The Fiery Angel

by Valery Bruisov

  Only when this narrative was ended did a first foreboding startle me in my heart, and at once a confused excitement wrapped my soul, as objects are enveloped by black smoke. Something familiar breathed upon me from the words of the Count, and with a sinking in my voice I asked whether the name of that new nun had been mentioned, with whose advent in the convent these miracles had begun.

  Having thought a little the Count answered:

  “I have remembered: she is called Maria.”

  This reply quietened me on the surface, but somewhere, in the depths of my spirit, the secret alarm continued. And falling asleep upon my outspread cloak, I was unable to rid myself of the memories of that day when, in a wayside inn, I had been awakened by the pleading voice of a woman, penetrating from the neighbouring room. By reflections of the mind I tried to bring myself to reason, arguing that there was none around me but monks and warriors, but still, as I dropped off to sleep, it seemed to me as though soon I should hear the summons of Renata.

  And this foreboding did not deceive me, for the very next day I was once more to see her, whom already I thought lost for ever.

  Chapter the Fourteenth

  How the Archbishop strove with Exorcisms against the Demons in the Convent of Saint Ulf

  THE morning of the following day was bright and clear, and, walking out early in the fields, I sat down on an eminence that sloped gently downwards to a small stream that separated our camp from the convent, which I began to study diligently. It was a very ordinary convent, of a type of which many examples were erected in olden days, without any regard for beauty of construction, and surrounded by thick walls that enclosed the rude buildings of the cells and a chapel, of primitive pointed architecture, within their quadrangle. Though I could see, from my height, not only the yard, which was very tidily and cleanly kept, and the cemetery with its sand-strewn paths round the graves, but also the porches of the separate dwellings, yet the hour was so early that all was deserted and the first Mass not yet begun. And I sat thus for a considerable time, like a spy studying the way into an enemy city, but all the while wrapped in thoughts nebulous and inexpressible, like the impressions of a forgotten dream.

  My musings were interrupted by Brother Thomas, who had approached unheard, and who greeted me like an old friend, and, however I might have regretted the thought of my solitude being thus disturbed, I was almost glad of the occasion, for it at once occurred to me that I should be able to learn details of Sister Maria from the inquisitor: for, indeed, that dark uneasiness had not quitted my soul. Brother Thomas, however, instead of answering any of my questions, embarked upon a long and hypocritical sermon on the dissipation of the age, and began verbosely to complain that the Protestants were being encouraged by the Princes of the Church themselves. Thus, dropping his voice as though someone might overhear us, he informed me that the Archbishop of Köln, Herman, maintained a friendship with Erasmus, and yet more, had for long been lenient to the heretics of Paderborn, and that even our own Archbishop Iohann, in whose suite we now both were, had not disdained to conclude an alliance with Philip of Hessen, an avowed Lutheran. It is quite possible that all these calumnies and reports were motivated by the hope of hearing reports on others, on our Count for instance, from me in my turn, but I was very careful with my answers, and continually strove to change the matter of our conversation, wheeling it round to the events for the sake of which all our journey had been undertaken.

  At last Brother Thomas said to me:

  “Many praise Sister Maria as a saint, and assert that she possesses the gift of healing the sick by an imposition of her hands, like the most holy king of France. My modest experience whispers to me, however, that the sister is in league with the Devil, who has gained her confidence by appearing to her at nights in the shape of an incubus. This sin, to my regret, penetrates more and more frequently into holy communities, and not for nothing is it said, in the Scriptures, of the sinner: Behold, thou restest in the law and makest thy boast of God.” The Prince-Archbishop hopes to expel the evil spirit by the power of prayers and exorcisms, but I fear, to my regret, that it may be necessary to have recourse to questioning and torture to expose the sinful soul and find the accessories to her crime.”

  I could extract no more from the inquisitor, and our conversation soon ended, for the ringing of bells sounded from the nunnery, calling to prayer. From our height it was possible to perceive the sisters emerging from the doors of the separate buildings, and making their way in long files across the courtyard to the chapel; but in vain did I peer at the tiny figures, which, owing to the distance and the fact that they were clad in the similar all-grey habits of the Clarissian order, looked all alike each other, and resembled the marionettes of a street theatre. When the last of them had been swallowed by the gaping mouth of the chapel doors, and the sounds of the organ were floating towards us, Brother Thomas and I took leave of each other: he went to hear the Mass, I to seek the Count.

  I found the Count already fully dressed and in the gayest of humours, which I tried artfully to exploit in order to penetrate with his connivance into the nunnery. Knowing with what bait it was easiest to hook him, I reminded him of the views upon demons of the most illustrious and celebrated Hemistus Pleton, who believed in their reality, holding that they were gods of the third degree, who, having obtained grace of Zeus, used it to protect, strengthen and uplift mankind. I also pointed out to the Count the possibility that certain of the gods of antiquity, having survived the passage of centuries, might have reached to our days, no other than Poggio Braccolino, for example, having related of the ancient god Triton being caught upon the shores of Dalmatia, where the local washerwomen beat him to death with drubbers. With this and kindred considerations I tried to rouse in the Count an interest in the events at the convent, and at last, for in any case, even, it behoved him to be in attendance on the Archbishop, he declared to me, half-laughingly:

  “Very well then, Rupprecht! If you are so taken up with these angels and demons who inhabit the poor nuns, let us go and investigate the matter on the very spot. Only, mark you, neither Cicero nor Horace has ever narrated of anything like it.”

  Without delay we walked out of the tent, made our way down to the valley of the rivulet, crossed it, dancing about like hauklers, across two wobbling logs, and soon we were already at the convent gates, where the portress nun respectfully rose at our approach, and bowed low to the noble knight, almost to the earth. The Count ordered that we be brought to the Mother Superior of the convent, with whom he was slightly acquainted, and the portress conducted us across the yard and across a small garden, to a wooden dwelling standing by itself, up a rickety staircase leading to its upper floor, and, slipping first through a door, then held it open, bowing low and once more inviting us to enter. This short journey, the passage from the tent of the Count to the cell of the Mother Superior, has for some reason engraved itself in my memory in a remarkable way, as if some etcher had etched its image into my memory, so that now there stands out clearly before me every twist and turn of the path, each prospect changing as it twisted, the shrubbery on its flanks.

  The cell of the Mother Superior was not spacious, and was all occupied with furniture, antique and heavy, with a multitude of sacred images everywhere: statues of the Virgin Mary, crucifixes, rosaries, various pious pictures hanging on the wall. When we entered, the Mother Superior, a woman of already exceedingly advanced age, whose name in her holy order was Martha, but who was sprung from a wealthy and noble house, was seated, as if weakened, in a deep arm-chair, at her side stood only her sister attendant, but opposite her stood Brother Thomas like a promoter, having found time to squeeze even into here. The Count very respectfully named himself, recalling to memory their former acquaintanceship, and the Mother Superior, despite her declining years, also greeted him, probably in accordance with the statutes of the convent, by a profound obeisance.

  At last, after the many other politenesses required by what the Italians call bel parlare, we all
took our places, the Count seated himself in another chair opposite the Mother Superior, and Brother Thomas and I stood behind him, as if of his suite. Only then, after all was done, did the conversation turn to its true focus, and the Count begin to question Mother Martha about Sister Maria.

  “Ah, much honoured Count!”—replied Mother Martha—“That which I have lived through in the past two weeks is that which, with the mercy of God, I never expected to live through in the convent entrusted to my care. It is now for nigh on fifteen years that, to the measure of my feeble forces, I have been tending the flock of my sheep, and during all that time our convent has been the pride and ornament of the countryside, yet it is now become an infection and a cause of strife. Let me tell you, even now there are persons who fear to approach the walls of our convent, affirming that the Devil, or more, a host of evil spirits, inhabits it.”

  On hearing these words, the Count began to insist politely that the Mother Superior should relate all the recent events to us in detail, and not at once; and not willingly, she came at last to a minute narration, that I render here in my own phrases, for her speech was too long-winded and not altogether skilful.

  About a month and a half before, as Mother Martha told us, there had come to her an unknown maiden, calling herself Maria and begging of her to be allowed to stay in the convent, if only in the position of the least among the servants. The stranger had pleased the Mother Superior by her modesty and by the reasonableness of her speech, so, taking pity on the homeless wanderer, who had brought with her no chattels whatever, she had permitted her to live in the nunnery. From the very first days the new novice, Maria, had shown an unusual zeal in her attendance at all the church services, and a frenzied ecstasy in prayer, after spending the whole night until the first Mass on her knees before the Crucifix. At the same time, it had soon been observed that a multitude of miraculous manifestations surrounded Maria; for now beneath her fingers flowers would untimely open on winter stems, now she would be seen in the darkness, radiant with some light as if with a halo, now, when she prayed in church, there would sound at her side a soft voice coming from invisible lips and singing a holy canticle, now on her palms would appear holy stigmata, as if she had been nailed to a cross. At the same time the gift of miracles had manifested itself in Maria, and she had begun to cure all the ailing by her touch alone, so that the diseased had begun to flock to the convent from the surrounding villages in ever greater and greater numbers. Then the Mother Superior had questioned Maria, asking by what power she performed these miracles, and the latter had revealed that she was unceasingly followed by an angel, who advised her and instructed her in the performance of her labours of faith, and she had explained it all so sincerely and openly that it had been difficult to doubt her confession. And the sisters of the convent, made enthusiastic by her miraculous abilities, with which were coupled extreme modesty and respect towards all, had become filled with burning love for her, rejoicing that so holy a maiden had entered into their community, and already thinking of her, of course, not as a novice, but as their equal, or even as the first among them.

  All this had continued for about three weeks, and during that time the fame of Sister Maria had grown and grown throughout the surrounding neighbourhood, as well as in the convent itself, in which latter she had acquired the most faithful of admirers, who never quitted her for a step, were loud in praise of her virtues, and almost reverenced her as a new saint. But amongst the other sisters had been some who, little by little, had become ill-wishers, and who had begun to express doubts whether it were by true inspiration of God that Sister Maria was performing her healing acts, or whether all that was now taking place in the nunnery were not perhaps just a new device of the ancient Enemy of Mankind—the Devil? It had been remarked that the manifestations constantly accompanying Sister Maria were not always becoming to angelic will, for at times had been heard near her knockings as if by an invisible fist upon the wall, and in her presence certain objects had fallen of themselves, as if thrown about, and so forth. Then some of the sisters closest to Sister Maria had repeated to the confessor at confession that they were being assailed by strange temptations, for example, at nights there had begun to appear to them in their cells visions of handsome youths, having the from of shining angels, who sought to persuade them to enter with them into fleshly love. When Sister Maria had been told of this, she had sorrowed much, and asked that the prayers be redoubled, the fasts and the rigours of the other conventual labours reinforced, saying that wherever holiness is near, there always prowls also the Spirit of Deceit, seeking to destroy the seeds of goodness.

  However, though Sister Maria and her supporters had indeed prayed unceasingly and submitted themselves to all manner of pious trials, the manifestation of evil power in the convent had begun to increase in strength with the passing of each day. The mysterious knockings on the walls and ceilings and floors were heard everywhere, both in the presence of Sister Maria, and without her; wanton hands had at night turned over furniture and even holy objects, upset the contents of drawers, and created disorder of all kinds both in the dwelling-rooms and in the chapel; at times it had been as if someone were throwing heavy stones out of the fields at the convent, as though hurling projectiles, which had been very terrifying; in dark passages the sisters would feel the touch of invisible fingers or fall suddenly into someone’s dark and cold embraces, which had filled them with inexpressible tremblings; then the demons had begun to appear to the sight, in the shape of black cats, which had appeared no one knew whence and clambered under the skirts of the meek sisters.

  At first the Mother Superior had striven to combat the sin with exhortation and prayer; then the convent chaplain had read the prayers appointed for the purpose and sprinkled all the rooms with holy water; and still later there had been invited from the town a well-known exorcist, who had performed exorcisms for two days and two nights, charming bread and water, dust and offal, but the confusion had only increased yet further. Visions had begun to appear at all hours of the day and night, and in all corners; spirits had appeared to the sisters during prayer, during dinner, when they were in bed, there whither they went for their needs, in the cells, in the yard, in the chapel. The music of harps had begun to sound from a source unknown, and the sisters, powerless to master the temptation, had begun to dance and whirl around to a pitch of frenzy. Finally, the demons had begun to enter into the sisters and possess them, felling them to the floor and subjecting them to spasms, contortions and torments. Sister Maria, though even she had failed to escape these seizures, had continued to maintain that they were but the assaults of the hosts of evil, which, as her angel instructed, must be repulsed with all strength, and there had yet remained sisters who continued to believe her and revere her. But only the more furiously had the others cursed her, declaring that it was she who had brought the spell upon the convent, and accusing her of a pact with the devil, so that there had occurred a great division in the convent, and shameful and ruinous strife. It was then, in such an extremity, that it had been decided to appeal to the Prince-Archbishop, to whom, by prescription from the Holy Apostles, it is given in this world to bind and release our sins.

  This is what Mother Martha related to us in a long and confused speech, though it was obvious that it was not for the first time that she told it, and, as she spoke, I recognised, without possibility of error, the traits of Renata’s image, so that terror and despair at once inhabited my soul, themselves like demons—and I listened to the narrative as one condemned listens to the reading of his death warrant. When the Mother Superior had finished her story, the Count, who had displayed throughout it an attention I had not expected, asked whether it were not possible to summon Sister Maria hither, that some questions might be put to her.

  “I forbade her”—said the Mother Superior—“to leave her cell for a few days, for her presence causes disturbance, both at meals and during the hours of Holy Mass. But I will send for her at once, and order her to be brought hither.”r />
  Mother Martha said a few words in a lowered voice to her sister attendant, and the latter, bowing, left the cell, while I, at the thought that I was now about to see Renata, was hardly able to stand erect upon my feet, and was compelled to lean against the wall for support, like a man dead drunk. And during the time that the novice was fetching Sister Maria, the Mother Superior said the following to the Count:

  “Highly honoured Count! Whatever may come of it, I must tell you that for my part I can make no accusation against poor Maria. I do not know whether she be indeed accompanied by an angel of God, but I am convinced that she has not voluntarily entered into any pact with the Demon. I can see that she is very unhappy, and I pity her as much to-day as on the day when, hungry and a pauper, she came to me to crave shelter.”

  I was ready to fall on my knees before this honourable woman in gratitude for her noble words, but at that moment the door opened, and there entered, following the lay-attendant, with soft tread, her eyes lowered, garbed as a nun, with covered head—Renata, who, making a deep obeisance, paused before us. I could not fail to recognise her even in the grey habit of a member of the Clarissian order, to her so unused, could not fail to recognise those features beloved with all the power of my heart, so familiar, as the image dearest to me in life—though paled and drawn by the sufferings of the last few weeks. Renata was still the same as when I had known her—frenziedly passionate, or in the last hopeless impotence of despair, or seized by ungovernable anger, or calmly reasoning in the midst of books, or the dearest, kindest, most tender, softest, meekest creature, like a child, with the eyes of a child, and the lips, just a shade too full, of a child, and at this moment, losing the last vestige of control over myself, I involuntarily exclaimed, addressing her: