The Fiery Angel (39 page)

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.”

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:

“Renata!”

All those in the room automatically turned towards me, for until this moment I had not uttered a word, but Renata, not making a move, only lifted towards me her clear eyes, gazed for one moment straight into my face, and then spoke softly and clearly:

“Begone from me, Satan!”

The Count asked me, in surprise:

“Can it be, Rupprecht, that you know this maiden?”

But I had already overcome my emotion, and, grasping that the only hope lay in my preservation of the secret, I replied thus:

“No, gracious Count, I now perceive that I was mistaken: I do not know her.”

Then the Count himself addressed a question to Sister Maria:

“Tell me, dear maiden; know you of what you are accused?”

In her customary, very melodious voice, in which was now, however, unusual humility, Renata replied.

“Sir! I came hither to seek peace, for I had suffered much, and never addressed my prayers to any but God Almighty. But if my enemies seek to undo me, it may be that I shall not have the strength to withstand them.”

After some meditation, the Count asked again:

“Have you yourself ever beheld any demons?”

Renata answered with pride:

“I have always averted my face from them!”

Then the Count put his third question:

“And do you believe in the existence of evil spirits?”

Renata retorted:

“I believe, not in the evil spirits, but in the word of God which testifies of them.”

The Count smiled and said that so far he had no further questions to ask, and Renata, bowing low again, left the cell, without looking more at me, while I remained shaken by this meeting more than would have been possible by any, even the most horrible, vision. I do not remember what the Count and Mother Maria then discussed between them, but, in any case, their conversation was soon interrupted, for the sister key-warden hurried in, saying that His Eminence had bidden all the sisters and all those who had arrived in his train to congregate with him in the chapel. The Mother Superior of course rose hastily, issuing instructions, and the Count turned to me and said:

“Let us be going too, Rupprecht. But what has made you so pale?”

This last remark showed me that I had not succeeded in concealing my confusion, and therefore I strove with every means to preserve an appearance of calm, gritting my teeth to agony, and straining my whole will.

As we were leaving the house in which resided the Mother Superior, the Brother Inquisitor, walking behind the Count, asked me:

“What do you think now of Sister Maria—were not the words I spoke to you this morning true?”

I replied:

“I think that thorough investigation is necessary here, for many aspects of the case seem dark to me.”

The Brother Inquisitor gladly picked up my thought, and began to elaborate it, thus:

“You are, of course, perfectly right, and we can both perceive that no real investigation has as yet been made here. In the first place it is necessary for us to establish which of the two alternatives here obtains (for already the influence of the Devil in the one form or the other is not subject to doubt)—possession or obsession,
possessio sive obsessio
. In the first case these observants, and particularly this Sister Maria, would be guilty of a pact with the Devil, whom they must have admitted into their very bodies; in the second, they would be guilty only of weakness of spirit, in having allowed the devils to rule them from without. There are many means of determining this, for instance: the flesh of those possessed does not emit blood if it be cut by a knife that has been blessed; they can hold a red-hot coal in their hands without being burned; further, they do not drown in water if they be thrown bound therein, and so forth. Next, it is necessary to discover whether those guilty have caused damage only to their own souls, or also to their neighbours’ goods and bodies; whether, by means of their spells, they have destroyed cattle and human beings, made women sterile, summoned rains and fogs, caused storms to rise and unearthed the corpses of babes, and so forth. And, finally, it is necessary to establish clearly the identity of those demons that have here manifested their activity, infamous in the sight of God, their names, their favourite outward forms, and the invocations they obey—in order that it may be the more easy in future to withstand their pernicious influence.”

Talking thus, we reached the doors of the chapel, where already not a few people were crowded, for there were gathered not only all those who had ridden with the Archbishop, but also many of the neighbouring inhabitants, and of course there would have been yet a multitude of other inquisitive persons desiring to see their prince and his combat with the demons, had not by his own orders the simple yokels been excluded from the nunnery, so that they seethed without the gates. To us, who walked with the Count, of course the ingress to the temple was open, and soon we found ourselves beneath the crosswise arches of the ancient chapel, dark, gloomy, resounding, but not devoid of grandeur, and I began to study the ranks of the grey nuns, who huddled like a flock of frightened pigeons,
columbæ ceu
, as Vergilius Maro says, all to one side; but Renata was not amongst them. The Count, and with him Brother Thomas and myself, took seats on the first bench, and for the space of several minutes, while the general silent and wearying expectancy endured, I plunged into sad memories of those days, when, myself concealed behind pillars, I had searched as now for Renata with my eyes. I knew that she would enter here, that I should see her again, and, from that knowledge, my heart beat in my breast like the heart of a timorous lizard, gripped by the coarse fingers of a man.

The harsh grating of a door forced me to raise my eyes, and I saw advance from the sacristy, with her two attendant sisters, first Mother Martha, and behind her, her eyes downcast but with firm step, Renata, and then immediately, scarcely had they reached the other sisters—the Prince-Archbishop, accompanied by two prelates and the convent chaplain. The Archbishop was clad in his solemn robes, embroidered in gold, with a stole round his shoulders and an ornate episcopal staff in his hand, wearing an infula, yet more gorgeous than that which he had worn at the feast in the castle, bordered at the seams with precious gems, which glittered in the light of the wax candles, lit despite the fact that it was noon, and on his entry all fell to their knees. The Archbishop, with his prelates, walked straight to the altar, where, kneeling also, he read the prayer: “
Omnipotens sempiterne Deus
,” and when he had finished the whole congregation intoned with one voice “
Amen
,” in its number also Renata, who was kneeling, however, away from the others, in front of the benches, in the sight of all. Then, rising and turning towards us, the Archbishop, in a loud and clearly distinct voice, called out: “
Te invocamus, te adoramus
,” and so forth, while we evenly returned him the responses. Lastly, blessing the water, he sprinkled the liquid thus consecrated towards the four corners of the earth, and then, seating himself on the archiepiscopal throne, he bade Renata approach.