THE COUNTESS'S ALBUM
The worthy Pastor Mahok was of opinion that the mystery of the
countess's dress smelling so strongly of tobacco-smoke could not be
accounted for by any law of Nature, and judged, therefore, by the
light of his priestly office, as well as from his worldly experience,
that these diabolical visions were matters worthy of deep
consideration on his part. They occupied his mind during dinner, which
he partook of in company with the countess's companion, but of the
subject of his thoughts he spoke no word to her. They were alone at
table. The countess remained in her room, as was her habit when she
suffered from what was called "cramps," and her only refreshment was
some light soup. After dinner she again sent for the pastor.
He found her lying on the sofa, pale and exhausted; her first words
had reference to the subject which filled both their minds.
"Are you now convinced," she said, "that what I told you was, indeed,
no dream?"
"Doubtless there has been some strange work going on."
"Is it the work, think you, of good or bad spirits?" asked the
countess, raising her eyes.
"That can only be ascertained by a trial."
"What sort of a trial, holy father?"
"An attempt to exorcise them. If these spirits who every night leave
their graves are good, they must, by the strength of the exorcism,
return to their resting-places, and remain there till summoned by the
angel's trumpet to arise on the last day."
"And in case they don't return?" inquired the countess, anxiously.
"Then they are bad spirits."
"That is to say, damned. How do you know that?"
For a minute there was a struggle in the pastor's mind; then he
answered, boldly:
"This night I shall keep watch in the castle."
"And if you hear the unearthly noises?"
"Then I shall descend into the vault, and scatter the ghosts with holy
water."
The countess's face glowed with fervor as she exclaimed:
"Holy father, I shall accompany you."
"No, countess; no one shall accompany me but my sacristan."
"The sacristan! A man! He shall not put his foot in this house!" cried
the countess, excitedly.
The pastor, in a soothing voice, explained to her that his sacristan
was almost as much a part of the Church as himself; moreover, that he
was absolutely necessary on this occasion for the performance of the
exorcism; in fact, without him the ceremony could not take place,
seeing that the sacred vessel containing the holy water, the
crucibulum and lanterns, should be carried before him to give all due
effect to the religious rite.
Under these circumstances Countess Theudelinde gave her consent, on
the condition that the obnoxious male intruder should not enter the
castle itself. Still more, the pastor promised to watch in the
greenhouse after the castle gates were locked.
According to these arrangements, when it began to get dark, Father
Mahok arrived, bringing with him his sacristan, a man of about forty,
with a closely shaved mustache and a very copper-colored face. The
pastor left him in the greenhouse, and proceeded himself to the
dining-room, where the countess was awaiting him for supper. No one
ate a morsel. The pastor had no appetite, neither had the countess,
nor her companion. The air was too full of the coming event to allow
of such a gross thing as eating.
After supper the countess withdrew to her room, and Herr Mahok went to
the greenhouse, where the sacristan had made himself comfortable with
wine and meat, and had kept up the fires in the oven. The servants had
been kept in ignorance of what was going on; they had never heard the
midnight mass, nor the wild shrieks and infamous songs of the
inhabitants of the vault, and the countess would not allow the ears of
her innocent handmaidens to be polluted with such horrors. Therefore,
every one in the castle slept. The pastor watched alone. At first Herr
Mahok tried to pass the long hours of the night in reading his
prayers, but as his habitual hour for sleep drew near he had to fight
a hard battle with his closing eyelids. He was afraid that if he
slumbered his imagination would reproduce the countess's dream, to
which, be it said, he did not give credence; at the same time, he did
not wholly doubt. Generally, he found that his breviary provoked
sleep, and now he thought it better to close the book, and try what
conversation with the sacristan would do as a means to keep awake.
The clerk's discourse naturally turned upon ghostly appearances; he
told stories of a monk without a head, of spirits that appeared on
certain nights in the year, of hobgoblins and witches, all of which he
had either seen with his own eyes or had heard of from persons whose
veracity was unimpeachable.
"Folly! lies!" said the excellent pastor; but he could not help a
creeping sensation coming over him. If he could even have smoked, it
would have strengthened his nerves; but smoking was forbidden in the
castle. The countess would have smelled it, as the giant in the old
fairy tale smelled human flesh.
When the sacristan found that all his wonderful tales of ghosts and
hobgoblins were considered lies, he thought it was no use tiring
himself talking, and as soon as he ceased sleep began to fall upon his
eyelids. Seated upon a stool, his head leaning against the wall, his
mouth open, he slept profoundly, to the envy, if not the admiration,
of the good pastor, who would willingly have followed his example.
Soon some very unmusical sounds made themselves heard. The sacristan
snored in all manner of keys, in all variations of nasal discord,
which so jarred on the pastor's nerves that he several times shook the
sleeper to awake him, with the result that he slept again in no time.
At last the clock on the castle tower chimed twelve. Herr Mahok struck
the sacristan a good blow on his shoulder.
"Get up!" he said. "I did not bring you here to sleep."
The clerk rubbed his eyes, already drunk with sleep. The pastor took
his snuff-box to brighten himself up with a pinch of snuff, when
suddenly both men were roused out of all the torpor of sleep by other
means. Just as the last beat of the clock had finished striking the
unearthly mass began to be intoned in the vault below. Through the
profound silence of the night was heard the voice of the priest
singing the Latin mass, with the responses of the choir, accompanied
by some instrument that sounded like an organ, but which had a
shriller tone, and seemed to be a parody of the same.
Over the whole body of Herr Mahok crept a ghostly shiver.
"Do you hear it?" he asked the sacristan, in a whisper.
"Hear it? Who could help hearing it? Mass is saying somewhere."
"Here, under us, in the vault."
"Who can it be?"
"The devil! All good spirits praise the Lord," stammered the worthy
pastor, making the sign of the cross three times.
"But it seems that the evil spirits praise the Lord as well as the
good ones," returned the clerk.
This assertion of his was, however, quickly contradicted, for in the
middle of the next psalm a diabolical chorus struck in wildly, and the
air resounded with--
"Come, dearest, come to me,
Come, I am at home;
Two gypsies play for me.
And here I dance alone."
Then followed shrieks of laughter, in which women's shrill cackle
mingled with the hoarse roar of men and the wildest discord, as if
hell itself were let loose.
The poor priest, who had trembled at the pious psalms, nearly fell to
the ground on hearing this pandemonium. A cold sweat broke out all
over him; he knew now that the countess was right, and that this was,
in truth, the work of the evil one.
"Michael," he said, his teeth chattering with fear, "have you heard--"
"I must be stone deaf if I didn't--such an infernal din!" replied the
other. "All the spirits of hell are holding a Sabbath--"
Just then there was the tinkle of a bell. The tumult subsided, and the
voice of the celebrant was once more heard intoning mass.
"What shall we do?" asked Herr Mahok.
"What shall we do? Descend into the vault and exorcise the evil
spirits."
"What!" cried the priest. "Alone?"
"Alone!" repeated Michael, with religious fervor. "Are we alone when
we come in the name of the Lord of armies? Besides, we are two. If I
were a priest, and if I were invested with the stole, had I the right
to wear the three-cornered hat, I should go into the vault, carrying
the holy water, and with the words, 'Apage Satanas,' I would drive
before me all the legions of hell itself."
The excellent pastor felt ashamed that his ignorant sacristan should
possess greater faith, and show more courage in this combat with the
powers of darkness, than himself; still, fear predominated over his
shame.
"I would willingly face these demons," he said, in a somewhat
hesitating manner, "were it not that the gout has suddenly seized my
right foot. I am not able to walk."
"But consider what a scandal it will be if we, who have heard the
spirits, have not pluck enough to send them packing."
"But my foot, Michael; I cannot move my foot."
"Well, then, I will carry you on my back. You can hold the holy water
and I will take the lantern."
There was no way out of this friendly offer. The pastor commended his
soul to God, and, taking heart, resolved to fight the demons below,
armed only with the holy insignia of his office. The good man,
however, did not mount, like Anchises on the back of Æneas, without
much inward misgiving.
"You will be careful, Michael; you will not let me fall?" he said, in
a somewhat quavering voice.
"Don't be afraid, pastor," returned the sacristan, as he stooped and
raised the pastor on his shoulders. "Now, forward!" he cried, taking
the lantern in his hands, while Herr Mahok carried the vessels
necessary for the exorcism.
A cold blast of air saluted them as they issued from the greenhouse
and crossed the large hall of the castle, which the glimmering light
from the small lantern only faintly illumined. Half of it remained in
darkness; but on the side of the wall where hung the portraits of the
armed knights an occasional gleam showed Herr Mahok the faces of the
countess's warlike ancestors, who had done in their day good service
against the Turks. They looked at him, he thought, somewhat
contemptuously, and seemed to say, "What sort of man is this, who goes
to fight pickaback?"
Michael stopped before a strong iron door in the centre of the hall.
This was the entrance to the subterranean vaults and cellars
underneath the castle. And now the pastor suddenly remembered he had
left the key of this gate in the greenhouse. There was nothing for it
but to retrace their steps. Just as they reached the threshold,
however, Michael suggested that something very hard was pressing
against his side. Could it be the key which was, after all, in his
reverence's pocket? This suggestion proved correct, and once more he
had to run the gantlet of the old crusaders and their contemptuous
superiority.
The key creaked as it turned in the lock, and a heavy, damp smell
struck upon them as they passed through the iron gate.
"Leave the door open," said the pastor, with an eye to securing a safe
retreat.
And now they began to descend the steps, Herr Mahok remarking that his
horse was not too sure-footed. He tottered in going down the steps so
much that the pastor, in his fright, caught him with his left hand
tightly by the collar, while he pressed the other more closely round
his throat, a proceeding which Michael resented by calling out, in a
strangled voice:
"Reverend sir, don't squeeze me so; I am suffocating!"
"What was that?"
A black object whizzed past them, circling round their heads. A bat,
the well-known attendant upon ghosts!
"We shall be there in a few minutes," said the clerk, to encourage his
rider, whose teeth chattered audibly.
While they were descending the steps the noise in the vault had been
less audible, but now, as they came into the passages which ran
underneath the hall, it broke out again in the most horrible discord.
The passage was long, and there were two wings; one led to the cellars
proper, the other to the vaults. Opposite to the steps there was a
cross passage, at the end of which, by ascending some seven or eight
steps and passing through a lattice door, you could get into the open
air. This lattice served likewise as a means of ventilating the
passages, and on this particular night there was such a strong current
of air that the light in the lantern was in danger every minute of
being blown out. It would have been well if that were all. The
sacristan hadn't taken three steps in the direction of the vault
before a terrible sight revealed itself to both men.
At the other end of the passage a blue flame burned; before the flame
there stood, or sat, or jumped, a dwarfish figure all in white. It was
not three feet in height, and, nevertheless, its head was of monstrous
size. As the sacristan, with the pastor, drew near this horrid
appearance, the blue flame suddenly flared up, throwing a bright,
whitish light all over the passage, and by this light the terrified
spectators beheld the dwarfish figure stretch itself out, and grow
taller and taller--six, eight, twelve feet--and still it grew and
grew. Its shadow danced in the light of the blue flame upon the marble
floor of the passage like a black serpent. Then the fearful appearance
raised its head, and the vaulted roof echoed with its howls and
shrieks.
Michael's courage flew out of the window. He turned, and, burdened as
he was with the weight of the pastor on his back, he ran back as fast
as he could. In the middle of the passage, however, he made a false
step and fell, with Herr Mahok, flat upon his face. In the fall he
broke the lantern, the light went out, and left them in the dark.
Groping along with outstretched hands, they missed the steps which led
up to the iron gate, but after some time found themselves in the cross
passage, and saw the soft light of the moon shining through the
lattice window. They made at once for the door. At first there was
some difficulty in opening it, but Michael managed to force it, and,
to their great joy, they were once more in the open air. Over the
stubble, through the thorn-bushes they flew, never pausing to look
back. Singularly enough, the gout in the pastor's foot in no way
affected his speed. He ran quite as fast as Michael, and in less than
a quarter of an hour was in his bed. So, too, the sacristan, whose
fright produced an attack of fever, which kept him a prisoner there
for three days.
The next morning Herr Mahok, with many inward qualms, went up to the
castle. His was an honest, simple mind; he preferred rather to believe
in the wiles of the devil than in the wickedness of human nature; he
credited what he had seen with his own eyes, and never sought to
penetrate the dark veil which shrouds many supernatural mysteries. He
believed firmly that he had now to do with damned spirits, who at
their midnight orgies cracked pheasant bones to see who should first
be married.
He found the countess in good humor; she was friendly, lively, and
received her visitor with a smiling countenance. This change did not
surprise Herr Mahok. He was by this time accustomed to the caprices of
Countess Theudelinde. One day she was out of humor, the next all
serenity.
The pastor went straight to the kernel he had to crack.
"I watched last night," he said.
"Oh, father, thanks, ten thousand thanks! Your mere presence has been
sufficient to banish the evil spirits which have haunted the castle
for so long. Last night all was peace; not a sound did I hear."
"Not a sound!" cried the pastor, rising from his chair in his
astonishment at such a statement. "Countess, is it possible that you
did not hear the noise?"
"Profound repose, Arcadian peace, reigned in the house, both up-stairs
and below."
"But I was there, and awake. I did not dream it. And, moreover, I can
show you the bruises and abrasions on my elbow; they witness to the
fall we had, to say nothing of Michael, the sacristan, who is this
moment in a high fever in consequence. No, never did any one hear so
demoniacal, so terrible a noise as echoed through the vault last
night. I was there myself, countess, in my own person. I was ready to
encounter the wicked spirits; I would have met them armed with all the
terrors of Mother Church, but the courage of my weak-kneed sacristan
failed. I have now come to tell you that my knowledge is at an end.
This castle is bewitched, and, countess, my advice to you is to leave
it without delay, and to take up your residence in a city, where your
family ghost cannot follow you."
The countess placed the middle finger of her left hand upon her
breast, and spoke with haughty dignity:
"I leave this castle because the spirits of my ancestors dwell here!
Your advice, reverend father, shows how little you know me. To my
mind, it is a powerful reason for remaining. Here the spirits of my
forefathers, the ghosts of ancestors, surround me. They know me, they
claim me as theirs; they honor me with their visits, with their
invitations, and you counsel me to abandon them. Never! Bondavara is
dearer to me than ever; the presence of my ancestors has doubled its
value a hundredfold."
It was on the tip of Herr Mahok's tongue to answer, "Well, then,
remain here by all means, but for my part I give my resignation;
provide yourself with another confessor." He restrained himself,
however, and said, quietly:
"Will you tell me, countess, how it happens that, if you have these
close relations with your ancestors' spirits, you heard nothing of
the witch's Sabbath they kept last night?"
At this bold question the countess's pale cheeks were suddenly
decorated by two carnation spots; her eyes fell before the sharp look
of her father confessor, and, striking her breast with her hand, she
sank slowly on her knees, whispering, in great agitation:
"Pater, peccavi. There is something which I have never confessed to
you, and which lies heavy on my conscience."
"What is it?"
"Oh, I fear to tell you!"
"Daughter, fear nothing," said the priest, soothingly. "God is
merciful to human weakness."
"I believe that; but I am more afraid that you will laugh at me."
"Ah!" And the pastor, at this strange speech, fell back in his chair,
smiling to himself.
The countess rose from her kneeling position and went to her
writing-table; she opened a secret drawer, and took from thence an
album. It was a splendid book with an ivory cover, chasings of gilt
enamel, and clasp of the same.
"Will you look through this album, father?"
The priest opened the clasp, took off the cover, and saw a collection
of cabinet photographs, such as are generally to be found on drawing
room tables. There were portraits of eminent statesmen, poets, actors,
with whose likenesses all the world is familiar. Two points were
remarkable in this gallery--one, that no one was included who had any
scandal connected with his name; secondly, it was only clean-shaved
men who had a place in the volume. Herr Mahok recognized many whom he
knew either by sight or personally--Liszt, Reményi, the actors
Lendvay, Szerdahelyi, and others, together with many foreign
celebrities, who wore neither beard nor mustache. Another peculiarity
struck the pastor. Several of the leaves, instead of portraits, had
pieces of black crape inserted into the frames. This circumstance made
him reflective.
"It is a very interesting volume," he said, closing the book' "but
what has it to do with the present circumstances?"
"I confess to you," said the countess, in a low voice, "that this book
is a memorial of my folly and weakness. A picture-dealer in Vienna has
for many years had an order from me; he sends me every photograph that
comes out of clean-shaved men, and I seek among them for my ideal. I
have been seeking many years. Sometimes I imagine I have found it;
some one of the portraits takes my fancy. I call the man whom it
represents my betrothed. I place the photograph before me; I dream for
hours looking at it; I almost fancy that it speaks to me. We say to
one another all manner of things--sweet nothings, but they fill my
mind with a sort of ecstasy. It is silly, I know, and something tells
me that it is worse than silly, that it is sinful. I have been for a
long time wondering whether I should confess this as a sin, or keep
silence about such foolish nonsense. What is your opinion, father?"
Herr Mahok, in truth, did not know what to say. It was true that in
the Scripture some words were said about sinning with the eyes, but
photographs were not named. He answered, vaguely--
"Anything further, my daughter?"
"After I had for some time been silly over one of the portraits, I saw
in a dream the man it represented. He appeared to me as a beautiful
apparition, we walked together through fields and meadows,
arm-in-arm; a sort of heavenly halo surrounded us, flowers sprang up
under our feet. We were young, and we loved one another." The poor
lady wept bitterly as she related her dream, and she sobbed as she
said, "Is not this a sin, father?"
Herr Mahok had no hesitation in answering. He had found the name of
the sin--it was witchcraft; but the form the penance should take
puzzled him. The countess, however, helped him to a decision.
"Ah," she said, sadly, "I thought it was some demoniac possession; and
for these visions, sweet as they were, I must now do penance. Is it
not so, father? Will it satisfy for my fault if I burn in the fire the
portrait of the man who appeared to me in my dream, and fill the empty
space in my book with black crape?"
This remark explained the many frames filled with crape. The pastor
thought that the penance was well chosen. Nothing could be better than
a burnt-offering.
Theudelinde continued, "During these visions I lie in a profound
slumber. My soul is no longer on the earth; I am in the paradise of
lovers. No earthly feeling chains me here below; I am a clear spirit,
consequently no sound reaches me. I am as deaf to this world as if I
were already dead."
"Therefore the ghostly tumult never reached you last night; you were
wandering in your dream world."
"I confess it was so," whispered the countess, covering her face with
her hands.
"Now, here is a nice state of things!" thought the pastor. "The dead
ancestors play all manner of pranks in the family vault, while their
descendant projects herself out of her human body to make love in some
other region. They are, indeed, an extraordinary race. A poor man
daren't even think of such extravagances, and how can I, a poor
parish priest, deal with such queer goings-on? I only know how to
settle with the every-day penitent, who commits the usual sins."
This complication, in truth, of the ghosts below and the bewitched
countess above, was too much for a man of his calibre to deal with. It
required a superior genius to exorcise the spirits and to calm the
hysterical mind of Theudelinde. In the difficulty it appeared to him
better to temporize.
"My daughter, the penance you have imposed upon yourself is well
thought of. Have you already committed to the flames the portrait of
the last demoniacal appearance?"
"No," answered the countess, with all the hesitation a young girl
would have in speaking of her lover's picture.
"And why not?" questioned the priest, almost sternly. He was glad to
find some tangible fault.
"It would be wrong, I think, to throw this particular portrait into
the fire."
"And wherefore should it be wrong?"
Before she replied the countess opened a concealed pocket of the album
and drew forth what it contained.
"Ah!" cried the pastor as he took the photograph, which he at once
recognized as the Abbé Samuel, the head of an influential order which
possessed many different branches.
"The photographer in Vienna had my directions to send me the
photograph of every clean-shaven celebrity. He, therefore, has
committed the sin of sending me the portrait of an eminent priest. The
fault is mine, not his."
"And in your dreams have you wandered arm-in-arm with the original of
this?" asked Herr Mahok, still holding in his hand the photograph.
"I am guilty!" stammered the countess, laying her hands upon her
breast.
"Then," said the pastor, "Heaven inspired you not to throw this
portrait, like that of the others, into the fire, for in this man you
will find a physician able to cure your sick soul. It is really
providential that this portrait should be in your hands, for the
others were idle, foolish dreams. Here you have found your ideal,
under whose guidance you may hope to find health and salvation. He
will lead you, not in a dream, but in reality, to the blessed regions
of peace and true piety, where alone, my daughter, real happiness is
to be found. This man possesses strength of mind and elevation of
character sufficient to exorcise all the spirits which haunt your
castle, and to banish from your mind those temptations which spring
from the same source as the more visible demons which we call
ghosts."