by Mór Jókai
PART VI
DEATH AND NEW LIFE IN THE NAMELESS CASTLE
CHAPTER I
Since Count Vavel had ceased to take outdoor exercise, he had renewedhis fencing practice with Henry, who was also an expert swordsman.
In a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence the clashing ofsteel could not penetrate to Marie's apartments, the two men, master andman, would fight their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigorthat their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were covered withscratches and bruises.
One morning the count waited in vain for Henry to make his appearance inthe fencing-hall. It was long past the usual hour for their practice,and the count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old servant.
The groom's apartment was on the same floor with the kitchen, adjoiningthe room occupied by his wife Lisette, the cook.
The door of Henry's room which opened into the corridor was locked; thecount, therefore, passed into the kitchen, where Lisette was preparingdinner.
"Where is Henry?" he asked of the unwieldy mountain of flesh, topped bya face as broad and round as the full moon.
"He is in bed," replied Lisette, without looking up from her work.
"Is he ill?"
"I believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy."
She said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken of an underdonepasty.
The count hastened through Lisette's room to Henry's bedside.
The poor fellow was lying among the pillows; his mouth and one eye werepainfully distorted.
"Henry!" ejaculated the count, in a tone of alarm; "my poor Henry, youare very ill."
"Ye-es--your--lord-ship," he answered slowly, and with difficulty;"but--but--I shall soon--soon be--all right--again."
Ludwig lifted the sick man's hand from the coverlet, and felt the pulse.
"Yes, you are very ill indeed, Henry--so ill that I would not attempt totreat you. We must have a doctor."
"He--he won't come--here; he is--afraid. Besides, there is nothing--thematter with--any part of me but--but my--tongue. I can--canhardly--move--it."
"You must not die, Henry--you dare not!" in an agony of terror exclaimedLudwig. "What would become of me--of Marie?"
"That--that is what--troubles--troubles me--most, Herr Count. Whowill--take my--place? Perhaps--that old soldier--with the machine leg--"
"No! no! no! Oh, Henry, no one could take your place. You are to me whathis arms are to a soldier. You are the guardian of all my thoughts--myonly friend and comrade in this solitude."
The poor old servant tried to draw his distorted features into a smile.
"I am--not sorry for--myself--Herr Count; only for you two. I haveearned--a rest; I have--lost everything--and have long ago--ceased tohope for--anything. I feel that--this is--the end. No doctor can--helpme. I know--I am--dying." He paused to breathe heavily for severalmoments, then added: "There is--something--I should--like tohave--before--before I--go."
"What is it, Henry?"
"I know you--will be--angry--Herr Count, but--I cannot--cannot diewithout--consolation."
"Consolation?" echoed Ludwig.
"Yes--the last consolation--for the--dying. I have not--confessedfor--sixteen years; and the--multitude of my--sins--oppresses me.Pray--pray, Herr Count, send for--a priest."
"Impossible, Henry. Impossible!"
"I beseech you--in the name of God--let me see a priest. Have mercy--onyour poor old servant, Herr Count. My soul feels--the torments of hell;I see the everlasting flames--and the sneering devils--"
"Henry, Henry," impatiently remonstrated his master, "don't be childish.You are only tormenting yourself with fancies. Does the soldier whofalls in battle have time to confess his sins? Who grants himabsolution?"
"Perhaps--were I in--the midst of the turmoil of battle--I should notfeel this agony of mind. But here--there is so much time to think. Everysin that I have committed--rises before me like--like a troop ofsoldiers that--have been mustered for roll-call."
"Pray cease these idle fancies, Henry. Of what are you thinking? Youwant to tell a priest that you are living here under a false name--tellhim that I, too, am an impostor? You would say to him: 'When therevolutionists imprisoned my royal master and his family, to behead themafterward, I clothed my own daughter in the garments belonging to mymaster's daughter, in order to save the royal child from death, I gaveup my own child to danger, and carried my master's child to a place ofsafety. My own child I gave up to play the role of king's daughter, whenkings and their offspring were hunted down like wild beasts; and made ofthe king's daughter a servant, that she might be allowed to go free. Icounterfeited certificates of baptism, registers, passports, in order tosave the king's daughter from her enemies. I bore falsewitness--committed perjury in order to hide her from her persecutors--'"
"Yes--yes," moaned the dying man, "all that have I done."
"And do you imagine that you will be allowed to breathe such aconfession into a human ear?" sternly responded the count.
"I must--I must--to make my peace with God."
"Henry, if you knew God as He is you would not tremble before him. Ifyou could realize the immeasurable greatness of His benevolence, Hislove, His mercy, you would not be afraid to appear before Him with theplea: 'Master, Thou sentest me forth; Thou hast summoned me to return. Icame from Thee; to Thee I return. And all that which has happened to mebetween my going and my coming Thou knowest.'"
"Ah, yes, Herr Count, you have a great soul. It will know how to rise toits Creator. But what can my poor, ignorant little soul do when itleaves my body? It will not be able to find its way to God. I am afraid;I tremble. Oh, my sins, my sins!"
"Your sins are imaginary, Henry," almost irritably responded CountVavel. "I swear to you, by the peace of my own soul, that the loadbeneath which you groan is not sin, but virtue. If it be true that humanspeech and thought are transmitted to the other world, and if there is avoice that questions us, and a countenance that looks upon us, thenanswer with confidence: 'Yes, I have transgressed many of Thy laws; butall my transgressions were committed to save one of Thy angels.'"
"Ah, yes, Herr Count, if I could talk like that; but I can't."
"And are not all your thoughts already known to Him who reads allhearts? It does not require the absolution of a priest to admit you toHis paradise."
But Henry refused to be comforted; his eyes burned with the fire ofterror as he moaned again and again:
"I shall be damned! I shall be damned!"
Count Vavel now lost all patience, and, forgetting himself in his anger,exclaimed:
"Henry, if you persist in your foolishness you will deserve damnation.Did not you say so yourself, when you pledged your word to me on thateventful day? Did you not say, 'The wretch who would become a traitordeserves to be damned'?"
With these words he rose and strode toward the door. But ere he reachedit his feeling heart got the better of his anger. He turned and walkedback to the bed, took the dying man's ice-cold hand in his, and saidgently:
"My old comrade--my brave old companion in arms! we must not part inanger. Don't you trust me any more? Listen, my old friend, to what I sayto you. You are going on before to arrange quarters; then I will follow.When I arrive at the gates of paradise, my first question to St. Peterwill be, 'Is my good old comrade, the honest, virtuous Henry, within?'And should the sainted gatekeeper reply, 'No, he is not here; he is downbelow,' then I shall say to him, 'I am very much obliged to you, oldfellow, for your friendliness, but a paradise from which my old friendHenry is excluded is no place for me. I am going down below to be withhim.' That is what I shall say, so help me Heaven!"
The sufferer who stood on the threshold of death strove to smile. Hecould not return the pressure of his master's hand, but he slowly andwith painful effort turned his head so that his cold lips rested againstthe count's hand.
"Yes--yes," he whispered, and his dim eyes brightened for an instant."If we were down there together--you and I--we should not have to stoplo
ng there; some one with her prayers would very soon win our release."
Count Vavel suddenly beat his palm against his forehead, and exclaimed:
"I never once thought of her! Wait, my brave Henry. I will returnimmediately. I cannot allow you to have a priest, but I will bring anangel to your bedside."
He hastened to Marie's apartments.
"You have been weeping?" she exclaimed, looking up into his tear-stainedeyes with deep concern.
"Yes, Marie; we are going to lose our poor old Henry."
"Oh, my God! How entirely alone we shall be then!"
"Will you come with me to his bedside? The sight of you will cheer hislast moments."
"Yes, yes; come quickly."
A wonderful light brightened Henry's face when he saw his youngmistress. She moved softly to the head of his bed, and with her delicatefingers gently stroked the cheeks of the trusty old servant.
He closed his eyes and sighed when her hand touched his face.
"Is he smiling?" whispered Marie to Ludwig, gazing with compassionateawe on the distorted countenance. Then she bent over him and said:
"Henry--my good Henry, would you like me to pray with you?"
She knelt beside the bed and in a feeling tone repeated the beautifulprayer which the good Pere Lacordaire composed for those who journey tothe other world, pausing from time to time to let the dying man repeatthe words after her.
Henry's tongue became heavier and heavier as he repeated, with visibleeffort, the soul-inspiring words.
Then Marie repeated the Lord's Prayer. Even Ludwig could not dootherwise than bend his knee upon the chair by which he stood, and bowhis skeptical head, while the innocent maid and his dying servant prayedtogether.
When Marie rose from her knees, the painful smile had vanished fromHenry's lips; his face was calm and peaceful; the distortion haddisappeared from his countenance.
* * * * *
After Henry's death, life for the occupants of the Nameless Castlebecame still more uncomfortable. Ludwig Vavel had lost his onlyfriend--the only one who had shared his cares and his confidences. Hewas obliged to hire a servant to assist Lisette, and, remembering whatHenry had advised, took the old soldier with the wooden leg into thecastle. For the old invalid, the change from hard labor to comfortablequarters and easy work was certainly an improvement. Instead of cuttingwood all day long for a mere pittance, he had now nothing to do butbrush clothes which were never dusty, polish the furniture, receive thesupplies from and deliver orders to Frau Schmidt every morning, to placethe newspapers on the library table, and convey the victuals from thekitchen to the dining-room.
But two weeks of this easy work and good wages, and the comforts of thecastle, were all that the old soldier could endure. Then he took off hishandsome livery, and begged to be allowed to return to his former lifeof hardship and poverty. Afterward he was heard to aver that not for thewhole castle would he consent to live in it an entire year--where notone word was spoken all day long; even the cook never opened her lips.No, he could not stand it; he would rather, a hundred times over, cutwood for five groats the day.
No sooner did Baroness Katharina learn that Count Vavel was againwithout a man-servant than she sent to the castle Satan Laczi's son, whowas then twelve years old, and a useful lad.
Two leading ideas now filled Count Vavel's entire soul.
One was an enthusiastic admiration for a high ideal, whose embodiment hebelieved he had found in the lovely person of his young charge. All theemotions that a man of deep and profound nature lavishes on his faithfullove, his only offspring, his queen, his guardian saint, Count Ludwignow bestowed on this one woman, who endured with patience, renouncedwith meekness, forgave and loved with her whole heart, and who, even inher banishment, adored her native land which had repulsed and cruellypersecuted her.
The second idea encompassed all the emotions of an opposing passion: aboundless hatred for the giant who, with strides that covered kingdomsand empires, was marching over the entire eastern hemisphere, markinghis every step with graves and human skeletons; an enmity toward theTitan who was using thrones as footstools, and who had made himself agod over a greater portion of Europe,
Count Vavel was not the only one who cherished a hatred of this sort; itwas felt all over Europe. What was happening in those days could belearned only through the English newspapers. Liberty of speech wasprohibited throughout the entire continent. Only an indiscreetcorrespondent would trust his secret to the post; and Ludwig Vavel onlyby the exercise of extreme caution could learn from his banker inHolland what was necessary for him to know. Through this medium helearned of the general discontent with the methods of the all-powerfulone. He learned of the plans of the Philadelphia Club, which countedamong its members renowned officers in the army of France. He heard thata number of distinguished Frenchmen had offered their services andswords to the foreign imperial army against their own hated emperor. Heheard of the dissatisfied murmuring among the French people against thefrightful waste of human life, the never-ending intrigues, theapproaching shadows of the coalition.
All this he heard there in the Nameless Castle, while he waited for hiswatchword, ready when it came to reply: "Here!"
And while he waited he interested himself also in what was going on inthe land in which he sojourned. He had two sources for acquiringinformation on this subject--Herr Mercatoris in Fertoeszeg, and the youngattorney, who was now living in Pest. The count corresponded with bothgentlemen,--personally he had never spoken to the pastor, and but onceto his attorney,--and from their letters learned what was going on inthat portion of the world in the vicinity of the Nameless Castle.
However, as there was a wide difference between the characters of histwo correspondents, the count was often puzzled to which of them heshould give credence. The pastor, who was a student and a philosopher,and a defender of the existing state of affairs, affirmed that there wasnot on the face of the globe a more contented and peace-loving folk thanthe Hungarians. The young lawyer, on the other hand, asserted that theexisting system was all wrong; that general dissatisfaction prevailedthroughout Hungary. His irony did not spare the great ones who swayedthe destiny of the country. In a word, resentment against oppression,and discontent, might be read in every line of his epistles.
Count Vavel was rather inclined to believe that the younger manexpressed the temper of the nation. In reality, however, it was only thediscontent of a small social body, which found quite enough room for itsmeetings in the sleeping-chamber of one of the sympathizers. Within thiscircumscribed space, and amid a lively interchange of opinions,originated many a daring project that was never carried beyond thethreshold of the hall of meeting.
Ludwig Vavel, on reading the young man's letters, had come to theconclusion that Hungary awaited his (Vavel's) enemy as its liberator.
The Diet, it is true, had authorized the "recruit contingent," but therecruits were not taken from those who were inspired with love for thefatherland, and who would do battle for an idea. The enlisted men werechiefly homeless wanderers. This "cannon-fodder" would go into battlewithout enthusiasm, would perform what was required of them likeobedient machines.
Of what good would be such a crew against a host that had called intobeing a great national consciousness, a host that was made up of thebest force of a vigorous people, a host whose every member was proud ofhis ensign with its eagle, and who held himself superior to every othersoldier in the world?
Vavel well knew that the giant of the century could be conquered only byheroes and patriots. A hireling crew could not enter the field againsthim.