, as if some unquenchable fire
dwelt within her, which, at all times with difficulty kept down, had
then irresistibly broken forth.
"Besides all this, there was too often on her otherwise finely formed
lips, the expression of a hateful irony--the decided indication even of
a malignant and fiendish scorn, at which my very heart shuddered.
"In this manner, especially, she often looked at Hermogen, who, for his
part, troubled himself very little about her;--but such looks alone were
quite sufficient to convince me, that, under a specious and beautiful
mask, much was concealed, of which no one but myself suspected the
existence.