INSTRUMENTS OF THE CHURCH.
The morning sun shone brightly into Lieutenant von Stielow's room. But
not as yesterday did he lie stretched upon his couch in happy dreams;
he paced to and fro, with quick and restless footsteps, his pale face
looked painfully anxious, and it was evident he had passed a sleepless
night.
He had spent the evening before with Clara, in the sweet and charming
converse of two loving hearts, who say so much, yet never can say
enough; an hour had flown rapidly, then she had complained of violent
pain from the small wound in her arm; they had applied cooling lotions,
but the pain had increased, and the arm had swelled considerably. They
sent for their usual medical attendant, and he had tried various
remedies; but the poor girl said that the pain became still more
violent; the wound was greatly inflamed and the swelling grew larger.
Stielow remained at the Countess Frankenstein's house until the small
hours of the morning; at last the doctor, after hearing how the injury
had been received, tried a different ointment, and gave the young
countess a sleeping draught.
Countess Frankenstein had insisted upon Herr von Stielow's returning
home and resting a little, and she promised him early in the morning to
call in the celebrated Oppolzer. No one thought there was any real
danger; but the young man had passed the night in great anxiety,
possessed by forebodings he could not overcome.
In the morning he sent his servant to make inquiries, and heard in
reply that the countess had slept, and that Oppolzer was expected every
moment. He dressed, and prepared to hasten to the countess's house.
He had on his uniform, and was just buckling his sword, when his
servant announced Count Rivero.
Stielow made an impatient movement; but at the same time he gave his
servant a sign to admit the visitor.
The count entered the room, looking grave, though fresh and elegant.
With a graceful bow he held out his hand to the young baron and said in
his resonant voice, whilst his eyes beamed with an expression of warm
friendship:
"I heard that you were here with Field-Marshal Gablenz, and I hastened
to visit you before you perhaps left us again, to express my joy that
you have so happily escaped the dangers of war."
"You are very kind, count," replied von Stielow in a slightly
constrained tone; "I'm heartily glad to see you again."
The count seemed to expect an invitation to sit down.
Herr von Stielow looked on the ground with some embarrassment.
Then he raised his candid eyes and said:
"Count, you will forgive me if I speak quite openly to you. I beg you
urgently, to repeat the honour of your visit at some other time, that I
may have the happiness of increasing our acquaintance, which I hope,"
he added politely, "will become much more intimate; at this moment I
must own I am pressingly engaged, and in great anxiety."
"Anxiety?" asked the count, "it is not idle curiosity that urges me to
inquire the cause."
"Oh! I hope it is nothing very serious," said von Stielow, "the young
Countess Frankenstein--you know I am engaged?"
"I have heard so," replied the count, "and I wished to offer you my
hearty congratulations."
Herr von Stielow bowed slightly, and said:
"She is unwell; an extraordinary accident has happened to her, which
makes me excessively uneasy; and I was just about to hasten to hear how
she was going on, and what Oppolzer, who was to meet her regular
attendant this morning, had said."
"Oppolzer consulted?" cried the count with a look of alarm; "my God! is
the countess then seriously ill?"
"We can scarcely think so," said von Stielow, "and yet the symptoms are
very distressing; a slight wound on her wrist has become rapidly bad,
and has caused her to feel so extremely ill."
"A wound!" cried the count: his face grew very grave and expressed the
greatest attention.
"She was visiting the wounded soldiers at the northern railway
station," said the young officer, "and another lady slightly hurt her
wrist with a small pair of scissors in cutting off a piece of linen; it
could scarcely be called a wound; but in the course of the evening the
arm swelled and grew stiff, and became violently painful. Fever came
on, and the doctor fears that there must have been some drug upon the
scissors, what, he cannot ascertain. Under these circumstances," he
said, pressing the count's hand, "you will forgive me, if I beg you to
excuse me."
The count had listened very gravely, his face had turned pale, and his
large dark eyes looked thoughtfully at the young man's excited face.
"My dear baron," he said slowly, "honestly from my heart I feel the
liveliest interest in you; perhaps I can be useful to you. In former
years I studied medicine deeply, especially the knowledge of poisons
and their antidotes; they once," he added with a slight sigh, "played
so important and frightful a part in my country, that the subject
interested me deeply. If by an unhappy accident there was anything
pernicious or dangerous on the scissors, I may be of some assistance.
Will you allow me to see the young countess?"
And in a deep voice that seemed to command conviction, he added,
"Believe me, I would not propose my help if I did not believe that if
serious danger has arisen, and help is possible, my remedy is certain."
Herr von Stielow had at first listened to the count's proposal in
silent surprise, then a look of thankfulness beamed from his eyes, and
stretching out his hand he cried hastily,--
"Come!"
"We must drive to my house to obtain the necessary apparatus," said the
count; "if it is really a case of poisoning, recovery may depend upon
moments."
Instead of replying, the young man seized the count's arm and drew him
to the door.
They jumped into a cab that stood ready, driven by one of the best and
quickest drivers in Vienna, and in a few minutes they had reached the
count's rooms, which were only at a little distance. He got out, and
soon returned with a small black casket. They then drove rapidly to
Countess Frankenstein's and entered the reception room.
In the ante-room a servant had received them with a sorrowful look, and
had replied almost weeping to Herr von Stielow's hasty question,
"Ah! my God! Herr Baron, it is terrible, the poor countess is
dreadfully bad, they have sent for the father-confessor, and also for
you, sir:" and he then hastened away to let the countess know of
Stielow's arrival.
He walked up and down the room with large strides, grief and despair
upon his face.
The count stood calm and motionless, his hand supported on the back of
a chair.
After a few moments Countess Frankenstein appeared, she was pale and
exhausted, her eyes wearied with watching and red with weeping.
She glanced with surprise at the count, whom she had seen once or twice
in society, and whose presence at that moment was inexplicable to her.
Stielow hastened up to her, seized her hand impatiently, and exclaimed
in a trembling voice,
"For God's sake! how is she? How is Clara?"
"Compose yourself, my dear Stielow," said the countess calmly, though
with a slight sob in her voice, "the hand of the Lord has smitten us
heavily; if He does not work a miracle, we must lose her!"
And she broke down and wept quietly.
"But my God! how can it be? what did the doctor say?" cried the young
man, with a look of bewildered horror. "What is this wound?"
"Clara must have touched some dead soldier, the poison from some deadly
wound has got into her blood, there is scarcely a hope of saving her,"
she said in a low voice.
"I must go to her, I must see her!" cried von Stielow wildly.
"Her confessor is with her," said the countess, "telling her of comfort
and resignation; let her first be reconciled to God!"
And raising her head, she regained her composure with a violent effort,
and cast an inquiring look at the count, who stood by in silence. His
eyes had flashed with anger when the countess had explained the medical
opinion of the nature of Clara's illness, but he had then raised them
in joyful thankfulness to heaven.
As the looks of the countess rested upon him he came forward with the
self-possession of a man of the world, and after bowing slightly he
said:--
"You will recollect me, countess, though I have only had the honour of
meeting you once or twice. I think Herr von Stielow will permit me to
call myself his friend; he told me of the alarming illness that has
attacked the young countess, and I offered to use the medical knowledge
I acquired in earlier years on her behalf, before I knew the nature of
her injury. I have now heard the dreadful danger she is in, and if you
can trust me so far, I beg your permission to apply a remedy which I
promise shall, God willing, be successful."
The countess listened in the greatest surprise.
"You, count, a physician?" she enquired.
"A physician from inclination," he replied, "but not a worse one than
many who make it their profession."
The countess looked at him and hesitated.
"I implore you, for God's sake, let the count make the attempt," cried
von Stielow, "we must accept any help,--my God, my God, I cannot lose
her!"
"Count," said the Countess Frankenstein, "I thank you from my heart for
your sympathy and your offer. Forgive me if I consider it," she added
with hesitation, "the life of my child--"
"Consideration and hesitation may be fatal," said the count quietly.
The countess looked down thoughtfully, von Stielow's eyes hung on her
face with an expression of deadly anguish.
The door leading to the inner apartments opened and Father Ignatius,
the confessor to the countess and her daughter, entered.
He wore the black dress of a priest, his manner was simple, graceful,
and dignified, his pale and regular features, surrounded by short black
hair, expressed spiritual repose, firmness, and great self-knowledge,
his dark eyes looked full of intelligence beneath the strongly marked
eyebrows.
"The countess is resigned to God's will, and desirous of receiving the
holy sacrament, that she may be prepared, should it please God not to
hear our prayers for her recovery," he said slowly in a low and
impressive voice.
"Oh! my God! my God!" cried von Stielow, in despair, "I conjure you,
countess, seize on the means that heaven has sent you!"
"Count Rivero," said Countess Frankenstein, indicating the count to her
confessor, "offers to save my daughter by means of a remedy which his
study of medicine has caused him to discover; you will understand--I
beg your forgiveness, count--that I must act cautiously where the life
of my child is at stake. I expect the doctor every moment, Oppolzer too
will come again,--he has indeed little hope."
Father Ignatius cast a quick searching glance at the count, who replied
to it with a look of calm dignity, almost of proud superiority.
"It is certainly a grave and difficult question," said the father
hesitatingly.
"Every moment makes recovery more doubtful," cried the count with some
vehemence. "I believe," he then continued calmly, "that the father will
be of my opinion, that in this unusual and extreme case we must try
everything, and place confidence in most unusual means."
As he spoke he looked firmly at the confessor, and raising his hand
slightly he made the sign of the cross in a peculiar way, over his brow
and his breast.
Amazed, almost alarmed, the father gazed at him, and casting down his
eyes before the count's large, brilliant orbs, he said:
"It would be sinning against Providence if we did not thankfully seize
on the means which God has so visibly sent us in our urgent need. Your
conscience will reproach you, countess, if you do not accept the help
now offered."
Countess Frankenstein looked at the priest with some surprise.
"Come then," she said, turning to Count Rivero, after a moment's
silence.
And they all went to the apartments of the young countess. The flowers
still bloomed in her room, the crucifix stood in the niche, and at its
feet lay the case which held the withered rose.
The portiere that divided this room from her bedroom was drawn back. It
was a spacious apartment hung entirely with grey silk even to the
curtains of the bed, upon which lay the countess in a white neglige,
supported by pillows. The sleeve of her right arm was thrown back, and
the dreadfully inflamed arm was covered with a wet compress, which a
maid who sat near the bed moistened constantly with some strongly
smelling fluid from a medicine bottle.
Clara's face was much flushed, her eyes had the brilliance of fever,
but they looked calmly resigned, as her friends entered with their
sorrowful faces.
As soon as he saw the poor suffering girl, von Stielow rushed past the
others, and falling on his knees beside the bed and folding his hands,
cried in a stifled voice, "Clara, my Clara!"
"My own friend," she said gently, and stretched out her soft left hand
towards him, "how beautiful life is, how sad to think of the death that
is so near me,--God will be gracious, He will not part us!"
Stielow bent his head down upon her hand, and touched it lightly with
his lips. He could not say a word. Only a deep sob broke from him.
Count Rivero approached the bed with a quick step and a commanding
movement.
"Hope! countess," he said in a firm, clear voice, "God will bless my
hand! And now, baron, give up your place to me, moments are precious!"
He slightly touched the shoulder of the young man as he knelt.
He rose hastily and stepped aside.
The count removed the compress, and calmly examined the wound. It was
much swollen, of a bluish colour, and long streaks of inflammation
extended to the shoulder.
All eyes rested on the count's face with the most earnest anxiety; he
looked at the wound attentively and lightly followed the swelling with
his finger. Clara gazed with surprise mingled with hopeful confidence,
at this man who was quite unknown to her, but who stood so quietly
beside her and who had so confidently said to her, "hope!"
The count concluded his examination.
"It is quite true," he said; "corrupted matter has got into the wound,
the poison has spread greatly, it is almost too late!"
He opened the black casket he had brought with him, and which he had
placed beside him on the table.
It contained a small surgical apparatus, and several little cut glass
bottles.
The count took a knife with a golden handle and a highly-polished
shining blade.
"I beg your pardon, countess," he said in the tone of a man of the
world, "I must hurt you, it is necessary."
The young countess smiled.
The count took firm hold of the suffering arm, and quick as lightning
cut two deep gashes crossing each other into the wound.
Thick blood mixed with matter flowed from it.
"A handkerchief!" cried the count.
They gave him a cambric handkerchief; he quickly removed the blood,
seized a glass bottle, opened the wound widely and poured into it a
portion of the contents.
Clara's face grew deadly pale; she closed her eyes, her lips quivered
convulsively.
"Does it hurt?" asked the count.
"Horribly!" replied the young girl in a voice that was scarcely
audible.
The count took from the casket a small syringe with a sharp steel
point, filled it with fluid from the bottle, and injected the contents
into the flesh of the arm, following the direction of the swelling.
Clara's face showed even greater agony, the Countess Frankenstein
watched the count's manipulations with the deepest anxiety, Stielow
wrung his hands in silent grief, and Father Ignatius moved his lips in
prayer.
The count took another bottle, half filled a glass with pure water, and
slowly and carefully counted the drops as he let them fall from the
fluid in the phial.
The water grew blood red, a strong, peculiar odour spread through the
room.
The count touched the patient's brow lightly with his finger.
She opened her eyes; her countenance still expressed burning pain.
"Drink this!" said the count in a gentle but commanding tone. At the
same time he carefully raised her head and placed the glass to her
lips.
She took the contents. His eyes watched her attentively.
After a short time her face grew calmer, the contraction from the
violence of the pain became less. She opened her eyes, and drew in a
deep breath as if relieved.
"Ah! what good that does me!" she whispered.
An expression of satisfaction appeared on the count's face, then he
said in a grave, solemn voice:
"I have done all that is possible to human art and knowledge, let us
hope God's hand will shed a blessing upon my work. Pray to God,
countess, fervently and with all your soul, that He may give my remedy
strength to overcome the poison."
"Yes, yes," said the young girl ardently, and her eyes sought her
lover; "come to me, my beloved friend!"
Herr von Stielow hastened to the bed and sank down before it with
folded hands.
"I cannot put my hands together," she said in a low voice, looking at
him affectionately, "so let me lay my hand in yours, and our united
prayer shall ascend to heaven, that eternal mercy may permit us to
remain together."
And she began whisperingly to pray, whilst the young officer's eyes
were raised upwards with a look of the deepest devotion.
Suddenly a shudder passed through the form of the young countess, she
withdrew her hand with a look of pain, and gazed with horror at her
lover.
"Oh!" she cried in a trembling voice, "our prayers cannot really be
united; what a dreadful thought, we do not pray to the same God!"
"Clara!" cried the young man, "what an idea! there is but one God in
heaven, and He will hear us!"
"Ah!" she cried, without heeding his words, "there is but one God in
heaven, but you do not walk in the paths that lead to Him, you are not
in the bosom of the Church! Oh! I often thought of it amidst the
pleasures and distractions of life; but now in this dire necessity, at
the very gate of eternity, the thought fills me with horror! God cannot
hear us, and," she added, with a bewildered look, "if I must die, if no
help is possible, I must pass into eternity, knowing that his soul is
lost! Horrible! oh, horrible!"
"Clara! Clara!" cried von Stielow in a tone of the greatest anguish,
gazing in despair upon her painfully excited face, "God is the same for
all those who worship Him with a pure heart, and no prayer can be more
pure, more earnest than mine is now!"
Countess Frankenstein had sunk upon a chair, and covered her face with
her hands, the father looked thoughtfully at the affecting scene, and
the calm, perfect features of Count Rivero were lighted up as by a
sudden inspiration.
Clara gazed sorrowfully at her lover, and gently shook her head.
"You do not worship at the altars of my Church," she said; "we are apart
in the highest and holiest feelings that touch the human heart!"
"Clara, my own beloved!" cried the young man, raising his folded hands,
"the altar on which your pure heart worships God must be the holiest,
the best. Oh! that this altar were here, that I might throw myself
before it, and pray to God for your recovery!" And raising his eyes
with a look of inspiration, he took the hand of his betrothed and
placed it on his own. A look of unutterable delight shone in the eyes
of the young countess.
"The altar of God is here!" said Count Rivero, in a tone of deep
emotion. He drew from beneath his waistcoat a golden cross, upon which
a marvellously beautiful figure of the Saviour was chiselled in silver.
"And his priest stands beside you!"
He unfastened the crucifix from a small golden chain to which it was
attached.
"There can be no higher nor holier altar than this," said he, touching
the crucifix adoringly with his lips; "the Holy Father in Rome has
consecrated it with his apostolic blessing. Young man," he said,
turning to Stielow, who was still kneeling, but whose eyes were raised
with a look half of inquiry, half of enlightened inspiration, "young
man, God has indeed blessed you, in so wonderfully opening to you the
way of salvation. Hear the voice of God, speaking to you through the
pure lips of her you love; seize on the mercy that beckons you to the
bosom of the true Church, and acknowledge God in the confession which
perhaps may shortly arise from the dying lips of your betrothed to the
throne of the Eternal Father. You supplicate Heaven for a miracle, the
recovery of her you love, open your soul to the miraculous stream of
mercy that flows towards you."
"I will!" cried Stielow, his face glowing with ardent enthusiasm.
Clara closed her eyes and pressed her hand firmly upon her lover's.
"Thou hearest it, my God," she whispered; "I thank Thee! Thy ways of
mercy are holy, and above all our thoughts and hopes."
"Father," said the count with dignity, "do your duty as a priest, and
receive this soul, awakened to eternal salvation, into the bosom of the
one true Church!"
Father Ignatius had stood by in great emotion, his eyes beaming with
satisfaction; but he replied with hesitation:
"Is it possible? Here, without preparation?"
The count slightly raised his hand.
"I undertake the responsibility," he said proudly; "the forms can be
complied with hereafter," and he handed the crucifix to the father, who
kissed it with veneration.
"Lay your hand upon the image of the Redeemer, and repeat what the
priest of God tells you to say," said the count.
Stielow turned to the father, who approached him, and did as the count
had commanded.
Steadily and solemnly the priest repeated the words of the Catholic
confession of faith; the young officer repeated them after him with the
greatest devotion, and Clara whispered them in a low voice; the count
stood upright, his brilliant eyes raised to heaven, a smile of inspired
triumph on his lips.
Countess Frankenstein had sunk upon her knees, and laid her head upon
her folded hands.
The confession of faith was ended; with a humble gesture the father
returned the count the crucifix, he kissed it, and again attaching it
to his chain, he concealed it in his breast.
"Now unite in prayer," he said with unspeakable sympathy; "no
dissonance will part you, in pure harmony your petitions will rise to
the throne of eternal love and compassion."
Stielow placed his folded hands upon the bed; Clara pressed her left
hand upon them, and the lips of both these young and loving creatures
moved in earnest prayer to God, imploring Him to permit them to walk
along the path of life together.
Thus they prayed for a long time earnestly and unitedly; their friends
looked at this affecting picture without speaking. Deep silence
prevailed in the room.
At last Stielow rose from his knees after lightly touching the hand of
the young countess with his lips. Countess Frankenstein approached him
and kissed him upon the brow. "God's blessing be upon you, my son," she
said affectionately. The young man looked around him with dreamy,
glistening eyes; he felt as if descending from a strange world which
was suddenly closed upon him when he looked at the objects around him,
and as if he needed to recover his composure after the excitement which
had shaken his inmost soul.
The count approached the bed, and examined the injured arm.
The wound was very red, and surrounded by a wreath of blisters.
Similar blisters appeared all up the arm.
"The remedy is taking effect," he said; "the poison is beginning to
work out, I have a certain hope of recovery."
Herr von Stielow threw himself upon the count's breast.
"My friend for ever!" he cried, and tears flowed from his eyes.
"How shall I thank you, count?" cried Countess Frankenstein, with great
emotion.
"Thank God, countess," he replied. "But," he added in the easy tone of
general conversation, "I reckon upon your discretion, you must not
betray me to the doctors."
He gave instructions about the further treatment of the wound, and a
remedy to be used in his absence, he again administered a medicine, and
left the house promising to return in a few hours.
With rapid footsteps he hastened to Madame Balzer's house; his face
assumed a grave and severe expression as he ascended the steps leading
to the young lady's apartments.
In the salon he found the Abbe Rosti awaiting him. The young priest sat
opposite the _chaise-longue_ of the mistress of the house, who was
conversing gaily with him, dressed in a charming pale blue morning
toilette.
The abbe rose as the count entered, and the young lady welcomed him
with a graceful smile as she offered him her hand.
"We have expected you for some time," she said. "The poor abbe has been
wearied with his efforts to continue a conversation with me," she added
in a roguish tone. "Where were you?"
"I have been preventing the completion of a great crime," replied the
count gloomily, fixing his eyes firmly upon the lady's face.
She trembled involuntarily beneath his gaze.
"A crime?" she asked, "and where was it committed?"
"It was committed," said the count quietly, without removing his eyes,
"it was committed upon a pure and noble creature whom a ruthless hand
had destined to a horrible death, upon the Countess Clara
Frankenstein."
Madame Balzer stood stiff and motionless. A deep pallor spread over her
face, her lips trembled, her eyes sank before the firm and immovable
gaze of the count. Her breast heaved, she tried to speak; but only a
broken hissing breath came from her lips. "Abbe", said the count
raising his hand and pointing to her, "you see this woman now standing
before you, who was talking to you with smiling lips, whose eyes seemed
to reflect the feelings of a good and noble heart--this woman is a
murderess, who with cold cruelty has poisoned the warm pure blood of an
innocent human being, a being who never harmed her except that she
possessed the love of a young man, for whom this woman felt a wicked
passion. God willed it otherwise," he added, "and gave me the power of
saving this victim of her wickedness!"
Amazed, horrified, the abbe listened to the count's words; he looked
enquiringly at the beautiful and elegant woman against whom such a
frightful accusation was brought.
She had pressed her hand upon her breast, as if to calm its powerful
emotion. Her eyes were raised at the count's last word with an
expression of fear, and raging hatred; but she could not bear his gaze,
and her eyes fell again to the ground.
"Count," she said with a great effort, but in a calm and sharp voice,
"you bring strange accusations against me, you speak in the voice of a
judge. I do not understand you, nor do I recognize your right."
And exerting all her powers of will, she raised her eyes and gazed
firmly into the count's face.
He drew himself to his full height, and stepping close up to her, and
raising his hand, he said in a low voice which vibrated through the
room:
"I do not speak from suspicion, I bring an accusation against you which
it would be easy for me to prove; I speak as a judge, because if I
would, I might be your judge, Antonia von Steinfeld."
She gazed at him with horror, all her composure left her; and broken
down she sank into a chair.
"I might," proceeded the count, "be the judge of that unnatural
daughter who forsook her old sick mother, a worthy lady who had
educated her, by making great sacrifices, to follow the adventurous
life of an actress, who stole her mother's last treasure, the
title-deeds of her small estate, and whilst she lived in wild
dissipation left that unhappy mother, who would not face the shame and
publicity of bringing her to justice, to suffer from want, until sorrow
broke her heart. I might be the judge of the worthless creature who
sank deeper and deeper, until she was punished for a fresh robbery,
upon a young man whom she had ensnared, by two years' imprisonment; who
then as an actress travelled through most of the little towns of
Bohemia and Galicia, until she succeeded in finding a man but little
better than herself, who gave her his name, and placed her in a
position that enabled her to continue on a large scale the course she
had before commenced. I might be the judge of the murderess who
planned in cold blood a horrible death for a pure and innocent girl. Do
you think, wretch!" he added--and his voice sounded like distant
thunder--"do you think it would cost me more than a word to strip the
false spangled veil from the hideousness of your past life and give you
up to the abhorrence and scorn of the world? Do you think," he cried,
standing close before her, with flashing eyes, "that it would burden my
conscience, by a drop of surer poison than that you placed in the veins
of an innocent creature, to free the world from your sin-laden
existence?"
As the count spoke, the young woman had sunk down lower and lower; as
he ended she lay at his feet, her eyes stared at him as at some
supernatural appearance, horror and hopeless anguish were depicted in
her face.
The abbe looked with a mixture of pity and abhorrence at the
broken-down creature.
The count gazed at her in silence.
"Thank God," he then said, "that the object of your murderous hate was
saved by my hand, or my hand would have slain you without mercy. Try,"
he said after a short silence, during which, panting, and with anguish
in her eyes, she had hung on his lips, "try to gain heaven's
forgiveness, use the gifts nature has given you, and which you have
hitherto misused in sin, in the holy service of God and his Church. You
shall serve me as a tool; and for the sake of the cause to which you
shall be dedicated, perhaps it may be possible for you to gain
forgiveness of the past."
She looked at him enquiringly; life and hope returned to her face.
"I demand no promises from you, I shall see what you do, and whether
your obedience stands the test,--remember that even when I am far away,
my eyes will be upon you, that my hand can always reach you, and that
vengeance will fall upon your head if you deviate one hair's breadth
from the path which I lay down for you. I shall free you from every
chain that fetters you here, you shall be free in my service, to use
your powers under my direction; but once more: Take heed not to follow
your own way, it will lead you to hopeless destruction."
She rose slowly and stood before him, with downcast eyes, her hands
crossed upon her breast; it was hard to say what was in her mind, but
her features expressed only deep humility and submission.
The count looked at her for a moment in silence.
"I have spoken," he said; "I shall not warn, but punish, if my words
are forgotten."
She bent her head in silence.
Then the solemn earnestness vanished from his face, and his features
resumed their usual easy repose.
"Is Herr Balzer at home?" he asked.
"I think so," she replied in a low voice; "he asked to see me a short
time ago."
"I wish to speak to him," said the count.
She bowed in silence and left the room.
"What a scene!" cried the young abbe, shuddering, "and what a dreadful
woman!"
The count looked thoughtfully before him.
"Do you believe," asked the abbe, "that she will heed your warning?
that she will repent and amend?"
"I do not know," said the count calmly, "we must hope her heart may at
last be opened to grace, in that case she would be an instrument of
priceless worth."
"What are your views?" asked the young priest with surprise.
The count slowly placed himself in an arm-chair and signed to the abbe
to seat himself beside him.
"My young friend," he said in a grave mild voice, "you belong to the
Holy League, you are a soldier of the Church militant, you have genius,
courage, and faith; you are called to labour with me in the erection of
God's kingdom upon earth, to build up the temple of promise, upon the
rock of St. Peter; I tell you a great battle, a great work, is before
you, a work upon a new foundation."
He was silent--lost in thought.
"What we have done hitherto has crumbled to pieces," he said after a
time; "a new phase begins--Austria has denied the very ground-work of
her existence, she has denied the Church, upon whose soil the empire
has grown up; through which alone it could have been maintained, and
guided safely through the future. The first step upon this path will
swiftly be followed by others, according to the merciless law of
logical consequences; we must strike Austria out of our reckoning.
Whether we can rely upon France is not clear to me, it might appear so
from the first glance, but the present government of France affords no
guarantee, a hellish power prevails there, and this power has been the
first to lay hands upon the ancient and holy rights of the Church. I
see," he continued, as if lost in the contemplation of the picture
presented to his mind, "the world forming itself anew. I see the German
nation slowly arising to supreme eminence. Is it the will of Providence
that the realm of Germany, once the foremost backslider, shall now be
the firm foundation-stone of the kingdom of God? The future will show,"
he said after a pause, "but we must be upon the watch, we must regard
these new times with a sharp glance, that we may lay the foundation of
our power, and be able to guide events with a firm hand. What we may
have to do does not yet appear,--here at least _nothing_ can be done,
here are only ruins tottering to their fall. I am going to Paris," he
added, raising his head, "that is the centre of coming events, there we
shall discover the threads which will bind the world. You will
accompany me?" he asked, half as a question, half as a command.
The abbe bowed.
"I am prepared," he replied, "to follow your guidance, and it fills me
with joy and pride to labour under such a master."
"I shall take this woman with me," said the count, "I shall free her
from her present connexion, and place her in a position where her
eminent talents may be developed: she will, now that she knows she is
in my power, do us great service."
The abbe looked amazed.
"This woman?" he said; "ought we to defile our holy cause with such a
tool?"
The count fixed his large expressive eyes firmly upon the young priest.
"Are you then assailed by that doubt of weak souls," he said slowly,
"who desire the end, but fear to use the means?"
"Can sin serve heaven?" asked the abbe with hesitation.
The count rose, and spoke in a tone of firm and full conviction.
"Does not the tempest-flash, that slays and burns the huts of poverty,
serve the eternal councils of God? are not all the destructive powers
of nature wonderful instruments in the hand of God? This is the
almighty power of God, that the evil should serve the good, and lead to
a good end. Even that great German poet who did not belong to the
faith, painted his devil more truly and more rightly than the world
believes; as a power who wills evil, yet must do good! Well," he cried,
"we desire to be soldiers of the Church militant, we wish to overcome
her enemies, and to help on the triumph of the Cross; and shall we like
cowards shrink back before the devil? Shall we acknowledge and fear his
power? No, we must have strength in ourselves to compel the hellish
powers of darkness to the service of heaven; that is the true victory
over sin; not the victory of the fearful schoolboy, who flies, that he
may not be overcome, but the victory of our Master and our Lord, who in
the name of God subdued the fallen angels, and fought against the
powers of the world."
"Forgive me," said the abbe in a tone of doubt, "but is it not
presumption in us, who are but weak sinful creatures, to try to govern
the powers of darkness as the hand of Almighty God does, and can? may
we not become their prey, whilst we think we rule them?"
The count looked at him severely, almost angrily.
"The world," he said, "fights against us with every means she
possesses, she loves to choose the best and sharpest weapons; shall we
pursue our holy war unequally armed, and thus prepare for ourselves
certainty of defeat? No! a thousand times No! our hand must bear the
sharpest and the surest weapons, sharper and surer than our enemies'!
The sword slays," he added, "and it is written: 'Thou shalt not kill!'
Yet behold the thousands who wear the sword and spend their lives in
learning most scientifically the art of slaying! Why are they not
condemned, these armies? Why are they crowned with laurels, when they
return victorious after slaying thousands and thousands of innocent
men? Because they draw their swords to serve a good and a true
principle, to defend their hearths, to defend the glory and the
greatness of their country. And their country belongs to this world,
belongs to this fleeting earth! Yet shall we hesitate to draw the sword
in defence of our spiritual home? in defence of the glory, the power,
and the greatness of the eternal country of the human race, the
invisible, most holy kingdom of God? Truly, my young friend, those who
for the things of this world draw the sword, and shed the blood of
their fellow-men, have no right to fetter us in the choice of the
weapons with which we strive for the eternal and imperishable good. But
it is above all our enemies who would place only blunt weapons in our
hands, that their victory may be certain; and if they succeed in
casting doubts into our souls, the battle is gained beforehand. Banish
doubt from your heart, strengthen your soul, or your hand will bear the
sword for the warring Church of Christ in vain!"
The abbe bowed his head.
"Forgive the hesitation of a youthful heart," he said in a low voice,
"I will wrestle and pray that I may be girded with the strong panoply
of faithful obedience."
The count looked at him kindly.
"Pray to God," he said, "that your heart may be nerved and steeled,
without having to pass through the pain and despair mine suffered
before it attained to calm firmness and clear conviction."
He stepped closer to him, and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"I too," he said in a gentle voice, "was young like yourself, I was
cheerful and happy as you are, I had a wife whom my soul adored, I had
a daughter two years old whose pure eyes seemed to me a greeting from
heaven. I was a surgeon in Rome, my hand was skilful, riches streamed
down upon me. I loved all mankind, when I put my arm around my wife and
held my sweet child upon my knee. To help all who were suffering was my
most holy endeavour, my thank-offering for all the happiness that God
had bestowed upon me. And I had a brother," he added, with a dreamy
look, searching amongst the memories of the past; "I loved him from his
tenderest childhood, I was older than he, and I had formed his mind,
and educated his heart. He was a disciple of the noble art of painting,
that fair flower of my lovely country, and I saw with pride the
creations of his pencil, in which the breath of genius lived, and which
approached nearer and nearer to the great works of the ancients. It was
a good and happy time. My brother wished to try his pencil on the
highest and holiest subject art can create, the divinely blessed Virgin
with the Child Jesus. My wife sat to him as a model, my child upon her
lap was to represent the Divine Child. Was it a sin, a presumptuous
crime? The great Raphael had painted the forms of earthly women for his
madonnas, and yet the wonderful spirit of divinity had enlightened his
eyes. I rejoiced, and was happy in the thought that by the hand of my
brother all that I loved on earth might be united to do God service. I
was absent long hours in the exercise of my profession," he continued
in a gloomy voice, "and one day when I returned, they had vanished! My
brother had tempted my wife away, or she him, I know not which--I know
nothing except that they were gone, and that they had taken my innocent
child with them, that her pure eyes might bring me no comfort in my
loneliness!"
He said the last words lower and lower, his eyes seemed far away, his
features trembled with painful emotion.
He sank down into an arm-chair as if exhausted, the abbe looked at him
with much sympathy.
"It is long since I have spoken of this," said the count after a
moment, in a calm and melancholy voice, "since I have probed my wound
with words. You see," he said, with an indescribably sad smile, "the
wound is not yet healed.--All my inquiries were in vain," he then
proceeded; "I could find no trace of the fugitives. Shall I describe my
feelings? It would be hard to find human language to express them. I
despaired of God, my soul revolted wildly against heaven; I wished to
put an end to my life, and only a slight hope of recovering my child,
my poor, innocent child, made me delay my resolution from day to day. I
abhorred mankind, I withheld the help of my knowledge from the sick,
from the dying; I rejoiced with cold malice when fathers died, when
children were torn from their parents, whilst an operation from my
skilful hand would have saved them. I hated and despised governments
and communities; could their laws, and their institutions, punish or
prevent such crimes as had been committed against me? If I could have
destroyed the whole human race with one word, I would have spoken that
word with a scornful smile, and have reduced every living creature to
eternal nothingness! Oh! my young friend," he said, with a heavy sigh,
"those were frightful days and nights that I passed through; my spirit
went down into hell, and I felt what seethes and ferments in its
depths! In my breast its horrible, yelling voices resounded; I, too,
pronounced that 'No' against the decrees of the Creator, against the
God of mercy and of love! An old worthy priest, a valiant warrior of
the Church, came to me; he forced himself upon me, and the fiery rays
of his eloquence aroused an angry tempest in the midnight of my soul,
every fibre of my being shuddered. But after the storm came light. I
learned from my wise teacher and guide, that no decree of government or
of society, however well-founded, however wise, can banish sin. That
power belongs to the Holy Church alone, that community ordained of God,
and when at last she possesses the world in her all-powerful grasp, sin
will be vanquished, and crime will vanish from the earth. I learned to
know that there is no higher, no holier calling than this, to strive
that all things may be committed to the power of the Church, that the
work of our Saviour's redemption may be completed, that the blood of
Christ may flow down upon all mankind; there is no prouder, no more
glorious deed possible, than to compel sin itself to the service of
heaven. But," he continued, and his eyes glowed with energy and
indomitable will, "I also saw the frightful weapons of the Church's
foes, and I learnt that victory can only be obtained by seizing with a
firm, relentless hand all the weapons of the will and the mind; above
all, by grasping with an iron hand all the evil powers of the sinful
world, and compelling them to serve the Holy Cause, by an annihilating
warfare against each other. I dedicated my life to the cause of the
Church militant, and God strengthened my heart and enlightened my mind,
and he gave me power over men to guide the threads of their fate. I
have often held a fearful and demoniacal power; but my good angel has
not failed me, the hellish power has served heaven, as the gigantic
power of steam obeys the pressure of the human hand. And ought I to
hesitate and doubt," he cried passionately, "in the choice of the
weapons whereby the victory, the great and holy victory, may be won?
ought I to throw away the power I have gained over the enemy, and make
myself and the cause I serve the laughing-stock of the world? Oh! I
fear not the powers of hell, this hand is strong enough to bend them to
my will, and in the name of God to compel the evil ones to work his
good pleasure!"
The abbe looked with admiration at the count's perfect and animated
face.
"Forgive me, my master," he said humbly, "if I doubted; and do not
withdraw your strong hand from me, to guide and to support."
The count held out his hand.
"Your powers, too, will be steeled in the battle," he said, "but never
forget that though man, the weak and sinful creature, may venture to
wield these weapons, only he has a right to seize them who renounces
all, that he may live and die an instrument to increase the glory of
God!"
The door opened, Herr Balzer entered.
He saluted the count with his usual vulgar familiarity, and the
shameless confidence habitual to him.
The count responded by a proud inclination of the head, and looked at
him coldly.
"You wished to speak to me, count," said Herr Balzer, "how can I serve
you?"
"I hope our conversation will be short," replied the count, "I have a
proposal to make to you which you will accept, as it will free you from
a very bad position."
Herr Balzer was alarmed at the severe, decided tone in which the count
spoke to him. His confidence seemed to give way a little.
"A proposal?" he said with surprise; then he added with a vulgar laugh,
"I always like to hear proposals, especially if acceptable."
"I wish your wife to be perfectly free," said the count shortly.
"That will be a little difficult!" cried Herr Balzer with a look
of satisfaction, "a separation--she must turn Protestant, and the
scandal----"
"She would be free--as a widow," said the count.
Herr Balzer sprang backwards from the speaker.
He looked round anxiously, then he gazed into the count's calm face,
and said, with a constrained smile:
"You jest, sir?"
"Certainly not," said the count; "you will have the goodness to listen
to me quietly and without interruption, and I do not doubt that you
will perfectly agree with me."
Herr Balzer seemed not to know what he thought of this strange calm
man, but he bent his head as an intimation that he was willing to hear.
In the simplest way in the world the count proceeded:
"Your affairs, sir, are in a desperate state; you are not only a
bankrupt, but you have almost from the commencement of your financial
existence only concealed your old debts by incurring larger ones, a
course which necessarily would bring you to complete ruin in the end."
Herr Balzer looked at the count in great surprise.
"The moment of unavoidable ruin has come," he said, "I am in possession
of a number of demands upon you, which if presented must infallibly
overthrow your credit. Beside this, your position is most unhappily
compromised, since you have, to save yourself, or rather to stave off
the time of inevitable ruin, pursued the plan of forging various bills
of exchange."
"Count," cried Herr Balzer in a voice whose impudence ill concealed his
fear, "I----"
With a proud movement the count imposed silence.
He drew from his pocket several bills of exchange.
"You see," he said, turning them over, "the forged bills are in my
hands, a prison will be your destination if I give these into the hands
of a magistrate."
Every trace of self-confidence had disappeared from Herr Balzer's
common-looking face. "With bewildered fear he looked at the count
without speaking a word.
"You are a lost man," he said coldly, "and if you have a spark of
honour left, you will prefer death to the future before you."
Herr Balzer raised his hands in speechless agony, as if imploring the
count for mercy.
He looked at him severely and proceeded:
"I will not, however, destroy you, I will give you the opportunity of
beginning a new life."
A ray of joy shone in the exchange-agent's eyes; he did not yet
understand, but he began to hope.
"Count," he cried, "command----"
"Hear first what I demand; upon your implicit obedience your future
will depend."
Herr Balzer listened anxiously.
"You will go at once to Gmuenden," said the count, "from thence you will
write a letter to your wife, in which you will say that you cannot bear
the disgrace of bankruptcy, and that you prefer death; you will then
take care that your hat, your stick, and a glove or pocket-handkerchief
are found floating on the water, where the lake is the deepest. After
this is accomplished, you will cut off your beard, put on a wig, and go
to Salzburg, where at this address a certain person will provide you
with a passport and the sum of five thousand gulden."
He gave Herr Balzer a card with some writing upon it.
"You will then," he continued, "proceed to Hamburg, and embark in the
first ship for New York, and there you will go to those who will be
pointed out to you by the person in Salzburg. They will give you every
information, and assist you in commencing a new life, if you forget
your name and the past. Remember that you are watched, and that you
will be destroyed if you are not perfectly obedient!"
Herr Balzer's face had at first only expressed utter amazement, then a
look of scorn and wicked satisfaction passed over his features, finally
he gazed thoughtfully before him.
"Do you accept my proposals of safety?" asked the count.
"And my bills of exchange?" asked Balzer, looking ashamed.
"I have bought them, they will stay in my pocketbook," replied the
count.
"I accept," said Herr Balzer, "you shall be satisfied with me. But," he
added, with an extremely repulsive smile, "five thousand gulden is not
much--you value my wife at very little."
"You shall receive the same sum when you arrive in New York," said the
count coldly, "if you obey me implicitly."
"I will go," said Herr Balzer. "May I not," he added with a look of
grief that was badly acted, "bid my wife farewell?"
"No," replied the count, "she shall believe you are really dead, that
is my express will; she shall be free, even in her conscience."
Herr Balzer turned to go.
"I shall expect news of you from Salzburg in three days!" said the
count. "And now," he added solemnly and earnestly, "thank heaven, and
make use of the mercy that offers you a new life!"
He held out his hand to him, and mildness and kindness shone in his
eyes.
Herr Balzer bowed and left the room.
"We are now ready," said the count, as soon as he was alone with the
abbe; "be prepared to start in a week's time."