The Fiery Angel (34 page)
But very soon there awaited me a merited disappointment. First, I was soon able to satisfy myself that no one was likely to notice me personally, while for my own part, more accustomed as I was to campaigning or gentle conference eye to eye, I had no idea how of my own accord to wedge myself into the general animation. Second, I could not but distinguish that in all the signs of respect that the Count and his courtiers showered on Doctor Faustus, in their treatment of him and of all three of us, there was a concealed particle of derision. The thought arose in my soul that we had been invited by the Count only as some rare jesters, with whom one might sport in the tedious spring weeks—and this tiny twig of suspicion was fated to grow into a whole tree.
When we took our places at the table, I contrived to seat myself at the very end, where sat the chaplain of the castle and a very silent gentleman in a velvet doublet, both of whom were more concerned with their cups than with me—and this gave me the opportunity to make my observations untrammelled. I saw that the attention of the whole company was centred on Doctor Faustus, who was placed near the Countess; to him the Count uninterruptedly addressed himself, offering him dishes, spreading before him compliments to his learning, or putting to him various, apparently very serious questions; when Faustus began to speak the Count made signs calling everyone to silence, as if preparing them each time to hear revelations of wisdom. But this universal attention itself, and the rhetorical praises of the Count, and especially the quasi-scientific problems put to the doctor, all were strongly reminiscent of parody and satire, and I even noticed twice or thrice the imperfectly muffled laughter of some of those present, which showed me that the whole company partook of the plot. When I became convinced that my discovery was correct, I felt so ashamed for myself, and so hurt for the doctor, that I was even ready to get up at once, and, delivering myself of some cutting words, depart from the castle, but I was restrained by the thought that it was not for me to take the step first, but for my companions.
However, Doctor Faustus, it seemed, had guessed his position even before I did, for he who not so long ago had willingly opened the treasury of his mind to me, a chance companion, now became as chary of his words as a hero of Maccius Plautus. All the ardent flattery of the Count was extinguished by his cold politeness, and for the major part he shirked answers to the sly questions that were every minute addressed to him, as to an oracle, by those present. Mephistophilis, on the contrary, not to be taken aback by anything, eagerly seized all these questions on the wing, like balls, and threw back arrows in answer, that sometimes struck the very eyes of the hypocritical questioners.
Thus, with a very serious mien, the young cousin of the Count, knight Robert, addressed this speech to Faustus:
“I would like to question you, most learned doctor, as to the means of rendering oneself invisible. Some maintain that it is enough for this purpose to wear under the armpit of the right arm an amulet containing the hearts of a bat, a black hen, and a frog. But the majority of those who have experimented with this method declare that it does not well succeed. Others recommend a far more complicated method. One must take on a Wednesday, before the sun rises, the head of a dead man, and placing a black bean on each of its eyes, ears and nostrils, make upon it the sign of a triangle and bury it in the ground, visiting and watering the grave on each of the next eight days; on the eighth day a demon will arise before you and will ask of you, what you are doing; you must answer: ‘I water my flower’; the demon will then ask you for your watering-can, holding out his hand to you; if on his hand is the same sign that you traced on the dead man’s head, then you give up the watering-can and the demon himself will water the planted head; on the ninth day a beanstalk will grow, and it is sufficient to put only one bean from this into one’s mouth to become invisible. But this method is too complex. A third group, finally, asserts that there has been only one means of becoming invisible; that is, the ring of Gyges of which Plato and Cicero tell, but this has been lost irretrievably.”
Hardly had the knight finished speaking when Mephistophilis exclaimed:
“To me, gracious knight, is known a more simple method of becoming invisible!”
Naturally at these words every glance turned to Mephistophilis, as if he had been Æneas, about to relate to the Carthaginians of the fall of Ilium, but amidst general silence he said:
“In order to become invisible it is sufficient to hide behind an object that is not transparent, a wall for example.”
This quip of Mephistophilis caused general disappointment. However, a little while later, the seneschal of the castle turned to the doctor with the following question:
“You, highly esteemed doctor, have travelled far. Do then explain to us, is it indeed a truth that the ashes of that she-ass on which Jesus Christ made his journey to Jerusalem rest in the town of Verona? And that the other she-ass, on which once rode the prophet Balaam, is still living, and is preserved in a secret place in Palestine to bring back from Heaven the prophet Elijah on the day of the Second Advent?”
Again Mephistophilis took it upon himself to provide the answer, saying:
“We, kind sir, have not verified the facts of which you speak, but why should the ass of Balaam not be immortal, since amongst mankind
asses
have not ceased to exist during thousands of years?”
This joke had no mean success with the company, but ever new and new questions were addressed from all ends of the table to Doctor Faustus, while the more flushed became the banquet, so that all grew more tipsy, the more these questions grew impertinent, at whiles closely bordering on insults. At the same time, from my post of observation, I could observe how the drunken cavaliers began to conduct themselves more loosely than was becoming, how some secretly pressed the hands and bosoms of their neighbours, while others, burdened with wine, unfastened unnoticed the buttons that oppressed them. Then the Count, who had borne himself the whole evening with great adroitness, interrupted the orgy that was beginning with the following speech:
“It seems to me, friends, that it is time to allow our guests to repose. We have given honour to Bacchus, and to Comus, and to Minerva; it is time to make an offering to Morpheus. Let us thank our guests for all their sage explanations, and let us commend them to the good counsels of the god Phantas.”
The clear and composed voice of the seigneur impelled all those present to master themselves, and, rising from the tables, they all began to take leave of us, once more displaying the utmost courtesy. We all three bowed to the Count and Countess, thanking them for the feast, and pages conducted us to our rooms, where already every comfort was prepared for us: soft beds, night gowns, slippers, night caps, and even chamber pots. The bounty of the courteous Count was only incomplete in that he failed to offer to his guests a woman of light conduct each, as once the inhabitants of the City of Ulm provided to the Emperor Sigismund and his suite.
For my part, as I fell asleep in this room where perhaps had rested some companion of Godfrey de Bouillon, I gave myself the promise that I should leave the castle the next morning, even if without my companions. I decided this, however, without the Lord’s consent, as the saying goes, and everything turned out differently, for Fate, which had led me to Count Adalbert, had objects far more remote than merely to have shown me—this banquet of noble malaperts.
As is my custom, I woke the next day very early, and, not wishing to disturb anyone, quietly went down and walked out upon the terrace, a kind of Italian loggia not infrequently to be seen in our old knightly castles. There, leaning against a column, inhaling the freshness of the March morning and resting my eyes upon the beautiful, far away fields, I involuntarily began to think of my sorrows, and all my sad thoughts, breaking through the dam of my consciousness, came flooding into my soul. In imagination I saw Renata, somewhere, in a town unknown to me, passing hours of joy with another, and not with me, or perhaps pining after me, repenting of her flight, but deprived of the possibility of finding me, torn from me for ever; or, yet again, stricken with illness, in her customary despair, surrounded by strangers, coarse persons who jeered at her sufferings and at her strange speech—and none to approach her, none like myself, to lighten her misery with the kindness of a word or the tenderness of a touch. … And another access of the old sorrow gained mastery over me with such violence that I could not restrain myself, and, dropping my face on the stone of the parapet, gave freedom to my tears, helpless and uncontrolled.
While I was thus weeping, thinking myself in solitude, on the terrace of the Castle of von Wellen; a hand touched my shoulder, and, raising my head, I saw that it was the Count himself who had approached me. Though he was younger than I, none the less, with an almost paternal solicitude, he embraced my waist and led me along the gallery, gently and in friendship asking me the reason for my sorrow, whether I had been offended by any of his retainers, whether I had met with a reverse in my private life. Confused and ashamed, I overpowered my emotion and answered the Count that I had brought my sorrows with me in my baggage, and that I had experienced nothing whatever to complain of in the castle. The Count, however, would not leave me, and we continued in conversation walking up and down the terrace.
It soon came out that I did not belong to the suite of Doctor Faustus, but had made his acquaintance only three days before, and this very much disposed the Count in my favour. At the same time, the speech of the Count, in which the good education he had received bubbled with an effervescent, almost mercurial liveliness, persuaded me to forget the part he had played yesterday in the jokes at our expense, and enabled me to regard him with confidence. And when, word by word, it came to light that we had common favourites in the world of books and authors, and he offered straightway to show me his library, I saw neither reasons nor causes to refuse.
In the study of the Count, I once more convinced myself that my first impressions had been just, and that the Count belonged to the best men of his estate, for his collection would have done honour to any learned man. He led me past whole rows of shelves with books, showed me precious bindings of parchment, wood, leather, red, green, black and various rare editions from the finest presses, also the landmarks of our time, that he had lovingly assembled, such as the “
Epistolæ obscurorum virorum
,” the “
Laus Stultitiæ
” the “
Œstrus
,” which I greeted as good friends whom for long I had not seen. Then the Count showed me various scientific appliances, of which he had a multitude: globes, astral and terrestrial, astrolabes, armillaries, torquets and yet others unknown to me, and there and then he related to me the daring and remarkable theory of Nicolaus Koppernigk of Frauenburg about the construction of the heavens, which then I heard for the first time, for the compositions of that astronomer are as yet unpublished. Lastly the Count opened me his desks, and took out some manuscript codices of Latin authors obtained by him from the neighbouring monasteries, a collection of beautiful antique intaglios he had brought back from his travels in Italy, and finally, in a special casket, a bundle of letters from the famous Ulrich Zasius, with whom he was in personal correspondence.
It was easy to perceive that the Count was displaying his collection not without a childish ostentation, but nevertheless his love for science and the arts quite reconciled me to him, and, wishing to be pleasant, I told him that his riches might be envied by the Vatican itself. Quite carried away by my flattery, the Count sat me down opposite him and spoke to me thus:
“I can no longer consider you a stranger, for, like myself, you belong to the ranks of the modernists, and—I swear it by Hyperion!—I should be ashamed to deceive you. Therefore I must ask you first of all to tell me frankly what you think of Doctor Faustus.”
I replied that I considered Faustus a man of the old school, but extraordinarily learned and clever, and I could not prevent myself from adding that Faustus was worthy of greater respect than that accorded to him in the castle.
Then the Count said to me as follows:
“And do you know what rumours are current of Faustus and his crony? It is said that this Mephistophilis is none other than the Devil, bound to serve the doctor for four-and-twenty years, that he may then obtain his soul into his power. I, it is of course understood, attach no credence to such a rigmarole, for in general I do not believe in pacts with the Devil, and I consider that the Devil would make a bad bargain if he were to receive only a mere soul in payment for tangible services. To me the matter appears far simpler, and that is, that your companions, and my guests—are nothing more than impostors who employ not the powers of Hell but the methods of cunning charlatans. They travel from castle to castle, from town to town, everywhere posing as magi and performing tricks, and collecting in exchange money that enables them to live without poverty.”
These words confused me greatly, for until then I had thought Doctor Faustus an entirely noble character, and I began to defend him with all the fervour in my power, so that there finally ensued between us an even quite obstinate dispute. In the end the Count confessed frankly to me that he had invited the passing Doctor Faustus with the sole object of unmasking his doings and bringing him into the light of day, and on the spot he proposed to me that I should take part in the common plot and help him in this matter. Thus it suddenly happened to me to be confronted with a difficult choice, like Hercules at the cross-roads, only with this difference, that to me it was not so clear on which side lay Virtue and on which Sin, for the image of the Count had emerged from Qur conversation as a very attractive one, while of Doctor Faustus I had formed the most flattering opinion. For some time the scales of my soul swung rather undecidedly, but then I found the point of equilibrium, and said to the Count:
