THE PRAYER AT THE GRAVE.
The baron's funeral took place a week later. The funeral sermon was
very long, and the baroness wept through it all with a grief as
unaffected as that of any peasant widow in the land.
"The poor lady is having a good cry once for all," remarked one of the
distinguished attendants at the funeral to his neighbour. "They say
she was not allowed to shed a tear during her husband's lifetime."
"The baron was indeed a stern man," answered the other, "and would not
suffer his wife to give way to grief or pain, however severe."
Meanwhile the lady thus referred to removed her tear-moistened
handkerchief from her eyes occasionally, and sought to compose her
features.
"She is really a beautiful woman still," whispered one of the
gentlemen to the other.
"For twenty years she has been virtually a widow," was the reply.
"I doubt whether she remains one another twelve months," observed the
first speaker.
The funeral anthem followed at this point. The village church could
boast of an organ, the generous gift of the deceased. The choir sang,
in excellent time and tune, one of the most beautiful of funeral
melodies,--from the opera "Nebuchadnezzar," with words, of course,
adapted to the occasion. Did the lamented Casimir Baradlay hear this
opera selection sung over his remains? Administrator RideghvAiry gave
utterance to this query as he turned to the gentleman at his side.
"Didn't he like opera music?" asked the latter.
"On the contrary, he was always highly incensed when any such music
was introduced into the church service. Indeed, he went so far as to
give express directions in his will that no operatic airs should be
sung at his funeral."
"Are you, then, so familiar with his last will and testament?"
inquired the other.
But the administrator merely lowered his eyelids and twirled his
mustache, implying thereby that he knew more than he cared to admit.
The funeral anthem did not close the service. Side by side on the
bench near the pulpit sat three priests, who were evidently there for
a purpose. When the singing ceased one of them mounted the pulpit.
"Are they all three going to preach to us?" asked the administrator's
companion, already becoming restless.
"No," was the reply; "one of them is the local pastor, who is to offer
a prayer at the grave."
"Ah, is he the one whose"--but here the two gentlemen fell to
whispering so softly to each other that the concluding words of the
sentence could not be overheard.
"And is the daughter here?" asked one. "Ah, yes, there she is in that
corner, dressed in brown, her handkerchief in her hand. A lovely girl,
truly!"
"Poor child!" whispered another. And, indeed, she was to be pitied,
for she seemed little likely ever to see again the one for whom she
was weeping.
At length the service came to an end, twelve haiduks, splendidly
attired, raised the magnificent coffin upon their shoulders, the
administrator offered his arm to the widow, and the funeral procession
issued from the church and took its way toward the family vault, where
yet one last ceremony was to be observed.
Upon depositing the remains in their final resting-place, it is
customary for the local pastor to offer a prayer for the repose of the
departed soul. Many were curious to see and hear the eccentric priest,
Bartholomew LAinghy by name, whose duty it was to perform this office.
The old preacher was wont to speak in the pulpit like an
Abraham-A -Sancta-Clara, and in the county assembly like Lawrence the
Club-bearer. After the third hymn a space was cleared for the
preacher before the entrance to the vault, where he took his stand
with bared head, surrounded by the mourners. On each side of his
forehead, which was high and bald, hung a few thin locks of hair; his
face was smoothly shaven, as was then the custom in the Church, and
the heavy eyebrows over the keen, dark eyes gave his countenance a
look of resolute determination.
Folding his hands, he prayed as follows: "O Thou Judge of the living
and of the dead, almighty Father of us all, incline Thine ear to our
petition. Lo! with much earthly pomp and splendour the ashes of one of
Thy servants are borne to the marble sepulchre prepared for their
reception, while in the same hour his soul, naked and trembling,
cowers at heaven's portals and sues for admission to paradise. What
are we poor mortals that we should take our departure from this life
amid such vain display and idle pomp,--we whose brothers are the worms
and whose mother is the dust beneath our feet? The memory of a single
good deed lights our path better than the flare of a thousand torches,
and the unspoken benison of our neighbours is a fairer ornament for
our coffin than all the escutcheons and orders in the world. O Lord,
be merciful to those who in their lives have shown no mercy. Inquire
not too sternly of the trembling soul before Thee, 'Who art thou, who
led thee hither, and what say they of thee down yonder?' For to what
but thine infinite mercy can he appeal who, though great and powerful
in this life, yet stands before Thee stripped of his earthly glory?
Called upon to answer Thy dread questions, 'Hast thou given help to
the needy, raised up the fallen, protected the persecuted, lent thine
ear to those that appealed to thee in despair, wiped away the tears of
the sorrowing, shown compassion to the oppressed, and repaid love with
love?'--he must answer, 'No.' And when Thou askest him, 'What use hast
thou made of the power which I entrusted to thee? Hast thou given
happiness to those under thy charge? Hast thou built for posterity?
Hast thou honestly served thy country, or didst thou render homage to
strange idols?'--what answer can he make, to whom turn for help, with
what escutcheon or orders shield his breast, whom call upon as
intercessor?"
The priest's face glowed, he seemed to increase in stature, and his
hearers could not repress a feeling of awe and dread as they listened
to him.
"O Lord," he continued, "let justice be tempered with mercy, avert Thy
scrutiny from this man's past, and remember only that he walked in
darkness here below and saw not Thy face. Weigh not his errors and his
failings, but ascribe to him good intentions even where he erred.
Forgive Thou him in heaven even as those against whom he sinned
forgive him here on earth. Blot out the remembrance of his works,
that none may thereby be reminded of him. But if the sinner must atone
for his sins, if Thou art inexorable toward him and wilt not dismiss
him unpunished from before Thy throne, then let his atonement be the
return of his soul, which now sees all things in the clear light of
Thy truth, and not as through a glass, darkly,--let his soul, we pray
thee, return to the earth and take up its abode in his three sons, in
order that the sins of the father may be transformed into virtues in
the sons, and that the soil of his fatherland, which was his tomb as
long as he lived, may now, when his bones rest therein in death,
become the cradle in which he shall at last wake to life everlasting.
Hear, O Lord, Thy servant's prayer, Amen."
The closing of the iron portals of the vault terminated the ceremony,
and the procession wound its way to the castle, where tables were
spread in different rooms for the nobility, the students and the
domestics.
The old priest, however, lingered behind and, while all the rest
turned their faces toward the castle, took his daughter by the hand
and went another way. In vain had a cover been laid for him in the
great hall of the castle.