Before we move on to the other events of that unforgettable winter, we ought to mention a certain incident which in our family chronicles has always been shamefully hushed up. Whatever happened to uncle Edward? He arrived on a visit, suspecting nothing, bursting with health and energy, his wife and little daughter left behind in the provinces, pining for his return. He came in the best of spirits to have a little fun and rest away from the family. And what happened? Father's experiments had an electrifying effect on him. As soon as the first demonstrations were over he got up, took his coat off and put himself entirely at father's disposal. Unconditionally! He pronounced this word with an insistent stare and a firm handshake. Father understood. He made sure however that uncle was free of the commonplace prejudice concerning the Principium individuationis. It turned out that - no, none, none whatsoever. Uncle was a liberal, free of any prejudice, his only passion was to serve Science. At first father left him a certain degree of freedom. He was still making preparations for the main experiment. Uncle Edward took advantage of his liberty to wander around the town. He bought himself a velocipede of impressive size and on its gigantic wheel toured the square looking from the height of his seat into first floor windows. When passing our house he would raise his hat, greeting the ladies standing at the window. He had a small pointed beard and a twirled up moustache. Soon, however, he came to the conclusion that the velocipede was incapable of revealing the deeper mechanical mysteries, that 'this ingenious apparatus was unable to deliver metaphysical thrills on a permanent basis. And then started the experiments, to which uncle's lack of prejudice concerning the Principium individuationis proved so invaluable. Uncle Edward had no reservations against being, for the benefit of science, physically reduced to the naked principle of Neeffs hammer. He agreed without complaint to the gradual reduction of all his properties with the aim of revealing his bare essence, identical, as he had long suspected, with the aforementioned principle.
Having locked himself up in his study father began dismantling uncle Edward's tangled essence with an exhausting psychoanalysis that spread over many days and nights. The table in the study began to fill with the disassembled complexes of his psyche. At the beginning uncle still joined us at mealtimes, albeit greatly reduced, trying to take part in our conversations. He even had another go on the velocipede. Later, he relinquished even this exercise seeing himself more and more incomplete. He developed a certain bashfulness, characteristic of that stage of reduction. He avoided people. At the same time father was getting nearer and nearer to accomplishing the goal of his endeavours. He reduced uncle to an essential minimum, removing step by step all that was inessential. He placed him in a casement of the stairwell, arranging his elements according to the principle of Leclanche's cell. The wall was mouldy there and dry rot was spreading its pearly ornament. Father availed himself of uncle's capital of enthusiasm without scruple, stretching his thread along the entire length of the hallway and into the west wing of the house. Moving on a ladder along the wall of the dark corridor he hammered into it little pins marking the route of uncle's current incarnation. Those smoky, yellowish afternoons were almost completely dark. Father used a lighted candle with which he illuminated carefully every inch of the mouldy wall. According to some versions uncle Edward, until then so heroically composed, in the last moment showed nevertheless signs of vexation. They even say that it came to a violent, though belated outburst, which almost wrecked the nearly finished work. But the installation was already in place and uncle Edward, just as in life he had been an exemplary husband, father and businessman, so now too, in his final role, he succumbed in the end to higher reason.
Uncle functioned very well. There was no instance when he refused to work. Freed of the tangled complications in which he had been lost so many times before, he found at last the purity of a uniform and straightforward principle to which now he could be constantly, if irrevocably, amenable. In exchange for his unmanageable diversity he gained a simple, "no-problem" immortality. Was he happy? We would ask in vain. This question applies only to beings who contain a wealth of alternatives and opportunities thanks to which actual reality can withstand and reflect real possibilities. But uncle Edward had no alternatives, for him the dichotomy "happy - unhappy" did not exist, since he was absolutely self-contained. One could not refrain from expressing a certain admiration, seeing him function with such unfailing precision. Even his wife, aunt Teresa, when she arrived after her husband, could not resist pressing the button every now and again in order to hear this sonorous if piercing sound, in which she could recognise the timbre of his voice when he was irritated. As for his daughter Eddy, one could say that she was delighted with her father's career, though later she took out on me a kind of revenge, making me pay for my father's acts. But that belongs to another story.
Father Suryn lived in the old granary, a large, wooden twostorey building situated behind the convent, next to the farm buildings. The ground floor housed all kinds of lumberrooms and served as a store for timber. Wide, rickety stairs led to a long gallery which ran along the second floor where there were doors to the rooms. There were six rooms, all the same, narrow but comfortable. Each had a window looking out onto the convent garden and each had a big bed, table, chair and a crucifix hanging on the wall. All the priests lived here: Lactancius, Ignatius and Imber, Fathers Salomon and Miga, the nuns' confessor. Father Suryn was put up in the last free room.
Father Suryn was used to long services, but after the church fair, the exorcisms and the vespers celebrated at the end of the day, he felt very tired. He went to bed early without touching the sumptuous supper brought to him by Sister Margaret, without even reciting the prescribed breviaries. The sight of the possessed nuns, the long, public casting out of devils had filled him with horror. Even though he was an experienced exorcist, it was the first time he had seen such a mass possession by demons.
He needed to drive his thoughts away from the scenes he had witnessed and began to think about things far removed from the Ludyn convent. He wanted to return to his childhood - he always thought about it whenever he felt weary and overwhelmed by the affairs of the world. He liked the feeling of wandering back to this blue-green mist of yore, which surrounded him like the floating down of blossom in spring long ago, and which surrounded him now, whenever he wanted to call it back ...
He was falling into a kind of numb meditation. Stretched on his bed, he sank slowly into the warm waters of nothingness. And then, out of the deeps, like water weeds, like frogs soaking up the spring sunshine and changing into swallows, emerged the memories of childhood: a small farm and his stern father, a farmhand - the religious Mykita, who was later killed with an axe by a mad peasant - and above all the gentle smile of his mother. These memories did not come to life within him, but floated above him, intertwining and creating a canopy of quiet, sleepy music. They surrounded him with a murmur, like that heard on a warm, summer day near a bee-hive.
He remembered Mykita listening to the drone of the bees and trying to guess whether they were going to swarm soon. This joyous, summery drone hung above Father Suryn's head, filling him with an unexpected peace and happiness. He was almost asleep, half asleep and half awake, letting his thoughts run free. The horrible ones, the worst, were melting away leaving him in a golden bliss. There also came a thought about Mother Joanna, but it had no sting in it. Quite the opposite - it was a light and clement thought. He forgot the terrifying expression on her face during the exorcism and saw her walking in the limpid light of the overcast September afternoon, shy and as if enraptured, in front of the small flock of nuns. How pure she had seemed to him then, how clear were her blue eyes.
Suddenly he shuddered, full of disgust, remembering all that came after. At the same time a hollow pain seized his heart as he thought about the suffering of this fragile body and the soul so full of light. How could he hope to defeat Satan who was so powerful? And what was it Father Brym said? Perhaps indeed there - there is no Satan? A cold shiver ran through him at
the very thought that Mother Joanna might be the victim of a non-existent Satan, merely possessed by a lack of goodness. Were these only her own faults and sins which she called Zabulon, Gresil, Issaakaron and Sparky? Could it be that this soul, this strayed and confused soul he was entrusted with, had already been damned before he made any contact with it?
"Joseph," he told himself, "remember to pray for lost souls."
He said that and suddenly sat up in his bed. He thought that his own soul must have gone astray too, for he had not said the prescribed prayers but instead had thrown himself into bed like an animal. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the scourge hanging on the wall. He flagellated himself furiously until the feeling of physical pain drowned the sorrow he felt in his heart. He lashed himself for a long time and then took out fresh linen and began putting it on, discarding the old. This operation always gave him a lot of trouble and took a long time. He wrapped the fresh cloth carefully around his feet and took off, with great difficulty and disgust, the shirt covering his body. Even though it was dark in the room he saw his body, he felt it. He could not decide to bare it, yet, having done so, he could not bring himself to cover it with clean, white linen. He thought it a waste of good linen which was about to be sullied. He wiped his back, bleeding after the lashing, with a towel and those bloody marks on the linen - thick linen from Smolensk - filled his soul both with torment and consolation. He pulled on a shirt, then a warm, woollen doublet and, finally, a pair of leggings. Dressed in this way he went to bed again.
But he could not sleep. The smell of fresh linen, the pain both of the new and the old reopened wounds, kept him awake. He began to think and plan how he should conduct further exorcisms and, again, imagined the fragile, crippled figure of Mother Joanna.
That piteous memory jerked him out of bed and threw him down on his knees. "The soul condemned shall be redeemed!" he kept repeating in his thoughts and then cried out: "God! God! God!"
As he prayed he could not resist offering himself to the Divine Majesty. He wanted to be burdened with the same unhappiness that had befallen Mother Joanna, he wanted to experience all the feelings she was experiencing, he wanted to be possessed as she was, to share the whole burden that weighed upon her, and he pleaded with God to let her find the true path of Love and Virtue leading to salvation, to transfer all her sins and misfortunes onto his shoulders. At that moment he felt with an overwhelming passion that his only desire was to deliver that soul from Satan's embrace. He was ready to suffer the cruellest tortures - and for these he begged - if only she could attain eternal joy and solace in her life on earth.
"And what if Satan will leave her and take possession of me?" he asked himself. "I am not afraid to be taken for a madman. The world jeers and laughs at madmen so let it jeer at me. I shall be like Jesus at Herod's court. Let them beat me, let them abuse me, I shall pin to my hat this wonderful bouquet which the world so despises - the bouquet of madness. I shall, as our holy Father St. Ignatius teaches us, arouse in the people of the world scorn and anger, suffer unjust persecution, and I alone shall know the pain of such sacrifice and its rewards ..."
Beads of sweat covered Father Suryn's brow during this awesome prayer and he felt in his heart such fervour, a faith so colossal, that should he at that moment be shown the satanic might he could have crushed it like a worm. He thought about it and looked out of the window. The cold, remote stars glittered in the clear sky. But he did not see that black nebula he always thought he saw amidst the brightness of the constellations. Indeed, the existence of Satan, which he felt so strongly, particularly during the prayer, did not come to stand before him this time and even in the deepest fold of his soul - which he used to compare to a chestnut - he did not see the black spider. He fell asleep.
Next day, after mass, Father Suryn was to continue with his exorcisms. The ceremony was to take place in the convent church and the other sisters were to be excluded. Sister Margaret of the Cross, the only one not possessed, was to spend the time praying near her mother superior. There were not many people. The Prince Jakub, although still in town, was tired after the spectacle of the previous day and this time did not attend. Nevertheless, the shining heads of Messrs Chrzgszczewski, Pigtkowski and Wolodkiewicz, halfshaven after Polish fashion, could still be seen in the crowd.
Father Suryn lay prostrate throughout the entire celebration of the mass, praying to the Holy Spirit for inspiration. When he arose two sisters led Mother Joanna in. Seeing her, Father Suryn was overcome with pity. Her face was pale and tired, the eyes full of great sorrow, but she held her head high, walking with a proud step, and thus she stopped in front of Father Suryn. The four exorcists of the previous day sat on the benches in the presbytery and watched with curiosity, faint smiles playing on their lips, to see how Father Suryn would go about his task, which they, despite their professional approach and exemplary piety, had been unable to bring to a satisfactory conclusion.
Father Suryn looked long into Mother Joanna's eyes but she did not avert them even for a moment. The wrestling duel of their eyes continued for some time until Mother Joanna could not bear Suryn's gentle gaze any longer. She turned her eyes away and collapsed on her knees. The sisters who had brought her left, and now Mother Joanna had to face her exorcist alone. Powerless and tired, she knelt meekly in front of him.
As if inspired, Father Suryn turned to the altar, opened the tabernacle and having taken out the Host put it in the silver case he kept in his pocket. Holding this Sanctissimum in his hand he made a step towards the penitent.
She jumped to her feet and ran away a few steps screaming "No! No!" Suddenly the evil spirit threw her to the ground and began hurling her to and fro in terrible convulsions. Father Lactancius, familiar with these scenes, motioned to the sacristans who brought in an oak bench. Father Suryn stood with the silver case in his hand, undecided what to do. The sacristans quickly tied Mother Joanna to the bench, but she did not stop writhing and struggling, even when bound with leather straps. She howled and gnashed her teeth.
Father Suryn, holding the holy sacraments, intoned the Magnificat. Mr Aniolek, the organist, picked up the Gregorian melody with huge chords and the organ bellowed emphatically. The four priests rose from the stalls singing with joy and ardour the song of adoration. Mother Joanna's writhing weakened.
Amidst the sounds of enthusiastic singing, Father Suryn moved towards the woman strapped on the bench and knelt by her side. Mother Joanna gave him a sullen look. In her eyes he saw expectation, fear and triumph, and great exultation. Terrible sorrow poured into the Father's heart. Without thinking, he placed the Host in its silver case on the heart of the possessed woman.
Mother Joanna shrieked piercingly, then tensed and stiffened with her eyes closed.
Her breast, on which the silver case was resting now, heaved violently and then, gradually, the heaving calmed. Mr Aniolek sang verse after verse in his heavenly voice until the organ grew silent and died out in the high flutes and vox humana. Silence spread through the church, as the faithful crowded close to the latticed gates holding them back from the presbytery to get a better view of what was about to happen.
But nothing happened. Mother Joanna was breathing hard. All that could be heard was her breathing, and Father Suryn's. The priest moved on his knees to the nun's head and said in a quiet, even voice:
"My daughter, let us pray together. I shall say my prayers and you try to join me in spirit. May peace come to you."
Then he shut his eyes and, leaning towards Mother Joanna's ear, he began:
"Eripe me de inimicis meis, Deus meus, et ab insurgentibus in me libera me.
Eripe me de operantibus iniquitatem et de viris sanguinum, salva me.
Quia ecce cepurunt animam meam: irruescunt in me fortes.
Nec iniquitas mea, nec peccatum meum, domine, sine iniquitate cucurri et direxi.
Exsurge in occursum rheum, to Domine, Deus virtutum, Deus Israel!'
The priest's whisper floated, rising and falling, through the silen
ce that hung in the church, like the murmur of a forest stream; the effect was like stepping out from the tumult of a Levantine city into the silence of a monastery cloister and hearing the quiet murmur of a fountain, which lends that silence the quality of peace. As Father Suryn went on, reciting psalm after psalm, the expression on the nun's face changed. Tiredness was giving way to inspiration, resistance was melting in the glowing warmth of submission. Slowly, she drew her hands together and laid them on her breasts, so that the precious holy case was resting between her slender fingers; but she was not touching it.
Father Suryn prayed with his eyes shut, reciting the Latin verses with total abandonment. And as his passion grew, the vivid image of the Evil One was growing in his mind. He saw Satan's efforts to overpower the human soul in order to take it in a kind of mystic matrimony, and with one aim - to defy the divine command, to rise in rebellion, as stupid as it was futile, against the Lord of all creation. And as he prayed he felt he was rising above the Earth and began to see clearly the full impotence of all the evil spawned by Satan and the utter futility of all his hopeless endeavours. And he saw how immutable are the divine laws guiding the stars and planets in Heaven and men on Earth, and how Satan in his frothing rage tries and fails to overturn the eternal order. He saw Satan's rage and powerlessness, which when compared with the might and vastness of Our Lord revealed the insignificance of Satan, and mankind. He drew great consolation from this. His heart took strength from seeing the devil black and small in Mother Joanna's soul, and from seeing the precious diamond of her salvation still shining in Christ's hand. And this feeling rose in him like the fragrant fumes of scented oils spilt on a church floor, till on his lips appeared a sweet smile of heavenly joy. Soon, this smile found its reflection on the lips of the tired nun. Accustomed to the terrible shouting of Father Lactancius which had long ceased to make any impression on her, she was at first surprised by the tenderness of the Latin phrases, but then, perhaps exasperated by their incomprehensible sound, she finally succumbed to the magic power of the words whose clarity of order had brought that heavenly smile to Father Suryn's face. She was warmed by his tenderness and smiled back.
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